#He's making eye contact with us the whole time...

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Epilogue

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

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

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, time jumps, slice of life.

Notes — There are no words, really. I hope you cherish all of the tiny, specific details I added here. I spent a lot of time on it. Yes, I will possibly write some additional snapshots/oneshots of their future.

2025

Autism, Womanhood, and the Mechanics of Belonging by Amelia Norris

Autism presents itself in females in many ways.

Sometimes invisibly. Often misdiagnosed. Frequently misunderstood.

In me, it’s always looked like this: a difficulty with eye contact. An inability to read the curve of someone’s mouth or the sharp edges hidden beneath their tone. I learned early how to catalogue expressions the way other girls my age collected dolls — not for fun, but for function. A survival skill. A flash of teeth? Friendly. Or hostile. Or forced. Raised eyebrows? Surprise. Maybe judgment. Maybe not.

Memorising made things manageable. Predictable. Less scary.

Sarcasm took longer. I still miss it, sometimes. I can design a suspension system from scratch, but I’ll still turn to my husband after a conversation and ask, “Was that a joke?”

It used to bother me. It doesn’t anymore.

Touch has always been strange, too. I don’t like uninvited contact. Hugs feel like puzzles with warped edges — familiar in theory, but always a little off. It’s not dislike. It’s friction between my nervous system and the world. I used to think that meant something was wrong with me.

I was wrong.

I’m not broken. I’m just calibrated differently.

And then there’s the focus.

When I was a child, it was Formula 1. Not the drivers, not the glamour — the systems. The telemetry. The pit stop choreography. The physics. The math hidden inside motion. While other kids learned to swim, I was memorising tyre degradation patterns. While girls my age planned birthday parties, I was building aerodynamic models from cereal boxes.

I didn’t understand how to be part of the world I’d been born into.

But I always understood how cars moved through it.

That obsession became a career — eventually. But not right away.

My father, Zak Brown, became the CEO of McLaren Racing. I thought that would be an advantage. I was wrong again. He loved me, but he didn’t know how to take me seriously. I brought ideas. He catalogued them without thought. I handed him data. He passed it off to other people without remembering I’d written it.

He didn’t mean to hurt me — but he did. In a hundred careless ways. 

Enough to make me leave.

I was already seeing Lando, quietly. It was early. Tentative. I was cautious because I didn’t always understand people. He was cautious because he was getting advice, loud, well-meaning advice, not to date the boss’s daughter.

He disappeared on me for a while. And I didn’t understand why.

I remember thinking: I must have done something wrong and not realised it.

But I hadn’t.

Eventually, he came back. Explained. Apologised. We learned each other slowly, and not always easily — but deeply.

Around the same time, I left McLaren. I took a job at Red Bull. Not for revenge. For recognition.

Max Verstappen didn’t care who my father was. He cared that I understood race pace like a second language. We won two championships together.

And in the meantime — Lando and I kept finding our way back to each other. Every time, more solid than before.

Eventually, I came back to papaya. But on my terms. Not as Zak’s daughter. As a lead engineer. With Oscar by my side and Lando in a car I had helped design, shaped precisely to fit his hands, his shoulders, his driving style.

Then I had my daughter. Ada.

And the hyper-focus I’ve carried my whole life shifted again — narrowed, but deepened.

It’s still data. Still equations and airflow and lap deltas. But it’s also Lando, who stopped having to ask to touch me years ago. Who doesn’t need explanations but still listens when I give them.

It’s Ada — glorious, curious, sticky. Who throws glitter onto my schematics and insists I help her fix the broken boosters on her cardboard spaceship with grunts and wife, pleading eyes.

It’s both of them.

And the quiet, terrifying vastness of being truly understood.

My autism didn’t vanish when I became a wife. It didn’t soften when I became a mother. I am still who I have always been: meticulous, sensitive, blunt. I still script my voicemails. I still shut down when I’m overstimulated. I still have meltdowns. I still need more sleep than most people and can’t fucntion in rooms with flickering lights.

But I’ve grown. I’ve adapted. I’ve made peace not just with structure, but with chaos. With change. With soft interruptions. With a life I never thought I’d be able to build.

I’ve created a life where I don’t have to perform.

I just get to be.

And for the first time, I’m letting people see me. All of me.

Which is why I’m writing this.

Because I know I’m not the only one.

Because somewhere, there’s a teenage girl memorising lap times and scared she doesn’t belong in a world that moves too loud, too fast, too unclearly.

Because I wish I’d known sooner that I wasn’t alone.

Today, I’m proud to announce the launch of NeuroDrive — a foundation dedicated to mentoring, supporting, and funding autistic young women pursuing careers in motorsport.

We’ll be offering scholarships. Internships. Mentorship. Resources. Community.

From engineering to analytics to logistics to aero to comms — every role that makes this sport move.

I want these girls to know that their focus is a gift.

Their precision is power.

Their minds are brilliant.

I want them to know they don’t need to hide.

There’s room for them here. There’s room for all of us.

And they belong — fully, loudly, exactly as they are — in motorsport.

With hope, Amelia Norris

—

Amelia sat back from her laptop screen.

She hadn’t meant to write it all in one frantic breath. It had just… unfurled. A loose thread tugged gently free at the edge of the day, unraveling steadily until it wove itself into something whole.

She stared at the last line. Her hands hovered over the keyboard, then lowered to her lap. She exhaled.

Behind her, the wooden floor creaked softly.

A moment later, familiar arms wrapped gently around her waist — warm, unhurried. Lando pressed a kiss just behind her ear, right in that small, quiet space that always made her flinch less than anywhere else.

“She’s asleep,” Lando murmured, voice low and amused. “Finally. Made me sing the rocket song. Twice. And do the hand movements.”

Amelia huffed a small, warm laugh but didn’t turn. “You hate the hand movements.”

“I hate them passionately,” he said, bending slightly to press a kiss to the space just behind her ear. “But she likes them. And I happen to love her enough to tolerate them.”

She could feel him smiling against her skin.

The sea air had slipped in through the open balcony doors behind them, warm and salt-tinged, carrying the gentle hum of nighttime Monaco. 

Lando’s arms slid comfortably around her waist. He rested his chin on her shoulder and peered at the screen. “Let me read it?” He asked after a pause.

“You already know all of it,” she said softly.

“Yeah,” he replied, nudging her temple with his nose. “But I like hearing it in your words.”

She didn’t answer, not with words anyway. She just leaned into him, letting her body relax in increments. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment longer before dropping quietly to her lap. Her pulse, which had been buzzing all evening, finally slowed. The cursor blinked in the corner of the screen — steady, patient, waiting.

She would post the piece eventually. Maybe not tonight. But soon. She’d promised the women helping her build NeuroDrive that the launch would be personal, rooted in something real — something true. And this essay… it was all of that. Raw and oddly fragile. But hers.

Behind them, the linen curtains shifted in the breeze.

“I think she likes it here,” Lando murmured, after a few minutes had passed in quiet. “Monaco.”

Amelia blinked, surfacing. “Ada?”

“Yeah. I had her out on the balcony earlier. She liked the sun.”

“She gets that from you,” Amelia said, dry as ever.

He laughed softly. “She does like the heat. More than I expected.”

“She likes everything here,” Amelia admitted, watching the night settle over the marina. “The boats. The water. Max’s cats.”

“She said ‘cat’ three times yesterday,” Lando said proudly.

“She’s five months old, Lando. It was probably just gas.”

“No,” he insisted. “She looked right at Jimmy and said it. Loudly.”

“Well, Jimmy did bite her toy rocket.” She said, her lips twitching at the memory of her daughter’s appalled face as the cat attacked her beloved stuffy. 

Lando huffed a laugh. “Valid reaction.”

They both fell quiet again, lulled by the rhythm of the moment. Amelia let her gaze drift across the open-plan living space of their Monaco apartment; all soft neutrals and clean angles, intentionally simple. 

This was Ada’s first real stretch of time here. The first time Monaco would ever feel like home to their daughter, not just a temporary stop between England and wherever Lando was racing next. Amelia had worried about that — the splitness of things. Of belonging to multiple places but never fully resting in one. But Ada, with all her glittering confidence and stubborn joy, didn’t seem to mind.

“She doesn’t mind the change,” Amelia said quietly. “She just… adapts. Quicker than I do.”

“You’ve been adapting longer,” Lando said simply. “She���s still new. You had to learn the hard way.”

“I’m still learning,” Amelia admitted.

He brushed his lips against her cheek, slow and careful. “I love how your mind works,” he said. “I loved it when I didn’t understand it, and I love it even more now that I do.”

She swallowed. Her throat felt tight in the familiar, unwieldy way that happened when someone saw her too clearly. “It’s almost done,” she said, nodding toward the document. “Just a few more edits. Then I’ll post it. The site’s ready. The social channels are scheduled. The first mentorship emails go out next week.”

He squeezed her waist gently. “You built a whole new system, baby.”

“I built a team,” she said, glancing at the screen. “It’s not just going to be mine.”

He nodded. “You’re going to change lives, baby.”

“Hopefully not just change them,” she said. “Build them. Design them. Like a car.”

He grinned into her hair. “You and your car metaphors.”

“I don’t use them that often.” She frowned. 

“Mm. You’re right. Only four times a day.”

He was teasing her. The lopsided smile, squinty eyes and tiny red splotches on his cheekbones told her so. 

She rolled her eyes but leaned back into him anyway. Lando’s arms around her. Ada safe and sleeping. The sea just a five minute drive from their inner-city apartment. 

It didn’t matter that the cursor was still blinking on her screen.

She’d found her place in the world; or built it, piece by piece.

And she was going to help other girls do the same.

—

@/NeuroDriveOrg Today, we’re launching NeuroDrive: a charity organisation formed to empower autistic women in motorsport — because brilliance comes in many forms, and it’s time we celebrate every one of them. Find out more and discover how to get involved by clicking the link below. #NeuroDriveLaunch 

Replies:

@/f1_galaxy

OMG AMELIA???? This is so crazy but I’m so here for it!! #NeuroDriveLaunch

@/racecarrebel

Autistic and a gearhead? That’s me lol. Signing up right now!

