#there really is so much more that can be said

[lechrts]

Sweet Tea. ✷ Lando Norris

Pairing: Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: When Lando tries to find forgiveness after an argument through acts of service.

Word Count: 1.3k

Disclaimer/s: established rel, fluff, kinda angst…. ish.

Vera’s Voice! Hi. this was fun to write :3 hope u enjoy mama ^_^ the lando oneshot grind doesn’t stop.

The hum of the heating system filled the stillness of the apartment. It wasn’t exactly peaceful—more like tense, suffocating, and heavy.

You sat curled up on the couch, a blanket wrapped tightly around your shoulders, your phone glowing faintly in your hands. You scrolled aimlessly, not really reading anything, but it was better than thinking about the argument that had left you and Lando in this standoff.

From the corner of your eye, you saw him pacing between the living room and the kitchen. He wasn’t saying anything—he hadn’t since you’d gone quiet—but his restless movements said enough.

He hated silence, especially when it was because of you.

The fight hadn’t started as anything serious, just a playful back-and-forth after a long day. But his teasing had crossed a line without him realizing it, and you’d snapped.

“You don’t need to be so dramatic about everything,” He said, half-laughing, when you’d voiced your frustrations about something that had been bothering you for days.

The words had stung, lodging themselves deep in your chest. You didn’t know if it was the dismissive tone, the laughter, or just the stress of the week catching up to you, but you’d shut down completely after that.

No sarcastic comeback, no explanation, just cold, steely silence.

And Lando?

He hadn’t done much to help himself. Instead of apologizing, he’d groaned, muttering, “Oh, come on, don’t do this,” as if your feelings were an inconvenience to him.

That was what had really sealed it.

So now you were here, refusing to meet his eyes, letting the silence stretch longer and longer.

From the kitchen came the faint clink of dishes. You glanced up briefly, noticing Lando hunched over the counter, his brows furrowed in concentration.

He was making something.

But what?

You couldn’t quite tell.

You wanted to stay mad—wanted him to feel the weight of how much his words had hurt—but curiosity gnawed at you.

Lando wasn’t exactly a chef, and him fumbling around in the kitchen was unusual.

A few minutes later, his footsteps padded softly toward you. He stopped just in front of the couch, hesitating before placing a small plate on the coffee table.

Beside it, a steaming mug of tea.

You looked down, your stomach tightening at the sight. It was your favorite treat, carefully prepared just the way you liked it.

The tea even seemed to have the right amount of honey—he must’ve measured it out because he always teased you for how sweet you liked it.

“Here,” Hr said quietly, his voice almost timid. “I, uh… I thought you might be hungry.”

You stared at the plate for a moment, then looked up at him. His hands were stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie, his lips pressed into a tight line.

“I’m sorry,” He added quickly, before you could say anything. “I was a complete ass earlier. I didn’t mean to brush you off like that—I wasn’t thinking.”

You didn’t say anything, though the sincerity in his voice made your chest ache. Instead, you reached for the mug, cradling it in your hands.

Lando shifted awkwardly, like he wasn’t sure whether to stay or give you space.

After a moment, he sighed, running a hand through his messy curls. “I don’t like seeing you upset. Especially when it’s my fault. I know I messed up, but I hate this—” He gestured vaguely between the two of you, “—this cold shoulder thing. Can we please talk?”

You finally set the mug back down, fixing him with a pointed look. “Talk? Like how we talked earlier and you laughed at me?”

He winced, guilt flashing across his face. “I didn’t mean it like that. I thought I was being funny, but I wasn’t. I didn’t realize how much it was bothering you. That’s on me.”

“You made me feel stupid for being upset,” You said quietly, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “Like I was overreacting.”

His expression softened, and he dropped onto the couch beside you, careful to keep some space between you. “You weren’t overreacting,” He said, his voice low. “I swear, I didn’t mean to make you feel that way. I was just being an idiot. You know I’m terrible at serious conversations.”

“That’s not an excuse, Lando.”

“I know,” He said quickly. “I know. I’m not trying to make excuses. I just… I’m sorry. Really. I should’ve listened instead of brushing you off.”

You let out a soft sigh, your fingers tightening around the edge of the blanket. Part of you wanted to hold onto the anger, to make him sweat a little longer, but the vulnerability in his voice was breaking down your walls.

Lando reached out hesitantly, his fingers brushing against your knee. “I’ll do better,” he sighed, his voice almost a whisper. “I don’t want to make you feel like that again.”

You glanced at him, taking in the way his brows were knit together, the way his lips were pressed into a thin line. He looked genuinely remorseful, and your heart softened despite yourself.

“I just want you to take me seriously,” You said quietly.

“I will,” he promised, his hand gently resting on your knee now. “I mean it.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, finally, you let out a small sigh. “Okay.”

His head shot up, hope sparking in his eyes. “Okay?”

“Okay,” you repeated, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. “But don’t think this means you’re off the hook.”

He grinned, leaning in slightly. “Noted.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t pull away when he shifted closer, his hand sliding up to your cheek. “I’m sorry again.” He muttered as he shifted even closer.

You didn’t answer, but the way you leaned into him was all the permission he needed. His lips brushed against yours, soft and tentative at first, then firmer as you kissed him back.

When you finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, a soft smile playing on his lips. “Are you still mad at me?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “When am I never mad at you.” Rolling your eyes as you slightly joked. “But, seriously. I am still a little mad.”

He grinned, pressing another quick kiss to your temple before pulling you into a warm hug. “I’ll take what I can get,” he murmured, his arms wrapping tightly around you.

As you leaned into his embrace, the weight of the argument melted away, leaving only the warmth of his love—and the promise to do better.

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tags! @planetpedri @halfwayhearted @wdcbox @freyathehuntress

[caldella]

SINSMAS SPOILERS AHEAD

Fan theory time!

This part of this episode had me SCREAMING because I hope they're hinting at a headcanon/theory I've had for a long time!

The way this scene was such a DIRECT callback to S1E1 Muder Family, down to looking through a window and one of them being hesitant to go through with the job because there's a happy family?

In Murder Family it was the same situation (murdering someone responsible for a marriage falling apart), but Blitzø didn't think anything of it even though he had done the same with Stolas. Blitzø and Stolas' situationship vs. Stella could've well been a Martha and Mrs. Mayberry situation, if you remove the later knowledge he and the viewers didn't have at first. Mrs. Mayberry as a client could have very well been a Stella if we didn't know the context later in the episode said otherwise. Mrs. Mayberry was more angry that the public viewed Martha as a hero for surviving being shot than anything else.

And the entire Sinsmas mission making Blitzø hesitant, because now he's realizing that he relates to his target? Like, suddenly he's examining that his revenge murder stuff isn't always the best solution, and this might be hurting someone who has been through shit and should be happy? That he could be killing a Stolas or a Blitzø? That he could be ruining a family of kids like Loona and Via who don't deserve it?

That maybe like he's been doing with his personal life, he should be asking some more questions about the impact of the jobs he's taking on, too? Add in the way Blitzø insists constantly that he's an assassin, not a bodyguard, but he is super protective of his loved ones and has proven to be really, really good at saving people...

Incoming IMP revolution theories might mess this up, but I am going to be SO, SO HAPPY if the eventual end-of-show route for IMP is that they transfer from murder to being bodyguards for hire. Like IMP is now Imminent Murder Prevention or something. Blitz is getting over his mentality that he can only make people's lives worse, and what better symbolism for that than his entire company eventually being devoted to protecting/saving people instead of destroying them?

They still get to fight/shoot/kill if needed, but to help instead of harm. The absolute symbolism. The way that would probably be really good for Blitzø's mental health once he makes that connection because he loves helping people he likes or thinks need it. Moxxie might like it, too. Just everything about this possibility.

I would love it SO MUCH.

[ssahotchnerr]

pleasepleaseplease, if you're willing ofc 🫶, can we get a little something where jack is trying his absolute hardest to get hotch and r together during the christmas season?! (i can only imagine the romcom chaos and deliciousness that'll involve haha!) 🙏❤️🎄

mistletoe mischief

the dream!!!!! & jack receives some assistance from morgan also :) cw; bau fem!reader, mutual pining, mentions of food, typical cm case talk, bau family banter, feelings realized (with some making out <3), fluff 🤭 wc; 1.5k

It had become tradition for everyone to go to Dave's house for Christmas Eve. And that meant everyone - the team, the kids, partners. The more the merrier.

It was a time to enjoy each other's company, laugh, exchange gifts and indulge in delicious food and treats. It was a nice reprieve from the hectic stress that the holidays brought, and everyone was happy to have it.

Whereas Jack had a different approach to the night. He had decided, that tonight would be the night you and his dad got together. He would make sure of it.

Only, it wasn't as easy as he thought.

All night Jack's done what he could, in hopes of initiating something between the two of you. Dinner was easy, he had sweetly asked you to switch seats with him - how could you have possibly said no? He persuaded his father to team up with you for the 'reindeer games', like holiday bingo, or unscrambling Christmas songs. That had been a small victory; Aaron giving you a celebratory hug when you were the first to call bingo.

But it still wasn't what he hoped. Things like that worked at school, if someone had a crush on another - they sat together in the cafeteria, they teamed up as partners in class, they played together at recess. (Sadly it was snowing outside, and Uncle Dave didn't have a swing set.)

Defeated, Jack found himself slouching on the couch, pouting alone.

Morgan had been the first to notice his minor sulking, making his way over. "What's on your mind big man?"

"Nothing." He mumbled under his breath, picking at the cookies on the plate you had put together for him.

"Nothing? For someone Santa's visiting tonight, you don't look very excited." He sat down, giving Jack's shoulder a pat, an invitation to open up. "Wanna tell me what's up?"

Jack kept his eyes on his treats, toying with the idea of sharing before sighing, asking if Dad liked you. Like really, liked you.

Derek's lips pursed. His expression changed to one of uncertainty, mulling over the situation.

"That's the million dollar question right there. We think so," Derek confessed, thinking back to all the times where you and Aaron seemed much too comfortable. The constant, lingering stares. Aaron going soft on you at times. The fear in your eyes when Hotch had encountered an unsub at gunpoint. This had occurred recently, and afterwards when Hotch was deemed safe and sound, you had refused to leave his side altogether.

"What have you seen? I'm sure you know what's going on more than the rest of us."

Jack nodded, perking up slightly at his uncle's vague admittance. His lips pulled into a smile, "Well, she is over a lot."

Derek grinned, his head tilting to the side. "Really."

"Yeah," Jack took a bite of his cookie. "We have a lot of fun. She brings over pizza for movie night every Friday if she and Dad aren't working. Cheese for me. Pepperoni and sausage for her and Dad."

"They share, huh?"

"And then Dad spent a lot of time picking out her Christmas present. But they haven't kissed." Jack sighed frustratedly, an innocent confusion on his face. "That's what grown ups do when they love each other, right?"

"It is pretty standard," Derek affirmed, amused himself at the confirmation something was, in fact, going on. It's only been driving the team crazy for weeks.

He, as well as the others, have confronted you about it numerous times, knowing that if they went to Hotch instead, he would confess nothing. But you reacted similarly. A shrug and a "just friends" before switching to a different topic.

"I tried all night too." Jack's bottom lip protruded in a pout once more. "But nothing works."

"Well..." A smile formed on Derek's face. "Maybe you just need a little extra help."

-

"Rally up the troops." Penelope clapped at you, to which you snorted an airy laugh through your nose. "Don't just sit there. I have been shopping since Halloween and I've masterly selected each and every gift and I have been itching to see all your reactions. I almost gave you yours two weeks ago."

"Okay, okay," You surrendered, throwing your hands up. You knew better than to face Penelope's driven wrath.

"You better," Her expression was sharp, pointing a warning finger at you. She hurried away as another laugh escaped you, while you also opted to take one more drink.

As she left the room, Jack entered.

"Hey Jackers," Your face brightened at the sight of him, putting your drink aside. "I heard it's almost time for presents." You raised your eyebrows, a soft smile on your face. "You excited?"

Jack nodded, a glint in his eyes. It was rather mischievous, similar to the one he gave Aaron when he wanted to delay going to bed early, only much more so. "Can you help me with something first?"

"Of course I can," You agreed within a split second's notice. Jack grabbed your hand and led you away just as fast. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah."

He led you towards Dave's foyer. It was dimly lit, shoes scattered amongst the welcome mat. God forbid someone stained Dave's carpeting.

Aaron and Morgan were just coming back inside; Aaron looked a bit agitated, per usual, while Derek was sporting his famous, cheeky grin.

" - I don't know why you would say that." Aaron continued, tossing an annoyed look over his shoulder to Morgan. As his gaze returned forward, and made eye contact with you, the softness in his face returned instantly.

"Is everything okay?" You wondered, eyebrows furrowing in confusion as you and Jack came to a stop.

"Morgan said my car alarm was going off." Aaron shoved his keys back into his pocket, leaving Morgan's side and favoring yours. "And evidently lied."

"Lied?" A laugh escaped you, perplexedly looking at Morgan, seeking an explanation as well.

"My bad." He waved it off, giving Jack a wink. That was suspicious, but he switched topics before anything could be said. "Oh, would you look at that."

His hand raised, his index finger pointing upwards, directing right between you and Aaron. Both your gazes followed.

Mistletoe.

Oh.

Your eyes shot to Derek's, wide and surprised. In contrast, Aaron's face remained neutral, but a deep blush was growing on his cheeks, as well tinting his ears.

"Well, we'll leave you two to it." He left it at that, shrugging nonchalantly before gesturing Jack away.

"What... Jack?" You started, turning around. "I thought you needed..."

The two of them were gone before you could finish your sentence. However, you did view the tail end of Derek giving Jack a high five.

So, they had been in cahoots. You scoffed a laugh, shaking your head.

Now alone, your eyes connected with Aaron's, who was standing there rather anxiously. Naturally, there was a touch of tension in the air, but it wasn't awkward by any means. A mutual excitement, as well as relief. An electricity.

Aaron hadn't been anxious, but buzzing with anticipation.

You've been wanting to kiss him. He's been yearning to kiss you. The time had just never been right, nor had it the perfect moment. In addition, there was always the fear of rejection.

And suddenly you felt like an idiot for even contemplating such, because from the longing you noticed within his pupils, you've always been on the same page.

Aaron chucked, stating the obvious and peering back up at the mistletoe. "I think we were set up."

"You don't say." You quipped in response, a nervous laugh escaping you. Oh my god was repeatedly circling in your head. You shifted your weight from one foot to another. There was so much you wanted to say, having gone through the potential conversation in your mind more times than you could count. But now, as the opportunity finally presented itself - nothing.

Aaron on the other hand, simply decided to show you.

He wasted no time - his confidence was quite literally the hottest thing you could fathom. All in one smooth motion, his hand cupped your cheek and he placed his lips firmly onto yours.

A spark of energy rushed through you, the both of you in fact. Every nerve in your body was suddenly alive and heightened. Your fingers clutched onto the sides of his shirt, reciprocating the passion.

Aaron's kiss was gentle, his fingertips rough but incredibly soft where they rest against your skin. It made sense, it mirrored him perfectly. A hard exterior, but tender underneath.

And longing to be even closer, Aaron shoved you lightly against the wall, slotting a leg between your thighs. That way, he could lose himself more into you, and you could fully succumb to him.

Your head was fuzzy, feeling lightheaded in the best way possible as your heart fluttered in your chest. Now that Aaron had kissed you, you were done for. From now on, you refused to go each day without receiving another. You couldn't.

"We're missing presents." You teased once the two of you pulled away for air, cheeks flushed. And immediately missing his contact, your lips easily found their way back to his. You could feel his smile, a happy sigh leaving him.

"They can wait."

[captain-huggy-bear]

The Teacher's Always Right

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: N/A

Summary: Your students badger you about your relationship status and you let slip you're dating a hockey player who plays for the Vancouver Canucks. They don't believe you, you're petty enough to arrange a school trip to Rogers Arena just to prove your point.

Notes: Very self-indulgent of me as someone who teaches teenagers for a living and regularly gets questioned on my relationship status. They really do bully you (affectionately).

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

You're in the middle of teaching your high schoolers about the fur trade in colonial Canada, mid-speech, arms spread wide as you gesture to your powerpoint when a teenage voice interrupts you.

"Miss, are you married?" It's David, sat at the back, legs stretched out as far as he can reach them. He's ironically enough wearing a Canucks jersey, specifically Number 43...a very, very familiar number to you. As is the question. In your years of teaching this isn't the first time you've been interrupted to be questioned on your relationship status, in fact it happens multiple times a year. Each set of students eager to know why you're a miss and if you'll be a mrs soon and are going to be leaving them to have a baby. When you were single, the questions were usually why?

"No." You've gotten rather good at deflecting or at least not letting slip the reality of your relationship, usually finding out you're not single is enough for them, but there's something about David's attitude that screams persistant curiosity. It makes you wonder why you bother teaching your subject at all when he's more curious about your love life than History itself

"Do you have boyfriend?"

"Yes, does this have anything to do with British colonisation or the fur trade or....?" You lean back on your desk, board pen landing gently on the surface, knowing that you're not going to be free of this conversation for at least another 2 minutes.

"What's your boyfriend do?" You breathe a deep sigh and look around the room, you don't want to get into who your boyfriend is. It's not like its a well known fact that you're dating the captain of the Vancouver Canucks and you try to keep it that way. Not because you're ashamed but because its your private life, school and home, those are as separate as you can make them. It would be impossible to do that if everyone was talking about your relationship, although you know eventually it'll become more public.

Stacy from one of the desk by the windows chimes in this time, curiosity peaked, dragging her away from her current hobby of staring out the window in boredom, "C'mon, miss, it can't be that bad? What? Is he like unemployed or something?" She says while chewing loudly on a wad of gum.

"Gum in the bin, Stacy." Her chewing stops and she slumps as she stomps her way to your classroom bin, spitting the gum in with a roll of her eyes.

"So? Is he unemployed?" You decide to answer the question, only because Stacy actually did what you said this time. You hated gum in the classroom, mostly because it always ended up on the bottom of your shoes and made them stick to the floor as you walked. You wouldn't mind it so much if they could all just throw it away normally.

"No. He's got a job, a good job." A really good job, a ridiculously good job actually. You didn't talk money with Quinn much, but the reality was that he made an amount in a year that you would never make in a life time as a teacher.

"Sooo???" David interjects, leaning forward now in his seat, clearly not happy enough to just know your boyfriend isn't some unemployed bum.

"He's a hockey player."

"Like beer league?"

"No. Like NHL." You watch your classes faces in what feels like slow motion, the series of disbelieving looks, wide eyes and raised eyebrows that are quickly followed by a chorus of objections and claims that you can't be telling the truth.

