#quirk accident babies

[evilminji]

You know WHAT? I'm gonna start makin Q.A.B.

Free! Too a good home! Q.A.B. [1]

Quirk Accident Baby's or Q.A.B. (Because it's a fun and convenient way to combine quirks without subjecting anyone to the lose of bodily autonomy, cause i REFUSE to Suprise Pregnant anybody. Male, Female, or Otherwise.) (And to FURTHER clarify, Q.A.B. are the always the result of some combination of quirks that? SOMEHOW bend reality to create a fully formed baby or toddler, "born" or created FROM the DNA of two or more individuals. Thus making those individuals the "parents".) that combined Precent Mic n Eraserhead? Could potentially make a SOUND Nullifying quirk?

Like, the genetic code for Erasure just full on turns Mic's Voice Quirk from a plus to a negative? Remove instead of amplify?

It would be pretty dangerous. People go insane in perfect silence. Experience hallucinations.

Good for disorienting opponents tho?

But? Might render them? "Mute"? They WOULDN'T be. But if no one can hear or understand you, is there a difference? Because if you talk in Negative Sound? The shaped ABSENCE of noise? it would ALMOST sound like talking? Whispery. Almost there.

But... silent. The audio equivalent of light refracting around an invisible object. Prob DEEPLY unnerving. Because the brain would INSIST you SHOULD be hearing something. You can hear the EDGES of the words. Where the shape of her words, her "sound", STOPS. But you can't hear the "sound" itself.

It's like auditory antimatter.

Unlike anechoic chambers? At close range? You might not even be able to hear the internal function of your OWN BODY. A perfect 0 decimals. Absolute silence.

Imagine it.

You can still feel. Still smell. Still SEE. The earth is shaking with explosion and there is smoke on the wind. You are either running FROM a villian attack or ARE ONE. And... the world? Goes Absolutely SILENT.

Not the whine of hearing loss. Not muffled. Just... gone.

Your feet make no noise. Your ragged breath. The fall of telephone poles. The crash of collapsing buildings. You... you can't even hear the beating of your heart, the rush of blood in your veins. Where has the roar of flames gone?

Your mouth is open.

Are you shouting?

The world is silent. A terrible, terrible silent. Until?

IT'S NOT.

And the sound comes rushing back in like a tsunami. Crashing down to carry everything away. Oh god. Oh god it's SO LOUD. SO LOUD MAKE IT STOP MAKE IT STO-!!!

I'ma? Call this one Silence. She, like all Aizawa Q.A.B.? Has got that "adorable nightmare demon" vibe going on. Got Daddy's smile~ toothy and unhinged. But Mic's eyes. Like all combos between them, looks like she just crawled out of a TV hissing "7 daaaaaysssssss".

It's the hair and unhinged demeanor.

The fact they let Nedzu babysit.

Not HER fault she got the Aizawa "lol brushes? Brushes do NOTHING" hair. That entire side of the family look like Nightmare Demons as children. Then they grow up Competent AF and HOT. (You should see her dads baby pictures, he looks like a horror movie gremlin)

[kyusen0]

de-aging quirks my favourite trope

[dudeijustsawaplane]

Definitely one of my more unhinged ideas, I just wanted to see how small I could make the baby

[shutit-haha]

Kit-Kat | a baby Bakugo/reader

I know it's been done a thousand times before but I needed something meaningful and self indulgent. Sorry if this is a little OOC for him I'm trying to work out where exactly the line is when it comes to emotionally constipated five year olds.

You were exhausted when you had arrived at your shared apartment. It wasn't anything grand or luxurious, just some place you stayed with your boyfriend occasionally. (If the two of you were ever so lucky to be home at the same time.) Katsuki was hustling to become a hero and with the media having their eyes trained on him from high school he had to be mindful of the steps he took. Then there was you, trying your hardest to get to where you wanted to go in life. Slaving while you waited for him to start his own business. Once Katsuki's company was open you'd work with him in a partnership and all would be as it should.

Until then you entered your apartment with sagging tear drop shoulders. You hadn’t slept properly in two days and had ended up working overtime today despite having planned on leaving early. No matter, you were here now and if you were lucky perhaps Katsuki would be too. So with heavy limbs of lead you shut the door behind you and hung up your jacket. Spring was supposed to be arriving within a week's time however the winter chill was holding on for dear life.

When you bent down to slip off your shoes you noticed the living room light was on. It spilled into the mudhall where you were bent over your feet. Without a second spared you were bouncing off into the living room to greet your boyfriend whom you had only seen in passing lately. By the time he came home you were already climbing into bed. Each and every night you’d promise to wait for him to finish his shower and each and every night you’d fall asleep before he was out. Due to his late shifts you found yourself waking up earlier than him, something that was certainly odd for the two of you. By the time he would wake to start his day you were already long gone, your only trace a post-it left on your pillow.

He’d never tell you, but he loved how you kissed it as a sign off. Your perfume would always stay behind on the colorful paper right where you left a stain of puckered lips. Your heart ached for him and he had been dying to see that lipstick on some skin instead of just paper.

“Katsuki!” You shouted from where you stood at the end of the entry hall and the beginning of the living room. “Katsuki,” you called again. The kitchen was to the left of you a space far too small for your burly boyfriend and fully stocked with kitchen ware. You had decided to buy the cheap stuff in the meantime, glad you did since the two of you rarely ever used any of it. There was no dining room.

The living room laid right in front of your disappointed gaze. A low coffee table situated in front of the T.V and a single sofa that could sit three. The back of the sofa faced the kitchen where Kaminari was rifling through your cabinets in search of snacks. Mina bounced a baby on her lap, shushing and cooing at it in an attempt to keep it from wailing. Kirishima and Sero were debating on the best way to calm the baby down while a children’s show played in the background.

Their heads all swiveled to look at you, including the pale baby boy’s. Kaminari looked as though he had been caught, Kirishima and Mina seemed worried and Sero…smug for some odd reason. “Right feeding a baby is better than distracting it,” Sero placed his hands on his hips.

“Yeah,” you nodded absentmindedly. “Is Katsuki here?” You tried to listen for the sound of your bathroom shower, or maybe some kind of movement in your bedroom. No matter how hard you strained though it was obvious he wasn’t here. “Does he know you’re here,” a follow up question.

“Technically,” Mina spoke up.

“Found them,” Kaminari shouted from the kitchen bag of chips in hand. “I knew I left a family size here last time.”

“Get out of the way,” Sero shoved him to reach the fridge. Mina’s fluorescent eyes darted to look at Kirishima who seemed to be sweating bullets.

“Ok guys, there’s no way you can just stay in my house and keep secrets from me. Especially when they’re about my boyfriend so…”

“Well you know how he is, he gets into fights with people and-” Mina was the first to reply.

“That guy was looking for it though. He was being rude and then he wussed out when Bakugo stepped up.” Sero added from where he was cooking something in your kitchen.

“Like they said the guy was messing with him and then he got scared, and his quirk malfunctioned.” Kirishima continued, hands up to calm you.

“Who’s quirk malfunctioned?” You were worried now and this story was taking too long.

“The guy’s,” they all replied. All except for Kaminari who was stuffing chips down his throat and surfing channels. The baby on Mina’s lap had started fighting with the blonde over the remote.