@/sarcasticengineer

wait so I can geek out about torque and not pretend i get social cues? literally a dream 

@/cartoonkid420

*gif of a car drifting sideways* When you realize your fave F1 engineer is actually a real-life superhero  #NeuroDriveLaunch

@/chillaxbro

Amelia Norris (CEO) IKTR

@/maxverman

Yk honestly big ups to @/AmeliaNorris for making this happen. What a woman. 

@/indylewis

This being the first post I see when I open this app after my diagnosis review? CINEMA. 

@/f1mobtality

BEAUTIFUL. INCREDIBLE. AMAZING. BREATHTAKING. #NeuroDriveLaunch

@/notlewisbutclose LEWIS ON THE BOARD OF DIRECTORS? IKTR MY KING 

@/LewisHamilton Proud to see and have a hand in making initiatives like NeuroDrive happen. It’s about time that we start making strides to pave the way for real diversity in motorsport. Change is coming, and it’s about time. #NeuroDriveLaunch

@/landostrollfan99 PLS I KNOW LANDO IS CRASHING OUT BC HE’S SO PROUD OF HIS WIFEY RN 

@/NeuroDriveOrg Thank you everyone for all the love! Our virtual mentorship program opens next week; sign up to be part of the first cohort! Over 18’s can sign up themselves, but anyone younger must have parental consent. Thanks, Amelia. 

@/AnnieAnalyst

My mom has been a hardcore motorsport fan for decades. She’s on the spectrum. She’s found such joy in watching Amelia Norris take the F1 world by storm over the past eight years. I know that she’s going to be so happy about this. Can’t wait to tell her. 

@/samliverygoat

This is sick. I’m a guy, but my sister is eight and autistic and wants to be a mechanic. I’m gonna tell my mum about this and get her signed up. Big ups your wife @/LandoNorris 

—

Lando woke slowly, the Monaco morning sun spilling in through gauzy curtains and casting pale gold across their bedroom. The room was still, quiet in that delicate way that meant someone had been awake for a while already.

He blinked, then turned toward the warm shape beside him; and stopped, his breath catching slightly at the sight.

Amelia was sitting upright against the headboard, hair pulled into a messy knot, one arm curled around Ada who was nestled into her chest, half-asleep and nursing. Her other hand held her phone, screen dimmed low. She was speaking quietly — not in a cooing baby voice, but in her normal cadence, clipped and slightly analytical.

“…recognises familiar people, understands simple instructions, imitates gestures, like clapping or waving; well, I’ve literally never seen you wave unless it’s to say goodbye to your own socks.” She frowned.

Lando smiled into his pillow, eyes still half-closed.

Amelia glanced down at Ada, who blinked up at her with wide eyes and a dribble of milk on her chin.

“That’s fine. You’re spatially efficient already.”

“Are we reading milestone checklists?” Lando’s voice was thick with sleep, rough-edged and fond.

Amelia didn’t jump, didn’t even look away from her screen. “It’s her birthday. I thought I should make sure she’s not developmentally behind.”

“She’s licking your elbow,” he pointed out.

“Which is not on the list,” she sighed. 

Lando scooted closer, propping himself up on one elbow to see them both better. Ada detached with a soft sigh, then yawned, full-bodied and squeaky. Amelia adjusted her shirt without ceremony and let Ada rest against her, one hand gently stroking her hair.

“She’s perfect,” he said, leaning over to kiss the crown of Ada’s head, then Amelia’s shoulder. “Milestones or not.”

Amelia hesitated. “She’s not pointing at things. That’s apparently a big one.”

“She screamed at Max’s cats until they moved out of her way, does that count?”

Amelia hummed in thought. “I suppose we could classify that as assertive communication.”

They sat like that for a minute, wrapped in the warm hush of early light and baby breaths. Monaco in June was hazy and beautiful, a perfect little jewel box of a day already unfolding around them.

“Do you think she knows it’s her birthday?” Lando asked, voice still low.

“No,” Amelia said simply. “Probably not. But we do.” She glanced down at their daughter again, something unreadable, almost too tender, flickering behind her eyes. “I know it’s been a year since I stopped being one version of myself and started being another.”

Lando’s hand found hers where it rested on Ada’s tiny back. “Yeah, baby?”

Amelia tilted her head, considering. “Maybe. I feel… broader. Like I can stretch in more directions now.”

He smiled. “You’re perfect.”

Ada, half-asleep, made a soft gurgling sound and grabbed Amelia’s Lando necklace in one surprisingly strong fist.

Lando leaned in again, voice warmer now. “Happy birthday, sweet little pea,” he whispered to Ada, then kissed Amelia’s jaw. “And happy birth-day to you.”

Amelia made a face. “That’s not a thing.”

“It is,” he insisted. “You did all the work. You should get recognition too.”

“I suppose.” She considered it for a minute. “Does that mean I should congratulate you on the anniversary of her conception?”

She was being serious — which was why he just smiled instead of laughing the way he desperately wanted to. “If you want to, baby.” 

She nodded and catalogued that away in the small corner of her brain that contained a long list of dates that mattered most to her. 

She think about it like this: dates she will never forget. Not because she wrote them down, but because they’re carved into the soft machinery of who she is. 

October 9th — Her mother’s birthday. 

November 7th – Her father’s birthday. 

December 12th, 2021 – Max’s first championship win. 

July 5th, 2022 — Her wedding day. 

July 2nd, 2023 – Oscar’s first Grand Prix start. 

May 5th, 2024 – The day Lando won his first race. 

June 30th, 2024 – The day Ada was born. 

She’s always catalogued things.

It made the world digestible.

But those dates don’t need charts or colour codes.

They live in her like heat. Like heartbeat. Like gravity.

Later, there would be cake. Balloons. Chaos. Max will appear with sacks full of wrapped gifts. Ada will probably eat something that she isn’t supposed to. 

Lando takes Ada into his arms and lifts her above his head, blowing a bubble at her with his lips. 

She drools sleepily, and Amelia winces when milky bile spills from her mouth. 

Yeah. Not a good idea to jostle a well-fed baby. 

Lando made a face and then used his t-shirt to wipe their little girls’ lip clean. 

She stared at him. 

And at their small, wondrous girl. 

A year old. 

—

Seventeen Years Later

The sky was brightening in soft lavender layers over the marina. Monaco looked almost quiet for once — like it was holding its breath.

Ada sat cross-legged on the bedroom floor, her back pressed to the base of her mother’s old desk. The drawer had stuck for years, warped with sea air, but today it had slid open easily. Like it had been waiting for her.

Inside: one neatly folded sheet of thick paper. Her name was written in the corner in her mum’s handwriting. Clean, sharp letters. 

She unfolded it carefully, even though part of her already knew what kind of letter this would be. Not sentimental. Not flowery. Not emotional in the ways people expected. But honest. 

My beautiful Ada,

I’m writing this on your first birthday.

You’re asleep right now — finally — with vanilla frosting in your hair and a purple sock on one foot and not the other. Your daddy’s asleep too, mouth open, curled around the giraffe that Maxie gave you today. I should be sleeping. But I’m here, writing this. That probably says a lot.

I don’t know who you’ll be yet. Not really.

Maybe you’ll love numbers the way I do. Maybe you’ll throw yourself into art, or animals, or flight, or noise. Maybe you’ll carry the softness your father wears so easily. Maybe you’ll burn hot like me and never quite know how to dim it.

Or maybe, hopefully, you’ll be entirely your own: unshaped by us, unafraid of being too much or not enough.

All I know is this: whoever you are, whoever you become, I will love you without condition and without needing to fully understand.

Because understanding is not a prerequisite for love. It never has been.

I want to get everything right. I won’t. I already know that.

But I promise I will try. Fiercely. Unrelentingly.

I will learn what you need from me, over and over again, as you change and grow and outpace me. I will listen — even when I don’t know what to say. I will ask you what you need, and believe you the first time.

Love isn’t easy for me in the way it is for your daddy. I don’t always say the right thing, or give affection in the way people expect. But please know: I love you with everything I have. In every way I know how.

It may not always look loud or obvious. But it will be real. And it will never leave you.

I will always be in your corner. 

Even if I’m quiet.

Even if I’m late.

Even if I’m gone.

Always.

— Mum

The letter smelled faintly of ink and something older; lavender, maybe, or the ghost of her mum’s favourite perfume. Ada folded it carefully along the worn creases and slid it back into its envelope, fingers tracing the edge before getting up and going back to her bedroom, tucking it inside the drawer of her nightstand.

The light from the marina hadn’t reached this side of the house yet, but the sea breeze had — soft and salt-laced through the open windows. Ada padded barefoot across the wooden floor, familiar as the lines on her own palm, and moved quietly into the hallway.

The balcony door was already ajar.

Her mother was there, as she always was on mornings like this — perched in her usual chair, legs tucked under her body, a latte cradled in both hands. Her hair was scraped back in a low twist, pale in the early morning light, and she hadn’t noticed Ada yet.

Amelia was humming. Softly. Tunelessly. A little stim she’d done for as long as Ada could remember.

Ada hesitated in the doorway, just for a moment.

Then she stepped forward, slow and quiet. Climbed into her mother’s lap without a word, curling against her like she was still small enough to belong there.

Amelia stilled for half a breath. Then she shifted, just slightly — letting her daughter fit against her without comment or tension. One hand settled over Ada’s spine. The other stayed wrapped around the ceramic heat of her cup.

She didn’t ask questions.

She didn’t need to.

Instead, she kept humming. A low, constant thread of sound that vibrated in Ada’s ribs as she pressed her cheek to her mother’s shoulder.

They watched the sun climb over the harbour. The light came in slow and sure, brushing over the rooftops and catching on the water in amber fragments.

Amelia didn’t speak. She just held her daughter. One hand stroking the same pattern — left shoulder to elbow, up and back again.

And Ada breathed. Steady. Whole.

She was older now; too big, probably, to sit in her small statured mum’s lap like this. But not today. Not just yet.

In her mother’s arms, she was still allowed to be small.

Still allowed to be quiet.

Still allowed to simply be.

And Amelia, in the language she had always known best, presence over words, held her through it.

As the light shifted across the sea, the only sound between them was the soft hiss of foam against porcelain. The familiar hum. The heartbeat of love — silent, constant, and entirely understood.

— 

2025

It was impossible to sum up the 2025 season in any cohesive way. 

There were days she felt like she was balancing on the tip of a needle. 