"Nah, no way! You're not here, teaching us, and dating a guy who makes millions, nah." It's actually frustrating, it shouldn't be. You've literally had students throw tables at you and yet, the idea that they think you are a liar is what makes you frustrated. Is it really that hard to believe that you enjoy your job and don't want to scrounge off of your pro-athlete boyfriend? Or that hard to believe that you managed to snag a pro-athlete in the first place?

"You don't believe me?"

"Nah, like if you are, he's gotta be in some really bad team in the US." You're already formulating a plan to prove to your students that you're not lying and not dating a shit NHL player. Sure, the plan involves a lot more work for you, but the idea is in your head and you can't help but think that it'll be worth it.

"He's a Canuck." You smirk a little, knowing the mention of the local team would get a response. Most of the kids you teach go to at least one game a year or watch it on TV. Some have even seen you at the games, but you always sit in the stands like a regular fan. Mostly because Quinn can't really talk to you anyway when he's locked into a game. You'd serve as more of a distraction if you sat front and centre every game.

"No, no way!" David stands, slamming his hands on his desk, "You're lying!" Half the class echo his claims that you must be lying and it makes you even more determined to prove them wrong. Do you really need to prove to a bunch of teenagers that you're dating an NHL player? No, do you want to? Absolutely.

"Fine, don't believe me, but i'm not lying. I'm dating a Vancouver Canuck."

It takes a little to get them all back on track with the lesson but you manage it. Although you're just as distracted. The moment the bell goes to signal lunch break and your classroom empties, you're on your phone calling your boyfriend, even though you know he's probably in the middle of practice.

He answers on the second ring, the sound of the rink in the background loud and clear as pucks hit the sideboards and skates scratch up the ice.

"Hey, baby, everything okay?" It's unusual for you to call him in the work day and you can hear the worry in his voice, even if he'll pretend he's not worried at seeing your name pop up when you should be working.

"Hey, I'm fine, don't worry...but...you know how you love me?" You fiddle with a little wooden bear that sits on your desk. Quinn bought you it after finding out your favourite animals were any type of bear, it's left ear is broken off and it's got a little bit of red paint where it fell on a floor one time, but you love it anyway.

"Uh huh?" The worry in his voice gives out to amusement at realising you're after something. On his end Quinn is stood at the bench watching the guys run drills, Tocc giving him a look as if to say 'hurry up'.

"And you know how you want to always make me happy?" He smiles at the faux innocent voice you put on, as if he'd deny you anything.

"What do you need me to do, baby?" There's zero hesitation, typical Quinn really, if you want something you've got it, if you need him to do something he's agreeing before all the terms are laid out. He's lucky you don't abuse that sort of power really, he'd spoil you completely if you let him.

"I need you to help me organise a school trip to see you guys practice and meet you all, so that I can prove to my students that I am actually dating an NHL player because they're calling me a liar and I will not be called a liar by teenagers who gaslight me all the time!" The faux innocent voice gives way to your rapid ramble, annoyance riding your tone as you pace across the front of your classroom.

You're greeted firstly by his loud and genuine laugh, so loud that it makes you pull the phone away from your ear. It takes a solid minute for Quinn to stop laughing, and he can see the looks he's getting from the ice, Brock throws him a questioning eyebrow raise, Petey perks his head up at the sound of his captain actually laughing that hard.

It's the dead silence on your end that makes him stop, "Wait, are you serious?"

"Yes! They're telling me i'm lying and I will not be called a liar!"

"Okay, so let me get this straight." He runs a hand through his hair, before leaning against the side of the bench, "Your students don't believe you're dating a canuck, so you need me to help you organise a school trip-"

"For free!" You interrupt, knowing you won't get permission for a trip that costs the school anything more than a few buses and fuel costs, school funding being what it is.

"For free, to prove that you're dating me?" There are easier ways, Quinn thinks, to prove this. Like, him posting a picture of you together on the internet or him kissing you in front of the arena at a game, but it's kind of cute how much you're affronted by your students calling you a liar. It also sounds way more fun.

"Yup, is that...is that too much to ask? I'm being silly aren't I?" He hears it in your tone, the way you seem to start second guessing yourself, can hear you tapping a fingernail against your desk, probably messing with the little bear figurine he got you all those years ago.

"A little silly, but for you? I think I can pull some strings, honey."

You know Quinn will say yes to most things you ask, but you hadn't actually expected him to agree this time. It had felt too big, too much. Your normal requests were small, something like asking if he could get you a doughnut on his way home or could he put the dishes in the dishwasher.

"You serious?"

"Yeah, i'm serious." It takes a beat before your almost squealing in delight down the phone at him, the realisation that he's actually saying yes hitting and he can't help but laugh even as he pulls the phone away from his ear.

"I love you! Have I told you that today?" Your voice is sweet and happy, brighter than it was before. It makes him want to always say yes to you, the way you light up like a christmas tree.

"Mmm, not since 6am this morning."

"Well, I love you and you are the absolute best boyfriend I've ever had and I will never take you for granted."

He can see Tocc motioning him over, telling him without words that its time for the call to end and get back to being captain. Part of him just wants to keep talking with you, rare as it is to get to do during a working day, but he has responsibilities just like you do.

"I have to go, baby, I have practice...but we'll talk about this later, okay?"

He knows his evening is going to be spent planning out what you want this trip to look like before he goes away and tries to make it happen, but he doesn't mind. Anything to make his baby happy. Even if that is trying to prove a bunch of teenagers wrong.

Between the two of you it takes about 2 months to organise the trip. A lot of that time simply spent getting risk assessments done, approval from your administration sorted and organising parental consent. It also takes you getting the sports teacher on side because it was becoming difficult to find a justification as a History teacher for why you wanted to take kids to meet some hockey players. By the time you've organised it, most of your students have forgotten your claims. You have not forgotten their belief that you are a liar, however.

"I can't believe you managed to get us a trip to Rogers Arena! To meet the Canucks! Best teacher ever!" The hockey boys in your class are especially stoked, many of them playing in junior teams and following the Canucks closely as their team of choice. David is no exception to that rule, arriving to the school bus in so many bits of Vancouver merchandise that you're unsure how he's managing to walk weighed down as he is.

"I told you, my boyfriend plays for them." You remind him, ticking him off the register of kids and ushering him up into the bus.

"Miss, we all know that's not true." He turns to you just as he's about to dispear to find his seat. The scepticism written all over his face.

It makes you shake your head, waiting for the moment the puck drops.

The entire ride to the stadium features your students making fun of you for saying your boyfriend was a canuck, you let it slide simply because you're looking forward to seeing them eat their words. They think its funny right now, but you know you're getting the last and final laugh.

You're met at the entrance by, surprisingly, Tocc, who greets you with a warm hug, "Hey, how you doing?"

"I'm good, thank you for having us, Tocc." You like Tocc, he's a good coach and you like that he cares about how the guys are as people not just how they perform. You also can see how much Quinn appreciates him as coach, so you have a soft spot for the scary looking guy.

"No problem," You can feel the weight of 50 eyes on you, all varying shades of disbelief as they realise you seem a little too familiar when interacting with the Head Coach and its only the beginning. You can't help but smile simply because they're starting to realise that maybe they fucked up. Maybe their doubt was misplaced, maybe you actually were telling the truth all along.

"Are Quinn and the guys on the rink or in the locker room?"

"Rink, easier to fit all the kids, but we've got to get them booted up first." The famililarity with which you refer to Quinn and the guys, does not go past David and Stacy both of whom share a look that screams 'don't tell me that she actually knows them...'.

It takes a bit of time to get all 50 kids in skates, although at least 20 of them bring their own, as do you. You're not much of a skater, but dating Quinn meant you couldn't avoid him buying you a decent pair for family skate and the few times he manages to drag you on the ice each year.

You're about to put your own on when Quinn makes his way over to you clearly having just come off the ice, guards on his skates and hair messy from his helmet. He waves briefly at some of the kids before reaching you, taking your skates in hand without hesitation.

"Y'know I can do it myself, right?"

"When have I ever let you do your own skates? Besides, I thought you wanted the last laugh?" He nods his head in the direction of your students who stand gaping at the Captain of the Vancouver Canucks putting your foot in a skate and putting said skate between his thighs to help him tighten the laces with care. Not something one does for a strange teacher they don't know.

"I'm really enjoying myself already. The whole ride they were giving me all sorts of hell about it, and now I can see their little brains working hard to figure out if I was actually telling the truth or not."

You watch Quinn work, finishing tying off your first skate before reaching for the other, his hands are sure on your calf as he slips your foot into it. "The guys are looking forward to it, think this might be their favourite practice of the year. You might be their favourite WAG now."

"All I had to do was bring a bunch of teenagers to the rink to get them to love me?" Quinn stops mid lace pull, smirk firmly in place as he looks at you from underneath his eyelashes.

"Y'know they loved you already, right? Pretty sure Petey is your number one fan."

"That's because I bribe him with sweets." Specifically his favourite sour candy which makes his eyes water. The more sour the better.

Quinn huffs out a laugh, tying off your laces before patting your foot and setting it back on the ground. His hands reach out to help you to your feet and linger on yours a little longer than is strictly necessary.

"You ready for this?"

"Can't back out now, so I guess I have to be." There's a slight bubbling of nerves under your skin, the sense that your students might not think this is cool and instead think that you're undeserving of your relationship, but you shrug it off. After all, they're kids, their opinion on your relationship is genuinely not important.

"See you on the rink?"

"See you there." You watch him walk away and try to ignore the buzz of chatter you can hear from students, commenting on the fact that Quinn did your skates for you.

You get them registered, orderly and help them file onto the rink, the less sure of the bunch buddied up with someone who had more experience skating to avoid 50 kids bowling each other over on the ice. You did not want to deal with a pile of kids flat on the ice after knocking each other over, the paper work would be ridiculous.

You stand back and just watch. The clear awe on their faces as they step out onto the ice, the large rink impressive any day let alone for kids who had never stepped foot on a rink that size. It makes you smile, knowing you're contributing to their memories, providing something great even if it all started out of petty spite. Even if they don't believe you, you feel good knowing they're getting to enjoy this experience.

You skate nearer to the front, Brock and Petey giving you a bright smile and wave, a variety of nods of recognition from the others. Little things that once again tell your students you know these men better than they expected you to.

"Hey, guys. Welcome to Rogers Arena, it's great to have you here," Quinn starts the introduction, smoothly sliding forward on his skates and gesturing to the line of players as he proceeds to introduce each them by name and position, before finally getting to himself, "And i'm Quinn Hughes, Captain of the team,"

"And Norris trophy winner" You chime in, arms crossed as you watch your boyfriend do what he's best at. He's good with fans especially kids, even if he's terrible with the after game reporters.

He turns to you with a bright grin, "Hi, baby," You can see the twinkle in his eye as he drops the petname, you know he does it on purpose to get the reaction that he does from your students as a wave of muttering and murmuring goes through the little crowd.

"Hi, honey, thanks for having us." You throw it right back, more sickly sweet than you'd usually be, playing up to your little audience who practically gasp.

"Anything for my girl."

"No fucking way!" "What the hell?!" You watch each face drop, mouths open, eyes wide. Watch David as he swears loudly face aghast, almost horrified at the realisation that he might have been making fun of Quinn Hughes' girlfriend the entire time he'd been calling his teacher a liar.

"Language, David!" You tell him off even as you smirk, watching the murmurs die off as Quinn and Boeser talk the kids through skating techniques and how best to shoot the puck, the different techniques and ways to hit the puck with the stick. Half of it makes little sense to you but its nice to watch how the kids get engaged, how Quinn takes over a leadership and teaching role.

You mostly take a step back throughout, watching your students learn from Quinn and the guys, but every now and then Quinn finds you under the pretense of fixing your stance or giving you a tip or piece of advice.

Like now, as his hands reach out, fixing how you hold the hockey stick, foot kicking yours just slightly further apart to adjust your stance.

"So, think they believe you now?" You look over at your students, the joy they're having learning hockey from some of the best, but also at the looks they keep sending your way. You're certain they've learnt their lesson, the teacher is always right, at least when it comes to her own love life.

"I think I am offically the coolest teacher in school, so thanks for that." You reach up and kiss Quinn on the cheek, quick and chaste, nothing inappropriate considering you're both at work and surrounded by kids, but it's enough to make his cheeks flush red.

He rubs the back of his neck with that boyish smile of his and it makes you want to kiss him all over again, "Well, I couldn't have a bunch of teenagers calling my girlfriend a liar."

You're so stuck in the moment with him that you don't notice David and his friends until they're upon you and calling out to Quinn. The picture of respect when talking to who might just be their new favourite NHL star.

"Hey, Mr Hughes?" Conveniently half the kids surrounding you are the ones who claimed you must have been dating some beer league level player or some guy from the Chicago Blackhawks.

"You can call me Quinn, Mr Hughes is my dad. What's up, dude?"

"So when are we going to be calling teach Mrs Hughes?" It's your turn to flush, face warming harshly as Quinn's practically asked when he's proposing to you by a spotty 15 year old.

"David!" You might never be able to call your future child David at this rate, far too familiar with calling the name in admonishment. Definitely no David's in your future. Add that name to the list of names you can't use.

David looks at you with a wide grin, braces on full display. "What? I'm tryin' a help you get that bank!" It's actually mortifying, you thank your lucky stars that Quinn knows you're not actually after his money because if a 15 year old were to ruin your relationship you might actually become a super villain.

"I do not need a 15 year old wingman!"

"Baby, it's alright." Quinn wraps an arm around your shoulders, tugging you into his side as if that will sooth the embarrassment of having a 15 year old try to help you get a rich husband, "Uh, to answer your question, it won't be too long now, bud."

"So, like 6 months? A year? Next week?"

"Oh my god..." You turn your face into Quinn's shoulder, your groan muffled by his jersey. You're certain you might actually pass away from embarrassment, even if deep down there's a little thrill in your stomach that Quinn basically just said he's going to propose to you sooner rather than later.

"I gotta keep it a secret, sorry, man! Gotta keep Mrs Hughes on her toes." Your toes curl at the way he calls you Mrs Hughes, a small smile on your face hidden by his jersey.

A little back and forth is exchanged before David and his friends decide their bored and skate off towards Boeser who's going over the finer points of 'get to the net' and 'just shoot the puck'.

You mumble into Quinn's shoulder as his hands run up and down your back in soothing strokes, "Are you really ganging up on me with a bunch of teenagers?"

"Hey, I just told you that I want to marry you and you're mad at me?" He's not serious though, grinning as pushes you back to look at him. It's adorable, the pout on your face as you glare up at him for making fun of you. Although, you're always adorable to him, so maybe he's biased,

"Correction, you told a 15 year old that you wanted to marry me."

"Okay, okay, I see the problem." He shakes his head solemnly, hands on your shoulders as he lowers his voice just a touch, "Baby, just so you know I want to marry you."

"Okay."

"Okay?" You watch as he stands, mouth agape at your casual response. You're sure he was expecting you to giggle or squeal, but you're determined to mess with him a little.

"That's...nice to know?" You grin at him even as internally you're screaming because your boyfriend wants to marry you and you definitely want to marry him.

"You're such a fucking nerd."

"You're dating a teacher, that's like my whole thing. I'm a professional nerd."

"Yeah... it's cute. It's why I want to marry you."

"Quinn!" You shove him away with a laugh. Maybe your students won't be embarrassing you anymore, but you think you might have a lifetime of Quinn doing it instead. Somehow that doesn't seem like the worst idea.

[zweigsangel]

matt shutting yapper! reader up w kisses

it was a lazy saturday afternoon, the kind of day perfect for doing absolutely nothing. the two of you were sprawled out on the couch, a half-eaten bag of chips on the coffee table and some random show playing on the tv that neither of you were really watching.

you were mid-rant, your hands flying as you recounted a story about the lady at the coffee shop who had apparently ordered the most complicated drink in existence.

“and i’m standing there, matt, just trying to get my iced coffee, and she’s like, ‘no foam, no whip, but extra oat milk—like, what does that even mean?’ and the barista looked like he was about to cry—”

matt hummed in response, but his eyes weren’t on the tv. he was watching you, his lips twitching in amusement at how animated you got when you were talking about something that fired you up.

“—and then she had the audacity to ask for it in a different cup, like, who even does that? i mean, if you’re gonna—”

“babe,” he interrupted softly, a little smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

you barely paused, your hands gesturing wildly as you kept going. “—if you’re gonna make it that complicated, maybe just make it at home, right? like, it’s not that hard to—”

“babe,” he said again, a little louder this time, leaning closer.

you blinked, finally catching the way he was looking at you, his head tilted slightly and his smile growing. “what?”

“nothing,” he said, his voice warm and soft. “you’re just… really cute when you get like this.”

“like what?” you asked, narrowing your eyes in mock offense.

“like a total yapper,” he teased, his grin widening.

you gasped, swatting at his arm. “i am not a yapper!”

“uh-huh,” he said, catching your hand before you could smack him again. “you totally are. but it’s fine. i love it.”

“well, good, because i was gonna—”

he cut you off by leaning in and pressing his lips to yours, his free hand cupping your cheek as he kissed you softly but firmly. your words trailed off into a muffled sound of surprise, your body melting into his as his thumb brushed lightly against your jaw.

when he finally pulled back, you were breathless, your eyes wide as you stared at him.

“what was that for?” you asked, your voice quieter now.

he grinned, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “just wanted to see if it worked.”

“if what worked?”

“if i could shut you up with a kiss,” he said, his tone teasing but his eyes warm.

you rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t hide the smile spreading across your face. “you’re ridiculous.”

“yeah,” he said, still grinning. “but it worked, didn’t it?”

you opened your mouth to protest, but before you could get a word out, he grabbed your waist and pulled you into his lap with ease, settling you so you were straddling him.

“what are you doing?” you asked, your voice a little breathless as your hands landed on his shoulders.

“don’t stop,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss you again. “keep talking.”

you started to say something, but he kissed you mid-word, swallowing your voice with his lips. every time you tried to get a sentence out, he kissed you again, softer, slower, more insistent, until you were laughing against his mouth.

“matt, i can’t—”

“sure you can,” he teased, his hands on your waist as he grinned up at you. “keep going. i like hearing you talk.”

“you’re the worst,” you said, laughing even as he leaned in for another kiss.

“yeah,” he whispered against your lips, his grin softening into something sweeter. “but you love me anyway.”

and as much as you wanted to argue, you couldn’t—because he was absolutely right.