“And well,” Mina said as she tried to keep hold of the baby.

“He kind of,” that was Kirishima speaking to you gently. The red head was walking on eggshells here and you really didn’t understand why.

“Where is my boyfriend?” You stalked further into the room, growing hostile with your tone.

“Bakugo man, just give me the remote!” Kaminari shouted at the baby trying his best to tug the control out of the baby’s pudgy hands. Your head whipped around to take in the baby’s blonde spiky hair, something you hadn’t paid any attention to at first. It seemed softer than it was supposed to be, less spikey and more curly. Instead of the ends shooting straight out they curved a little, giving his hair a bounce to it.

“I can track the guy down for you,” Kirishima spoke quickly. Sero snorted from where he was now hunched over a pot.

“Kami you idiot,” Mina screeched at the other blonde yanking the remote from his hands. You sunk down into the floor, slumping against the wall and laughing. What the hell were you gonna do with a child? You didn't even want kids right now, you still had work. Were you supposed to take a day off? Do you pay for daycare? Do you have money for that? Does his boss know?

“You broke them,” Kaminari shouted from the couch.

“I’m not broken,” you reached a hand up to wave it at him. “How old is he now,” you asked Kirishima.

“Five-ish.”

“Does he have his quirk?”

“No.”

You winced, taking a sharp breath in through your teeth. This sounded like some hellish nightmare for your boyfriend. He’s small and helpless, no quirk and no muscle. “Does his job know?”

“They’ve been notified.”

“Great,” you sighed, getting back up from the floor. You made your way back into the entry hall so that you could take off your shoes and slide on your slippers. With a heavy head you walked back over to the living room.

“I wanna buy him clothes,” Mina chirped, still bouncing him on her lap. He had those angry red eyes and what was supposed to be a scowl only looked like a pout on that face.

“That won’t be necessary, he'll be back soon.” You made your way straight for him, dragging your feet along the floor. You felt conflicted, just a moment ago you had wanted to spend time with your boyfriend and well here was your chance. Except that he was a child, one you had to care for and couldn’t just simply love. You couldn’t lay on him like you wanted to, sinking into his warmth.

“Well..” Mina handed him to you.

“We’re not sure, it's a quirk malfunction so it could last for more than 24 hours.” Kirishima sat on the armrest unable to find space on the crowded couch.

“Days?” You asked, staring down at Katsuki, his little red eyes stared at you in awe though he still tried to look mean.

“Could be a month,” Kaminari shrugged, shoving more chips into his mouth. Mina shoved him off the sofa and onto the floor, Kirishima was quick to take the now open spot.

“We’re all gonna stay with you tonight,” Mina quickly assured you.

“Yeah,” Sero added in agreement. He was going through your lower cabinets now in search of you weren’t sure what. You looked sound at your friends, they were amazing people. And you wanted them to stay truly, you just weren’t sure how they were all going to fit. Your sofa could fit two people if they really squished together. And well your apartment had never had to fit more guests than that.

Sometimes Kaminari gets wasted at a bar and Sero will have to go and pick him up. Somehow your apartment ends up being closer to them and in they come stumbling late in the night to Katsuki’s dismay. They’ll fall onto the sofa where you’ll find them sleeping in the morning. Sometimes you and Bakugo will go out to events with Kiri and Mina, and the four of you will wind up back here. They always end up giggling away on your couch while you and Katsuki collapse onto your mattress cracking jokes with one another.

You’ve never had the whole gang stay the night and staring at your small apartment you weren’t sure how it was going to work. “Mina can share the bed with me and Katsuki, or maybe we can go and buy an air mattress?”

The boys all stared at each other realizing only one of them would get the couch. “Air mattress,” they spoke in unison, already feeling the back pain.

“Ok,” you laugh and Katsuki’s heart hurts. He whimpers looking down at your pants. “You ok?” His big eyes glare at you before looking away, pink dusting his cheeks. You smile at him softly, taking it as him just being flustered. “You think he still remembers me?”

The room was silent. Sero kept on with his cooking, various spices open on your counter and a cutting board with nothing to cut. He made a face at that, opening your fridge to go through it for what was now the third time. Kaminari seemed to have finally found a channel on the t.v and sat down comfortably on the floor. Kirishima and Mina exchanged a look while you waited for an answer.

“Maybe,” Mina watches your face carefully.

“We hope but aren’t entirely sure,” Kiri then added.

“Oh,” you exhaled deeply, “ok.” You leaned forward then nuzzling the skin behind Katsuki’s ear with your nose. His hair was soft though very dry, and his skin was nice and warm. “It’s ok if you forget me,” you whisper to him softly. “I know you’ll remember me later,” you kiss his cheek before pulling away. “You all ready to go to the store, I need to get some sort of clothes for him and I think Sero is struggling to find food.”

“Already made a list,” he replied from where he was still scribbling on the counter.

“Alright then Katsu baby, ‘you ready to go?” You lifted him up into the air trying to get at least a smile from him, but to no avail. His arms were crossed over his chest, lip jutting out in a pout, eyebrows pulled down in a nasty little glare. “You’re gonna like me,” you place him on your hip. “I know you will. Did it once I can do it again,” you walked with him back into the hall.

💣

“These are cute,” Mina held up a powder pink shirt.

“Uhh,’ you eyed little Katsuki.

“I’ll pay for it,” she smiled brightly from behind the shirt.

“Put it in there,” you whispered to her. You tossed some black sweatpants in the kart, “we gotta get you some shoes little man.” You ruffled his hair, dodging the hand he swiped at you. “Come on little man,” you take his hand and lead him to where the shoes are. Of course he’s instantly drawn to the sneakers with heroes on them. You watch as his little eyes widen and then narrow to analyze the gym shoes. His attention bounces from shoe to shoe, comparing the colors and how the hero is displayed. Eventually he takes hold of two pairs; one with Allmight standing tall and another with him in the midst of a punch.

“One day I’m gonna have shoes of my own.”

“Yeah you will,” you smile at him.

He glares at you, still comparing the two shoes to one another. “I’m serious,” he sits on the floor to try them on.

“I am too. I know you’ll do it.”

At this point he has one shoe on each foot, rocking back and forth to get a feel of them.

“So which one’s the winner?” You’re amused by all this, he’s five and being far too precise.

“These are cooler,” he points to the one with Allmight punching. “These feel nicer though.” ‘Has good dialect too. Crazy how smart this guy is. “These,” he settles for the comfier shoes.

“Ok,” you nod. “You want another pair?”

His eyes sparkle, lips parting to speak before he suddenly reels himself back in. He scowls, shoving his shoes at you. “Yeah,” he then stomps off down another aisle.

“Ok,” you sigh, following him. “You know you’re bossy, and mean.”

He stops in front of a pair of combat boots, black ones similar to what he uses for his hero suit. “These,” he points, awe visible in his face.

You do your best to stifle your laughter trying not to embarrass him. The moment he realizes he’s making a cute face you know it’ll be gone so you keep quiet. You bend down to search for a box with his size written on it but are unable to find any. “Uhh,” now you gotta tell him. Great. You look again, maybe you just didn’t try hard enough the first time. “Baby,” you coo, still checking over all the boxes. “I don’t think they have it in your size.” You're kneeling down on one knee in search for these damn boots but can’t find any.