Her car was perfect. That much was undeniable. For the first time since she’d begun clawing her way through every door that had once been locked to her, the machine under her boys wasn’t just competitive — it was untouchable. Fast on every compound. Nimble in the wet. Ferocious in the hands of a driver who knew how to take it to the edge.

And she had two of them. Two.

Oscar and Lando.

Her driver. Her husband.

It would have made a weaker team combust.

But McLaren hadn’t combusted. Not yet, anyway. Not under her watch.

Oscar had grown into himself in ways that still caught her off guard — all lean control and precision, carrying the ice-veined patience of someone who had watched others take what he knew he was capable of. He drove like someone with nothing left to prove and everything still to take.

And Lando... Lando had grown, too.

There were days he was still impossibly frustrating — still too harsh on himself, too reactive on the radio, still hurt in ways she couldn’t always patch. But he was stronger now. Calmer. Faster. And he trusted her. Not blindly, not because he loved her — but because he believed in her. Her mind. Her leadership. Her.

Every race had been a coin toss. Oscar or Lando. Lando or Oscar. Strategy calls had to be clinical. Unbiased. And every week she made them with the knowledge that whatever she chose could cost someone she loved the chance at something immortal.

She wouldn’t let herself flinch.

Not when the margins were this razor-thin.

Not when the car was finally everything she’d spent her life trying to build.

When the upgrades landed and they locked out the front row, she didn’t smile. She just stared at the data until the lines blurred, heart thudding, and told herself she’d allow joy when it was over.

When they took each other out in Silverstone; barely a racing incident, but brutal nonetheless, she didn’t speak to anyone for two hours. Just shut herself in the sim office and breathed through the silence until the tightness left her hands.

When they went 1-2 in Singapore, swapping fastest laps down to the final sector, she didn’t even hear the cheers. She just watched the replay of the overtake again. And again. And again.

Precision. Patience. Courage.

They had everything. And they were hers — in the only ways that mattered in this arena. Oscar, her driver. Lando, her husband. Both brilliant. Both stubborn. Both driving the car she had finally, finally perfected. 

In the garage, she never played favourites.

In the dark, she ached with the weight of both of them.

Now, the season was nearly over. One race to go. One title on the line. Between them.

And Amelia?

She felt something not quite like calm. Not quite like pride.

Something vaster.

She didn’t know who would win. She truly didn’t. She wasn’t even sure if she had a preference. Her love for Lando, loud and chaotic, as real as gravity, lived beside her fierce loyalty to Oscar, who had never once asked her to earn his trust, only to maintain it.

She loved them differently. But she loved them both.

And whatever the final points tally read, whatever flag waved first in Abu Dhabi, it would not change what she’d built. What they’d built. A machine so complete, so purely competitive, that the only person who could beat it was someone inside of it.

That, she thought, was the mark of something enduring.

And in the quiet before the finale, Amelia allowed herself a breath of pride so deep it nearly broke her open.

It wasn’t about the trophy anymore.

It was about the fact that the world had doubted her. Them. 

And now they couldn’t look away.

—

2026

Amelia had been keeping a spreadsheet. Of course she had.

A private one — just a simple, tucked-away Google Sheet with six columns: Developmental milestone, Average age, Ada’s age, Observed behaviour, Paediatricians’ notes, and Feelings (which she almost always left blank).

She updated it weekly. Sometimes daily. Just in case.

And she knew, clinically, that speech development wasn’t one-size-fits-all. That some children talked at eight months and others waited until twenty. That it was normal, even healthy, for some toddlers to take their time.

But normal never did much to soothe her.

Especially not when the silence had started to feel louder than it should.

Ada babbled — just not much. She gestured, pointed, tugged their hands, grunted with specific frustration when her needs weren’t met. She understood them. That wasn’t in question. But her lips hadn’t shaped a word yet. Not one.

At twenty-two months, Amelia was trying not to spiral. But her spreadsheet had too many empty cells. Too many quiet mornings.

“Maybe she just doesn’t have anything she feels like saying yet,” Lando said one night, rolling onto his side to face her in bed. Ada had gone down late and Amelia had spent the evening researching speech therapy assessments and second-language interference. 

“She should have at least one word by now,” Amelia muttered, eyes on her screen.

“She’s got plenty. She just hasn’t said them out loud.” Lando reached out, nudged the laptop closed. “She’s fine. You know she’s fine.”

Amelia sighed. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s always true.”

She wanted to believe him. She really did.

—

The next afternoon, Ada was with them in the garage — tucked into her earmuffs and her tiniest McLaren hoodie, perched in her playpen while Amelia ran final aero checks on a new floor configuration. Lando had stopped by between simulator sessions and was now crouched beside Ada, offering her a padded torque wrench like it was a teddy bear.

Amelia looked up from her laptop, distracted by a little squeal.

Ada had pressed both palms against the concrete floor. And a smudge of oil had made its way across her hand.

She looked at it, then at Lando, wide-eyed.

Then she scrunched up her nose, a perfect mirror of her mother’s expression, and said, clearly and without hesitation, “Yucky.”

Lando blinked. Froze. Then looked up at Amelia, stunned.

“Did you—? Did she just—?”

Amelia’s heart felt like it missed a step. Her head jerked up so fast she hit the underside of the wing she’d been crouched under.

“Ow—shit—”

Lando was already lifting Ada out of the playpen, laughing in disbelief, oil smudge and all.

“Say it again,” he coaxed gently. “Yucky? Yucky, bug?”

Ada just beamed at him and smacked his cheek with her dirty little hand, leaving a streak behind. “Yucky,” she declared again, giggling like she knew exactly what she’d done.

Amelia didn’t know whether to cry or pass out.

She walked over in a daze, eyes locked on her daughter. “She said it. She actually said—”

“Yeah,” Lando said, grinning. “You heard it too, right? I’m not making this up?”

“No,” Amelia said, soft and stunned. “I heard it.”

Then she reached for Ada without hesitation. Let her daughter press her messy little face into her neck and pat her collarbone with smudged fingers.

Yucky.

It wasn’t what she expected.

But it was perfect. 

—

2027

Grid kid.

Ada Norris was a grid kid.

Not the official kind, with a lanyard and uniform and carefully timed steps. She wasn’t old enough for any of that. She wasn’t even tall enough to reach the front wing of her father’s car without climbing onto someone’s knee.

But she was there — always. Like a mascot, a comet, a little bit of joy wrapped in neon.

At three years old, Ada had developed a sense of style entirely her own. This week, it was neon pink. Head to toe. From the glittery bucket hat she refused to remove, to her sparkly tulle tutu layered over orange papaya leggings, to the pink Crocs decorated with star-shaped charms.

She stuck out like a sore thumb against the rest of the paddock; all matte branding and fireproof greys. But nobody dared to comment.

She was Ada.

Everyone knew Ada.

She’d grown up within the walls of paddocks. Learned to walk behind the McLaren hospitality motorhome in Hungary. Her first solid food had been a biscuit stolen off Oscar’s pre-race snack plate. Her mini paddock-pass gave her access to every team’s motorhome, just in case she got lost and needed a soft place to land.

By now, she knew the names of every mechanic, every engineer, and every race director on the rotating FIA schedule. She greeted them all by name. Correctly. And she remembered who liked what kind of sweets.

The media barely saw her. That was a conscious boundary. Amelia — razor-sharp, unbothered by PR expectations — had drawn the line early and made it immovable. No up-close photos of Ada’s face. No intrusive questions. If Ada wanted to be public someday, that would be her choice — not something sold for a headline before she could spell her name.

But within the paddock itself, Ada was a fixture. A streak of colour and mischief. Fiercely protected. Fiercely loved.

And she had routines. Rituals, really.

One of them involved storming onto the grid like she owned it (Amelia walked slowly behind), pushing past engineers and camera rigs, and beelining toward two very important people.

The first: her uncle.

“Ducky!”

Oscar turned the moment he heard her voice, already crouching down with open arms. He was in his race suit, grinning like he hadn’t just been pacing with nerves ten seconds earlier.

“Oi,” he said, “that’s not my name, trouble.”

“But it’s what Mummy calls you!” Ada argued, already climbing into his lap like a koala. “I remember!”

“She’s got you there, mate,” Lando called from a few feet away, amusement curling through his voice.

Oscar rolled his eyes but leaned forward for his good luck kiss. Ada planted a dramatic one on his cheek, complete with a mwah sound effect, then hopped off and marched across the grid to Lando.

Her daddy.

He crouched before she even reached him. She barrelled into his arms with the enthusiasm of a girl who had never once doubted she would be caught.

“You ready, Ada Bug?” he asked as he scooped her up.

“Ready!” she chirped.

“Gonna give me a boost?”

She nodded solemnly, then leaned forward to kiss him right on the tip of the nose — her signature move. Soft, sticky-lipped from the fruit pouch she'd insisted on finishing on the way in. Then she whispered, very seriously, “Be fast. And be smart. Love you, Daddy.”

Amelia, standing just behind them, caught Lando’s expression shift; just a fraction. A sudden, raw quiet behind his eyes. He pulled Ada closer, briefly, wordlessly. Pressed his nose into her hair.

Then, carefully, he passed her back to Amelia.

Amelia took her easily — muscle memory now — resting Ada against her hip like a second heartbeat. She adjusted the strap of her crossbody bag with her free hand and took a long sip of her iced coffee.

“Drive fast,” she said evenly, meeting Lando’s eyes.

He smirked faintly, already turning back toward his car.

“Be safe,” she added.

He nodded once, familiar rhythm.

And then, casually, almost too casually, she added, “I’m pregnant.”

He froze. One step from the car. “What?”

“I’m pregnant,” she repeated, softer this time. No smile, no build-up — just fact, like announcing the weather.

They hadn’t expected it. Not exactly. They’d been trying for a few months, hopeful but guarded. Amelia had been tracking everything — methodical as ever — but refusing to let herself get too wrapped up in the outcomes. Lando had taken a more gentle approach. Faith over control. He’d just kept telling her, It’ll happen when it happens. We’re already a family.

And now it was happening.

For a heartbeat, Lando didn’t move.

Then he turned fully — slow, like gravity had stopped working — and blinked at her.

Ada, oblivious, was babbling about how she wanted to wave the checkered flag today and if Max’s cats could come to the garage next time.

But Lando only stared at Amelia.

“Oh,” he breathed, voice cracking wide open. “Holy shit.”

Amelia’s mouth tilted upward. Barely.