[goldfades]

paige bueckers x medic reader blurb

idk why this has been on my mind but here's something to feed you guys while i recover from whatever the fuck last semester was

here’s the thing about paige bueckers: she’s annoying.

not in the throw-your-clipboard, tear-your-hair-out kind of way, but in the she’s-too-charming-for-her-own-good kind of way. the kind that makes your pulse skitter and your cheeks burn, and—worst of all—she knows it.

you’re certain she figured it out the first time she winked at you during pre-season. she’d just finished a shooting drill, her braid swinging like a metronome as she jogged over to your side of the court, flashing that grin—the one that’s equal parts mischief and sunshine.

“think i’m pushing it too hard, doc?” she asked, her hand brushing yours when you handed her a water bottle. your stuttered response? a dead giveaway.

and now, it’s practically her sport. teasing you, that is. not basketball though she’s otherworldly at that too. but here she is, six months post-acl surgery, stuck in the monotony of rehab, and somehow still making you feel like the one who’s sweating under bright gym lights.

“you’re not gonna leave me hanging, are you?” her voice cuts through your focus as you jot down notes on her progress for the day. when you glance up, she’s watching you from the training table, her injured leg stretched out in front of her, an ice pack wrapped snug around her knee. her head tilts, blonde strands falling loose from her messy bun, and there it is—that look.

“i don’t even know what you mean by that,” you mutter, knowing full well she’s waiting for you to take the bait.

she leans back on her elbows, her lips curving into a slow smile. “i’m just saying, if you don’t stay close, how am i supposed to recover? pretty sure moral support is in your job description.”

you roll your eyes, even as your heart hammers against your ribs. “pretty sure my job description is making sure you don’t blow out your knee again, bueckers.”

“so you do care about me.” her voice lilts, sing-song and undeniably smug, and god, you’re starting to regret all the years you spent chasing a degree instead of learning how to mask a blush.

you try not to sigh too loudly, scribbling something on the clipboard even though it’s just a nervous scribble now. she’s watching you like she knows—because, of course, she does. she always knows. it’s like she has a sixth sense for your embarrassment, and worse, she’s figured out exactly how to weaponize it.

“i care about all my patients,” you say, finally looking up from your notes to meet her gaze. it’s meant to come off clinical, professional, but the way her eyes sparkle makes you feel like you’ve said something embarrassingly sweet instead.

“but do you care about me more?” she asks, tilting her head, her voice dripping with fake innocence.

you deadpan her. “paige.”

“what?” she grins wider now, the kind of grin that should probably come with a warning label. “i’m just trying to gauge my ranking on the medic hierarchy. am i at least in the top five?”

“you’re lucky you even have a ranking,” you mutter, setting the clipboard down and moving closer to check her ice pack. you’re trying—really trying—not to make a big deal about how close you are to her now. but then her hand shifts, casually brushing against yours as she adjusts the pack herself.

and just like that, your resolve? gone.

“aww, come on,” she says softly, her voice lower now, almost teasingly gentle. “you can admit it. i’m your favorite.”

your lips press into a thin line as you busy yourself with checking the straps on the ice pack. “you’re impossible.”

“you’re adorable when you’re flustered,” she counters, and it’s so smooth, so shameless, that you actually pause mid-motion.

you glance at her, half tempted to say something snarky, but she’s already watching you with this expression that’s somehow both playful and too much. like she’s trying to figure you out and enjoy herself at the same time. it’s unfair, really.

“is this what you spend your time thinking about?” you ask, attempting to sound exasperated. “ways to embarrass me?”

“not just ways to embarrass you,” she says, and the mock sincerity in her tone is criminal. “also ways to make you smile. you should smile more, you know.”

you bite the inside of your cheek, refusing to give her the satisfaction, even though—damn it—you’re already fighting the urge to crack a grin. she sees it, of course. she always sees it.

“you’re insufferable,” you mumble, stepping back to grab another piece of equipment you need for her session.

“but you like me anyway,” she calls after you, her voice sing-song.

you don’t respond this time, opting instead to take an extra moment to gather your thoughts while pretending to look for something in the cabinet. when you turn back around, she’s already back to lounging on the training table, her arms folded behind her head like she’s posing for a magazine spread.

“okay, let’s get serious,” you say, trying to steer the conversation back to anything resembling professionalism. “how’s the pain today? any stiffness?”

she shrugs, but there’s a flicker of something more serious in her expression. “a little. nothing crazy.”

“you need to let me know if it gets worse,” you remind her, stepping closer to start her mobility exercises. “overdoing it isn’t going to help your recovery.”

“yes, ma’am,” she says, her tone light, but you catch the way her eyes soften when she watches you. it’s different from her usual teasing—quieter, more thoughtful—and for a moment, you’re not sure what to do with it.

you busy yourself with guiding her through the exercises, focusing on the mechanics, the angles, the movements. but it’s hard to ignore the way she keeps glancing at you, her smile smaller now but no less present.

“you’re good at this,” she says suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence.

you blink, looking up at her. “at what?”

“this,” she gestures vaguely, her hand moving to encompass the room, the exercises, you. “taking care of people. making them feel like they’re gonna be okay, even when they’re not sure they will be.”

her words catch you off guard, and for a second, you don’t know how to respond. it’s so… earnest. too earnest for someone who’s usually throwing out flirty one-liners and over-the-top winks.

“that’s… my job,” you manage to say, your voice quieter now.

she shakes her head, her gaze never leaving yours. “nah. it’s more than that. you’re more than that.”

and just like that, the air feels heavier, charged with something you can’t quite name. she doesn’t say anything else, just watches you with those impossibly blue eyes, like she’s waiting for you to say something back.

but all you can do is focus on the way your heart is racing, the way her words linger, soft and unshakable, in the space between you.

it was hard to forget the day it happened. the sound of it—a sickening pop that cut through the air like a gunshot—still haunted you sometimes, echoing in your mind when the gym got too quiet. you’d been courtside, clipboard in hand, watching as paige went down. she didn’t get up right away. that was how you knew it was bad.

paige bueckers wasn’t the type to stay down. she played like she was invincible, like nothing could touch her. but that day, she just lay there, clutching her knee, her face twisted in pain. it wasn’t just the physical agony that got to her, though; it was something deeper. you could see it in her eyes when she finally looked at you as you rushed to her side—this raw, unfiltered fear. like she’d just watched her whole world shatter in an instant.

“is it bad?” she’d asked, her voice barely above a whisper as you carefully assessed her knee. there was a tremble in it that you weren’t used to hearing, and it made your chest ache in a way you hadn’t expected.

“we’re gonna take care of you,” you’d said, dodging the question because you couldn’t bring yourself to tell her the truth. not yet.

she’d nodded, but her jaw was clenched, her hands trembling as they gripped the edge of the bench where you’d helped her sit. and when the scans came back, confirming what you’d already suspected, the devastation in her face nearly broke you.

the weeks that followed were some of the hardest you’d ever seen her endure. paige wasn’t herself—not the confident, fiery leader everyone knew and loved. she was quieter, angrier, and you could tell she was struggling to keep it all together. rehab was slow and painful, and there were days when she’d show up to the training room with this blank look in her eyes, like she wasn’t sure she’d ever be the same again.

but then, there were the moments when you caught a glimpse of the paige you knew. the one who refused to stay down for long. like the time she’d walked in with her crutches slung over one shoulder, grinning like she’d just won a championship. “figured i should start carrying these instead of letting them carry me,” she’d joked, and for the first time in weeks, you’d seen a flicker of that unshakable determination in her.

those moments grew more frequent as time went on. she threw herself into her recovery with a single-minded focus that was equal parts inspiring and infuriating. there were times you had to physically stop her from pushing herself too hard, reminding her that she wasn’t invincible. but she’d just roll her eyes and flash you that grin, saying something like, “gotta keep you on your toes, doc.”

and now, watching her sit on the training table, her ice pack wrapped around her knee and her confidence radiating from every pore, it was hard to reconcile this version of her with the one you’d seen at her lowest. the injury hadn’t just changed her; it had shaped her, strengthened her in ways that even she probably didn’t fully understand.

“what are you thinking about?” she asks suddenly, breaking through your thoughts. her voice is lighter now, teasing as always, but there’s a softness in her gaze that catches you off guard.

you hesitate for a moment before shrugging, a small smile tugging at your lips. “just thinking about how far you’ve come.”

she raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “yeah? and what’s the verdict?”

“the verdict,” you say, setting your clipboard down and meeting her gaze, “is that you’re still a pain in the ass.”

her laugh is loud and genuine, echoing through the room in a way that makes your chest feel a little lighter. “you love it, though,” she says, grinning like she knows a secret.

and maybe she does. because no matter how many times she teases you, or how much she flusters you, you can’t help but admire her resilience—the way she got back up when the world tried to keep her down.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[zeethenecromancer]

I've always ended up gravitating towards adults rather than teens my own age (Several reasons, like too much noise) and being the minor on the receiving end of these is so strange.

There's a very small composer I like and occasionally chitchat with, nothing more than talk of things we like (her latest music, games, shows, etc etc) goes on between us, but she's scared of exactly this, and acts like I've never heard of things like addictive drugs or sex or general violence in my entire life. I am 15-almost-16, I've been on AO3 and Tumblr for years, knowing full well of what to steer clear of and definitely what all of those things are, without finding out the hard way. He doesn't do this because she's uncomfortable with me, he's uncomfortable being seen talking to a teenager with a four year age gap.

I get it, a lot can differ in that amount of time, especially going from teenager to young adult, but...really? Do people think there's a switch in kids brains that either makes them suddenly know of every explicit little thing in the world the moment they turn 18, or it finally allows them to merely THINK about those kinds of things?

Aren't we just reinventing the purity culture that's already so heavy in the Americas + Some of Europe? Are we not just setting said kids up for harm just like the kind we already live in does?

It's bizarre.

Saw a tiktok of a guy saying he doesn’t feel comfortable talking to minors because he’s 19. And it’s just. I’m so fucking tired of this.

And like to be clear, I’m speaking as a victim of pedophilia when I say: We need to get over this collective fear of endangering children. Because holy shit, this stuff is getting out of hand.

The average person is not a threat to a child.

And also!!! It is actually really really good for kids to have friendships with adults that aren’t their family.

Having friendships with adults when you’re younger prepares you for adult life in a better way then only interacting with adults that are family members or teacher as well.

And also if there’s any sort of weird behavior happening with adults or teachers, it’s very helpful to have unrelated adults, you can go to, and also have a model for what normal adults are supposed to look like.

And also! You’re just making it way easier for pedophiles to prey on children when you completely avoid interacting with them as an adult. Because kids are naturally inquisitive and curious. They are going to want to interact with adults and they are going to want to ask questions. And if the only adult adults that are willing to interact and speak with them or adults who have ulterior motivations. Guess what’s gonna happen.

Also on a more general note. Having a model for what a normal healthy adult is supposed to look like makes it way easier for kids to be able to recognize and identify when adults in their personal life are being weird.

[p1astr81]

second chances

in which: Lando tries to get his ex girlfriend back.

pairing: Lando Norris x pop star!fem!reader

genre: angst/fluff

warnings: cursing

an: this is part 2 of “second place”, but I think it could also make sense as a stand-alone.

part 1

‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧ *

Performing with the wound of a breakup fresh in your heart was difficult, but the roaring crowds and their endless support made it a little easier.

You just finished up yet another show, the twelfth one since you’d broken off things with Lando three weeks ago. Kiké—knowing how hard the breakup was for you—walked in silence next to you and you navigated the backstage area. He simply offered his presence, which was a mild—but much appreciated—comfort to you.

Your eyes were trained on the way the dim lights made your boots sparkle. The last song on the setlist was the most emotional for you. A love song written for Lando. You nearly cried while singing it, and were struggling to keep it together even now.

Kiké only left your side once you reached the door of your dressing room. “Can you travel on the bus with me again?” You asked him softly. Between the last city and this one, Kiké joined you on your tour bus. Usually, he’d fly between locations with the other dancers, but he was more then happy to spend time with you.

He nodded. “Absolutely. We have to finish our show.” He joked, getting a smile out of you.

You bade him goodbye, and stepping into your dressing room. As soon as the door was closed, you let the tears fall, letting the door support your weight as you tried to not crumple to the floor.

A soft call of your name broke through the sounds of your sobs. You gasped, straightening up and reaching for the door handle. Your flight response automatically ceased when your gaze met Lando’s.

Your eyes narrowed. “Shouldn’t you be in Spain?” The tone of your voice was venomous, but he chose not to take offense to it.

“Yes, but I wanted to see you.”

You scoffed at that. “Who even let you in here?”

“Your security. I assume you haven’t told them?” You didn’t answer his inquiry, but that was answer enough.

“Look, I know I treated you like shit and I was never here for you, but I want to be.” A little late for that, you wanted to say. But you settled for a roll of your eyes. “And these past weeks have made me realize that life without you sucks.”

A heavy sigh fell from your lips ass you pushed off the door. You wandered over to your desk, and began taking your makeup off. Lando, left in silence and without a response, continued to sit quietly on the couch.

You glanced at him through he mirror. He was fumbling around with his fingers. “You can’t just show up here and expect me to take you back.”

Lando met your eyes through the reflection. “I know. But I really do mean it. Even if we’re just friends, that’s enough for me.” The fact you hadn’t told him to fuck off yet was honestly a step in the right direction for him.

Your eyes found the cotton pad more interesting than him. “I don’t know. You made me feel like I wasn’t worthy of your time. You can’t just fix that with a sorry.”

He stood from his spot on the couch and cautiously stepped to your side. “I’ll be better. Every show I can squeeze into my schedule, I’ll be there.” He nodded.

Having missed the feel of your skin on his, he wanted to reach out, place a hand on your shoulder, or your arm. But he refrained from doing so.

Considering his proposition, you bit your lip. “You said that before, Lan.” You muttered. He heard the disappointment in your voice and wanted to curse himself out for it.

He nodded. “And I regret not following through but I promise this time. And if I don’t honor it, that’s it. I’ll never bother you again.”

It was a terrible idea. You knew it was. Opening your heart up to him again, giving him all the power to tear it in two once more, it was risky. But with a sigh, you accepted. “One slip up, Norris, and I’m blacklisting you from my shows.” You joked.

———

In the coming weeks, Lando honored his promise to its fullest extent, and then some. Even the shows you didn’t expect him to be at—the ones that fell on a Sunday night, only a few hours after a race—he was there.

He’d even spend a couple hours after the shows with you in your tour bus before he inevitably needed to catch a flight.

So after a month of him showing up consistently, and proving himself, you finally gave into him.

It was after one of your shows, you were sat in the tour bus as it stood stationary. The both of you were planted on the couch, your legs across Lando’s lap. You’d been talking for the last hour and a half about seemingly nothing. And then you licked your lips, and bit your lip softly before calling his name. He looked to you with big brown eyes like a little doe. “I think you’ve proved that you’ve changed.” Lando’s brows raised, hopeful. “And… if you’d still want to-“

“Yes.” He replied without even letting you finish. “Sorry.” His gaze shifted to his hands which sat on your bare legs. His cheeks went red. “Continue.”

You laughed and shook your head. “No, I think you got the point.” You sifted in your seat, and leaned forward to plant a gentle kiss on his cheek.

[lymtw]

Poor Shiu, spontaneously thrown into the un-designated driver role for both you and Toji. You both called him relentlessly to see if he could pick you up from the restaurant you were standing outside of, as neither of you were sober enough to drive back home. Meanwhile, Shiu and his wife were already cuddled up and sleeping like logs. When his phone started buzzing and he turned it over and saw Toji's name, he let it go straight to voicemail. He saw your name on his screen just five seconds later and also let it go to voicemail. No more calls came in for a while, and then he woke up to the sound of his phone buzzing, again. With an annoyed groan, he finally decided to answer your call.

That's how Shiu ended up with both you and Toji in the backseat of his car. The ride home was quiet for a while, because you both thought he was mad. He didn't say anything to you two when you hopped in the backseat and he accelerated the car aggressively once he started the drive to your house. If he wasn't actually annoyed, his demeanor sure didn't make it seem that way.

"Toji knocked over his glass of whiskey and it shattered everywhere," you tell Shiu, finally breaking the awkward silence, looking at him through the rear view mirror. "Like this, like this. I'm Toji... Oh look, a glass cup..." You, exaggeratedly, push your arm into Toji's chest during the reenactment and mimic the sound of the glass shattering. Shiu's gaze flits between the road and the mirror. He's trying not to laugh at your little performance and the offended look on Toji's face.

"Baby," Toji says, as if that little moment was a secret that no one besides you—and whoever else was around—was supposed to know.

"Sorry, baby," you say, smiling sweetly, while squeezing his hand, comfortingly.

"It's okay," he says, pecking your cheek. Then, he looks at Shiu through the rear view mirror and returns the favor. "She almost didn't make it to the bathroom and was about to pee all over the floor, like a dog. She was all like: Toji, where's the bathroom?! I'm gonna pee, i'm gonna peeeeeee!" Toji quotes you, for Shiu, this time. The man is fighting so hard not to crack up at the drunken lovers banter between you and Toji.

"Babe, you said it was okay," you whisper, still loud enough for Shiu to hear in the driver's seat. He just chuckles at your paired ridiculousness. You really are the perfect Dumb to Toji's Dumber.

"Sorry, doll," Toji says, giving you another longer kiss on the cheek. You both grin at each other and forget that you were ever beefing in the first place. You hold hands and stay quiet for the rest of the ride home.

-

"Toji, hold her hand. Make sure she's not trailing behind you," Shiu shouts, watching from outside his car as you hold your hand out and get air instead of Toji's hand. "And you, stop being so gentle. Hold on tight," Shiu says, referring to the two times your hand slipped out of Toji's, leading to your grasping of air.

"Come on, baby," Toji says, stopping to grab your hand. He drags you along with him to the front door and yawns as he pulls out his keys. Shiu stays until he sees the door open and you waving goodbye. He waves back, before you turn around and follow Toji inside the house. Then, he gets back into his car and quickly speeds off, rushing to return to the arms of his beloved.

Toji locks the door and kicks off his shoes, then waits for you to do the same so he can lead you to the bedroom. He's still holding your hand as you make your way through the dark hallway, only letting go once you reach the room. You crawl onto the bed and lie down, stretching your limbs as much as you can, until Toji gets there. He climbs into bed and lies on his side, turning you over so that you're facing him.

"You're so pretty," Toji murmurs, despite not being able to see you clearly in the darkness of the room. "Gonna put triplets in... in your belly," he slurs, poking your stomach.

You giggle at the thought of walking around with a huge belly, the image of it being way bigger than you only further egging on your amusement.

"Let's kiss," Toji says, pulling you until you're up against him. "Right now," he murmurs, leaning in. He manages to graze the corner of your lip, before you push his face away.

"Mm... Why not, pretty baby?" He whines, confused. "Want you to kiss me."