“What?” His mouth’s agape, eyes wide and glossy.

“These are big kid shoes, they don’t have any for you.”

His chest quickly rises and falls as he starts to breathe heavily, hands curling into little fist. You watch his features curl and fold into a deep scowl. Tears form in his eyes, welling up in his lash line while his cheeks go red. “But-”

“I know, I’m sorry.” And would you believe it, he cries. His bottom lip quivers while fat tears roll down his cheeks. His fist are curled so tightly you worry about his little hands. He hiccups and sniffles but doesn’t wail and bawl like other kids do. It’s silent, something you see but don’t exactly hear. “I know.” You pick him up, uncurling his fist as he wraps his arms tightly around your neck. He clings to you, clutching tightly while he sniffles and cries. “It’s ok baby, I’m sorry, I know you really wanted them. I’ll try and find you a pair ok?” You rub his back, rocking him back and forth.

He nods vigorously, still sniffling and hiccuping. Mina finds the two of you at the end of the aisle, Kirishima right behind her with the shopping kart. “Is he ok?” She whispers to you, approaching slowly. Katsuki clutches to you tighter, burying his face in your neck and hair.

“A little embarrassed I think,” you hand her the box holding his sneakers. “They didn’t have the other pair of shoes he wanted.”

“Oh you poor thing, I cry over shoes too.” Mina rubbed his back softly, laughing to you silently.

“Surprised he cried,” Kirishima said.

“Me too, I think he might just be tired. Or maybe missing home.” You followed them out the aisle and over to the self check-out.

“Missing home?”

“Yeah, maybe he knows he’s supposed to be big.”

Katsuki listened to your conversation carefully, face still covered by his hair. What you’re saying seemed right to him in a vague kind of way. He wasn’t sure that was what he felt but nothing else seemed to make sense. All the other feelings he knew didn’t fit how they were supposed to.

💣

“We bought clothes,” Mina sang, entering the apartment with bags in hand. She went straight into the living room, leaving the door open, and still wearing her shoes.

“I thought they were for Bakugou,” you heard Kaminari reply to her.

“They are,” she huffed.

You were the next to enter the apartment carrying a sleeping Bakugou in your arms. You sat him down on top of the wooden shoe rack, slipping off his sandals and putting them away. You then sat down next to him just as Kirishima came in through the door. The red head carried the groceries Sero had asked for and the air mattress your apartment so desperately needed. “Kami start moving the table!” Kirishima ordered, slamming the door behind him with his foot.

Bakugou jumped in his sleep and you placed him back on your lap. He rested his head on your breast while you rubbed his back soothingly. You waited a minute or two before sliding off your own shoes. You put your shoes back where they belonged, sliding on your slippers and then carrying Kastuki to the living room. Once again you found yourself stopping at the doorway.

The apartment felt so alive, Sero was cutting vegetables in the kitchen while the other boys worked together on moving your coffee table. Mina was pulling clothes out of the bag to show everybody and then folding it into a neat pile. She had offered to pay for the clothes and Kiri paid for everything else so you spent nothing. It warmed your heart to the point where you nearly wanted to cry. This was home, here with all these lovely people. “Here,” Mina handed you a pajama set.

“Wake him up so he can eat, I cooked something nice for him.” Sero smiled at you from where he was putting all of your spices back.

“Shower him,” Kiri said before yelling at Kaminari about scraping your floor.

“Will do,” you nodded and smiled at everyone heading off to the bathroom. The cutout that led to the bathroom was aligned with the hall to your entryway. The door to your left opened up to the restroom, the one opposite leading to your bedroom. You shut the door softly behind you, gently shaking Katsuki awake. “Gotta bathe you,” you speak softly to him.

The drowsy blonde sways where he stands in front of you on the cold bathroom tiles. His little fist comes up to rub at his eyes. “‘M hungry,” his stomach growls.

“You’ll eat right after this,” you tug off his pants slowly. Your nails graze his soft little thighs on accident and he winces. “I’m sorry,” you kiss where you scratched him.

“I like your nails,” his hand curls around your index finger. He keeps a tight hold of it while he steps out of his pants.

“Thank you,” you smile at him despite his eyes being shut. “Arms up.”

He yawns and reaches for the sky letting you take off his shirt. “Are you gonna shower with me?”

“What?” You laugh, tugging off his boxers.

“I want you to shower with me, I miss when you used to do it.” He yawns and steps out of his boxers. “Why don’t we do it anymore? Are you mad at me?” He finally opens his drowsy red eyes.

“What? No,” you shake your head, running the bath water. “We’ve just been busy.”

“I’m not busy anymore.” Silence falls while you check the temperature of the water. “Do you shower with your other boyfriends?”

“I don’t have other boyfriends.”

“Good,” he huffs. “I’d have to beat them up.”

“Katsuki you’re five.” You stand from the edge of the tub drying your hand.

“So you’ll shower with me,” he looks up at you.

“When you’re a big boy again,” you cup his cheek.

“But I’m not busy anymore,” he whines.

“I know,” you lift him up to put him in the bath.

“Are you gonna leave me?”

“What?” You stare at him.

“Are you going to work tomorrow?” He sputters, embarrassed by your intense stare. His face heats up, cheeks turning a bright red.

“Think I might just stay with you.”

“Can you wash me?”

“You can do it, you’re big enough.”

“But I like your nails,” he reaches for your hand. For a moment you look at him so sure that you can see your Katsuki somewhere inside. He wants you to shower with him, he likes your nails, he’s ok with you scratching him. He’s worried that you’re leaving him.

You wash him. And when you’re done you dry him. And when that’s done you feed him. The whole gang gets comfortable in the living room eating together and watching a movie. Throughout the film they rotate who’s taking a shower and by the end everyone’s clean except for you. The t.v turns black and you lay Katsuki down in the bedroom. He fell asleep about halfway through the film. You sneak off to take a shower and when you come back he’s up and waiting for you.

“I missed you,” he sniffles, reaching for you in the darkness. You take hold of his little hands, placing him on top of your chest. His little hands slid around either side of you just barely reaching your back. You rub in between his shoulder blades, scratching his scalp lightly with your nails.

“I missed you too,” you sigh drifting off to sleep.

When you wake in the morning, he’s still a baby.

[thecard]

Akimitsu baby would be really cute tho (feral child with Akihiko energy)

Bonus:

Unable to pull up the game rn but I made this of their sims baby (link to the picrew generator in photo description).

[cuspidgoddess]

👀

The brain rot has me in a strangle hold, so here we go again

[crushpunky]

drew and actress!reader on the kitten interview

masterlist | actress!reader masterlist

this was highly requested, hope you enjoy <3

“Not sure how I got the short end of the stick with these three.” Y/n teased as she crossed her legs in front of her, joining Chase, Rudy, and Drew on the floor of the interview space. Cameras and crew surrounded them, a small makeshift barrier of boxes dividing them from where the cast sat on the floor.

“Ouch.” Rudy said, placing his hand over his heart in faux hurt. Drew grinned, leaning back on his hands, his fingers resting closely to the curve of y/n’s back.