He was already in his race suit, just minutes from lights out, about to hurtle into one of the most competitive qualifying sessions of the season — but suddenly, he looked younger. Dazed. Entirely undone.

His hands hovered in the air like he wanted to reach for her — didn’t know where to begin.

And Amelia, ever precise, ever composed, leaned in and kissed him. Quick. Solid. Grounding.

“We’ll be fine,” she murmured against his lips. “We always are.”

“Another baby?” he whispered, reverent.

She nodded.

Lando let out a breath. One hand came up to his chest like he needed to physically hold it all in — the awe, the fear, the quiet wonder of it.

Then his comm crackled: “Two minutes to final call.”

He blinked. Straightened. Looked at his wife. Then at his daughter. Then back again.

“Okay,” he said, drawing in one last steadying breath. “Right. Fast. Clever. Safe.”

“Love you,” Amelia told him.

“Love you,” he echoed, already stepping toward Will, adrenaline and awe carrying him forward.

Ada tugged gently on Amelia’s shirt.

“Mummy?”

“Yes?”

“Can I go and tell Maxie you’re gonna have a baby?” she asked, eyes wide and serious.

Amelia bit back a laugh and turned them toward the edge of the grid. Her mum was already waiting near Lando’s garage to take over babysitting duty.

“Not yet. Your daddy drives better with adrenaline,” she said, adjusting Ada’s ponytail with one hand, “but your Uncle Maxie gets distracted. We’ll tell Maxie another time, okay?”

“When?” Ada asked, frowning a little.

“I think… we’ll tell him next week. At the wedding.”

Ada’s face lit up. “I can’t wait to wear my pretty dress, Mummy!”

Amelia kissed her forehead, pulling her a little closer as they weaved between team personnel.

“I know, baby,” she said softly. “You’re going to look beautiful.”

—

202X 

He did it.

The air was electric. No — it was charged, like the world itself had paused mid-spin to catch its breath.

Lando stood on the top step of the podium, champagne in one hand, heart in his throat. There were tears in his eyes — real ones, wild and stinging, completely unfiltered. His face was flushed, soaked from the spray, but his grin was a thing of pure, stunned wonder.

He’d done it.

World Champion.

A cheer rolled across the circuit like thunder. The fireworks lit up the sky behind him in great booming waves, streaks of orange and silver and gold — and below, just past the glittering wall of photographers, she was there.

Amelia.

The crowd blurred. The moment blurred. But she didn’t.

She stood at the base of the podium steps, her hair tousled from wind and chaos, arms crossed tightly across her chest like if she didn’t hold herself together she might simply combust. Her eyes were glassy. Her face unreadable — until it wasn’t.

Until he stepped down and reached for her.

Until she moved without hesitation.

He caught her with the kind of ease that didn’t need choreography — years of knowing her weight, her stillness, her everything. His arms wrapped around her middle, and before she could say a word, he spun her. Under the lights. Under the fireworks. Under the full, beating heart of a decade in the making.

Her laugh cracked open the noise. Her legs curled up instinctively. Her hands dug into the back of his fire suit.

She said his name, just once. No title. No superlatives. No team radio.

Just him.

Lando.

He set her down slowly, like she was fragile, like the moment might shatter if he moved too fast — but she leaned forward and kissed him, hard, on the corner of his mouth, where the champagne had pooled and the smile wouldn’t quite leave.

The world spun again.

And somewhere, behind it all, Ada was being passed from Oscar to George to Max to Amelia’s mother, hands raised above the crowd as she screamed, “Daddy, daddy, daddy!”

@/f1

Lando Norris is the 202X Formula One World Champion.

What a season. What a finish. What a moment. 🧡👑 #WDC #LandoNorris #F1

@/mclaren

No words. Just joy.

Congratulations, Lando. You’ve earned every second of this.

And yes — that podium was everything. No, we’re not crying, you’re crying. 🧡🧡🧡

@/formulawivesclub

There is NOTHING more powerful than a man who wins the WDC and immediately spins his wife under literal fireworks. Iconic. Romantic. Cinematic. I am unwell. 😭😭😭

#WifeOfTheChampion #AmeliaNorris #PowerCouple

@/uncleducky44

the most magical WDC celebration this sport has seen in decades. maybe forever. PAPAYA ON TOP

@/maxverstappen1

*photo of Ada asleep on his shoulder post-podium, wearing her dad’s cap*

she said she had to stay up to see the champion. i think she made it to the fireworks. ❤️

— 

202X

Final lap.

The sun was setting in streaks of copper and violet. Floodlights cast the track in electric brilliance, shadows long and sharp. And the world was holding its breath.

Oscar Piastri led by six seconds.

Not enough to coast. Not when Lando was behind him.

Not when the championship hung in the balance — years of sweat and heartbreak and razor-wire precision culminating in this.

From the pit wall, Amelia’s voice came through steady and clear.

“Final sector. No traffic. You’re clear. Bring it home, Ducky.”

No theatrics. No screaming. Just her voice, the one constant he’d had for the entirety of his F1 career. Focused. Fierce. Full of something rare and warm and undiluted: belief.

“Copy,” Oscar said, breath hitching.

And then, in the most un-Oscar voice imaginable — thick with feeling, stripped raw, “…I don’t think I’m breathing.”

She laughed. A beautiful, cracked little sound. The comms team didn’t mute it. No one could. “Please breathe.”

He crossed the line a moment later. P1.

The fireworks hit the sky immediately; red and gold and brilliant. The pitman and garages erupted. McLaren, orange-clad and screaming, split open with euphoria.

And then Amelia’s voice again; louder this time, breaking apart at the edges: “Oscar Piastri. You are a Formula One World Champion.”

Silence.

Oscar didn’t reply. He just let out one long, disbelieving breath, and you could hear the hitched sound of someone trying not to cry and failing anyway. “We did it, Amelia.”

“You did it,” she corrected.

“No,” he said, firm now. Fierce. “We did. All of it. Every lap. You’re the best engineer and best friend I could’ve ever wished for. God, I love you so much.”

The audio went everywhere. Uploaded by the team, by fans, by rival engineers who had no choice but to respect it.

Two minutes of radio. Intimate. Impossible.

It was the most-streamed F1 clip of the year.

Because there he was — Oscar, still barely in his mid-twenties, helmet resting on the halo of his car, chest heaving as the gravity of it sank in.

And there she was; Amelia, halfway to the pit barrier, shoving her headset at a stunned junior engineer, sprinting.

He met her halfway. 

She didn’t usually hug. But she did then. Tight and wordless. Face buried in his chest. Years of partnership and pride wrapped into that single, silent second.

And when they pulled apart, he knocked his forehead against hers, grinning like a boy again. “Told you I’d win it.”

“I never doubted you.”

—

The footage of the podium showed Amelia next to the team, arms crossed, blinking hard. Oscar had to compose himself twice during the anthem. And when he raised the trophy, he pointed straight at her.

No words.

Just… pride. 

—

2028 

It started with coffee.

Not just any coffee — her coffee. The specific roast she loved from that tiny roastery near Lake Como. Brewed in silence while she slept in. No baby monitor, no toddler noise, no midnight feeding schedules. Just the steady hush of morning, and Lando moving through the kitchen like a man on a mission.

Amelia stirred around 9:00 a.m. — a luxury in itself.

There was a note on the pillow next to her.

Happy anniversary, baby. Today is yours. We’re doing it your way. Uncle Ducky has both of our babies today. Yes, willingly. Yes, I’m sure. No, you don’t need to check in on them.

Come downstairs when you’re ready. I’ve got step one waiting for you.

Love you forever,

— Lando

She blinked. Then smiled. Then got up without rushing — another gift.

When she padded downstairs, wrapped in one of his old t-shirts, she found him barefoot in the kitchen with a table set for two, sunlight spilling through the open balcony doors.

"Happy anniversary," he said softly, crossing to her with a hand on her cheek and a kiss that lingered. "Sit. Eat."

There were croissants from her favourite bakery in town. Raspberries and whipped butter. Her coffee, perfect. And Lando — already looking at her like the day was made.

“The kids?” She asked eventually, narrowing her eyes.

“Totally fine. They always are with Oscar. He made me promise not to call unless someone was bleeding. He said that you deserve a proper day off.”

“I don’t need a day off from my children,” she muttered, but the corner of her mouth twitched. “But it’ll be nice to be able to kiss you without tripping over one of them.” 

“Exactly,” Lando said.

Breakfast faded into a walk — hand-in-hand along the coast, slow and sun-warmed. No schedule. No pushing. Just the faint hush of waves licking the edges of Monaco and the occasional squeeze of Lando’s fingers in hers.

They didn't talk much, and that was deliberate.

Afterward, instead of a spa or anything tactile, he drove her twenty minutes out to their favourite low-key golf course — a hidden gem tucked against the edge of a hill, quiet in the off-season.

It had started a few years ago, this habit of hers. Her golf-ball collection was ever-growing, each one labeled and tucked into a little wooden tray above the fireplace. A more serious, tactile comfort that had slowly morphed into a silly, sentimental thing. 

Lando had never once questioned the golf ball. Not in the beginning, not in the middle. 

He just brought her to find the next one.

They played nine holes. She beat him on five.

He whined. She smirked. It was perfect.

She picked out a new ball from the pro shop (green) and tucked it into her coat pocket. 

“You’ll label that one later?” Lando asked, swinging her hand between them as they walked back to the car.

“Yeah,” she replied. “It's Ada’s favourite colour.” 

“This week.” He said. 

She smiled fondly. “Yeah. This week.” 

—

Lunch came after.

A rooftop place they both loved but hadn’t been to since before Ada was born. White tablecloths, soda on ice. Her favourite risotto, his ridiculous stack of truffle fries, two hours of soft conversation without a single interruption from a baby monitor or a toddler needing to pee.

No baby wipes in her bag. No cutting food into tiny, manageable pieces.

Just them.

—

The sun was setting when they got back to their place.

Amelia kicked off her shoes by the door and reached for her hair tie. Lando caught her hand before she could disappear upstairs.

“One more thing,” he said, almost shy. “Come with me.”

They climbed to the top-floor balcony; her favourite spot in the house. There, waiting: a blanket. Two glasses of wine. A bowl of green olives (Amelia’s vice). And a tiny projector already humming against the far wall.

She raised an eyebrow.

Lando pressed play.