"Okay, fine. Let's kiss," you say, as if it was your idea. You both miss when you lean in to kiss each other. Your lips land on Toji's nose and his land on your chin. It's fine, you're both into it, just kissing random parts of each other's faces, but when your lips finally find each other, it's amazing. You're lost in the contact and the warm feeling, so desperate to give and receive more kisses. You think rolling on top of him will give you an advantage in speed and quantity, but Toji also thinks the same for himself—that it will favor him—so he assists you in getting on top of him. His hands go under your shirt and feel the warmth of your skin beneath them, but when he maneuvers his hands so that they're on your waist, you stop kissing him back and laugh at the ticklish sensation, rolling over to get away from it.

"You're gonna fall," Toji says, a quiet gasp leaving him when your leg slides off the bed. He grabs onto the hem of your shirt, and pulls you back with whatever strength he's conscious of in this inebriated state. "No, baby. Hey," he calls, attempting to grab your attention. "This way, this way. Roll over this way," he says, still pulling you. "Ah, shit." He sighs, defeated, when he loses the grip he had on your shirt and hears a thud.

"Help! I've fallen and I can't get up!" You cry out, cackling on the ground, deliriously, afterwards. Not even ten seconds later, the pain settles in and you stop laughing. "Ow, I think I cracked my head open," you say, lying there, not even attempting to get up. Out of context, it would look like you are having an existential crisis, because of how you blankly stare up at the ceiling.

"Shut up. No, you didn't," Toji says, a tinge of fear causing his heart to beat a little faster. He sluggishly moves to lay across the bed and leans over the edge to check on you. "Can you get up?" He asks, and you simply shift your eyes in his direction, not moving an inch.

"I can, but I won't. I'm a bug. And the floor? It's a goddamn Venus Flytrap, that is slooowly digesting me."

Toji snickers, his concern for you being injured dropping by the second. "You're so dramatic, sometimes, ma." The longer he looks at you on the ground, the harder it is to hold back his laughter. "Get back up here. We're supposed to be mackin'."

You interlock your fingers and rest your hands on your stomach. "Any chance you can come down here?"

"No. Absolutely not," Toji responds, instantly.

You sigh through your nose. "Keep the bed warm for both of us, then, 'cause, like I said, I've fallen... and I can't get up," you say, dramatically throwing an arm over your eyes, as if the predicament you're in signals the end of the world.

"Ma, stop playing. I'm cold."

You peek at him from under your arm, with narrowed eyes. "You're not even using the blanket, genius. Cover up." You lift your heels off the floor and let them fall, finding amusement in the recoil of your feet.

"You come cover me up." He kicks the blanket to the other side of the bed, until it falls on the ground. "It's a stupid blanket and I don't want it, I want you. I want you to warm me up."

"Shh, listen." You raise your feet, again, and let them fall, grinning at the dull bonking noise your heels make when they hit the floor. "That was cool, huh?"

"Babyyy," Toji whines, frustrated by the lack of affection he's getting from you. "Babyyy! Babyyy!"

You sigh and sit up, feeling all the ache in your back from the fall. You reach forward and peel your socks off your feet, folding them into each other, so that they're balled up.

"Bab-" Toji's cut off by the impact of something soft that was thrown at his forehead. Something that leaves him confused, when he can't find it after being hit.

"Finally." You groan as you stand up from the floor, stumbling a little as you work to balance yourself. You feel like you're in a daze as you look around the room. Your vision remains bleary, no matter how much you blink to try and clear it.

"Come over here," Toji says, sitting up on the bed. He outstretches his arms and watches as you slowly walk towards him. His arms wrap around you once you settle in his lap and he lays down with you, both of you on your sides, face to face, like before.

"I'm tired," you mumble, resting your head on his chest.

"I know, pretty. Me too," Toji responds, following the words with a kiss to the top of your head. His hand slides up the back of your shirt and rubs your back, occasionally applying pressure to some areas. He's aware that the fall must have hurt more than just your head, so he's trying to make it better, even if his touch only offers the smallest bit of relief for you.

Clearly, it did something, because your eyes fell shut, you stopped talking and you weren't moving around anymore. You fell asleep. The soothing motions he did on your back, worked wonders. Normally, when you're drunk, you ramble so much and you talk Toji's ear off. He doesn't hate it, but he always ends up having to humor you about the most random things.

Usually, he can't get you to settle down until you sober up a little, but tonight is different. Tonight, he gets to coil around you and warm you up manually, since the blanket he kicked off the bed has been forgotten on the floor. He gets to wake up and put you back to sleep with those same soothing motions on your back, when you stir awake in his arms. Best of all, he gets to wake up to your pretty face in the morning and take in that smile that expresses your remembrance of the night before.

[my-castles-crumbling]

teatime - December 22nd - Black brothers, mentions of jegulus - @taylorswiftmicrofic - word count: 417

Regulus had always had trouble using his voice.

Perhaps it was because Sirius was always louder. He practically insisted on being heard, so Regulus just...allowed it. Why bother, really? Plus, if Sirius wanted to be the one always getting into trouble, who was Regulus to stop him?

Or...perhaps it was because he had more of a sense of self-preservation. He knew, mostly from watching Sirius, what the consequences were for speaking up. He'd have to be stupid to say something. It was smart, to keep quiet, right?

But as he grew older and stopped listening to his parents' skewed view of things, he realized that Sirius's wasn't loud just to be loud. Sirius was loud because he chose to be. Both because he couldn't stand the oppressive environment of their family home and because he was protecting Regulus.

And still, Regulus stayed quiet. And he hated himself for it. It made him feel sick, knowing he was turning a blind eye to the way his parents acted. Knowing that he acted like he supported it, sometimes.

Until one day, he'd had enough.

They were at teatime, and as usual, Sirius was being berated for being a disappointment. But beratement was turning to yelling and anger, and wands were being drawn. And usually, at this point, Regulus would have excused himself. But he thought of who he wanted to be. Both for Sirius, and for another boy, far away, sharing a much more pleasant meal with his own family.

"...a plague on this family!" Orion was screaming, want pointed at Sirius's heart as the sixteen-year-old laughed quietly. "We ought to make you feel the pain you've caused us!"

"Go ahead, Father! Won't change who I am! Or do you think you can curse the good out of me?" Sirius retorted snidely, eyes wild.

But as Orion raised his wand and opened his mouth, Regulus blurted out, "I'm dating James Potter!"

And suddenly, things were so quiet, you could have heard a pin drop.

Walburga spoke first, slowly turning to her younger son. "Regulus, don't joke about such things," she said dismissively.

"I'm not joking," he said, his entire body shaking. He caught Sirius's eye, and the other boy sent him a shocked-but-proud expression. He tilted his head up defiantly and said, "Will you curse me too, then, Mother?"

And, an hour later, as he and Sirius showed up at the door of the Potter Manor with a small bag, disowned and parent-less, he'd never felt better about himself.

[glasratz]

I just finished reading Anselm von Feuerbach's early 19th century account of remarkable crimes (and just realizing that those 500+ pages were actually just volume one) and this reminds me of one of the cases described there.

A miller's wife went to the local court reporting that her husband made off with a significant portion of the family fortune. This is recorded, but nothing can be really done about it. Soon after, rumours spread that the husband was actually murdered and is buried on his property.

So the court starts an investigation, which goes nowhere. Again rumours come up that the family of the missing miller has bribed the local judge.

Years later, the Bavarian state starts persecution said judge for several unrelated accounts of corruption. During this investigation, the court archives burn down. As the damage is assessed, the unfinished case of the missing miller gets discovered and reopended.

It quickly comes to light, that one of the miller's sons has paid a day labourer and his wife to assist him in killing his father. The body is found.

Now, here it gets horrible:

Before the whole thing happened, the court has gotten complaints about the miller for years. His wife and son had tried to throw him out of the house several times. They complained about his constant violence and how he wasted the family's money on alcohol, gambling and prostitutes.

The court wanted to hear nothing of this and forced the family to take the father back as "head of the household", since this was his god-given right.

This had made the situation worse. The older son realized that now his father was simply going to throw him out, as was his legal right to do. But that young man was the only one physically strong enough to keep his father from abusing the other siblings. It is also well recorded that the mother was once beaten that severely, that she suffered permanent brain damage.

This was, when the plot to kill the father was made.

The story did not end well. The mother, one of the daughters and the labourer's wife were sentenced to long prison sentences. They did not appeal the ruling, because they hoped to be pardoned by the king. They weren't.

For the labourer and the son, the death penalty was out of the question since it couldn't be determined which wound actually killed the father - just one of the quirks of the law back then.

However, in the eyes of the court, the crimes of killing ones own father and in the case of the labourer, killing for money, were so severe that life in prison wasn't enough: Both were permanently forged into chains, paraded through the town, put on public display with signs around their necks and finally put in permanent solitary confinement.

I can't determine whether von Feuerbach thinks this judgment was justified. He just indicates that it was generally lawful. He also doesn't give a clear indication why he included this case in his collection, but he doesn't always do that.

To me, von Feuerbach seems like a reasonable man. He shows compassion as well as reason. He does believe that there are "born criminals", but much more often explains how someone was driven into crime by circumstance and poverty.

So I'd like to think that von Feuerbach saw the problem here. Maybe he though that the main fault was on the local judges side, for not acting against the miller. But I can't say for sure.

i fucking hate it when a movie or a tv show does some shit where a character has a shitty dad and another character tells them to forgive him because. "it's your dad". that means nothing. more people should be killing their fathers.

[joemama-2]

velvet lies

pairing: gojo x fem reader synopsis: crippling debt and possible evictions have ruined you. working two jobs with no downtime, and a five-year-old son, you really don't know the meaning of taking a break. after continuous questions about his father, you have decided to finally let your son meet his dad. only thing is, he has no idea said son exists. and to top it off, you have not a single clue about what kinds of things will transpire from this sudden revelation. wc: 10k tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, fluff, romance, alcohol, classism, mom! reader, lying, abuse, MAJOR angst, slow burn, exes to lovers, (mentions of) cheating, scandals, death, blood, drugs, drama, family drama, miscommunication, blackmail, unhealthy coping mechanisms , depression, manipulation a/n: merry early christmas guys to those who celebrate 🥹 series masterlist < previous chapter < next chapter

Christmas is coming up soon. In about two-ish weeks, give or take. In this case, you’re giving. It’s December 14th, and the days are passing by too fast for your liking. You wish you had more time—to do a lot of things, actually. Luckily, with your rent being paid along with next month’s, that’s given you at least some sort of freedom. 

You can thank your ex for that. 

So, you’ve been saving for Koji, spending less on yourself. Not like you did much of that in the first place, but still. Again, guilt riddles your insides, insecurities plaguing your mind. Koji has never been a spoiled kid, having grown up quite frugally because of his equally frugal mother. Your tree, something you bargained for at the nearby spot in town that sells trees for the holiday season, is bottom of the barrel. Of course it is, you bargained for it. Sparse areas, branches way too thin and tiny, the height of the entire thing is just about as tall as you are. You keep your box of Christmas decorations so you never have to buy new ones each year. The lights you use are a warm yellow, with a few little bulbs dark because they burnt out. It wraps around your tree in a very messy way—Koji’s doing. A floppy white star placed at the very top of your tree, just barely holding on. 

Little pieces of decorations hang from the frail branches: some snowflakes, red and blue balls (Koji said they looked like Spider-Man), and your most favorite one of them all that sits at the top: a picture of you and Koji from a photo booth two years ago. He was only three and you could still carry him then. Chubby cheekbones on display, a wide smile to match. You two are wearing Santa hats, head tilting into his with an equally ecstatic smile. You can’t look too long at it before you start getting emotional. 

So mom of you. 

Anywho, your point is that while the setup may look dull and even unattractive to most, you still find warmth in it. So does your little boy too. Although he doesn’t exactly know better, considering all you’ve ever had was skinny trees and years-old decorations, he doesn’t complain. 

Of course, he does ask you sometimes about why the trees in the movies look different or why his friends have entirely decorated houses and you two don’t. You bottle it up to a simple, “Well, we’re not like other people, baby.”

He understands—most of the time. 

Even so, he doesn’t show disrespect. As long as he spends time with you, getting even just three gifts, it’s all enough for him. So you feel guilty for not giving him the full Christmas experience a child should get, you feel insecure that other people are having the holiday season so much better than you are, and if you could, you’d do anything to ensure Koji has a real Christmas one time. At least once. It’s the least you can do as his mother, and it’s the least he deserves. 

Because the holidays are meant for happiness, cheeriness, and family time. All things that feel very forced for you right now. 

“It’s good to see you again, Y/N.”

Your lips purse, hoping it resembles a smile. But Shoko always reads you easily, dissecting your emotions. “You too, how have you been?”

“As good as I can. Late nights, exhausted, seeing someone’s leg split in half. You know, the usual.”

A small chuckle falls from you, nodding in silence. “I’m glad you were able to do what you want. ER work, right?”

“Yep,” Shoko hums, leaning back against the bench, coffee in hand. “Though I did have a friend who helped me get through it all so quickly.”

“Really? Who?”

“Cheating.” She smirks behind the rim of her cup. 

Your eyes roll, sighing as you mimic her posture. It feels odd seeing her again for the first time after so many years. You gathered the courage to text her number, feeling distraught and overwhelmed last night. Right after you sent the text asking her to meet up the next morning, you slightly regretted it. Does she think I’m weird? What if she says no? God, what is wrong with me?

Your doubts were proved wrong when she replied with a simple “See you”. Simplicity was always Shoko’s thing. Something that you almost envied from the woman. You wish you had composure like her. Of course, her life isn’t exactly simple considering she’s dealing with people with broken anything and blood all the time, but you can tell she thoroughly enjoys it. She finds pleasure in her job. 

Again, this is something you’re also slightly envious of. 

“So….” She finally says after a beat of silence, turning her head over at you. “I want to ask the obvious, but I think I’ll wait. I want to see how you’re doing first.”

You worry your lip between your teeth, peering down at your fiddling fingers. The words are a little hard to get out, and a little embarrassing too. You don’t really want to vent to her after years of no contact, but it’s hard not to. At this point, you’re like a broken dam. Spilling and spilling by the minute until you completely break down. “Things could be better. I just have a lot on my mind and what I’m dealing with.”

She nods in understanding. “Like the articles and stuff?”

You sigh heavily in exhaustion, raising two fingers to rub the space between your brows. “Yeah, that’s one of them. You seen ‘em?”

“Many people have.”

Of course. “I just don’t get it. Why is it such a big deal he has a son no one knew about? Are these kinds of ‘issues’ really that important to rich people like him? Like, c’mon. It’s not like he killed a man. He has a son but everyone’s treating and acting like this is horrendous and astounding news that we should be fearful of.”

Shoko tilts her head, her gaze steady but not intrusive. “Rich people thrive on spectacle, you know that. Every little thing becomes a headline, especially when someone like Gojo, Japan’s sexiest man alive of 2024, is involved. He’s a household name, Y/N.”

You sigh, dragging a hand down your face. You forgot the fact that he’s been given that title. The article popped up on your Google just yesterday, giving in and tapping on it. The first picture that greets you is a very intimate, black-and-white picture of Satoru shirtless, with unbelted pants. He wasn’t looking at the camera in that one, but the way his arms were raised, accentuating his biceps made you feel a tiny throb. The first of many from that photoshoot the article included. “But why does it have to be this? Why is it such a scandal that he has a kid? Like, what are they even expecting from us? An apology? A press conference where we swear to never let it happen again?”

Shoko’s smirk is faint but wry. “You think logic applies here? The higher the pedestal, the harsher the fall. Gojo’s not just rich—he’s Gojo. Untouchable, perfect, untamed. Add a secret kid to the mix, and it’s like handing tabloids their golden ticket.”

You scoff, crossing your arms. “It’s so stupid. They’re acting like we’re some corrupt dynasty with skeletons bursting out of the closet. It’s not even a big deal!”

Shoko takes a sip of her drink, watching you with a calmness that somehow makes you feel seen. “It’s not a big deal to us, no. But to them? It’s betrayal, gossip, leverage—anything but what it really is. Just life.”

Her words settle in your chest, a grounding sort of clarity that you hadn’t realized you needed. You couldn’t—probably ever—understand the thought process of the elites of Japan. You’re a bit glad that you won’t. But in this situation, you just wish they would think like normal fucking people for one second. That’s hard to do when you grow up with a silver spoon in your mouth and everything at your fingertips. You peer over at her, your lips pressing together as you process everything. “I just…I don’t want Koji dragged into this. He doesn’t deserve it. That’s one of the main reasons why I kept everything a secret in the first place. But now look at us, everything has just changed so…so fast. I’m not ready for it, neither is my son.”

She lets the quiet air linger for a moment, your venting finding placement. “No, he doesn’t deserve it,” Shoko agrees. Her tone is firm, an anchor in the storm of your thoughts. “And neither do you. But the way I see it, you’ve got two choices: let them dictate how this plays out, or take control of the narrative yourself.” Her words linger, the weight of them grounding and unsettling all at once. Taking control of the narrative sounds easy in theory, but the reality feels like standing at the edge of a cliff, the wind threatening to knock you over.

“Easier said than done,” you mutter.

Shoko shrugs, but there’s an edge of reassurance in her expression. “True, but you’ve already been through worse. You’ve got more strength in you than you give yourself credit for. And if anyone can handle this mess, it’s you.”

Her confidence in you feels foreign but comforting. You nod slowly, gripping onto her words like a lifeline. “Thanks, Shoko.”

“Anytime.” She raises her cup slightly in a mock toast, her smile small but sincere. A beat flows through, a comfortable silence. The two of you watch the snow cover the ground with its beauty, the sun barely peeking through the cloudy, muted sky. You can’t help but draw the parallel. The sun, peeking, but hidden behind the heavy clouds, yet still present—trying, despite the odds. That’s you, isn’t it? Not gone, not entirely defeated, but dulled. Struggling to shine through the weight of everything pressing down on you.

Shoko breaks the silence with a soft chuckle. “It’s pretty, isn’t it? Quiet, too. Almost makes you forget the world’s still a mess.”

You nod, your gaze following the gentle swirl of snowflakes. “Yeah… It’s like everything’s paused for a moment. Peaceful.”

“Peaceful,” she echoes, leaning back in her seat. “Funny how something so fleeting can feel so permanent in the moment.” Her expression stirs something inside you—a quiet ache you’ve been trying to suppress. You glance at her, lips parting, but the words get stuck in your throat. She doesn’t push, doesn’t probe. Shoko’s always been good at giving space without making it feel like a void. Instead, she takes a long sip of her drink and says, “You know, snow’s a great equalizer. Covers up the mess, and makes everything look the same. Like the world gets a second chance. It’s the start of something new.”