“Are we ready for the kittens?” One of the producers asked.

“Bring in the cats!” The four of them cheered, clapping excitedly as one of the crew members entered the space, kittens in hands. Y/n put her hands over her mouth, squealing quietly as they placed the tiny creatures down in front of them.

“How long until y/n starts crying?” Chase said, as they continued to watch the kittens stumbled along the ground.

“She already cried on the drive here so…” Drew said, causing y/n to elbow him before returning her attention to the cats. A small gray kitten waddled over, climbing its way into y/n’s lap, its paws padding along her legs softly. The four of them talked sweetly to the kittens as they continued to play, climb, and run along the set.

Who in the Outer Banks cast consistently makes you break character?

“Oh JD,” Rudy said, moving to lay on his back as a small orange kitten rested politely in his lap.

“Yeah…” Drew watched one of the kittens crawl along his arm. “Or Nick Cirillo.”

“Agreed, agreed,” Chase said. “Y/n?”

“Hmm?” Y/n asked, clearly still entranced by the gray kitten playing with the sleeve of her shirt. The boys broke into laughter, causing y/n to groan. Of course she knew it was going to be difficult to answer questions with the smallest, cutest creatures alive in front of her, but she at least thought she’d be able to answer one question.

“I’m sorrryyy!” Y/n laughed. “Um, I think I’d have to say JD or Drew.”

“Me?” Drew asked with a quirk of his head.

“Yes! It’s just so weird to see you acting like… for lack of better words, a crazy person.” Y/n grinned, her nails scratching the scruff of the gray kitten’s neck.

What’s your favorite behind-the-scenes memory from filming Season 3?

“Oh, probably when Drew dropped me on my ass.” Y/n said, causing Rudy and Chase to laugh at the memory and Drew to shake his head emphatically. They had been filming a scene where Rafe picked up y/n’s character, carrying her over to the couch, however, Drew had miscalculated and dropped y/n straight on the hardwood floor. He had felt so awful, stressing as a pretty gnarly bruise began to form along her back over the week.

“I’m sorry! It was an accident.” Drew groaned, running his fingers through his grown out buzz cut.

“I know, I’m just kidding, baby.” Y/n cooed, pressing a kiss to Drew’s cheek.

If you could create a playlist for your characters, what songs would be on it?

“Do you guys have playlists?” Drew asked, looking between his co-stars. 

“Oh yeah,” Rudy said, patting the head of the kitten sleeping soundly on his stomach.

“I’ve got like a lot of… dark stuff.” Drew chuckled, glancing over at y/n, who was entranced with the gray cat that was still lying politely in her lap. Drew noticed the sparkle in her eye as she tickled the cat playfully, the kitten letting out a small meow.

“Um, a lot of Taylor Swift, of course… some Fleetwood Mac.” Y/n answered, attention still on her new furry friend.

“I think you’ve got a new family member, Starkey.” Chase teased, pointing at the furball in y/n’s lap.

“Oh, yeah, I think Charleston needs a little kitten friend.” Y/n said, blinking her eyes at Drew playfully. Drew said nothing, just grinning and chuckling lightly.

What’s your biggest ick?

“If you don’t like animals.” Rudy said, y/n pointing at him with a nod. At her movement, the small gray cat in her lap leaped off her knee, landing on Drew’s stomach. The kitten crawled up before flopping down on his chest, wide eyes peering up at Drew. Y/n squealed, watching the little cat having a staring contest with big old Starkey.

“I’d say, um, being rude to service people. That’s a big ick.” Drew whispered, his hand moving to rest next to the kitten’s paws.

“I would say hating on people for liking things,” y/n said, scratching the gray cat’s head. “Like, let people like things. Who cares.”

“Yeah, I agree.” Chase said.

If Outer Banks could crossover with any tv show, which show would you choose?

“Seinfeld?” Rudy laughed, the orange cat resting on his lap stirring slightly as his stomach moved as he chuckled.

“I’ve been digging Rings of Powers lately. I think it would be kinda cool to be in Middle Earth.” Drew answered, sitting up slowly, the cat sliding to rest in his arms.

“Alright, nerd.” Chase teased, causing y/n to giggle and Drew to roll his eyes at the jab. Contrary to what his very frat boy-esque exterior may give off, Drew was a nerd at heart, more than okay with spending the night reading Harry Potter or watching Lord of the Rings.

“I’m gonna say, and I think JD and Austin would agree with me, It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia.” Y/n said, the boys humming in agreement.

“I feel like JJ would really get along with the Gang.” Rudy said.

Who was your celebrity crush growing up?

“Robin Williams. I had a huge crush on him growing up.” Rudy answered, petting the kitten in his lap softly. The gray kitten resting in Drew’s arm began to climb up his shirtsleeve, balancing on his forearm as Drew lifted it higher.

“Padme and Anakin in Attack of the Clones were… life changing.” Y/n said, watching the kitten walking carefully across Drew’s arm. One of the kitten’s paws slipped off, causing the kitten to fall and y/n to let out a small yelp. Drew was able to catch the cat’s small body before it fell too far, the cast letting our relieved sighs.

“You saved him.” Chase gasped, Drew lifting to hold the kitten against his chest, a sweet smile on his face. Y/n cooed at the way the kitten rested in Drew’s large hands, resting her head on Drew’s shoulder as the two of them looked down at the cat.

“Hmm,” Drew hummed quietly, “maybe Charleston does need a little friend.”

Y/n grinned, pressing a kiss to Drew’s cheek before squealing excitedly. Y/n turned to Chase, shaking his shoulders excitedly as Chase joined in on her excited squeals.

“Thank you Buzzfeed!” Rudy said, elbowing Drew playfully.

“Yes, thank you Buzzfeed!” Y/n joined, thanking the crew for their new furry friend.

[megumismyhusband]

rin itoshi acts stoic, pretending your affection doesn’t faze him, but his body betrays him. His ears turn red when you kiss his cheek, and his lips quirk into a faint smile when you hug him. If you skip a hug or kiss one day, he’ll brood about it, replaying every moment to figure out if he upset you.

rin who secretly adores seeing you in his clothes. he'll sneaks extra jerseys and hoodies into your wardrobe, pretending they "must've ended up there by accident." he can’t help but smile when he sees you wearing them.

rin sucks at cooking but will attempt to learn how to make your favorite dishes so he could cook them for you whenever you'd like.

the keychain you gave rin? It’s clipped securely to his bag or shoved deep in his pocket when he’s on the field. He touches it before every game for luck, and if he ever loses it, he’ll go into full panic mode.

wanna do his makeup? deal. wanna paint his nails? go ahead. feel the need to put your pretty boyfriend in a dress? he'll let you. but only as long as you agree not to show anyone his baby pictures.

pda isn't rin's style, but in private? he’s all in. he’ll pull you close, tuck your head under his chin, and let you trace random patterns on his chest while you talk about your day.

rin might not always say, "i love you," but his actions speak volumes. from memorizing your coffee order to holding your hand in a crowded room, every little thing he does screams devotion.

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Twenty-Six

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

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

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, Silverstone 2022 accident

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

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

June 2022 

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

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

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

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

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

“You said that about the last four.”