Clips started to roll. Grainy little moments he’d stitched together over months — Ada’s first steps down the hallway at the MTC, the hospital selfie when Amelia had delivered their second baby (Lando’s eyes red from crying, Amelia’s thumb still smudged with blood), lazy footage of her asleep on the couch with both kids curled up on her chest.

Her laugh in the background of a hundred quiet seconds. The clink of teacups. The sound of a little voice calling, “Mummy, look!”

Then his voice — low, warm, recorded late at night from the quiet corner of their bed, “I’m so in love with this life.” 

Amelia said nothing. She was biting her lip a little too hard.

Lando didn’t push. He just shifted behind her on the blanket, pulling her gently between his legs and wrapping his arms around her waist — not too tight, just enough to say I’m here.

“You always make things perfect for everyone else,” he said into her shoulder. “So I wanted to make one perfect day for you.”

She swallowed once. Then leaned her weight back into him, just a fraction — a silent thank-you.

The sun dipped lower.

The stars began to nudge through.

And finally, softly, “Thank you,” she whispered. “I love you.”

“I love you more.”

“Impossible, I think.” She admitted, truthfully. 

Lando smiled into her hair and didn’t let go.

—

Later that night, Oscar sent a photo of Ada fast asleep on a pile of couch cushions in the middle of his flat, a cereal box half-open in the background.

Amelia texted back a blurry photo of her and Lando curled up on the balcony under a blanket, the projector still casting shadows across the wall.

Perfect day complete.

—

2030

The meltdown crept in slowly.

It always did.

Amelia had been trying to hold it back for hours — maybe days, if she was honest. The world had gotten too loud again. Too bright. Too many textures and demands and interruptions.

The fridge was humming wrong. Ada had spilled orange juice and then cried when her leggings got wet. The baby had been colicky all night. Lando was out doing media. Someone had moved the coffee mugs and none of them were in the right order.

She was standing in the kitchen, clutching the edge of the countertop so hard her knuckles were white, when it all finally crashed down on her. 

Her chest seized. Her eyes blurred. The sound in her ears turned to static.

Everything felt wrong. Too much. All at once.

And she couldn’t hold it in anymore.

She slid to the floor, knees curling up, hands covering her ears. Her breathing shortened. She rocked back and forth. Tears leaked out — not from sadness, but from pure sensory overload.

Across the room, Ada, six years old, in a T-shirt covered in glitter paint and crumbs, froze where she stood.

For one long moment, she just watched.

Not afraid.

Just... thinking.

Then, without a word, she turned on her heel and sprinted down the hallway.

She found her daddy in the bedroom, changing the baby’s nappy. He’d only come home a few minutes ago. Her little hand tugged at the hem of his shirt urgently.

“Daddy,” she whispered, breathless. “Mummy needs you.”

Lando paused. His head whipped up instantly. “What’s wrong, little-pea?”

“She’s on the floor. She’s crying with her hands on her ears. She’s not talking.”

Lando’s jaw jumped, but he kept his cool and handed Ada her baby brother. “Stay here, okay? You hold him and don’t move. I’ll go help Mummy.”

—

Amelia was still in the same spot, crumpled in front of the dishwasher, the noise of the appliance now too sharp, like claws dragging through her skull.

Lando knelt slowly beside her. Not touching. Not speaking yet. Just breathing in sync.

A beat passed.

Then two.

“I’m here,” he said quietly.

She didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

“I knew the dishwasher was making a weird noise,” he added gently, knowing exactly what she was hearing. “I’ll call someone to fix it tomorrow.”

Her shoulders twitched.

Still too much.

He sat down properly beside her, close but not touching, and began counting out loud.

“One. Two. Three. Four. Five…”

The rhythm gave her something to hold on to.

He kept going. Soft. Steady.

“…twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

When he finally reached forty, her hands lowered. Just a little. Her breathing slowed.

Lando waited.

And when her eyes finally fluttered open — puffy, red-rimmed, exhausted — he reached out with one hand, offering it but not insisting.

She took it.

No words, just pressure — fingers threading through his, grounding herself.

“I hate this,” she rasped, barely audible. “I was fine. I should’ve been—”

“Nope,” he said. “No rules. No shoulds. You just were. And now you’re here. That’s all that matters.”

Amelia blinked. Let out a breath that stuttered on the way out.

From the doorway, a soft voice, “Mummy?”

They both turned. Ada was peeking in, barefoot and clutching the baby monitor against her chest.

“I put the baby in his chair,” she said proudly. “And I put my light-up shoes away so they won’t hurt your eyes.”

Lando smiled faintly. Amelia just blinked again, overwhelmed by the careful compassion of a six-year-old.

Ada padded over, crouched carefully beside her mum, and offered a tiny, glittery toy dinosaur — the kind she usually kept in her backpack for comfort.

“You can hold this if it helps,” she said seriously. “Sometimes it helps me.”

Amelia took it with shaking fingers.

Then, finally, finally, she opened her arms.

Ada climbed into her lap.

And Lando wrapped them both up in his arms, squeezing tight. 

—

Later that night, when things were quiet again and the world had shrunk back to something manageable, Amelia whispered into the crook of Lando’s neck, “She went and got you. She knew.”

Lando kissed her hair. “She always knows,” he said. “She’s yours.”

Amelia smiled, small and raw. “No. She’s ours.”

— 

2033

They were sitting under the shade of an umbrella, barefoot and sun-drowsy, watching their children build increasingly complicated sandcastles twenty feet away. Ada had her arms bossily crossed, giving instructions like a forewoman. Her little brother — all curls and slightly sunburnt cheeks despite the copious layers of SPF50 — was digging trenches with his hands. 

Lando passed Amelia a cold can of peach iced tea.

She took it, absently, eyes on their kids.

Lando leaned back on his elbows, sighing. “Is it Thursday or Friday?”

Amelia didn’t answer immediately. Her sunglasses were halfway down her nose. Her hair was damp at the ends from her swim. “Friday,” she murmured. “Pretty sure.”

He nodded, squinting toward the sun. “Days have been blurring. If it’s Friday, it’s already the twelfth.”

He was right. The days had all started to melt together. Long mornings. Naps tangled in hotel sheets. Late dinners with sticky fingers and endless laughter.

Amelia sat up a little. Not sharply — but enough to catch her husbands attention. “Oh,” she said, very quietly.

Lando stared at her. “What, baby?”

She furrowed her brow. Like she was doing mental arithmetic. Calendar math. Gut instinct. “I’m… late.”

He blinked.

“…Like, how late?”

“Four days?” She said it more like a question. “Maybe five. I didn’t notice. With travel and the kids and— I don’t know.”

Lando sat up straighter, heartbeat suddenly louder in his ears.

They looked at each other.

Neither of them moved.

Down by the water, Ada shrieked with delight. “Mummy! We made a castle for the sea princess!”

Amelia waved back, mechanically, then turned back to Lando. “I didn’t bring a test.”

He scratched the back of his neck. “Should we go find a pharmacy?”

She hesitated. Then shook her head. “No. Not yet.” She reached for his hand, threading her fingers between his, palm warm. “Let’s just sit. Just for a minute. I want to stay here a little longer, before everything changes again.”

His grip tightened on hers. “Is that okay?”

Amelia nodded. “I’m happy. Just… surprised.”

Lando exhaled, gaze flicking back to their children. Ada was crowning her sandcastle with a plastic fork she’d found. Their son was diligently filling a bucket with sea foam.

“I think we’re gonna be outnumbered,” he said softly.

“I think we already are,” Amelia murmured, smiling faintly. “But that’s exactly what we wanted, isn’t it? Three of them. A couple of years apart. It’s perfect.” 

And they sat there. Under the umbrella, hand in hand, watching the beginning of their forever shift again.

The ocean kept talking, its waves crashing against the rocks at the other end of the beach.

So did Ada — ever the chatter-box. 

Amelia smiled. “Three is a good number.” 

“Three of them. Two of us. Five total.” He murmured. “We’re missing four.” 

“No we’re not.” She whispered. “You’re right here.” 

He blinked, then he leaned in and kissed her. 

—

2034

Ada slammed the front door shut with the theatrical force only a ten-year-old could manage.

“Mummy!” She yelled before she was even properly out of her shoes. “Mummy, I have to tell you something very important!”

Amelia looked up from the kitchen table, where she was re-assembling a snapped pencil sharpener and ignoring the half-eaten apple Ada had left on the kitchen bench to rot that morning.

“In here,” she called calmly.

Ada thundered in, socks half-falling off, her backpack barely zipped. Her cheeks were pink. Her plaits were lopsided.

“I’m in love,” she declared.

Amelia blinked once. “You’re what?”

Ada flopped dramatically into the chair opposite her. “I’m in love, Mummy. With a boy in my class. His name is Ethan and he wears Spider-Man socks and he let me use his sparkly blue gel pen for colouring even though he really likes it. He said I was clever.”

Amelia stared at her daughter for a long beat.

Then, she said plainly, “You’re ten.”

Ada sighed. “Yes, mummy. I know that.”

There was a pause.

From the hallway, the sound of keys jingling, the front door opening again.

Lando’s voice: “Where are my girls?”

“In the kitchen!” Ada called sweetly. And then, switching gears with dizzying emotional agility, she leaned in and whispered to her mum: “Don’t tell Daddy. He’ll make it weird.”

Amelia frowned. “I don’t lie to your dad. You know that.” 

Ada just sighed because yeah, she did know that.

Lando appeared in the doorway a moment later, freshly back from sim training. “Why do I feel like I just walked in on a crime?”

Ada beamed. “No crime! Just secrets!”

“Oh, cool, that’s comforting,” he deadpanned, kissing the top of her head. Then he gave Amelia a suspicious side-eye. “What’s happening?”

“Well,” Amelia said, “your daughter thinks that she’s in love.”

Lando’s eyebrows shot up. “I leave her at that school for six hours—”

“Daddy!” Ada groaned, flinging her arms dramatically over her face.

“—and now she’s in love?” He leaned over her chair, mock-serious. “Who is he? What does he do? What are his qualifications?”

“He’s ten!” Ada squeaked.

“That’s not a qualification,” Lando said, faux-grave.

Amelia was biting back a smile now, watching them.

“Daddy,” Ada said solemnly, peeking at him through her fingers, “his name is Ethan, and he gave me the good gel pen. The sparkly one. That’s basically marriage.”