Those words make you immediately remember Satoru’s. Snow’s the start of something new. That should be a good thing, right? You should be glad. However, how many more changes have to happen until something good comes your way? There’s only so much one can go through in such a short amount of time.  But as Shoko said, you have more strength than you think. You’ve been through worse. And while that may be true, at this fleeting moment, that couldn’t be any further from the truth. It’s easy for her to say since she’s not actually living your life. 

You haven’t exactly talked talked to Satoru yet about all this, about what he’ll say, what his parents will do. But they probably have good lawyers, right? Maybe they’ll put out a statement that any further harassment will be met with legal action. Or he’ll take pride in his son and show no regrets. You really don’t know. Your optimistic side wishes that Satoru will deal with this smoothly and how you want him to. But your pessimistic side says this will continue on until who knows how long. People randomly coming up to you, making remarks on social media, finding your job, finding your own social media accounts that you’ve had to take down.

Seriously, why the fuck do they care so much? Even after Shoko’s explanation, it’s still not enough for you. At the end of the day, we’re all human, we all do human things. Jesus Christ, you could never last a day in Satoru’s position. On constant public display and scrutiny, it’s exhausting and infuriating. 

Satoru’s taken Koji off your hands for the while. It’s around four in the evening now. Although you were hesitant at first, he assured you he would do his absolute best to make sure nothing wrong happens and that he stays safe. And besides, it’s nice to have the place to yourself for a few hours. It’s confusing, because while at times you feel so defeatedly lonely, other times you welcome it with open arms. 

But every parent probably feels like that, right? Praising the day they get even two hours to themselves, not worrying about making sure your child isn’t choking. 

Anywho, you’ve taken the liberty to take a nice and warm refreshing bath. The heat does wonders to your skin, sighing wistfully and eyes closing in relaxation. The warmth envelops you like a comforting embrace, melting away the tension you didn’t realize had settled in your shoulders. It’s rare, these moments of solitude—where the only sound is the faint ripple of water as you shift slightly in the tub. You sink deeper, letting the heat seep into your muscles, as if the bath could wash away not just the stress of parenting but the heaviness of everything else weighing on you.

You tilt your head back against the rim of the tub, exhaling a deep sigh. It’s strange how quiet the apartment feels without Koji’s laughter or even Satoru’s voice filling the space. Strange, but not unwelcome. For once, there’s no background noise, no constant buzz of responsibility. Just you and the stillness. You almost wish you can share this stillness with someone else, but throw that thought out your mind fast. 

Your fingers trail through the water absentmindedly, thoughts wandering. You wonder what Satoru and Koji are up to—probably indulging in some sugary snack you’d never approve of at this hour of the day because Koji’s sugar rushes just last so long. The image makes you smile faintly. Despite everything, Satoru’s been trying. And even if you don’t say it aloud, you notice. He’s been so good with him, the two are incredibly close and it’s like the past five years of absence never existed. You always knew Satoru was that type of man. He got along with kids well, children almost seemed to magically gravitate towards him. It’s…very attractive. 

Once the bathwater starts to cool, you decide to reluctantly push yourself upright. Wrapping a towel around yourself. You pad into the bedroom, the cold air nipping at your damp skin. With Koji gone until probably around eight or nine, the silence settles over you once again. You glance at the clock on the nightstand—still hours to go before they return. You grab a soft blanket and curl up on the couch, flipping through channels aimlessly. Nothing really holds your attention, but it feels nice just to sit, undisturbed. As you take a sip of tea, you can’t help but think: Maybe you should let yourself enjoy these moments more.

It’s hard, but you should probably make more of an effort to take care of yourself. If you’re out of it, you’ll be unfit to care for Koji. And that’s your biggest nightmare ever. You blankly watch whatever show is playing after turning the TV on, but your mind seems much more louder than the voices from the characters on screen. You wish you could just shut off the constant worry, stressing, and overthinking about pretty much everything in your life. 

Before you know it, your feet are guiding you back up, leading you down the hallway and to your room. The closet is to your left, a single door with a small lightbulb overhead that weakly shines its light and illuminates the inside. Your clothes hung up, shoes on the floor. Some of Koji’s old toys lay next to your shoes, having meant to donate them but never getting around to it. You go down to your knees, moving further inside the small closet. Having to push a few jackets to the side for better visibility, moving your shoes out the way. Stuffed in the very corner of your closet lies a worn black box. When you pull it out from its hiding spot, the lightbulb makes visible faint letters that are threatening to peel away. 

Cheap markers. 

There’s little dribbles of flowers and smiley faces along the sides, a stick figure image of a boy and girl. The boy’s eyes are drawn with the brightest blue marker you both found out the time. It’s a little shitty representation, but the boy’s line for an arm is connected to the girl’s arm; holding hands.  

OUR WORLD

Something you both agreed was cheesy, though you thought of it. He wrote it. You had the ideas, he made them come to life. 

Your breath catches as you brush your fingers over the worn box. The faded decorations are a time capsule—a reflection of a simpler, yet complicated past. A mix of laughter, innocence, and heartbreak lingers on its surface, as if the box itself holds memories you’ve long since buried. You hesitate for a moment, thumb tracing over the stick figures. The blue-eyed boy. The girl with a faint red-lipped smile. The images were so carelessly drawn back then, yet they now carry an almost painful clarity. A reminder of what once was—and what could never quite be again. Sliding the top off the box, you’re immediately greeted by the faint scent of old paper and something else merely nostalgic. Photographs, letters, and random trinkets fill the space. A keychain, an old movie ticket stub, and at the very top, a small folded note with handwriting you recognize instantly.  

"To my favorite person,  

No matter where life takes us, remember this moment, okay? This one is ours."

His handwriting feels more impactful than you thought it would. Your chest tightens as you unfold the note fully, memories flooding back with each word. Satoru had written this. Back when things were different—when the two of you weren’t carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. When promises felt unbreakable and the future seemed...possible.  

You carefully place the note back into the box, your hands trembling slightly. There’s so much in this little box that you’ve avoided for years. So much of what you were, who you were, with him. And now, it feels like the box is staring back at you, asking the question you’ve avoided for so long.  

What are you going to do with all of this?  

Why have you kept this? After all the time? You remember telling yourself the day of your break up that you’d throw everything out—burn it all. But everytime you even touched it, you came to a brutal realization. You can’t. For some reason, you couldn’t get rid of it, couldn’t bring harm to this reminder of the lives you’ve lived and left behind.

You found comfort in the idea that one day in the future, you would be able to. But you also found comfort in the box itself. Oh how wrong you were. And that fact twists at your heart, your blood wringing out in the process. Leaving you with a dull and soulless shell. Staring down at the remnants, going through them—everytime. Maybe you haven’t ever had the strength to get rid of it, you wonder if you ever will. 

Pictures of your younger self, of Satoru’s younger self smile up at you like they’re taunting you. As if the past can sense the future’s despair. They’re simple pictures, cute but simple. Just how you two wanted it. The quality isn’t that great, considering most of them were taken on shitty disposable cameras. 

“Because it’s sustainable!” You argued when Satoru questioned the device when you first pulled it out. He simply scoffed and rolled his eyes, lips upturning into a smile the second you readied the device for a photo.

A picture is worth a thousand words. 

Whoever came up with that phrase is a genius, but you also despise how much truth is held to that single sentence. Pain. Nostalgia. Longing. Happiness. Regret?

Flipping through the small pictures is like going through your very own time capsule. Each snapshot carries a story, a moment frozen in time that feels both distant and heartbreakingly close. The childish doodles lining the box seem to echo your younger self’s voice, innocent and untouched by the weight of reality. A photo catches your eye—a little blurry but unmistakably Satoru, grinning with his arms slung lazily over your shoulders. Your cheeks in the picture are flushed, and you can almost hear the laughter that must’ve been spilling from your lips when it was taken.

Then there’s another, of the two of you sitting under a sprawling tree, sunlight filtering through the leaves. His hand rests on yours, casual but intimate in a way that makes your chest ache now. You remember the warmth of that day, the way he’d joked about how your hair glowed in the light.

There’s a card, too, nestled beneath the pictures. The corners are slightly bent, but the words inside are still intact. His handwriting is unmistakable, bold and messy:

“To the girl who makes my world brighter every day. Don’t ever stop smiling—it’s my favorite thing about you. Love, Satoru.”

“Hah, I didn’t know you were such a poet.” You teased. 

“Ugh, shut up.”

Your fingers trace over the ink, your breath halting. Time may have passed, and life may have twisted and turned, but this box feels like a portal to a version of you that still believed in endless possibilities. And yet, the ache in your chest doesn’t falter. Instead, it lingers, a reminder of how much has changed—and how much you wish hadn’t.

The final picture is one that almost tears at you. A silly one that you would’ve never imagined would push at your heart like a heavy door stuck in the way of your own contentment. You’re kissing him, the side profile of your two faces as you indulge in each other's lips. Satoru’s free arm slightly out of frame since he’s the one holding the camera high. You both are holding your left hands up, showing off your Ring Pops on each of your ring fingers. His red, yours blue.

“Let’s pose like a couple who just got married!”

You sighed. “Satoru….”

Written on the white border frame of the photo are the words:

She said yes!! 

A melancholic laugh escapes you, tears hitting the picture. It’s colors are already slightly altered from previous wetness. Your chest feels tight, eyes closing with a sinking stomach. Why do you always do this to yourself when you’re already feeling upset? Why are you still so affected by it? Will it get better with time? But how much more time?

You gasp and flinch when the front door is rung, eyes widening as you swiftly and messily put the contents back in, sliding the top back on and stuffing the box in its hiding spot once more. After closing the door, you walk down the hall and to the peephole. Your brows furrow. “Satoru?” You ask as you open the door. Confusion hits you, seeing your sleeping son in his father’s arms. Koji’s backpack slid on top of Satoru’s shoulder. “What are you doing here?”

“Um…dropping Koji off?” He replies back like it’s the obvious, his own pale eyebrows knitting as he regards you. “…Are you okay? Why are you crying?”

Shit. “I’m not,” your hands raise to your cheeks, wiping any trace of your previous emotional breakdown, swiftly denying his words. “I thought you were coming back later.”

“It is later, Y/N.” He frowns and steps in, allowing you a better view of the dark night sky. 

What the hell? Since when did it get dark? Slowly, you close and lock the door, blinking rapidly as you try to gather your bearings. Just how long were you on the couch for? How long were you reminiscing? Turning around, you see Satoru come out from Koji’s room.

“Put him down, showered and dressed him already. Little man played a lot today.” 

“Oh,” you murmur, unsure of what else to say. You lean against the door for a moment, trying to regain your composure. Satoru’s words feel oddly domestic, almost like you’re living a life you’ve long since moved on from dreaming about—or tried to.

He sets Koji’s backpack down by the couch, brushing invisible dust off his sleeves as he glances your way. “You sure you’re okay?” His voice softens now, genuine. Concerned.

You force a small smile, crossing your arms. “I’m fine. Just…lost track of time, I guess.”

Satoru studies you, his crystalline eyes searching your face like he doesn’t quite believe you. He shrugs lightly, though, not wanting to push. “Alright. Koji was great today. Took him to that park he keeps talking about. Got some ice cream. He wore me out.” His lips quirk into a small grin, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Thanks for doing that,” you say softly, glancing toward Koji’s room. “He loves spending time with you. He always talks to me about your guys’ missions.”

“Hah, yeah, well…” Satoru scratches the back of his neck, leaning his tall frame casually against the wall. “I love spending time with him, too. And you know, it’s not just for him.” His words are light, but there’s a weight behind them, one you’re not sure you’re ready to unpack tonight. You don’t know what he really means by that, but it’s probably best that you don’t. You’d look into it too much. And like he said, you’re already complicating things even more by almost kissing him the other day. 

You nod, your throat tightening as you look anywhere but at him. “I should probably check on him. Make sure he’s really asleep.”

“Y/N.” His voice stops you in your tracks.

You turn slowly, meeting his gaze. “What?” you ask, your voice smaller than you intended.

He hesitates for a moment, his brows furrowing as though he’s deciding whether or not to say what’s on his mind. Finally, he sighs and steps closer. “If something’s bothering you…you can talk to me. You know that, right? You look like you’re crying and I—”

Your heart clenches, the sincerity in his voice almost too much to bear. “I know,” you manage to cut him off, your voice sharper than you had wanted it to be.

For a moment, the two of you just stand there, the air between you heavy with unspoken words. Then, Satoru clears his throat and steps back. “Alright. Guess I’ll head out, then. Call me if you need anything.” You hum, watching as he heads for the door. Just before he leaves, he pauses, glancing back at you one last time. His eyes linger for a second longer than they should, and then he’s gone, the door clicking shut behind him.

And you’re left alone again, the weight of the evening settling back over you like a familiar, unwelcome blanket. You want to scold yourself for losing track of time so easily, letting yourself get lost for such a long time. He probably thinks something’s wrong, and while you appreciate him being mature and overall cordial enough to offer his ear, you don’t want to give him that. It’s embarrassing and almost too vulnerable for you right now to vent to your ex. 

You know that saying that the last thing or person you think about before you fall asleep is what you’ll dream of? He stares at the door, trying to will himself into stopping his train of thought, but the vision of you won’t leave. Not tonight. Maybe it’s the nagging scent of your clothes he can still smell, or maybe it’s the way you looked so raw, so unguarded. Maybe it’s the promise he made to himself years ago to never let you go, to never let you fall apart without him. Now look where he is.

Satoru’s mind is a whirlwind as he steps back into the cold, dark air of his penthouse, the door clicking shut behind him with a finality he wasn’t quite ready for. He should’ve left things simple, right? Drop off Koji, make sure everything’s okay, and then go. But of course, he couldn’t help himself. He had to ask, had to reach for that sliver of connection that still seemed to remain between the two of you, even after all this time. Or maybe he’s not reaching, he’s just being a good person. Or maybe there is no sliver of connection at all.

He rubs his face with one hand as he walks down the hall, his thoughts staying on your expression, the tightness in your smile, the way you tried so hard to hide whatever was eating at you. Your red eyes that seemed glossy enough to tell him what you had been doing before he arrived. He should’ve pushed, should’ve stayed longer, but something told him it wasn’t the right time. Also, not to mention the fact that he’s not entitled to know anymore, and he shouldn’t want to. He wishes he could forget—wishes it wasn’t so easy for him to still care about you after everything you’ve put him through.

Still, his mind can’t stop replaying the way you looked tonight, like you were holding back—like you were on the edge of something he couldn’t reach. And now, that’s the last image he sees before closing his eyes: you, standing there, fragile but strong, trying to put on a brave face when he knew you were anything but okay. 

He slides into his bed, sinking into the comforting mattress. Stop thinking about it, he tells himself. Just go to sleep.

But it's useless. The thought of you doesn't leave him. It never does in times like this. But that's the thing, isn't it? He always cared. Always would. Any good man would

As the awaited sleep stretches on, his mind drifts back to those moments—the way you wiped your face quickly when he mentioned the tears. How you didn’t let him in. He can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to this.

Before he knows it, he feels the weight of his own exhaustion, the pull of sleep starting to take over. He lets his eyes stay shut. Stretching out on the bed, his thoughts blurring into a fizzle. The room is quiet, too quiet. But just like that, he’s falling and falling into a realm where the weight of everything else disappears.

The first thing he sees startles him. It’s just you, standing in front of him again, your eyes locked with his. 

You’re both staring at one another before it’s like someone slowly raising the light switches. Sun peeking through the blinds of the kitchen you two stand in as you place a hand down to your stomach. When his eyes follow it, he then notices the rounded swell that’s visible from beneath the dress you wear. 

“Hey, you’re awake.”

You giggle, voice smooth and inviting, stepping closer to him until you can reach his hand, intertwining your fingers. 

Yep, definitely a dream. Or maybe a nightmare. 

“I made you breakfast, your favorite.” You guide his hand to your bump, chuckling softly. “But baby here was getting hungry, so we may have gotten a little taste test before.”

Satoru’s heart skips a beat, his fingers instinctively brushing over your rounded stomach as you guide them there. The warmth of your skin under his touch feels real, too real, and his mind stumbles, trying to make sense of the situation. The room around you starts to feel like a glimpse into an alternative universe. Soft, golden light spilling in through the blinds, the smell of something warm and inviting persisting in the air. It’s almost too perfect, too serene to be real. And yet, he’s standing here, his breath caught in his throat as his fingers rest against the gentle curve of your belly. The weight of it, the life growing inside you, sends a quiet thrill through him.

You giggle, the sound of it so familiar it makes his chest ache. It’s like nothing has changed. Like you’re the same as you’ve always been, only…this time, things are different. There’s a quiet tenderness in the air that wasn’t there before. He swallows, trying to fight the growing confusion in his chest. “I—I don’t understand,” he murmurs, his thumb lightly brushing over the small, soft swell of your stomach. He knows it’s not real, but it doesn’t stop his brain from wandering into beliefs of if it were. “How… how are we here?”

Your smile widens, that knowing glimmer in your eyes that makes his chest tighten with something he can’t name. “We’re here because this is where we belong,” you say simply, as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. You nudge his hand a little lower, guiding him to feel the tiny movement beneath his palm, the small shift of life inside you.

It’s then that the weight of the moment hits him all at once, his heart thumping in his chest. The quiet reality of what you’ve built together, the life you’ve shared, and everything that could’ve been. He’s overwhelmed, caught between longing and disbelief. His voice cracks when he finally speaks again. “Is this what you wanted? What we wanted?”

You laugh softly, resting your forehead against his chest, your fingers still entwined with his. “It’s what I’ve always wanted. What we have always wanted. Stop acting weird.” Your words are a balm, soothing yet laced with something deeper, something that speaks to both of your hearts, even if this is fake.

In this moment, everything feels right. It feels like you’re back to where you both belong.

Satoru stays still for a moment, the warmth of your forehead pressed against him, your fingers gently intertwining with his. The softness of the moment seems to wrap around him, the image of you—here, with him—so perfect that it almost hurts. The softness of your touch, the way your body feels against his as you stand close, it’s like he’s been starved of this connection for so long. A quiet ache settles deep within him, but it’s not the hurt he’s used to. No, this is something else—something far more complicated.

He shifts slightly, his gaze never leaving yours as you lift your head. “I didn’t think I’d ever get to feel this again,” he admits, his voice low and tentative. The vulnerability in his tone catches him off guard, but it feels natural, like you’ve always been the one person he could let his guard down with. “You and…us. Everything that’s happened.”

You hum softly, brushing your thumb over the back of his hand. The smile on your lips is small but full of quiet understanding. “I know, Satoru,” you say, your voice steady, like you’ve been carrying this weight for far longer than he ever realized. “But this…” You glance down at your stomach before meeting his eyes again, “This is what we fought for. This is what we still have.”