“This one feels better.”

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

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

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

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

“We don’t know that.” 

“We absolutely do.” She glared at him. 

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

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

“I am your fiancé.” He shot back. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lando, do not—”

But it was too late. He was already typing.

And laughing.

And she was completely, undeniably in love with him.

—

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

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

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

Amelia blinked. “Sorry. Hi.”

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

Amelia huffed. “According to Lando? Yes.”

“Well, I don’t think he’s wrong.”

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

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

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

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

“Of course.”

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

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

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

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

Amelia smiled faintly. “The magician was late.”

“But you handled it. You always do.”

Silence fell again, this one comfortable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I ate lunch.”

“Was it a coffee?”

“...Yes.”

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

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

“And if you need help, ask.”

“I am asking.”

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

—

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

Amelia and Pietra looked wildly out of place.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until it wasn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Amelia lit up. “Yes, please!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pietra exhaled. “That’s the one.”

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

— 

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

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

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

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

“Yeah.” She giggled. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My future wife. So specific.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

July 2022

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

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

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

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

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

She looked up at him. “Thanks, Max.”

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

“You nervous?” Max asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Amelia blinked. “So?”

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

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

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

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

“Sounds like a missed opportunity.” He teased. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Amelia lit up. “She did?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Happy tears only,” she agreed. 

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

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

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

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

“Like I said — good wife.”

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What type?”

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

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

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

She tilted her head at him curiously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

Two Weeks Earlier

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pietra hopped up to fetch it.

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

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

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

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

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

“You are.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Amelia let herself laugh, quiet and real.

The survival kit sat neatly between them. 

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

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

Pietra smiled. “Perfect.”

— 

Back To Present

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Susie laughed. “Sounds like heaven.”

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

—

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

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

And then it happened.

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

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

“Red flag, red flag, red flag—”

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

It was silent. Then it was loud.

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

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

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

Minutes passed.

And passed.

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

Nothing.

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

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

The third came with a gentle push of the door.

Max.

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

“I thought you might be here.”

She didn’t lift her head.

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

Still nothing.

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

A few more minutes passed in silence.

Then the door opened again.

Lando.

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

“Hey,” he said softly.

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

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

She finally exhaled. A shaky, exhausted sound.

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

“I know.”

“I keep seeing it. Over and over.”

“I know, baby.”

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

Amelia looked up sharply. “He is?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I hate this part,” she murmured.

“I know,” Max said. “We do too.”

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

Only then did Amelia allow herself to uncurl and nod.

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

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

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

Lando kissed her temple.

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Zhou’s expression softened. 

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

Zhou raised an eyebrow. “You okay now?”

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

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

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

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

She looked back at him.

“Thanks,” he said, quiet and honest.

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

—

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

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

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

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

She frowned. “Not funny.”

He smirked, glancing at her. “Kidding.”

“Good.” She said, rolling her eyes. 

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

Amelia smiled. “This one’s nice.”

Lando glanced sideways. “Reception dance?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They were still holding hands when the song changed again.

—

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

“This is real,” she said softly.

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

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

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

“This okay?” He asked, quietly.

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

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

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

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

She hummed. “You’re going to cry.”

“No, you’re going to cry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

The morning drifted in soft and slow.

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

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

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

He hummed. “Not yet.”

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

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

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

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

Best man. 

Maid of honour. 

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

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

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

He smiled. “And the reception playlist?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lando looked down at her. “The weather?”

“The feeling.”

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

She let herself close her eyes.

Almost married.

—

The world was just beginning to wake-up. 

So was Amelia.

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

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

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

She inhaled softly. “Was it good?”

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

She hummed. “Sounds like Max.”

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

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

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

Lando kissed her forehead. “Me too.”

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Amelia exhaled. “Yeah. Maybe.”

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

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

Amelia took her hand without hesitation.

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

“You really are,” Pietra grinned. 

—

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

“Hi, Dad.”

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

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

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

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

Amelia paused. “You mean the wedding?”

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

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

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

“I know,” she said.

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

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

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

—

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

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

A yellow tie. A yellow handkerchief. 

When Amelia stepped onto the grass, everything fell silent.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

“Lando?” She prompted.

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

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

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

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

A few sniffles rippled from the front row. 

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

Amelia laughed through her tears.

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

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

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

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

Lando was crying again.

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

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

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

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

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

But Lando didn’t wait.

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

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

But Amelia didn’t really hear it.

All of her attention was on him. 

Her Lando. 

Her husband. 

NEXT CHAPTER

[evilminji]

Q.A.B. - 2! Another Eraserhead one!

But THIS time? With either a tourist or Hero Oc of your own creation! Calling this one Caiman Erasure!

Cause! :3c I'm out here~ makin Quirk Accident Designer Babies~ FOR THE FUNSIES! I wanted to see? What "oh SHIT! DODGE!" *fails to dodge* Random Quirk Combo? Would result in a stronger variant of Erasure?

And? May I PRESENT o/ the broad-snouted caiman!

Cousin of the humble alligator. It's south American. And? Probably part of somebody's mutation Quirk like Tsu's Frog quirk! But more IMPORTANTLY? They? :D only have to blink once every TWO HOURS~☆

Imagine it. IMAGINE Eraserhead's lil pscho grin but POINTY and in a jaw that can CRUSH BONE, can clamp down like a BEAR TRAP. A face lined with scales, slit eyes, just as lazy as her dad? Itty bitty baby claws.

Yellow-ish and black scales just like her dad's hair colors, fading into white beneath her wittle chin. Eyes that stare and stare and STARE. Unblinking. Jaw slightly loose to reveal those pointy AF teeth. Zoned out? Staring through you? Staring you DOWN?

Is she asleep with her eyes open again?

You don't KNOW!

Just? Oh GREAT.... Fuckin FANTASTIC! Eraserhead has a DINOSAUR DEMON for a daughter. *horrifying hissing grows from the unblinking swamp thing in a colorful kitty themed jumper* JESUS FUCK!!!! Where did you COME FROM!?

She's in the fuckin VENTS. Can hold her breath for HOURS. Sleeps in pools like a DROWNED CORPSE.

And worst of all?

Her "Make no mistake. I AM the wrath of God come for you" nightmare demon of a homeless man father? Fully supports her ridiculous shenanigans. Something about independence and growth.

They live in FEAR.

All while Eraserhead's carting her around under one arm, limp n dozing, like a purse dog. Sleeping bag under the other. She don't bite, he drawls. (YES SHE DO!!!)

Who the FUCK let this man have kids?

[viintageslut]

Hiiii may I request sevika who by accident hurt readers feelings and have no idea how to apologize but does her best?

Youre the best!!

awww i love this <3

Sevika's not used to all of… this. All of this affection, all of the love — it’s overwhelming, quite frankly. Being with someone who’s pretty much the opposite of her is weird. You’re sweet, sensitive, caring, everything she’s not. Or at least, nothing she considers herself as.

When you start to shut her out, she knows she did something wrong — the thought overwhelms her. Was it the little nudge she gave you this morning after you teased her? Was it the comment she made on your outfit?