Lando clutched his heart. “God help me. Wait until I tell Max about this.”

“I knew you’d make it weird,” Ada whined.

“I am weird, Bug,” he replied, scooping her up despite her protests. “That’s your legacy.”

He spun her around like she weighed nothing. 

Amelia smiled as she watched them. 

But when Ada caught her eyes mid-giggle, cheeks flushed, safe and loved and full of her first little crush, Amelia just smiled at her.

And Ada smiled right back.

—

Nine Years Later

She doesn’t marry Ethan.

Of course she doesn’t.

He moves to Devon at the end of Year 6, and she forgets the way his name made her stomach flutter by the time she’s twelve.

The next crush is taller. The next one after that plays guitar.

None of them stick. None of them feel right.

But she never says anything. Because… she’s Ada Norris.

And Ada Norris grew up being known. Watched. Treasured.

She keeps the sacred things close to her chest.

Until one day, fourteen years after her dramatic kitchen confession, she finds herself in the back of the paddock in Monaco, barefoot and suntanned, her hair in a braid, with a camera slung over her shoulder and dust on her jeans.

She’s nineteen.

She’s laughing.

And in front of her, sitting on a pile of stacked tyres, grazed knees tucked up under his arms and ice cream dripping down his wrist, is him.

Ayrton Verstappen.

One year younger than her.

A lifetime of familiarity.

She’s known him since before either of them could talk properly.

They played tag between hospitality units. Swapped Pokémon cards in Red Bull’s simulator room.

He once peed in her toy car. She once cut his hair with nail scissors because she thought it would make him less ugly. 

She never thought about marrying him.

Not seriously.

Not until she did.

It doesn’t happen all at once.

It’s the way he listens. The way he gets it — the legacy, the pressure, the strange ache of being a paddock kid with a famous surname and the expectation to become someone.

It’s the way he defends her when people assume too much.

It’s the way he doesn’t flinch when she stim-rambles or tells him she needs exactly ten minutes of silence.

It’s the way he waits — patient, steady, eyes bluer than any sky she’s ever seen.

She’s Ada Norris.

And someday soon, someday when the dust settles, and the stars line up just right, she’ll be Ada Verstappen.

And damn… it does have a nice ring to it.

—

2035

Amelia sat in the doorway of Sienna’s nursery, back pressed to the frame, coffee cooling in her hands. The house was quiet — unusually so. Ezra was napping. Ada was at school. Lando had taken a rare moment to go for a run.

And Sienna… Sienna was asleep. Peacefully. A soft halo of curls pressed into her muslin blanket, one fist curled beneath her chin like she’d already begun dreaming of something secret and important.

Amelia watched her, and breathed.

Three children.

Ada, her first, her fiercest, had taught her what love felt like when it broke you open.

Ezra had come quieter. A gentle soul with his father’s smile and a knack for slipping into people’s arms like he’d always belonged there.

And now… Sienna.

Her last. Her littlest.

Her loudest silence.

Almost entirely deaf. Diagnosed at three weeks old.

Amelia hadn’t cried — not then. Not when the results came in. Not even when the specialists had spoken gently about cochlear implants and early language support and accessibility.

She’d just… stilled. Absorbed. Pivoted.

It wasn’t grief.

Not exactly.

It was adjustment. Recalibration. Learning a new language — not just in signs, but in patience. In pace. In how to prepare for a life she didn’t know how to predict.

Sienna would be fine.

Better than fine. She had her father’s stubbornness and her mother’s ability to see patterns in chaos. 

She had a sister who’d already started practicing fingerspelling at the dinner table, and a brother who kissed her ear every time she blinked up at him. She had grandparents, uncles, a paddock full of honorary aunties and mechanics and engineers ready to build her whatever she needed.

She had love. The whole, complex, unshakable kind.

Still, this baby, this challenge, this gift, it had made Amelia stretch in ways she hadn’t before.

And there, on the floor, in the hush of a warm afternoon, she finally let herself feel it all. The fear. The wonder. The sheer magnitude of how much she loved these children — all three of them. So differently. So fully. So irreversibly.

Sienna shifted in her sleep.

Amelia didn’t move.

Just smiled. Tired. Whole.

“Okay,” she whispered, more to herself than anyone else. “We’ll figure it out together.”

And they would.

They always did.

—

2038

The garden behind their Monaco home wasn’t large, but it was theirs.

The sea glittered just beyond the hedges, and the sunlight slanted golden through the lemon trees. There were chairs set out in uneven rows, a makeshift arch wrapped in white linen and fresh lavender. No press. No guest list politics. Just the people who mattered — their parents, their siblings, a few of their closest friends, and the three children who had rewritten their lives in the best possible ways.

Ada was fourteen and refused to wear anything but the pink dress she’d picked herself. Ezra, five, clung to Oscar’s leg until Lando knelt and whispered something that made him laugh. And Sienna — three and a half, curls pinned back with daisy clips, cochlear implant nestled behind one ear — was already signing “cake” to anyone who made eye contact.

Amelia stood barefoot in the grass, holding her bouquet with one hand and Sienna’s palm with the other.

Her dress wasn’t new. She’d pulled it from the back of the closet — the pale ivory one she’d worn to a gala years ago, the one Lando had stared at like he’d forgotten how to speak. Soft and silky against her skin, it still felt like him.

Lando met her halfway up the path, smiling like he always had.

“Hi,” he said, taking Sienna’s hand too. “You look beautiful.”

“You look sunburnt,” Amelia replied, then softened. “But handsome.”

Beneath the lazy sway of the breeze and the quiet murmur of waves, Lando took both her hands and said, “I’d marry you a thousand times in a thousand different lives. But I’m really glad I got this one. With you. With them. With all of it.”

Amelia, ever spare with her words, just said, “You’re the love of my life, Lando Norris.”

Later, while the kids played under the fairy lights, Max and Pietra poured champagne, and Oscar stole cake straight from the platter, Lando found her standing off to the side, heels dangling from one hand.

He wrapped an arm around her waist. Kissed the top of her head.

“That felt special,” he murmured.

“It did,” she said.

Because it only confirmed what they already knew. 

They had each other. They had their home. 

And their love had only deepened with the quiet weight of time.

The rest — as always — was just radio silence.

[hanasnx]

anal w fuckboy!clark bc he’s never done it before and you’re sooooo desperate to differentiate yourself from the other girls on his roster you’ll give him anything

ANAL — c.kent

“ i heard from a friend of a friend, that dick was a ten out of ten ” 🪽

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ ✉️ | dc comics. NOTES: fuckboy!clark nsfw twitter porn link video reference, must be logged in to twitter with age to see it. disclaimer; fuckboy!clark is my au, do not use it without explicit permission. WARNINGS: fem reader ノ au; fuckboy!clark ノ established relationship; fwbs ノ mention of reader having hair ノ allusions to unprotected sex ノ explicit sexual content ノ anal (f receiving) ノ anal virginity.

It’s a dangerous slope, you know. Having a little thing on the side with FUCKBOY!CLARK KENT was bound to end in flames. You’re not entirely sure how it happened, one day you knew him as your classmate, and then you were hitting each other up in the AM to come over for a quick one. There’s a sort of effortless charm about him, he acts strangely gentlemanly in a way a modern man can. Unfortunately you know you’ve hit rock bottom in standards because you think it’s sweet when he buys your Plan B, or stays a little longer than he needs to watch something with you until he’s gotta head home. It’s almost friendship, in a way.

The worst part is, you’re catching feelings way too quick. Sure you were attracted to him initially, but now your heart actually skips a beat when he says your name. You wait by your phone trying to catch a text from him to see what you’re up to. It’s pathetic, you think, brushing your hair back over your forehead. You’re not even the only girl he’s seeing right now, and you told him he’s not the only guy on your roster… yet you dive for your cell as soon as you hear it ring.

“You mean it?” Clark reaffirms, smoothing a hand over the cheek of your ass you’re presenting to him. Back at his place yet again, you’re in a familiar position, yet you’re offering up something new. His parted lips in quiet awe enclose so as drag his bottom one through his teeth, tilting his head at how you glisten in the dull light, pretty pussy all open while you await his answer. It’s like you’re getting wet just talking about this. “You’ll let me fuck your ass?” It’s such a crude way of saying it, and it makes you surge forward with the pillow still hooked under your hips. Thick fingers slot in between the fat of your pelvis and thighs, adjusting you right back where he wants you.

“Are you gonna do it or are you just gonna stare?” you challenge, resting the side of your face on his mattress so you can look back at him. From your peripheral, you can see his meaty dick fill out to full attention until the base is grasped by his hand. He gives it a couple of healthy jacks. You’ve been prepping for this, you did a bunch of boring research and you stuck stuff up yourself to loosen the virgin muscle. Just because your little asshole hasn’t been fucked before, doesn’t mean you can’t make it as comfortable as possible for yourself.

He doesn’t waste any more time, bringing the flat of his fingers up to his mouth so he can spit. A fat gob of it drips down, and he gently brings it to your puckered hole, massaging the natural lube in. His callused thumb swipes up and down until it visibly relaxes, when he gets cheeky the tip of it dips in. If you could see his face right now, you’d see stars in his eyes and a slack jaw. You lean into his touch, stowing your nervousness and crossing your arms under your head. The cold air hits the moistened tissue, and you hiss. It’s nothing compared to the clumsy bump of his mushroom-shaped head, the velvety skin coming into contact. You suck in a breath just as he exhales a throaty groan, shoving the whole tip in in his enthusiasm. “Oh, fuck…” he drags out the curse, tipping his head back as his hips lazily chase the feeling. You whimper in turn, but there’s a pleasurable sting in your belly coursing through you from his reaction that acts as more than enough payment for your sacrifice. “For me, baby? This all for me?” he asks, and you nod even if he can’t see it.

“Mm-hmm,” you hum back, clutching tighter onto his sheets as more and more of him is introduced to the new hole.

Once again he bites down on his lower lip hard, inclining his great body to the side to lean on his fist, the mattress dipping with his weight. His other hand palms your tailbone, pushing you down onto his dick as he surges, forcing himself into your little asshole. It hurts, but it’s a different pain than the ache of your neglected pussy. Squeezing your eyes shut, you try to relax into the experience while he presses on. “You’re so- fucking- tight.” reverently, he sings your praises. His pre mixed with his spit helps to lube up the entry, but because it’s an entirely different feeling than what you’re used to, you’re not sure what change could help it feel better. It’s not bad, it’s just hard to wrap your head around. It’s probably because it’s your first time. “This your first?” He read your mind.