He feels the truth of your words settle into him, but it’s a bittersweet sensation, one that pulls at something deep inside of him. It’s almost too good to be true, this version of reality, and he can’t help but wonder why his mind has conjured up this visualization—this perfect picture of you and him, together in a way he never thought possible.

“But what if we don’t get it right?” he asks quietly, his brow furrowing in uncertainty. “What if we’re too broken to fix it? We’ve made so many mistakes…”

You place a gentle finger against his lips, silencing him before he can spiral further. “We’ve always been broken, Satoru,” you say softly, “But we’ve always found our way back to each other. And that’s enough. Right?”

The way you say it, so sure of yourself, sends a warmth through his chest. It’s a peace he didn’t think he would ever have again. His heart beats a little faster, a little steadier, as he finally lets go of the lingering doubts, the fear of what’s beyond this moment. He leans down, pressing his forehead to yours, a small smile tugging at his lips despite the weight in his chest. “I don’t know what’s next, but for now… I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Your eyes soften, and for a moment, he sees it—the connection between you two, unbroken, unshakable. Even in the midst of everything that’s happened, the messy past and the uncertainty of the future, he realizes that some things are worth fighting for. “This is enough for me,” you whisper, closing the distance between you, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. It’s gentle, but it carries everything—everything he’s been wanting to say, everything he’s been longing to hear.

And god, the way your pretty lips feel against his is heavenly. It’s strong and long-lasting. Hand to your cheek as his head tilts to deepen it, feeling your warm breath enter his mouth like a soft pull. He’s tempted to dance his tongue along your own.

As you pull away, he feels a quiet peace settle over him. The dream, though fleeting, has given him something he didn’t know he needed. A glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, they can find their way back to each other for good.

But the atmosphere darkens, like putting a blanket over a lamp. Your own eyes dulling into something he saw before he left you tonight, something he’s been seeing everytime he visits you. Your smile dropping into a placid emotion. Satoru’s heart stutters in his chest, the warmth of the moment slipping away like sand between his fingers. The light around you seems to fade, the world losing its softness and vibrancy. A chill washes over him, creeping through his veins like ice water. Your smile, once so gentle and inviting, disappears into something far more distant, as if a part of you has shut down completely. The joy that had filled the air vanishes, replaced by a heavy, suffocating silence that wraps itself around both of you. His eyes widen in confusion, and he takes a step back, searching your face for any hint of explanation. He feels the air shift into a freezing temperature.

"What—?" He stops himself, his words catching in his throat, trying to make sense of the drastic shift in the atmosphere. The way your hand falls to your side feels like a finality, as though the reality he had just witnessed—of you, of the hope in your eyes—was nothing more than a simple illusion.

The weight of the silence presses down on him, smothering. His gaze moves down, and that's when he realizes the baby bump has vanished. There’s nothing there. The roundness, the warmth, the promise of new life—gone. In its place, there's only the smooth curve of your stomach, flat and unchanged.

"Y/N?" His voice cracks on your name, disoriented and desperate for some kind of explanation. "What happened? What…what’s going on?"

But you don’t answer right away. Instead, you look at him like you’ve seen a stranger, a shift in your eyes that only deepens the growing pit in his stomach. Your gaze is cold, distant, almost as if you've already resigned yourself to something. Satoru swallows hard, his hand instinctively reaching for you, but when his fingers brush against your arm, it feels like the connection is completely severed. "What’s wrong? Talk to me," he pleads, his voice raw and filled with confusion. 

You take a slow, deliberate step back, the air between you two growing heavier. "Satoru," you say, but your voice sounds far too calm, far too final. "This is the reality, isn't it? This is what it always was—always will be. A dream. A fantasy."

His mind races, his heart pounding in his chest. "No, this isn’t a fantasy! We—we had a chance. You and me, and Koji…and the other…We were—" His throat tightens, unable to finish his sentence.

But you cut him off, the finality in your words sinking deep. "You left, Satoru. You just wanted us to end, didn’t you? It’s why you didn’t fight for me the day we broke up—fight for us. You made me make that promise. You left, and that’s what this is now. A memory. The past. Something we’ll never, ever get back.”

The words land like a blow to his chest, sharp and cutting. His chest tightens as he searches your face, willing for you to show him that this is just another moment in the dream—that the warmth would come back, that the hope would return. But your eyes are cold. The distance between you feels insurmountable.

He opens his mouth to speak, to argue, to fix whatever it is that's wrong—but nothing comes out. The truth is, he doesn’t know how to fix this. Not anymore. Not when everything between you feels so broken, like fragments of a life he no longer knows how to put together. 

And just like that, the warmth of the dream fades completely, leaving him in the cold, dark reality of what’s been lost.

“I wish I kept Koji from you. I wish you weren’t his father.”

Satoru startles awake, jolting upright in his bed. He feels like he’s just been splashed with ice cold water, in a way, he has. Raising his hands to his temples, face scrunching in discomfort. He’s breathing fast and hard, heart feeling like it’ll just pop right out. His hands trembling. 

The sounds of birds tweeting a song is what he hears next. The morning light filters softly through the curtains, but it feels blinding to him, harsh against the remnants of the nightmare. His chest rises and falls rapidly, each breath shallow and frantic, his heart still racing as he fights to steady himself. The words you spoke echo in his mind, sharp and cutting. I wish I kept Koji from you. I wish you weren’t his father. The pain in those words, the hurt, is still so vivid in his memory. 

Satoru places his hands on the sides of his face, trying to ground himself. His fingers dig into his skin, as if the physical pressure could somehow push away the remnants of the dream, make it vanish. But it lingers. It hangs heavy in the air, suffocating him. Why did you say that? Why did you feel that way? Do you actually feel that way in real life? Are you planning to take Koji and run away with him again? Did you seriously regret having a child with him?

He inhales deeply, his breath shaky, trying to calm the rapid beating of his heart. The sound of birds chirping in the distance serves as a reminder that the world continues to move outside of his turmoil, but it only makes him feel more disconnected. He pushes the blankets off of him and swings his legs over the side of the bed, his feet hitting the floor with a thud. His mind races, trying to make sense of what he’s feeling. That dream—it wasn’t just a nightmare. It felt like a warning, a reminder of how fragile everything has been, how much he’s lost. How much he’s failed.

The promise.

The weight of what’s happened between you two settles heavily on his shoulders. And it makes him feel cautious—scared that you’ll do what you said you wouldn’t, all over again. 

Satoru stands, his body still trembling slightly, and walks toward the window. He peers outside, letting the light touch his face, even if it’s almost too bright for him right now. It’s peaceful outside, the world as it always is in the morning: calm, serene, untouched. But his own mind is a storm, and no amount of sunlight seems to clear the clouds. He closes his eyes and exhales deeply, trying to shake off the remnants of the dream, the guilt gnawing at him. The idea of you saying that you wished you’d kept Koji from him—the thought cuts deeper than he’s willing to admit. What does that mean for the future? 

What does it mean for him?

Satoru feels his heart aching with the need to fix things, to understand if you actually feel that way. But he's left in the quiet chaos of his own mind, unsure of where to begin. And that's the worst part: not knowing where to start.

Whatever, it was just a dream. Dreams aren’t real. Don’t think too much into it. 

A text message pings, causing him to look over. The sight of your name forms a twisting feeling to reside in his core, frowning. It’s like when you dream about your significant other cheating on you, so the next morning you’re a little mad at them for no reason. But this time, he’s not sure if it’s for no reason. 

Maybe you actually feel like this, feeling regret for not keeping Koji from him any longer. You’ve obviously shown to be good at keeping secrets, so who’s to say you’re not still doing that. He grabs his phone, clicking on your message and pushing down the resentment that continues to bloom once more. 

Y/N:

Hey, have u had any luck with the leaker? 

Satoru sighs heavily, eyes closing momentarily before opening them back up and typing you back. He can’t help the shortness in his response. 

Satoru:

No 

Y/N:

Pls let me know of any changes

He doesn’t bother replying, tossing his phone on his bed and getting up and ready for the day. Of course the thought of the identity of who leaked the photo has been running rampant in his mind day in and day out. But he just woke up from a particularly scary nightmare—or a message?—and he doesn’t need his mind overwhelmed anymore than it is right now. 

As he goes through his morning routine, Satoru can’t shake the consistent unease. The nightmare, your text, and the weight of everything that’s been happening swirl in his mind like a storm he can’t escape. He brushes his teeth with more force than necessary, gripping the sink as the toothpaste foam spills over his lips. He stares at his reflection in the mirror, his pale blue eyes duller than usual, rimmed with exhaustion.

He can’t stop wondering—what if there’s truth to his nightmare? What if you do regret letting him into Koji’s life? The thought gnaws at him, a relentless ache in his chest.  

The leak complicates things even further. Someone out there—someone close enough to know—exposed him and Koji to the world. The conversation with his mother plays again internally. Someone close or possibly a business partner. But what if she’s wrong? What if it’s someone who’s not close, but still smart enough? And while it’s caused a media frenzy, he knows the real damage is more personal. It’s the wedge it’s driving between him and you. The accusations, the whispers, the uncertainty—it’s all feeding into the growing gap he’s been struggling to bridge.  

He pulls on a shirt, his movements jerky as his frustration builds. He hasn’t been able to sleep properly for days either, his mind consumed by the mystery of the leak and the uneasy tension between you two. It’s not like you’re outright hostile, but there’s something there—something distant, guarded. And now, after the dream, he can’t stop replaying the worst-case scenarios in his head.   

The atmosphere in the room is cold, tense—calculating. Out of the four people situated inside, none speak. Just looking at one another in silent scrutiny. Yamato and Akane are sitting side by side, seated across from them are another married couple. 

Kenji and Emi Nakamura. 

Kenji and Emi Nakamura exude the quiet confidence of people used to wielding power. Kenji’s sharp suit is impeccably tailored, his posture straight and commanding, while Emi, poised in a sleek dress, sits with her legs crossed, her hands folded neatly on her lap. Despite their calm appearances, their sharp gazes and the slight twitch of Kenji’s jaw betray their impatience.

Yamato leans back in his chair, his arms crossed, his eyes cold and unwavering as they meet Kenji’s. Akane, seated next to him, is the picture of composed elegance, but the slight tap of her heel against the floor reveals her tension. The silence stretches, thick and heavy, until finally, Kenji speaks, his voice smooth but laced with thinly veiled irritation. 

“So,” he begins, his piercing eyes flickering between Yamato and Akane. “Are we going to dance around the issue all day, or will one of you have the decency to explain how this... mess...got out and why the man who’s dating our daughter suddenly has a secret son?” 

Yamato doesn’t flinch. He lets the accusation hang in the air for a moment before responding, his tone measured. “We don’t deal in leaks, Kenji. And we certainly wouldn’t jeopardize our own family’s reputation for... what? A scandal? That’s more your style.”

Kenji’s expression hardens, and Emi places a delicate hand on his arm, a subtle but firm reminder to keep his temper in check. She smiles politely, though it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Let’s not turn this into a blame game. We’re all here because this leak affects all of us—your family, ours, Satoru’s and Himari’s.” 

Akane’s lips twitch into a faint, humorless smile. “Don’t patronize us, Emi. You and I both know you’ve been waiting for an opportunity like this. You’ve always wanted to see Satoru fall from grace.”

Emi raises an eyebrow, her smile unfaltering. “I want what’s best for our families, Akane. A public scandal doesn’t benefit anyone, least of all Gojo or the Nakamura name. Besides, our daughter quite loves your son.” 

Kenji leans forward, his hands clasped together on the table. “Let’s cut the theatrics. Who is responsible?” 

Akane’s heel stops tapping, and she fixes Kenji with a sharp look. “We’re working on it. Our investigators are thorough, and they’ll uncover the source soon enough.”

Kenji’s eyes narrow. “They’d better. Because the last thing the Nakamura name needs is a public scandal about a conniving young man and our innocent daughter. She’s already receiving enough scrutiny as it is.”

The tension in the room ratchets up another notch, but Yamato remains unmoved. His voice, low and steady, cuts through the silence. “And if we discover the leak came from your side, Kenji? Are you prepared to deal with the consequences?” The two men lock eyes, a silent battle of wills, while their wives sit in their respective corners, poised like chess queens ready to strike. The room may be quiet, but the unspoken threats linger in the air like a storm waiting to break.

“We’d never do something like this, especially if it affects our daughter.” Emi replies firmly. She tilts her chin up slightly, an air of indignation radiating from her as her perfectly manicured hand rests on her husband’s arm. “You should know better than to accuse us of such underhanded behavior, Yamato.”

Yamato’s wife leans forward slightly, her tone equally sharp. “And you should know better than to express such hostility towards us. Tenka Couture benefits more from Gojo Group than vice versa.”

Emi’s smile tightens, her composure threatening to crack. “Why, of course. We’re just saying, Himari has nothing to gain from this mess. If anything, she’s a victim of it. The constant media scrutiny, the endless whispers. How do you think that’s been affecting her?”

Kenji slams his hand on the table, the sound reverberating through the room. “Enough. This isn’t about Himari. This is about finding the truth. If your investigators are as thorough as you claim, then we’d better find answers—and soon.”

Yamato meets Kenji’s glare with a calm intensity. “Rest assured, we will. But until then, I suggest you keep your own people in check. If we find out this was an attempt to sabotage Satoru—or worse, hurt him—there will be consequences. You know that better than anyone.”

Kenji leans back, his jaw tight, as Emi places another calming hand on his shoulder. “We don’t want this to escalate any further,” she says, her voice softer now but no less firm. “For everyone’s sake, let’s handle this with discretion.”

Akane glances at Yamato, smoothing down the front of her skirt. “We agree. But let’s make one thing clear—if the Nakamuras are involved in any way, there will be no forgiveness. Not from us, and not from Satoru.”

Kenji sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Of course, we understand. But again, we are in no way involved with this leak. With the revelation of this…boy, it messes up everything. Himari and Satoru are a couple. They’re supposed to represent unity between our families and companies, a partnership that benefits both sides. This child complicates that narrative. It puts everything we’ve worked for at risk.”

Yamato’s eyes narrow, his sharp gaze cutting through Kenji’s words. “We understand, yes. But at the end of the day, Satoru is our son, this boy is…well he’s a part of our family now. Your concern seems to be more about appearances than the actual implications for Satoru’s life or the boy’s well-being, but I understand that. My wife and I too are concerned with the way this sudden news could somehow stain our reputation.”

Kenji leans forward, his hands clasped tightly on the table, his expression taut. “Appearances are everything in this world, Yamato. You know that. If this story continues to spread, the consequences won’t just affect Satoru or Himari—they’ll ripple through both of our families. Investors, business partners, the media—they all thrive on scandal, and we can’t afford to give them fuel. They’ll begin to wonder what else we’re keeping a secret.”

“Himari and Satoru’s relationship isn’t as stable as you think it is,” Akane counters, her tone measured but resolute. “This revelation didn’t create the cracks; it only exposed them. Maybe it’s time you and your daughter accept that.”

Emi bristles at Akane’s insinuation, her voice cold but precise. “You underestimate my daughter’s strength. Himari has always handled challenges with grace. She and Satoru will navigate this together—if you and your family stop meddling.”

Yamato cuts in, his expression calm. “Let’s not pretend this is solely about Satoru and Himari. The Nakamuras have as much to lose as we do. But let me remind you, Kenji, that this child—Koji—isn’t just a complication. He’s Satoru’s son, and that makes him family. As the adults in this situation, we also hold a certain level of accountability as for keeping this child away from public eye.”

Kenji’s jaw tightens, his composure threatening to crack. “Family or not, this boy’s existence jeopardizes everything. Himari has been nothing but supportive of Satoru, and she doesn’t deserve to be overshadowed by a damned secret from his past.”

Akane’s voice slices through the tension like a blade. “Supportive, or opportunistic? Don’t confuse loyalty with convenience. If Himari truly cared for Satoru, she’d understand that his son isn’t just a ‘secret’—he’s part of who he is now.”

The room falls silent, the weight of Akane’s words lingering. Kenji finally stands, his movements deliberate. “We’ll see how this plays out. But if you think we’ll let the Nakamura name be tarnished by this… situation, you’re mistaken.”

Yamato rises as well, his eyes locking with Kenji’s in an unspoken challenge. “And if you think we’ll allow anyone—anyone—to undermine Satoru or the Gojo legacy, you’re equally mistaken. The truth will come out, Kenji. Be prepared for it.”

With that, the couple turns and leave, their exit leaving the Gojos in a cloud of tension and unease. Akane finally speaks, her voice low but firm. “Remind me again why we are pushing through with this arrangement. The Gojo Group hardly needs Tenka Couture. We’re more than capable of standing on our own.”

Yamato exhales, running a hand through his silver hair. “It’s not about needing them, Akane. It’s about the influence. The Nakamuras have deep connections in sectors we’ve been trying to expand into—fashion, entertainment, international markets. Aligning with them strengthens our position globally. We settled this years ago, okay?”

Akane crosses her arms, her expression skeptical. “At what cost? Their arrogance alone is enough to make me question this. And let’s not even get started on Himari. She might be poised on the outside, but she lacks the fortitude to handle Satoru’s world. She clings to the spotlight, but she’s not ready for the shadows.”

Yamato’s jaw tightens. “You’re not wrong, but this arrangement was never meant to hinge on her ability to ‘handle’ Satoru. It’s a strategic move, not a personal one. I thought you understood that.”

“Strategic?” Akane’s voice rises slightly, her composed exterior slipping. “Do you even hear yourself? This isn’t just a business deal anymore. There’s a child involved now—your grandson. And yet, we’re expected to sideline him for the sake of appearances?”

Yamato’s gaze hardens, a rare flicker of emotion breaking through his typically stoic demeanor. “The boy is not being sidelined. But if this situation spirals out of control, it won’t just be Satoru’s name dragged through the mud—it’ll be Koji’s, too. I’m trying to protect all of them. As much as I dislike this situation and as much as I do not care for getting to know this boy, at the end of the day he’s connected to us.”

Akane steps closer, her voice softening but losing none of its edge. “And how do you expect to protect Koji by tying Satoru to someone who doesn’t have the heart to care for him? Because that’s what you’re doing, Yamato. You’re forcing a partnership that benefits no one but the Nakamuras. I’ve told you this from the start that it won’t do us good. There are plenty of other people we can contact that won’t involve forcing our son into an arranged marriage.”

For a moment, Yamato doesn’t respond. His broad shoulders sag just slightly, the weight of the conversation settling over him. “This isn’t about what’s ideal, Akane. It’s about what’s necessary. And until we find another way to stabilize this situation, the arrangement stands.”

Akane shakes her head, turning away. “Necessary, huh? Tell me, Yamato—when did we start sacrificing our family for necessity?”