When Silco dismissed her from work, she headed to yours like usual. Except instead of planning on greeting you with a hug, she had been working herself up to ask why you’ve been acting so unusual. The second you opened the door, wide eyed and messy hair, she asked — “What did I do? Did I say something? I’m sorry.” You’re a little shocked, overwhelmed with the questions, sure, but it’s sweet.

You’re still angry though. “You really don’t know?” You sigh, your shoulders relaxing despite the tension in the dense air between you two. “This morning. You didn’t say I love you back.” You pouted, and she quirked a brow — Sevika thought it was stupid, that’s what you’re mad about?

“Wait… that’s why you’ve been ignoring me? Because I didn’t say I love you?” She laughed, and you just about slammed the door in her face. “Sevika!” You groaned. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, baby. I love you.” You scoffed, shaking your head. “Not good enough.”

She spent the next week bringing you gifts and showering you in praise, never ever leaving without saying ‘I love you’, having learned her lesson. Of course, you had forgiven her the minute she said sorry and gave you those puppy dog eyes, but you kept it going for a little longer. It was cute watching her navigate an actual healthy relationship.

[everythingspokenfor]

Oh! Lover of mine. Part Ⅰ

Bakugou stares down at the small child, little baby sleeping in the crib, nasogastric tubes looking out of place on his face, soft blond here peaking from underneath the beanie your mom had knitted, you aren't here, at least right now, still hours away in Tokyo working on the mission.

He knows, you visited the baby, he wonders what you thought though, afterall, this baby is exactly what Bakugou imagined your kids would look like, all his features, except they are all softened by your touch, his nose was a carbon copy of yours though, scrunching up in dismay whenever he was fed anything other than Bakugou's homemade baby food.

Biologically, the baby was few months old, but in practicality, he was only few days old, manufactured in a laboratory to be a weapon, someone who had yours and his DNA, someone who was supposed to be a war machine, with quirks combined.

He was found on an accident, a serendipity if you ask Bakugou, despite his origin, to Bakugou it was just a kid, his kid, because he is sentimental like that. For the past few weeks he spend beside Seita, making him baby food, reading him comics, occasionally Seita would hum along him, especially when Bakugou took out his phone and showed him pictures of his mother, you.

The baby gargled in delight, face no longer obstructed by tubes, "Pretty, isn't she?" He slowly swipes the phone, showing him recent news, volume on low. "She's your mama," the baby hums loudly, head shifting slightly towards the illuminated phone screen.

The knock on the door distracts the both from the screen, "The mother would like to meet the baby, Mr. Bakugou." The nurse leaves abruptly, the door closes slowly behind her.

"Your mama is here, fire cracker." He mumbles against Seita's head, before placing him in his crib, "Be good to her, okay?" He swipes away any wrinkles in the small blanket, tidying up the place a little, hopefully you'll think how good of a father he is.

You are already leaning against the glass panel, when he exist the room, "Oh, i didn't know you would be visiting today." He breathed, the narrowing of your eyes told him, you didn't really believe his bullshit, he smiles sheepishly, finding even your annoyance, adorable.

You move swiftly, entering the room to spot Seita, sitting in his crib, playing around with his plethora of toys. He looks over joyed when he spots you, little hands dropping his toys as his arms stretch out towards you.

His gummy smile melting your heart, "How are you doing today, Seita?" You mutter, fingers coming to caress his cheeks, he lets out a squeak, continuing to hum as he played with your fingers.

You feel eyes on yourself, turning your head, you meet Bakugou's eyes, peeking through the glass panel, he turns abruptly, pretending to look through his phone, occasionally stealing glances, hoping you would have looked away.

You sit beside Seita, days worth of exhaustion coming down all at once, maybe you should have slept before coming here. Bakugou walks into the room, you almost get up to leave, "Sit." His voice is soft, and you slid back down, "I came to give you coffee and dinner."

"I don't nee-"

"Ma made it, told me to give it to you." He places the tupperware on the table, and the coffee beside you, "I know you don't like me, but don't show it here, in front of him." He glances at Seita, hands moving automatically to pick him up, giggles escape his lips as soon as Bakugou rubs his nose along his neck, filling up the silence of the room.

You mindlessly pick at the edges of your cup, suddenly contemplating whether you were too harsh on Bakugou, he didn't really deserve your anger, afterall it's not his fault you are still in love with him.

"Foods gonna get cold."

His words pull you out of your stupor, you grab the bag, pulling out the container, it's mapo tofu, the smell enough tells you it's not as spicy as it is supposed to be, meaning, it was not Mitsuki that made it. You grab a pair of chopsticks, and begin devouring nonetheless.

It's silent again, Seita is quiet too, his head resting against Bakugou's chest, chubby little fingers holding onto his collar. "When did you return from Tokyo?" His voice is low, not to disturb the quiet of the room, hands patting gently against Seita's back. "An hour ago."

His brows furrow, as he looks at you again, "Did you come here directly?" He wants to know whether you slept after the mission, did you get time to breathe or the commission send you on another side quest again.

"I did." You hope he can't tell that you haven't slept in days, dirt and soot clings to your skin even though you took a shower, barely long enough to clean you superficially. Exhaustion has seeped into your bones, "I slept during the train ride though."

"You sure did." His tone was a dead giveaway, he wasn't buying it, but he doesn't instigate further.

You get back to eating, chewing slowly as you savour the food, you missed his cooking, there were instances where you had the opportunity to eat it, on get togethers and birthdays, but you never ate it, mostly because of your ego, partly because you knew it would hurt him.

He settles beside you, Seita fast asleep in his arms, "Does he always fall asleep that easily with you?" You mutter, remembering the last time tried to put him to sleep he cried hard enough to throw up on you, before promptly going to sleep, leaving you exhausted and stinky.

"He does, when he is with me," he mumbles back, pressing a kiss against his temple, you watch his lips quirk up, instantly knowing he is going to say something cheeky, "He takes after his mother I assume."

He recalls all those nights when you would be restless, initially tossing and turning, before settling down and staring at the ceiling, not wanting to bother him, it took him few days before he figured your sleeping tendencies (or lackof). The best time it happened, he simply pulled you close, tucking your head in the crook of his neck, running his fingers through your hairs, instantly easing you into sleep.

"I suppose he does." You response leaves him shocked, he assumed you would disregard the comment, not wanting to be reminded of your past together. "Do you- have you signed the papers yet?" You change the question mid-sentence, of course he'd want to be in Seita's life.

"I have." He rests his head against the headpiece of the couch, "But it's useless if only one parent takes the custody, commission won't let him leave until we both have signed." He shifts slightly, facing you completely, you knew the only we Seita is treated as a normal child inside of an experiment would be presence of his parents.

Thus, you decided to co-parent with Bakugou. It can't be that bad now.