Once again, you can’t speak, so you nod and hum in confirmation. A grin breaks out onto his face, eyeing you with a dark hooded gaze as he laughs a little breathlessly… the kind that makes your knees go weak. “Yeah? Givin’ me your anal virginity? You want me or sum’n?” he taunts. At the sound of his assumption, he bottoms out, and all the air is pushed from your lungs in a keen. It’s a soreness in your stomach you can’t explain, but you don’t want him to stop.

@HANASNX 2025 | do not copy, plagiarize, or steal.

[nottivagos]

being made to maintain eye contact while being fingered for the first time by dilf sugar daddy!carlos sainz would honestly heal me. imagine he's bought you a lovely new set of lingerie, just to celebrate the occasion, too. at first you were a little nervous, you'd done things with carlos before, but never anything like this. but he assured you that it was fine! he knew what was best for you, so who were you to protest? slow sensual kisses turn more heavy as your wide, doey and innocent eyes look at him, giggling nervous for a moment as his nose nudges yours, as if he's silently communicating with you, trying to reassure you that he's got you. and you melt into it! your arms wrapping around his neck as there is more teeth and tongue incorporated into your kisses, making you gasp into his mouth, a wet patch forming on your beautiful new lacy panties he brought for you. he trails his hand down your bare stomach as your hands tangle in his salt and pepper hair when his fingertips trace over your wet patch."someone's a little bit excited, aren't they?" he hums in that thick accent that makes your stomach flip before his fingertips hook underneath the elastic, asking "may i?" before you nod sheepishly, slightly confused by the wet patch that's ruined your lovely new panties, cheeks flushed a burnt shade of crimson and lips bruised from the kisses you'd both shared beforehand. carlos would then kiss your neck as you wriggle out of your panties, kissing that sensitive spot underneath your ear, before his large fingertips would play with your slick on your folds, smearing it around, causing you to gasp with a new found pleasure."look at me, cariño," he'd mumble as he has your jaw cupped in his hands, causing you to keep eye contact with him. you'd ride his fingers, panting and slightly drooling out of the corner of your mouth as you can't explain the ecstasy and adrenaline you were feeling, clenching on carlos’s digits inside of you."that's it, good girl," carlos would praise as you whimper, moaning,"it's too much. i'm so full," in that pretty sweet voice that carlos can't help but melt for. "i know, i know, nena," he'd coo, before mumbling,"but remember, if my fingers feel like this, imagine how good my cock would feel inside of you. splitting your tight hole open, just for me to use." and your big wide eyes would just look at him hazy as you become a moaning mess, looking down at carlos as your mouth becomes agape when his calloused thumb finds your clit for the first time, the slow circles he rubbed against it, adding to the pleasure you were feeling in the moment."gonna come, carlos. so close, it's too much," you whimper, pretty painted lips forming a pout as your thighs start to tremble with the overwhelming pleasure soaring through your veins and through your whole being as carlos murmurs,"it's alright, i've got you. let go for me, princesa," whilst brushing his other hand through your hair, pushing it back out of your face. you clench tightly around his fingers, your orgasm causing you to shudder as a rush of heat runs up your spine, causing you to moan out as your hips stutter, coating carlos’s digits inside of you with your slick. you hiccup as you come down from your high, being smothered in carlos’s praises as he removes his fingers from your slightly throbbing cunt, before he tells you,"open up" with a mumble. you open your mouth and he shoves his fingers coated in your juices into your mouth, before smirking, telling you to"taste it all, cariño. taste how sweet you are for me." <3

[potatipejr]

Hopeless, but Happy

Spencer Agnew x F!Reader

Summary:  Spencer is out at a bar, not drinking, clearly pining for his girlfriend, and not even trying to hide it— despite all the teasing.

Word count: 3.0k

A/N: y’all i really thought i cooked with the last one, so yes i used ‘bakery employee’ as a callback

—————————————————————————

The music was too loud.

Like way too loud.

And not in the cool, pulsing-through-your-chest kind of way you’d expect at a concert or a club— but in that muffled, bass heavy way that made every sentence sound like it was being shouted underwater. A pop remix of a song from eight years ago blasted through outdated speakers, warped just enough to be annoying. Loud laughter, clinking glasses, and the unmistakable screech of a barstool dragging across the floor layered on top of it all.

Spencer didn’t say it out loud— he knew better than to complain when everyone else was clearly enjoying themselves. The whole Smosh team had spilled into the place after a long, chaotic shoot day. There had been confetti, numerous costume changes, and way too many retakes of a gag involving peanut butter. Everyone was running on adrenaline and caffeine and that strange buzz you get from knowing you pulled something ridiculous off. It made sense they wanted to celebrate.

The bar itself was nothing special— one of those places with sticky floors that gripped your shoes when you walked and booths you sank into whether you wanted to or not. It smelled like old beer and bar food grease, with just a hint of artificial lemon cleaner trying to mask it. The walls were lined with fake vintage signs advertising drinks that hadn't been cool since the '90s, and there was a broken pinball machine in the back that clearly had fallen victim to the angry outbursts by its drunken customers.

Spencer sat at the very edge of the booth, his shoulder half off the cushion, posture stiff and angled slightly toward the door. A nearly untouched Shirley Temple sat in front of him, sweating condensation onto the wooden tabletop. He stirred it idly with the straw, the red cherry long gone but the drink still full. He wasn’t really in the mood for sugar— he’d just needed something to do with his hands. Something that didn’t involve texting you... again.

He was checking his phone a little too often. Not in a subtle way either. Every couple of minutes, his hand would drift down like it had a mind of its own. The screen would light up with the same background, a photo you’d taken of the two of you in the park, both laughing, and then dim again when he realized, for the fifth or sixth time, that no, you had not messaged yet. His thumb hovered over your contact, paused above the tiny text bubble as if maybe just looking at it hard enough would make a notification appear.

It wasn’t like he was expecting anything major. Just a “hey.” Or a “made it home.” Maybe even a dumb meme, something you would’ve sent him just to make him snort in public and look around like he wasn’t falling in love. 

But the screen stayed quiet, and the party around him carried on without him.

Shayne and Angela were deep into a very dramatic argument about whether mozzarella sticks were the superior bar food. Courtney was at the bar ordering another round with Tommy, already halfway through some complicated drink the bartender had rolled his eyes at. In front of Arasha’s small digital camera, Chanse posed effortlessly, shifting every few seconds like he was born for it. Everyone was laughing, warm with alcohol and that looseness that comes after a successful day of chaos. It was the kind of night Spencer usually loved.

But not tonight.

Tonight, all he could think about was you— your voice, your laugh, the way your hand fit against his chest when you cuddled into him on the couch. He missed you with an intensity that surprised even him. It wasn’t that you were far away. You weren’t on vacation or in another country. You were just... not here. And for some reason, that felt like miles.

Maybe it was how long the day had been. Maybe it was the way the booth cushion had a weird dip in it and he kept sliding toward Shayne. Maybe it was the third couple he’d seen kiss in the last ten minutes.

Or maybe it was just you. The you–shaped space beside him that no one else could fill.

He took another sip of his Shirley Temple, more out of habit than desire, and sighed. His phone buzzed against the table, and his heart did an embarrassing lurch— until he saw it was a group text from Courtney, sending a blurry photo of Shayne holding mozzarella sticks like nunchucks.

Spencer forced a smile, thumbs-upped the picture, and set his phone down face-up.

Then picked it up again five seconds later. Just in case.

“Who are you texting?” Angela’s voice cut through the music with ease, sly and lilting, like she already knew the answer but wanted to hear him squirm anyway. She sipped her cocktail and arched a perfectly judgmental eyebrow over the rim of the glass. In her hand, she held a violently neon pink thing that looked like it could summon demons and smelled like it could strip paint.

Spencer blinked. He looked up a little slower than he meant to, still blinking at the brightness of his phone screen. “Hmm?”

Courtney leaned across the table, her forearms braced against the sticky surface with the kind of knowing look that only meant trouble. “Dude. You haven’t looked up in ten minutes. We’re beginning to think you’re secretly in a long-distance relationship with Siri.”

Spencer gave a small laugh, setting his phone down, screen up. No shame. No apology. “I’m texting my girlfriend.”

There it was: that telltale shift in his face. That barely-there, dopey smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth and made his eyes go all soft around the edges. He didn’t even try to stop it. He couldn't even if he tried.

Across the booth, Shayne dragged out a groan like he was on a fake reality show, flopping dramatically back into the seat. “Ohhh, here we go. Cue the Spencer Is In Love segment. Episode fifty of season four. Bring in the roses, the doves; I'll even throw a violin in there for you.”

“Wait,” Chanse said, perking up, “is this the same girl from the bakery?

“Yep,” Spencer nodded his head, a little too excited, which made everyone immediately cackle.

Angela pointed her cocktail at him like it was a weapon. “I knew it. You were way too detailed when you told me how you met. ‘Her apron had this little chocolate smudge right on the edge.’ Bro, that’s not a story. That’s a romantic novel.”

Spencer rolled his eyes and sank a little deeper into the booth, but he wasn’t even pretending to be annoyed. The teasing rolled off him tonight, feather-light, because they weren’t wrong. He was stupidly in love. Unapologetically. And he kind of loved that they noticed.

“She just got off work,” he murmured, almost to himself, glancing down at his phone again. “She said she might call.”

Courtney reached over and gently thumped her knuckles against his glass. “So that’s why you’re being the most sober person in this whole place. You’re waiting by the phone like someone’s dad in a G-rated Disney movie.”

Spencer laughed again, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “I just… I like hearing her voice after a long day. Sue me.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute when you’re in love.” Angela said with mock exasperation.

“Tell her we said hi.” Chanse chimed in, lifting his beer bottle and clinking it gently against Spencer’s glass. He winced after the clink. “God, even your drink is wholesome. This is embarrassing.”

Spencer shook his head, grinning now. “She’s not on the phone, dude.”

“Yet,” Chanse added with a knowing smirk.

Arasha narrowed her eyes in mock suspicion. “Wait, you’re not even drinking, are you?”