Her words hover in the air as she walks out of the room, leaving Yamato standing alone, the tension thick and suffocating. He glances out the window, the city lights reflecting in his cold blue eyes. “Sometimes,” he murmurs to himself, “family is the sacrifice.”

Kenji and Emi sit in the back of the blacked out Escalade. One visibly more angry than the other. The assistant up front hands Kenji an IPad. “Here, sir.”

Kenji takes it without a word, scrolling. On the screen, a plethora of all the personal information regarding the woman who caused all this. 

You. 

Kenji’s grip tightens on the iPad as his sharp eyes scan the screen, each line of information making his jaw clench harder. Birthdate, address, financial records, employment history—it’s all there. How pathetic. Every detail meticulously laid out like a blueprint of your life. Beside him, Emi glances over, her expression less angered and more calculating.

“So,” she finally says, her tone icy and deliberate. “This is her.”

Kenji doesn’t reply immediately, his focus locked on the screen. An ID picture accompanied the words. The photo of you, Satoru, and Koji catches his attention, and his lips press into a thin line. The leaked photo. “The audacity,” he mutters. “She hides this little punk tyke for years, and now she’s a problem we’re forced to deal with. They both are.”

Emi tilts her head, her perfectly manicured nails tapping lightly against her armrest. “She doesn’t look like much. Hardly someone who should be causing this much of a stir. But appearances can be deceiving.” Her lips curl into a faint sneer. “Especially for women like her.”

“She’s more than just a stir. She’s a maddening, infuriating liability with baggage from hell,” Kenji snaps, handing the iPad back to his assistant with a flick of his wrist. “The kind that could ruin everything if we’re not careful because they themselves have nothing to lose.”

The assistant clears his throat nervously from the front seat. “Sir, should I proceed with the next steps?”

Kenji leans back in his seat, his eyes dark and unrelenting. “Not yet. I want to understand her first. How she operates. What she values. Everyone has a weakness. Once we find hers, we’ll decide the next course of action. Though, I assume it’s the ragged infant.”

Emi raises an eyebrow, her tone almost teasing. “You sound like you’re preparing for war.”

Kenji’s gaze flickers to his wife, his expression unreadable. “Aren’t we?”

The tension in the car is palpable, the low hum of the engine the only sound as they drive through the city. Emi’s lips curve into a faint smile, though her eyes remain cold. “She won’t win, Kenji. Not against us. Not against our sweet baby girl.”

“She won’t even get the chance,” Kenji replies, his voice hard and certain. “We’ll make sure of it.”

a/n: this is my present to u all!!!! happy holidays! ❤️❤️

taglist is now closed

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[inthemiddleofmae]

everything is romantic - paul mescal x reader

summary - you and paul take a trip to italy during the summer. lots of photo-taking and kissing.

word count: 761

a/n: everybody say thank to pedro pascal for these photos that have got me going absolutely feral!!!!!!!! it is absolutely freezing where i’m from and seasonal depression is getting to me so i’m writing something about summer to make me happy :) and thank you so much for the love on my last fic it means the world <3 i hope you enjoy this one just as much!!

the air smelt of salt and wild rosemary as you and paul walked down a narrow cobblestone street in the amalfi coast, hands locked together in a tight, loving embrace. paul had his beloved camera round his neck; a gift you had gotten him when you first started dating.

the sun was dipping low in the sky, casting a golden glow that seemed to warm everything it touched. the distant sound of waves crashing against the rocky shore played like a lullaby in the background.

“this doesn’t feel real,” you said, your voice tinged with awe as you glanced up at the laundry fluttering on balconies.

paul looked over at you, a loving smile playing on his lips. “you’ve said that every ten minutes since we got here.”

“well, it still doesn’t!” you shot back, bumping his shoulder lightly. “it's unlike anything i've ever seen before. how am i supposed to stop talking about it?”

he laughed, gently letting go of your hand so he could grab your waist and pull you even closer as you both wandered down the uneven path. “i like it when you ramble. means you’re happy.”

you felt your face suddenly get hot. “i'm not just happy. i’m...i don’t know. full.” you gestured around. “this place, this trip, being here with you - it’s everything.”

paul stopped walking and turned to face you, his blue eyes warm and soft as they searched your face. “you’re everything.” he said, and you swore you could actually feel your heart swell.

you wrapped your hands around paul's neck as he leaned down, brushing his lips against yours in a passionate series of pecks and one longer kiss that you both fought for control over. as you both realised your very public environment, you pulled back. you couldn’t help but smile as you rested your forehead against his.

“alright, lover boy,” you teased, though your voice was thick with affection. you stepped away from him and paused in front of a charming doorway painted a faded blue with potted geraniums clustered at its base. with a pout and a few bats of your eyelashes, you then said, "can you take a picture of me?"

rolling his eyes but unable to suppress his smile, paul raised the camera and pointed it at you.

you leaned against the blue door, tilting your head slightly as you brushed your hair back. paul snapped a few shots, then lowered the camera, his expression softening.

“alright, one more,” he said. “but don’t pose this time.”

“i wasn’t posing!”

“you definitely were,” he teased, lifting the camera again. “just laugh or something.”

you huffed a laugh at his instructions, and in that moment, he took a photo that he would never forget; your head was tilted back slightly, sunlight was on your face, and your eyes crinkled with happiness - he was unsure if he'd ever seen you look so beautiful.

when you realised paul had stopped taking photos and was now staring intensely at his camera, you ran forward and playfully smacked his arm. “let me see, babe.”

paul handed over the camera with a grin. as you scrolled through the pictures, you smile widened. “okay, these are actually really good. you’re getting better.”

“fuck off,” he said with a laugh, sliding an arm around your waist and pulling you close.

the two of you walked further down the street, but after a while decided to pause on a set of wide, sun-warmed stone steps to take a break from wandering. paul was in front of you, resting his elbows on his knees as he scrolled through his phone.

without a word, you picked up paul's camera that was still in your possession and adjusted the lens. the light hit him just right, illuminating the soft lines of his roman profile, his hair ruffled slightly from the breeze. you snapped a photo, then another, the sound of the shutter drawing his attention.

paul tilted his head at you and laughed. “you’re supposed to be taking pictures of the scenery, not me.”

“you’re part of the scenery,” you said cheekily, snapping another.

"alright give me back my camera - i'm starving, lets get some lunch." paul said, playfully snatching his camera out of your hand as he rose from his seat. he placed the camera back around his neck as he gave you his hand to help you rise from your own seat.

"you're my lunch, too,' you said, bringing your lips close to paul's ear once you had gotten up, and you watched his face turn pink.

[crybabybat]

This got some really fucking annoying reblogs while I wasn’t watching it so:

“Nobody should be allowed to make irreversible health decisions while in distress (suicidal) or under the age of 25, PERIOD”

1. You didn’t read the post. You literally didn’t take a single thing in.

2. I started testosterone at 16 years old. I would have killed myself otherwise. If that sounds like proof that I shouldn’t have been allowed to start T to you, all that tells me is that you have never felt compassion for a trans person and you haven’t thought about dysphoria for more than 5 minutes.

3. Nobody bats a fucking eye when cis people make irreversible decisions under 25! Cis people are going on HRT and getting gender affirming surgeries fucking constantly!! Intersex kids are getting forced to take hormones literally every day to “correct” traits their bodies naturally produce!! You literally only give a shit when it’s trans people accessing joy!

4. Shut up. Shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up

“Do therapy about it first, at very least”

I saw multiple therapists! I was in therapy pretty much constantly ages 14-18. I was legally required to see a special gender therapist for a certain amount of time before she would refer me to a doctor I had to see three times at least before he’d let my parents sign the papers to allow me to start taking testosterone.

“Okay but you can become infertile and that’s a huge and major and devastating side effect that no one could possibly want. This is a trump card”

1. Literally every single doctor prescribing hormones will tell you this first and offer solutions to preserve your eggs/sperm.

2. This might shock you. But many people will be or become infertile for reasons including, but not limited to, the ways their bodies naturally produce hormones. This does not need to be fixed unless the individual wishes for it to be, and is not inherently a defect.

3. HRT actually does a terrible job at making you infertile. Like it cannot be used as birth control because even after SEVERAL years of being on hormones, the vast majority of trans people can still reproduce if they haven’t had other procedures that affect their ability to.

4. Treating people like their ability to reproduce and give birth is more important than their happiness and right to change their bodies how they wish, is fucking insane. You sound so fucking stupid.

I said I think people should be able to access hrt more freely and generally feel more inspired to try it out for a few months if it sounds like something they might benefit from. I think everybody has the right to informed consent and autonomy, including children. 3 months of HRT is not going to make anybody infertile, it probably isn’t even long enough for your voice to drop if it’s T, and it certainly isn’t long enough for breasts to grow on E. I ALSO didn’t say that doctors should stop discussing potential side effects, such as infertility, with patients, to the same degree that they’d discuss them with any other medication. I just think it’s actually fucking fine if people want to try it out! If it works that’s awesome, if it doesn’t work you can stop! Fuck!!!

I will never understand how cis people widely continue to see HRT as a huge decision that needs years of consideration and should only be used as a last resort for minors if they’re on the edge of suicide, and other things of this nature.

Like your body already has those hormones. It’s already doing that. It’s okay. They’re just hormones, you can play around and see what you like, what feels right. It’s literally fine. Changes to our bodies and voices and genitals and things are already an inherent part of being human.

It’s the weight that’s put on the decision to go on HRT that manufactures the major concerns of regret. If you decide it’s not for you and you’re upset because your body has been altered in a way that doesn’t feel good to you, that’s the same as getting a tattoo you don’t love, or breaking a bone, or being injured in some other way, or aging, or even getting a bad haircut. It is not automatically more horrific because it has to do with the perceived presentation of your gender. Hope this helps 👍🏼

[punkshort]

Evergreen | Chapter Five: Acceptance

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Chapter Summary: It's almost Christmas, so you take the time to reflect on your accomplishments while enjoying the peaceful life you've created with Joel.

Chapter Warnings: language, soft!joel, smut (18+ MDNI), unprotected piv sex, food and alcohol consumption, Christmas, so much fluff it hurts

WC: 5.1K

Series Masterlist

"Alright, try some of this."

Ellie set down her spiked hot chocolate on your kitchen counter and stood to take the spoon from your hand. She blew on the soup before sampling a small taste and vigorously nodding her head.

"That's fucking amazing, we should make that a regular item."

You grinned and tossed the spoon in your sink before maneuvering around her to reach the spice rack. Your new house was just a two-bedroom ranch and the small kitchen took some getting used to, but you finally made the rented space feel like home. Although when you and Ellie occasionally found yourselves crammed in your kitchen to test some new products for the food truck, you couldn't help but long for the beautiful kitchen you used to have.

"I think I'll add this and take off the turkey chili, it doesn't do too well," you said before turning to your fridge and scribbling something on the white board. It was close to Christmas and you had already introduced your cold-weather menu for the food truck, but you were always actively looking to make tweaks where it was needed.

"Sarah really likes the chili," Ellie reminded you.

"I'll make her a big batch and divide it up so she can freeze it when she goes back to school."

"Is she helping out on the truck tomorrow?" Ellie asked before picking her hot chocolate back up, then she wandered over to your living room to examine some ornaments on your tree.

"Yeah, she's helping all day. Joel's gonna get a kick out of seeing her on the truck for the first time," you laughed. You checked the time and turned off the burners before lifting the huge pot of soup with a grunt and setting it on an unused side of the stove to cool. Joel and Tommy's crew were working on a retail storefront and you had promised to stop by with the truck for lunch the following day. You had figured it was in a busy part of town and you were hoping to also capitalize on all the holiday shoppers.

Chicks 'n Chicken specialized in, well, chicken, as the name implied, but when the weather turned colder, you realized sandwiches just wouldn't cut it for the winter, so you began to add soups and stews to pair with your signature sandwiches like The Ellie, The Sarah, and The Joel. It was the first big idea you had when you finally took the plunge and started a food truck: every sandwich was named after someone important to you, including sandwiches named after Mia and Daniel.

At first, it was hard. Really fucking hard. Harder than you expected. There was so much to do behind the scenes: bookkeeping, inspections, keeping the truck and your machines up to code just to name a few. Joel was a huge help with the business side of things and you were eternally grateful for his insight. In return, you let him be your taste-tester, a job he adored and took very seriously.

Once you got the boring stuff out of the way, things got much better. You hired Ellie to assist you, and even her girlfriend Dina worked part-time. The two of them painted the truck these gorgeous, vibrant colors and helped you design the menu, and before you knew it, you were up and running.

The first couple weeks were slow and steady. You didn't expect to make much right off the bat, but you would have been lying if you said you weren't slightly disappointed you didn't do more business.

But then Sarah and Ellie came to the rescue, and your entire world changed.

They had clued you in to the latest social media app and helped you create an account. They must have been avid users because they always knew what was trending, which is how you managed to create a video that went viral overnight. It was the three of you doing some silly dance to a song you had never heard before inside the truck. When you watched it, you cringed and begged them to delete it, but they promised it would be a hit. And boy, were they right.

Just a few months later, you were closing in on one million followers. The girls kept your page fresh and relevant and if you were a lesser person, you might have been a little put out that your marketing degree essentially became useless when competing with two girls in their twenties who were apparently chronically online.

But you absolutely loved it. You were beyond thrilled you had been so unexpectedly successful so quickly. It was the best gift you could ever have received, and you told them so every time they pestered you for Christmas gift ideas.

"Your parents coming up for Christmas?" Ellie asked when she spotted a framed picture you had of them next to your couch.

"Uh... my mom is, yeah," you said, dusting your hands on the sides of your jeans as you moved around your kitchen. Ellie picked up on the tone in your voice and swiveled around.

"But not your dad?"

You shook your head and pulled out the biggest Tupperware containers you could find.

"No. He's not thrilled with some of the choices I've made," you told her, keeping your gaze focused on your work so she wouldn't see the hurt in your eyes.

"The food truck or Joel?"

You cleared your throat and shrugged. "Both. He thinks I'm investing Daniel's money in something where I'll end up failing and he is not okay with Joel being a few years younger than him."

"Shit. I'm sorry," Ellie said softly, joining you back in the kitchen. "That's fucked. But at least your mom sounds cool, right?"

"Well, she's coming around to it. It'll be her first time meeting Joel and I'm really hoping once she sees us together and how great he is, she can report back to my dad and maybe change his mind."

"Ha, no pressure, right?" she laughed. You grinned and finally turned to face her.

"You know what? I'm starting to not even care. Is that bad?" you asked with a guilty look on your face. But before she could answer, you continued. "I mean, I'm happy. I'm successful. Joel and Sarah are amazing. Should I even care if they agree with my choices or not? I'm an adult. I don't want to ruin my relationship with my parents but I'm not willing to sacrifice my own happiness for it."

"Hell yeah, man," Ellie said while toasting you with her hot chocolate. "You got the right headspace. Therapy is doing you good."

"Yeah, surprisingly, it kind of is," you said with a chuckle. An alarm went off on your phone and you glanced at it curiously before your eyes widened in panic. "Shit! I promised Joel I'd be over for dinner, I gotta clean up and get the hell out of here." You snatched your apron off and then your eyes locked onto the huge vat of piping hot soup on your stove.

"I'll handle it. Go!" Ellie said, waving her hands. "I'll lock up before I leave."

"Are you sure?" you asked, but you were already backing out of the kitchen.

"Absolutely. I'll watch some movie or something while I wait. Dina's working at the bookstore til ten, anyway."

"You're the greatest, Ellie, thank you!" you called over your shoulder as you disappeared into your bedroom to change.

"How is it you look prettier every time I see you?"

You giggled when Joel's scruffy beard scraped against the side of your neck, then melted into his arms when they circled around you from behind.

"Did you know you left the oven on? You're lucky you didn't burn the place down," you teased, tilting your head to give his lips better access.

"I was just takin' a quick shower, I knew there was plenty of time left."

He wasn't wrong. The lasagna he made still needed fifteen more minutes. Joel had actually gotten a lot better at cooking over the last few months. He liked to give you all the credit since he spent so much time watching you in the kitchen test new dishes for the food truck.

"And look at that," he murmured when he glanced at the timer. "Still got extra time. Any idea what we should do?"

"Are you looking to get dessert before dinner?" you asked, feigning shock. Joel chuckled against your throat before pressing himself against your ass and - shit, he wasn't joking.

"Been almost a week," he groaned against your ear. "Missed you so fuckin' much

"I missed you, too," you whispered before twisting around in his arms. You pressed your lips eagerly against his, getting lost in the familiar way you fit together. Whenever you were with Joel, your soul felt at peace. Everything seemed to make sense again and any stress faded away. But those things were difficult to explain to your parents without sounding insane, so you stopped trying, perfectly content with keeping the happiness he provided just between the two of you.

You blamed your weak resolve on the fact you had a stressful few days without him, craving the comfort only he could provide. That was why you found yourself less than five minutes later straddling his lap on the couch with your jeans abandoned somewhere on the floor behind you. Joel didn't even take his pants off all the way. He had shoved them down to his knees in a frenzy, desperate to feel you again after a long week.

The air stilled when you sunk down on his cock, the both of you too caught up in the feeling to remember to breathe.

"Oh, baby," he breathed, head tipping back to rest against the back of the couch. "Oh, that's it. That's my girl. There you go," he whispered, eyes glued to the way he disappeared inside you. You shifted and a small whimper slipped past your lips, pulling his gaze back up to you.

"How is that? Feel good?" he asked while circling his arms around your waist. You hummed and nodded before you started to move a little in his lap. You went slow at first while sharing deep, messy kisses. The hair from his beard burned your chin when he pried your mouth open wider, tongues swirling together amongst shared moans.

His big hands spread wide over your ribs, holding you against him to feel as close as possible while you slowly rocked your hips. He finally gave you a chance to breathe and broke the kiss, but then his mouth trailed down your throat and you held your breath anyway when his teeth grazed against the sensitive spot he made a mental note of last time.

"Missed you," he reminded you again as his lips ghosted over your collarbone. "Missed this. Missed feelin' this close to you."

"I know," you gasped, hands grabbing at his shoulders when he mouthed at your breast through your shirt. You started to move faster, encouraged by the delicious sting from his bite. "Fuck, Joel, do that again. Please," you whined.

He smirked and did the same playful bite to your other breast, cock twitching inside you when a low moan slipped past your lips.

"You like that?" he pressed. He loved it when you lost yourself in the moment, too engulfed with pleasure to hold yourself back. When he had you like that, you had no trouble asking for what you wanted. Your polite little filter vanished and you allow yourself to be selfish, to take what you want to make yourself feel good, and his chest puffed with pride every single time that you would choose him to be vulnerable with. You chose him to seek out everything you desired. You trusted him.