Dividers by: @/diviniyae

Sooooo, I have started a new series, as you can tell. I am working on the work hours fic, I'll post it next probably. As for the last series I started we'll have to name it and get to part 3, I'll do that later next week. Plus I have exams in May so I kinda have to lock in, mommy is tweaking cause syllabus is complete and I haven't even started studying , welp it is what it is, I'll post few fics before I disappear for a while. Anyways take care peeps, and have a good day. 🕊️ 🕊️ 🕊️

[m4y4wasnthere]

dating hc’s

k.bkg x f!reader

warnings: cursing

a/n: my first k.bkg post !!😋 this is a bit short because i wanted a quick writing break from all the outsiders stuff

✩₊˚.⋆💥⋆⁺₊✧

very loyal; he holds himself up high, theres no way he would ever cheat on someone

not very pda like during his highschool years, most he would do is hold your hand but kisses and hugs are not likely during school

loves to brag about you subtly

“what do you mean shes weak? y/n’s more capable of beating me then any of you extras !”

“tch, talk bad about her one more time and ill kick your ass.”

even with a girlfriend, he still goes to bed at 8pm, he’ll try forcing you to do the same

“dumbass if you keep sleeping late (10pm mind you.) then you’ll start lacking in training.”

secretly loves whenever you steal his clothes and wears it around him, especially if its in the common room

gets jealous super easily, doesn’t matter if you’ve known a guy since childhood, he’ll never trust any guy around you (he wouldn’t tell you unless it becomes an issue)

hes actually bad at comforting. during highschool, hes not the best at understanding emotions. he would try his best but it might not be enough for everyone.

“stop overthinking dumbass, your stupid if you think i’d ever look at someone else.”

“you seriously think your not pretty enough for me? you must be sick in the head.”

the only way he’d actually date you is if you were capable of taking him on in a fight.

loves to cook for you, not that he’d admit it. he would sometimes leave bentos of food outside your door, coincidentally your favorite dishes

only wants to spar with you or the baku squad, anyone else would have to be because of class

the first one to visit you if you ever got injured

was scared to hold your hand at first because he’s naturally sweaty but you didnt mind at all

would be even cuter if your quirk made you naturally more dry; making you love to hold his hand

doesn’t use any ‘exotic’ pet names, mostly uses your name or baby/babe, once in a blue moon he would say sweetheart

“im going down to the store later, do you want me to get you anything y/n?”

“tch, keep cutting your vegetables like that and you’re gonna cut your hand. give me the knife baby.”

a lot of stay home movie dates, because you need to get authorized to leave the dorms, most of the time you guys just watch stuff in each other’s dorms

your first kiss was on accident. bakugou tripped and fell on your face during sparring

doesnt like people touching his hair or styling it but he would allow you to play with it

because of the fact hes trying to be the #1 hero, it might seem like he has no time for you, but if you tell him he’ll just say your dumb for thinking that and give you a kiss on the forehead

loves being the big spoon because it makes him feel like he can protect you

tries to teach you how to cook but he always ends up taking over

loves being affectionate behind closed doors after not doing an pda the whole day

has your contact name as mrs. explosion murder 🧡💥 or just y/n 🧡

was super scared during his kidnapping because of the fact he didn’t know if he would see you again

✩₊˚.⋆💥⋆⁺₊✧

[sincerelyrki]

pretty baby

Jake’s pretty baby makes the prettiest sounds, it’s only fair that the others get to hear them too.

pairing : bf!jake x fem!reader

warnings + genre : smut. exhibition. hand job. fingering. only includes the hyung line. 18+.

wc : 844

a/n : this took everything in me to post, i get way too shy to write stuff like this TT but thoughts? pls let me know how i did <3

“Can I touch you?” You kept your gaze locked on the movie playing across the room, your ears hot as you attempted to ignore your needy boyfriend.

Jake quietly whined in your ear at your ignorance, his need for you growing the longer your hand jerked him off. 

He raised his hips to push himself further into your palm, soft gasps leaving his lips as he felt your hand tighten around him. 

“Please, I need to feel you.” Jake’s lips gently nipped at your ear as he pushed himself completely against you, your slow caresses halting as he trapped your hand between his thighs and your hip.  

You once again tightened your hand around him, squeezing him with a warning.

Jake hissed in pain, his lower body slightly flinching away from you in shock. 

Without drawing attention to yourself you turned your head towards your boyfriend, his pitiful state causing your satisfaction to swell along your arms. 

Your newfound goosebumps were nothing compared to the way your body reacted to his next actions, your head snapping around to glance around the room to check if anyone had noticed your slip up.

Jake gave you a sly smile, moving his hand further up the front of your shirt. He took advantage of your cautionary glances, cupping one of your breasts with one of his hands before snaking the other one behind your back.

Your jaw clenched as you felt your bra come undone, being supported by nothing but Jake’s hand pressing against you. 

“Sorry, it was an accident.” Jake winked at you as he removed his hand from your shirt, your bra held in his hands as he leaned away from you.

“The others will hear.” You gave up, leaning forward after him. Jake allowed you to lean into him, his free hand reaching out to pull one of your legs over his. 

“Not if you’re quiet” He teased you, one side of his mouth quirking into a smirk as he tilted his head at you. “You can be quiet, can’t you?”

It was almost humorous how fast Jake was able to switch the rolls, controlling you by the palm of his hand as he pushed you into a submissive headspace. 

You confidently nodded at him, your certainty fading the second his fingers wrapped around your knee. “We don’t want anyone to see how dirty my girl can be, that’s for my eyes only.”

Through the dimmed room it was nearly impossible to see Jake’s hands, the light’s reflection on his rings being the only proof of his hands touching your skin.

“But it seems it’s too late for that, hm?” Jake whispered in your ears, his fingers reaching your underwear as he stared at a spot across from you.

“Heeseung seems to be really enjoying this, his poor of an excuse blanket is doing nothing to hide it.” You say frozen in spot, legs spread under the blanket as your boyfriend's fingers circled shapes against your upper thigh.

“My pretty baby makes the prettiest sounds, should we show him?” Jake pushed your underwear to the side, slotting his fingers between you as his fingertips slid down your most sensitive part.

Your head dropped down as he pushed his fingers into you, his thumb coming up to rub against you as he slowly moved his wrist. 

After a long minute of hiding your sounds, you accidentally choked out a quiet moan, your bitten lips dropping at a harder thrust. “Might as well give them all a show, let them hear you.”

Jake used his other hand to grab your jaw, turning your head towards the three men sitting on the couch beside you. “Let me hear you.” A strangled whimper left your lips at the messy sight that greeted you.

Three pairs of eyes were glued to the blanket across your legs, doing nothing to hide the movements happening beneath it. 

If possible, you grew even shyer as the three men turned their eyes toward your face instead. 

You could see Sunghoon adjusting in his seat, his legs spreading as he fixed his pants. He tried acting like he never saw the two of you, turning his head towards the forgotten movie playing. If it wasn’t for the harsh gulp that followed, he almost could’ve fooled a blind man. 

“Fucking pervs” Jake scoffed out a laugh, his hand speeding up as he finally removed the blanket concealing you from the others.

“Holy shit” Jay’s jaw dropped, his eyes glaring holes into your skin as his eyes wandered all across your bottom half. A strained exhale left his lips at the sight of your inner thighs.

A mixture of red and purple painted your skin, and various hickeys littered across the strip of skin that was hidden by your pulled-up skirt. 

“You have such pretty panties, but I think they’d appreciate the sight more if you got rid of them.” Jake blew cool air into your ear, his free hand pressing against your lower stomach. 

“Show them how pretty you are for me?” And you did. 