"Yes, Joel," you rasped. Your head was tipped backwards and your eyes had slid shut as you began to bounce faster on his lap. "Yes, Joel, I love it. I love it. Fuck, you feel so good. I can't - ah! - Christ, Joel, I love you-"

Time stood still with your words sitting heavy in the air. It took you a few seconds to realize what you said, then your eyes snapped open and you slapped a hand across your mouth in shock, hips freezing mid-air.

"I'm sorry," you mumbled, staring down at his surprised expression. "I didn't mean for that to be the first time-"

"But you did mean it?" he asked, stopping your muffled ramblings. Slowly, you nodded with watery eyes. He yanked your hand off your mouth and pulled you down for a searing kiss.

"I love you, too," he whispered happily against your mouth. His hips began to rock up into you, encouraging you to move with his hands firmly on your waist. "Keep going. Want you to come for me," he said with a grunt, lips still hovering centimeters away from yours. You nodded and began to move again, chasing the release you were moments away from tasting before you had panicked and stopped.

"C'mon, make yourself feel good. Take what you need, baby," he groaned when you bounced faster, breasts swaying underneath your shirt right in front of his face, teasing him. He lunged forward and pinched your nipple between his teeth right when his thumb began to work quick circles over your clit. You cried out his name, fingers clawing at his shoulders until he finally heard that content little broken moan and your release slowly trickled down his cock.

"Shit - gonna come," he growled. His hand left your clit so he could wrap both arms tightly around your middle, using you for leverage as he roughly fucked up into you. You had sagged forward, head resting on his shoulder while placing sweet kisses against his throat. You heard his harsh pants for air in your ear and smiled at the soft noises he made right before he stilled with a loud groan, pumping you full of his seed until his shoulders relaxed and he leaned back tiredly against the couch.

Your hand snaked around the back of his neck, turning his face towards you for a lazy kiss before whispering I love you one more time.

"I love you so goddamn much," he sighed, making you giggle. You pushed yourself up with a sigh, feeling groggy and satiated. You were in the middle of lovingly tracing the creases next to his eyes while he gazed up at you when the timer on the stove went off. You both groaned, neither of you ready to pull apart just yet, but the last thing you wanted was the smell of burnt lasagna permeating the house for the rest of the evening. With a gasp, you lifted yourself from his lap and turned to hunt for your panties on shaky legs.

"Go clean up, I got it," Joel said, standing and pulling his jeans up the rest of the way. You nodded and waddled towards the bathroom with your clothes while he tended to your dinner in the kitchen.

"So, you're comin' by the site tomorrow?" Joel confirmed around a mouthful of food. You nodded, only half listening to the television, your brain still blissfully quiet from earlier.

"Yep. Then after I'm meeting with this woman from the paper. They want to run a small piece on the truck, talk about the viral stuff, all that."

"My girl's gonna be in the paper?" Joel asked excitedly. You laughed, wanting to tease him for being one of the few people who still read an actual newspaper, but his support for you and your dream was so sweet that you didn't want to ruin it.

"Yep. Maybe even a picture, too."

"Well, damn. Look at you," Joel said softly, and you smiled at the tender look in his eye. "Gonna be famous. Can't wait to frame it. I'mma put one in my office at work and one here," he told you matter of factly. He pointed to the mantle, currently adorned with garland and christmas lights, where an old picture of him, Sarah and Mia sat, along with a picture of Tommy and Maria from their wedding day.

"I get to be on the mantle?" you asked excitedly.

"'Course you do. Woulda been up there sooner if we ever took a decent picture together."

"We take tons of pictures together," you began, but he quickly waved you off.

"And in all of 'em I look like shit."

"You do not! You look better than me most of the time with that goddamn smirk of yours," you teased, pinching his side when you added, "and you've lost almost twenty pounds."

Joel just laughed and wrapped his arm around your shoulders, taking your plate and stacking it with his before turning his attention towards the television. His thumb drew mindless circles over your arm and you listened to the peaceful, steady beat of his heart with your ear pressed against his chest.

Closing your eyes, you breathed deep and thought back on your life from the past several months. You had some curveballs thrown at you, sure, but given the circumstances, you were pretty damn happy with where you ended up: curled up next to the man you loved, listening to him mumble the wrong answers to Jeopardy amongst the twinkling lights from the Christmas tree.

"Howdy, girls!"

"Hey, Uncle Tommy!" Sarah called down from the window of the food truck. He grinned at her crooked black cap stitched with your company's name and logo on the front. Wild little pieces of hair stuck out from underneath, framing her face which was dusted with flour.

"Looks like you're workin' hard," he said, waving when he spotted you hurrying by behind her.

"It's crazy busy! We've been moving non-stop since we parked!" she exclaimed.

"Well, get ready, 'cause I just brought twenty hungry construction workers," he replied while jutting his chin down the sidewalk where his crew had been carefully walking around piles of snow that had been packed down and pushed around by the feet of holiday shoppers.

"Good timing, 'cause we just got through the lunch rush," she said before straightening up and turning to you and Ellie. "Hey, guys - my dad and his crew are on their way! Want me to drop some chicken in the fryer?"

"Yeah, toss in a tray of breasts and a tray of tenders to get us started," you said, wiping your hands on your apron before turning to Ellie. "And-"

"Yeah, I know, I got the bread out of the oven already."

You grinned and turned to give the three soups of the day a quick stir and did a quick check on the stock of paper products, confirming you were in a good enough spot to take on another wave of business when you heard a woman's voice call your name from the sidewalk, stopping you in your tracks. When you saw it was the reporter you had promised to meet with for the write up she was going to put in the paper, you felt your heart sink.

"Carmen, hi! We're getting another rush, I'm so sorry!" you said while leaning through the window to shake her hand. "Can I get like, twenty minutes?"

"Of course!" Carmen replied. "I have some shopping to do anyway, take your time."

You were in the middle of expressing your thanks when the truck was suddenly bombarded with Joel and Tommy's crew, their deep voices laughing and talking over one another while Ellie began to take some orders at the register. Before you got back to work, you spotted Joel and excitedly waved him over.

"Hey," you grinned as you practically hung half your body out of the window to grab his face and pull him in. He chuckled and leaned up to kiss you, his cold lips pressing against yours and urging them apart so he could slip his tongue inside your mouth.

"Hey! People are tryin' to eat!" Tommy laughed while playfully swatting at Joel's shoulder. You both laughed and pulled apart, too giddy and love drunk on each other to care.

"You're cold," you said after you pulled yourself back inside the truck. "Do you want some coffee?"

"Yes, please," Joel replied, eyes glittering with pride as he watched you move around the truck. When you stretched forward to hand him the cup, you winked and said, "On the house."

"How's the job going?" you asked as you worked on slicing up the bread Ellie had pulled from the oven. Tickets fluttered in front of you and Sarah gave Joel a big smile and wave when she dropped off chicken fresh from the fryer.

"Alright. Glad we're workin' inside today but place ain't rigged for heat yet so we're makin' do," he replied, taking a sip from his cup. "How's business?" he asked, nodding towards the truck. His eyes drifted fondly over the front where you had printed out the menu in huge letters. Every time he saw his daughter's or his wife's names, his throat tightened. You didn't have to name dishes after them, but you did. Practically insisted on it. It made him emotional back then and it continued to make him emotional whenever he saw it.

"Great! I was hoping to capitalize on holiday foot traffic and boy, did I."

Your eyes were glued to your work, chopping and slicing, making sandwiches and wrapping them in paper while scooping out soup from the huge vats behind you and bagging everything with ease.

You were in your element. This was what you were meant to do.

"Joel! Did you order yet or what?" Ellie called from the register.

"He always gets the same thing," Sarah reminded her with a playful hip check. Ellie rolled her eyes and stifled her grin.

"Oh, yeah, duh. You," she said, narrowing her eyes in your direction. You felt your cheeks warm and you smiled but kept your focus on your work.

"You don't always have to order my sandwich, you know," you teased him.

"Now how can you blame me when you taste so damn good?" Joel smirked from the sidewalk, instantly eliciting a groan of disgust from each of the girls.

"He means the sandwich!" you laughed, feeling all flustered and praying your embarrassment didn't show.

"Do I?"

"Joel!" you hissed with wide eyes as Sarah called him gross and Ellie covered her ears. He threw back his head and laughed while you shook your head with a permanent smile stretched across your face.

This is true happiness, you thought. This feeling could never be topped.

Once Joel and his crew ate and slowly disappeared back down the street towards the storefront they were working on, you washed your hands and checked your reflection before stepping out of the truck with your coat draped over your arm. You glanced around the now mildly crowded street, searching for Carmen and smiling when you locked eyes with her a few doors down carrying a couple shopping bags.

"Perfect timing," you said when she was within hearing range. "Thanks again. My boyfriend is working around the corner and brought his entire crew."

"No apology necessary," she replied warmly, then glanced around with a shiver. "Mind if we pop into this coffee shop? Shouldn't take more than half an hour."

You happily agreed and followed her inside the warm café, breathing in deep the scent of cinnamon and smiling to yourself when you heard the faint sound of Christmas carols filtering through the speakers.

Carmen wasted no time. She dove right in, asking you how you came up with the idea for the food truck and then segueing right into the viral video Ellie and Sarah created that got you such a cult following. You explained that Ellie was a friend, leaving out how you met for her own privacy, and how Sarah was Joel's daughter.

"I'm noticing these names are familiar," Carmen said with a smile.

"Yeah, I named sandwiches after important people in my life. It felt like a sweet way to honor them and express my gratitude," you explained. Carmen hummed and reviewed her notes, phone recording quietly on the table between you.

"May I ask, then, who are Mia and Daniel?"

You cleared your throat and gave her a brave smile.

"They're no longer with us," you began. Softly, Carmen murmured, oh, I'm sorry, while scribbling something on her notepad. "It's okay. Daniel was my fiancé. He passed away over a year ago from a car accident. And Mia was Sarah's mom."

Carmen nodded thoughtfully as she continued to write.

"Oh, so you knew Sarah's mom, too?"

"Well, no," you said, "but based on how much Sarah and Joel have told me, it feels like I've met her."

"That's sweet," Carmen said, letting her pen drop on her notepad. "And these sandwiches - do they reflect anything significant about the people they're named after?"

"They do," you replied while straightening in your chair. "I tried to make the sandwiches based on each person's preference. For instance, Mia loved spice, so hers is a fried spicy chicken sandwich with chipotle mayo. Which I find hilarious because neither Joel or Sarah can handle any amount of spice," you said with a soft laugh.

Carmen nodded and laced her fingers together.

"And how about the sandwich named after you?"

"Well, that was the very first one we created and decided should be on the menu," you said. "I hadn't even thought about names yet but the girls convinced me I should name it after myself and I guess they've got a knack for persuasion."

Carmen laughed and you felt your shoulders relax a bit, not even realizing you were tense until that very moment.

"Well, it's incredible, I must say. I was sneaky last week and got one for myself when you were out on Brunswick."

You gasped, feigning dismay and making her laugh.

"Thank you, I'm so happy to hear that," you replied with a wide smile. "It happens to be my boyfriend's favorite, too."

"Joel doesn't order The Joel?" she asked, cocking her eyebrow.

You shook your head and tried to forget his earlier comment when you said, "Guess not. But he helped design The Joel. In fact, he also helped with The Mia. Sarah did, as well."

"That's so lovely to hear," Carmen said softly, pressing her lips together and leaning forward. "I think it's such a wonderful detail, by the way. How the two of you came from relationships that ended in tragedy and managed to find peace and happiness with one another. And to honor your partners in this way is incredible."

"Thank you," you answered. Your chest warmed at her compliment. "Even though I never met Mia, she was important to the people I love the most, and therefore, she's important to me. Joel and Sarah feel the same about Daniel. Grief is a complicated thing, but I like to think I've found a way to live beside it."

Carmen smiled and dropped her gaze to the table. "That's so comforting and reassuring to hear. And an incredible quote to leave me with because it looks like our time is up."

"Quote?" you asked with a tilt to your head.

"I usually like to run a quote from my subject as my byline," Carmen said while she packed up her things. She began to stand and you stopped her.

"Wait - could I give you something else to put as your byline instead?"

She grinned and sat back down before pulling out her phone and pressing a button.

"Of course."

One Week Later

"You nervous 'bout your mama comin' up?" Joel asked, tugging you closer to his side as you walked up the snowy sidewalk.

"A little," you admitted. "But whatever she ends up thinking doesn't matter. I love you, Joel," you said, tilting your chin up to meet his eye. "I love you and nothing is ever going to change that."

He smiled and gave your lips a quick peck as you rounded the corner, closing in on the nearest grocery store.

"Well, back in my day, I used to be a big hit with a girl's parents."

"Oh, yeah?" you teased.

"Yep. They all loved me. I'm real respectful, you'll see."

You wanted to tell him to just be himself and to not stress about your mother's visit, but you knew there was no use. He was going to do everything possible to win your mother over and while you found it admirable he cared so much, you didn't want him to feel like he needed to make your parents come around. In your several talks with Ryan in therapy, you had come to the conclusion that nobody's approval was needed for you to be happy. It would be nice, sure. It would make holidays and special occasions easier. But nothing was going to change anything between you and Joel.

"Alright, now. Here we go," Joel said excitedly when the automatic doors slid open and you were met with a blast of warm air. You grinned and squeezed his arm while letting him drag you towards the newspapers and magazines. You both scanned the rows of periodicals before Joel spotted it first and grabbed the whole stack. He handed you the extras and eagerly flipped through the pages of the one on top before he paused with a slow smile.

"What? How does it look? What picture did she-"

You cut yourself short when you peered over his shoulder. Your breath hitched and you caught Joel's eye before looking back at the page.

Unbeknownst to you, Carmen and grabbed a quick shot of you leaning out of the food truck to kiss Joel. You were both smiling as snow lightly fell around you, the background highlighted by twinkling Christmas lights and laughing holiday shoppers. It looked like a photograph straight out of a movie: two people finding a quick moment for love in the midst of a busy street.

"You think that's a good enough picture of the two of us?" you asked, looking up at him adoringly, but his focus was on the byline. His eyes kept scanning the words over and over until you swore you saw tears begin to cloud his vision.

"You like it?" you found yourself whispering. He swallowed and nodded, bottom lip quivering before he let the paper drop to his side so he could cup your jaw and pull you in for a kiss.

"I love you," he murmured.

"I love you, too," you said softly against his lips. He gave you one more kiss before he sniffled and opened the paper again so he could reread the words:

This was all made possible because of Daniel, who taught me what true love is, and because of Joel, who showed me love during my darkest days - I owe you everything.

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[felassan]

David Gaider: "It occurs to me, after reading posts getting it spectacularly wrong, that there are a lot of misconceptions over how game studios organize and, in particular, who makes the actual decisions about what ends up in your game. Much of it is by folks who don't *try* to get it... but not all, surely. I'll explain it a bit, but a big caveat: I'm going to talk in generalities and roles. Actual titles vary (a lot) from studio and studio, and the bigger a studio is the more segmented their departments (and thus management) is going to be. Even so, most studios, big and small, kind of work the same. To start, you're going to break your devs up into at least three groups: design (what is the game? how does it work?), art (what will it look like?), and engineering (making it go). There can be a lot of cross-over and some departments that don't fit into a project structure (QA, Marketing, etc.)"

Rest of post under cut due to length.

"There's going to be someone in charge of these groups - these are usually called "leads" or "senior leads". The actual title varies. The Design Lead could be a Lead Designer, for instance, or it could be a Creative Director and a Lead Designer is what they call someone further down the chain."

"These leads all report to a Project Director, someone who's job it is to manage the project as a whole. Now, this part gets a little dicey. Depending on the studio, this role can be anything from more production-oriented (they control the schedule) to an outright auteur who micro-manages everything."

"More importantly, it's the PD who hands down the project goals to the Leads: the strategic goals, the needed features, the shape of it all, etc. The Leads then figure out how their department is going to tackle those, and work with each other. If the Leads conflict, it's the PD's role to solve it. How much autonomy or ownership those Leads have is, like I said, really up to the individual PD and that studio's culture. Even in the case of a PD who has a lot of authority over the project, however, they still report to the studio leadership (unless it's the same person, like in a small studio)."

"The studio leadership is going to be giving the PD their marching orders, often in the form of those strategic goals. If there's a publisher involved, that's where the studio leadership is likely getting those goals. The PD, then, ends up being the person who has to negotiate with everyone above."

"What does this mean? If the studio or publisher has concerns about the project, they're calling in the PD to explain. If the project needs more time or resources, it's on the PD to explain to them why and how and when. If there are a lot of layers above the PD... yes, it's a looot of meetings. So while the PD is managing up, the Leads are managing down. With big projects, that means managing the "sub-leads"... those in charge of the individual sections of their department. It'd be unmanageable otherwise, and the bigger the project the more of these there are going to be."

"What does this mean? Well, let's look at the way BioWare broke up Design (as of 8 years ago, anyhow). Design consisted of Narrative Design, Level Design, Systems Design, Gameplay Design, and Cinematic Design (who worked in tandem with Cinematic Animation, which actually fell under the Art Lead)."

"The sub-leads are handed their goals by the lead, and work out how they're going to produce their particular corner of the game and also, more importantly, how they're going to work with each other. Conflicts between sub-leads are handled by the lead, as are ANY conflicts with other departments. What conflicts could there be, you ask? Dependencies, for one. "I can't do X until Y is done, but Y is someone else's job". Or scope. "We need 20 doodads but the sub-lead said they only have time to make 10, what now?". Even outright differences in vision. Big projects means room for a LOT of egos. If you think this is easier with a smaller (or indie) project, the answer is "yes, but not really". The roles are still necessary but often get combined into one person. Or outsourced, and someone still needs to manage the outsourcing. Things fall off over-full plates. It's a different kind of hard. Anyhow, the point of all this is: the further you go down the chain, the smaller the box you can play in is. The less you have actual say over, and even then that say is subject to being overridden by ANYONE above... and must still play nicely with the needs and goals of the other departments. You also need to keep in mind that projects are constantly in flux. Problems that were thought solved need re-solving. The team falls behind schedule and scope needs to change. You are constantly in a dance, within your tiny box, trying to figure out sub-optimal solutions that cause the least pain. And there will be pain. Shit rolls downhill, as they say, and when the project encounters big issues that means those high up have the sad job of figuring out how to spread it out and who can afford to take the hardest hit. If you're that one, you take it on the chin and you deal. This is the job. Lastly, I'll re-iterate: not every studio works this way, exactly. The roles exist, sure, but are not divided up so neatly or as easily identifiable. Even so, this should give you an idea what "lead" and "sub-lead" mean... and perhaps help you imagine what it's like existing further down the chain."

[source thread]