[chaepink]

Hi! Could I request something? Overstimming Todoroki by letting him ride your strap for god knows how long, gripping onto his hips or thighs, pushing him back down on your strap if he even attempts to stop !

dom!reader, overstimulation, dacryphillia, pegging

note : overstimulating pretty boys >>>

"p-please, [name]!" Todoroki can't tell what he's begging for anymore. You've been overstimulating him for so long that he doesn't know whether he wants you to let him cum again or for you to stop fucking him.

Though when your strap just hits all the right places in him that makes his eyes roll back and head throw backwards, he's thinking that he wants the former rather than the latter.

You raise a eyebrow at him. "Please what todoroki?" With your hands lightly on his hips, you're really barely doing any of the work. Whether he realizes it or not, todoroki is the one who's making himself cum over and over again. You're just sitting back and enjoying the show, really.

"C-Can you- ah! l-let me cum? please?"

You see his movements starting to slow down, probably tired from riding your strap for god knows how long. And so you do him a favor by grabbing his hips tighter, lifting him up until the strap is barely in him, before slamming him back down on it.

"yeah? you still want to cum after already doing so three times already?"

Todoroki cries out and grips the sheets underneath him tightly and you suddenly feel cold.

Glancing at the sheets underneath you as you continue to fuck into him, you see specks and shards of ice around where his hands are and you assume that todoroki must have activated his quirk on accident. He's so dumbed down and overstimulated that he didn't even realize, you realize.

"Shit, maybe i should overstimulate you more often, baby."

ty for reading to the end! ❤ - chaepink

╰┈➤ masterlist | rules

[clairewritesfanfics]

A-Z Fluff Alphabet: Omni Mark Grayson

author’s note: The alphabet here is an amalgamation of fluff templates from the following writers: @themarauderstheoutsidersandpeggy, @snk-warrior, @queervibesmydude and @imagineimagineimagine, and my own personal additions.

Adoration: What does he can’t help but gush about you? 

Your eyes that see his most pathetic sides and still shine with pure affection. Eyes that trust and love him wholeheartedly.

Baby: Does he want a family? 

Maybe. His dad screwed him up so badly he couldn’t even picture himself with a romantic partner, let alone raising children. But having you in his life means he’s doing better.

Comfort: How does he help you when you’re down or stressed?

He knows you’ll talk when you’re ready, so he will simply brew your favorite beverage and set up a nest for you in front of the TV. All your favorite shows and movies and podcasts are already queued in. 

Dates: What are his ideal dates?

Quiet, classy and low-key. His favorite is an evening meal at a fancy restaurant, no fuss, there is just you and him enjoying each other’s company. 

Everything: You are his __________.

You are his peace, his quiet in the storm. When the whole world is falling apart and the noise is too much, he finds solace just by being in the same room as you. 

Fight: How often do you argue? How does he handle the fight itself and its aftermath?

Not a lot, not even jokingly. He tends to give way to your desires, simply because your happiness is his happiness. The only times he gets angry is when you do something reckless, like not sleeping enough or overeating junk food. He loves you, he wants you to live a long life, so please take care of yourself. 

Gifts: Does he spoil you?

Yes. He has a lot of money and barely has any use for it. He’s not the type to buy you random trinkets though, his gifts are more in line with giant bouquets from Japan and wine from France.

Honesty: Does he keep a lot of secrets from you? Are they white lies or do they hide world-shattering truths?

He likes to keep his professional and private lives separate, so there is information that he won’t share with you. He’s also the type of person who prefers to keep his problems to himself, because that’s what “men do,” but after discussing it with you he’s trying to open up more.

Injury: What’s his reaction when he finds you physically hurt?

He keeps his composure long enough to get you the medical attention you need while his mind pieces together what happens. If it was a genuine accident, and you beg him to let it go, then fine, he will. But if it was intentional? No hesitation, no monologuing–that person is dead.

Jealousy: Is he a green-eyed monster?

He’s mature in many ways, but not when it comes to this. He gets moody when you start talking about anyone for too long. 

Kiss: Describe the way he kisses you.

Cradles your face between his palms while he steals your breath away. 

Longing: Who fell first? How did you two get together?

He’s tall, dark, handsome; has that brooding and mysterious vibe down pat–of course, you fell first. But he fell harder. 

Marriage: Does he want to be your husband?

Naturally. Some people think that marriage is just a piece of paper, but for him, it’s another way to bind you to his side.

Nightmare: What is his greatest fear?

Your inevitable death. His kind can live eternities, yet cursed with a heart that can love transient things.

On Cloud Nine: Is it obvious to tell when he is happy?

For outsiders? No. Not even a little bit. The man has the poker face. Everyone is baffled when you tell them that “of course, he’s happy, can’t you tell from his smile?” while gesturing at his hard expression.

PDA: Yes or no? If yes, to what degree?

No. He won’t be opposed to a quick peck on the cheek or lips, but he isn’t a hand holder and definitely not the type to wrap himself around you while in public.

Quirk: What is a habit, skill or interest of his that surprises people?

He has a sweet tooth and his favorite dessert is sakura mochi, a Japanese rice cake with a red bean paste filling. He doesn’t like black coffee. He has no problem with matcha though, maybe because it tastes great with the mochi. 

Rhythm: What’s his favorite song or genre of music?

It’s rock music or nothing else.

Spa: What helps him relax?

When he is off work, he is off work. The only reason he would fight a supervillain or mediate a natural disaster 

Thrill: Do you two try out new things to give spice to the relationship? Or do you stick to your routine?

You’re predictable to each other, which he adores. You buy him a second bottle of hair gel without him even asking and at restaurants, he orders for you because you trust that he knows what you like. His work gives him a lot of surprises already, he doesn’t need any more excitement than that. 

Upset: What is he like when he is in a bad mood?

Even more reserved than usual. He answers in grunts and has a hard time keeping eye contact. When he’s in a really bad mood then he will leave to cool down, not for too long, because then you’ll get sad.

Value: How important is the relationship to him?

So much that he cannot picture a life without you in it. 

Wild Card: Random fluff headcanon

He will not leave for work unless you kiss him. 

XOXO: How affectionate is he?

A lot, just not in a physical or verbal sense. He never forgets anniversaries and other special dates, he never misses appointments with you, and he cleans up around the house when he notices that you’re tired.

Yearning: How does he cope when you two are apart?

He despises overtime. He’s no early bird either–he’s one of those control freaks who arrives exactly as agreed upon; if you tell him that a meeting starts at 8:00, he will arrive at 8:00, not 7:59, not 8:01, but 8:00 sharp. He wasn’t always this strict with his schedule, after all, for someone like him, time was endless. 

Zebra: If he wanted a pet, what would he get?

When he was younger–as in, half his current height younger–he found a bird in the front yard. It was a release dove, so it wasn’t afraid of him, it trusted Mark enough to let him pet its head. It was Mark’s first and only friend. But one day, after school, it was gone from its clumsily made birdhouse. That evening, his parents had beef, Mark had poultry. Nolan forced him to finish everything. To this day, Mark can’t even stand the smell of fried chicken.

MASTERLIST | request rules | ask box

Other Fluff Alphabet for Mark Grayson Variants:

Mohawk