“Nope.” Spencer sipped from his straw and leaned back, crossing one ankle over his knee. “Why would I? The only thing I want to be dizzy from is her.”

A chorus of groans met that line.

“Boo,” Chanse said, tossing a napkin at him. “Boo this man.”

“I’m serious!” Spencer protested, laughing. “I’ve reached full simp status and I am thriving.”

“You were always a simp,” Angela said, raising her eyebrows.

“True. But now it’s a two-way street of shameless simping,” Spencer replied with a proud nod.

He leaned his head against the booth’s cushion, smiling softly like he was thinking about something far better than dive bar lighting and stale beer. Because he was. You. 

“I just don’t get it,” Tommy said, more thoughtful now. “You used to be fun.”

“I am fun,” Spencer said. “I’m just not ‘blackout at 9 PM on a Tuesday’ type of  fun.”

Courtney gave him a playful nudge with her elbow, nearly knocking over his glass. “Be honest. If she called right now, like right now, you’d bail on all of us without looking back.”

Spencer didn’t even pause. Didn’t even pretend to be coy. “Yep,” he said, deadpan and proud. “I’d leave so fast I’d forget all of you existed.”

Chanse let out a dramatic gasp. “Cold, man. Cold-blooded.”

Angela took a slow sip of her toxic–looking drink, smirking over the rim. “And your dignity, dude.” she added under her breath, high-fiving Chanse under the table.

But Spencer just shook his head, unfazed. “Wrong,” he said, pointing a finger in mock-seriousness. “You don’t understand. I have never had more dignity in my life. You should see me when I show up at her place with Indian food in one hand and a romantic comedy queued up on my phone like a damn knight. I am the peak version of myself.”

Shayne leaned back and whistled low. “Damn. He’s gone.”

Spencer lifted his glass like a toast. “Oh, I’m absolutely gone,” he said with a grin. “Like, hook, line, and sinker. Unrecoverable. Doomed to be forever in love with the woman.”

Laughter erupted from around the booth— loud, easy, unfiltered. Angela smacked the table once. Courtney buried her face in her hands, grinning behind her fingers. Tommy muttered, “We’re witnessing a whole love story in real time and I don’t know how to emotionally process that.”

But none of it was mean. Spencer knew teasing when it wasn’t good-natured— he’d gone to high school, after all. This wasn’t that. This was affection disguised as sarcasm. This was what it looked like when people liked you so much they couldn’t help but tease you. It was comfortable and familiar. Warmth in the shape of side-eyes and sassy one-liners.

He could take it.

Honestly, he liked it.

Because underneath the jokes was something real and genuine. His friends had seen him through worse— bad dates, burnt-out days, long weeks of weirdly timed shoots and barely-slept nights. And now they were watching him be happy, and all they could do was make fun of him because it was too sincere to say out loud.

And he didn’t mind being the butt of the joke if it meant he got to keep thinking about you.

If it meant he got to remember the way your face lit up when you opened the door and saw him standing there, movie in hand. Or how you always wore his hoodie when you got cold without realizing it. Or the way you texted him little things— baking playlist today is just Taylor Swift and chaos. please send help. — like you couldn’t not include him in your day.

So yeah, he lets them tease.

He smiled down at his phone again, screen still lit up with your last message.

And when Angela leaned over and whispered, “You’re smiling again, dork,” he just shrugged and took another sip of his drink.

“Can’t help it,” he said.

There was a beat of silence, filled by the music and the faint clatter of glasses from the bar. Spencer’s phone buzzed, and he glanced down so fast it looked like a reflex.

One new message: Just got home. You still out? Missed you <3

His grin grew impossibly wider the second his phone buzzed. It was instant like someone flipped a switch inside him. One second he was just sitting there, hunched a little over his drink, tolerating the sticky booth and the too-loud music. The next, he was glowing.

You could actually see it happen.

His shoulders relaxed. His spine straightened. He looked like someone who had just been handed a mug of hot cocoa after walking through a snowstorm. Warm, safe and a little stunned with happiness.

“Oh no,” Shayne groaned, slapping a hand to his chest like he’d been wounded. “There it is. That’s it. We’ve officially lost him.”

Spencer didn’t even glance up from his phone. He was too busy re-reading your message. Something about your finally getting home, that you missed him, and a single, perfectly placed heart. It was simple. But it knocked the wind right out of him in the best way.

“I repeat,” Shayne declared, standing up like a ringmaster. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are witnessing the look of a man who just got a text from his girlfriend. Call in the fire brigade! He’s combusting.”

Courtney, sipping from her cocktail like a queen unfazed by theatrics, just smirked and said, “Can’t relate.” She glanced across the table at her husband with exaggerated judgment. “Mine sends me TikToks of cats in costumes and thinks that’s romance.”

“Which it is,” Shayne replied from beside her, raising his drink proudly.

Angela, of course, leaned in with zero shame, trying to sneak a peek at Spencer’s phone screen. “What’d she say? Oh my God, did she really put a heart?”

Spencer blushed, quickly angling the screen away like it was classified intel. But he wasn’t fooling anyone— his expression said it all. Soft, dreamy, completely and utterly smitten.

Angela laughed, dramatically pushing her drink away. “You guys are disgustingly cute. I feel single just looking at you.”

“That’s because you are,” Chanse muttered.

“I said feel, Chanse,” Angela snapped, but she was grinning too. She was happy for her friend.

Spencer just chuckled and finally looked up. “She just got home,” he said, casually. Like he wasn’t glowing. Like he wasn’t already mentally planning how fast he could drive over to your apartment.

Tommy chuckled. “Wow. You’re at, like, level-ten simp energy right now. It’s actually impressive.”

“I aspire to this,” Arasha added.

“Okay, okay,” Shayne said, pretending to gag. “Wrap this man in a plaid blanket and drop him in a Nancy Meyers movie. This is simp energy on steroids.”

“Hey, you can’t really legislate for the decisions that your heart makes.” Spencer grins back.

“Okay, but real talk,” Arasha said, leaning over the table, suddenly serious. “How do you keep your cool when you like someone that much? Like, I get nervous texting a friend I’ve known for six years.”

Spencer shrugged. “You don’t need to keep your cool when it’s the right person. I don’t have to pretend. She knows what she’s getting.”

“And she wants this?” Angela gestured at him, mock-suspicious. “This lovesick nerd who drinks Shirley Temples and leaves bars early to watch movies with his girlfriend?”

Spencer smiled again— smaller this time, but deeper. “Yeah,” he said. “Apparently, she does.”

That earned him another round of laughter, this one warmer, less biting. No one could even pretend to roast him too hard anymore. He was too… content.

“I will cry if she sends you a selfie wearing your hoodie,” Courtney warned.

“She already did,” Spencer said, sipping his drink like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb.

The entire table erupted in chaos.

Angela screamed. Tommy dropped his head on the table and pretended to sob. Chanse clutched his chest and whispered, “I need a moment.”

And in the middle of that noise, he glanced down again at the screen.

Come over? I saved you the last cookie.

And that was all it took.

He stood up— not quickly, but instantly, with a kind of gravity no one else in the room had. He slid out of the booth, grabbed his coat, and gave them all a casual salute. “Alright. I’ve got a better date waiting.”

“You’re actually going?” Courtney asked, half-shocked, half-expecting it.

“Cookie,” Spencer said, practically halfway out the door already. “Love. Beautiful girlfriend. Priorities. Bye.”

Angela shouted after him, “TELL HER WE SAID SHE’S THE LUCKIEST WOMAN ALIVE!”

He just threw a thumbs-up in the air without looking back.

The cold night air hit him like a system reset. He walked faster than usual, practically bouncing with each step. A few blocks, a fast car ride, and some fidgeting at red lights later, he was standing outside your door.

You opened the door on the first knock.

“Hi,” you said, and everything else— the bar, the noise, the teasing, the whole world for that matter— fell away.

“Hi,” he said, just as soft, already stepping forward to wrap his arms around you.

You let out a small, content sigh against his chest. “You didn’t have to come, y'know.”

“I wanted to.” He kissed the top of your head.

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, brushing a thumb across his cheek. “Your friends think you’re a simp.”

“I am.”

“You’re not even denying it.”

“Why would I?” He looked at you. There was so much feeling behind his gaze it made him feel lightheaded, like the air had thinned and the only thing keeping him grounded to earth was you. He didn’t try to hide it. He just looked at you as if seeing you was a privilege, and knowing you was something holy.

“Has anyone told you how beautiful you are?”

“Only you a hundred times.”

A smile. 

He leaned in, brushing your lips with his.

“Then one more time could not hurt.”

[dramagodesss]

✮ ── ··· tattoo artist! jj eats you out on his tattoo chair

it had been a long fucking day. jj had spent all morning working on a dude's huge back piece where he spent the whole time whining. it obviously hurt but it was a tattoo, not a fucking back massage.

later, in the afternoon, he had tattooed a couple of girls. they wanted some pinterst design of two bunnies. both girls spent the whole two hours grabbing each others hands, whispering praises and being sickeningly and stupidly in love. it was cute, really, but jj's mind kept thinking on who he was in love. you. so when the lovebirds left and he saw you come through the door wearing one of his oversized shirts, shorts and a bag of take out, jj felt his dick twitch in his jeans.

his girl. in his shop.

“hi baby” you smiled, holding up the bag, placing it on the counter “figured you hadn’t eaten anything but your pen cap today”

he didn’t even answer.

just set his machine down, peeling off his gloves and walked over, quiet, eyes all heat. he turned the OPEN sign to CLOSED and closed the courtains. the second you were close enough, his hands were on your hips, dragging you in like he’d waited all day to do this.

“you been walkin’ around like that all day?” he muttered, nose brushing your neck. “wearin’ my shirt with—” he tugged at the hem, lifted it just enough to peek underneath, voice dipping lower— “nothin’ under it?”

a devilish smile spread over your lips as his fingers skimmed bare skin.

his lips curved. slow. dangerous. “jesus, baby…”

you grinned, shameless. “just thought you’d like it.”

he laughed once, low and rough, then tipped your chin up.

“like it?” he repeated, voice honeyed with hunger “mamas i fucking love it"

you giggled and gripped his shoulders as he lifted you up, grasping his hands on your tender ass.

“you look so fucking pretty baby” he mumbled kissing your neck. he led you backward, slow, until your back hit the tattoo chair.

his eyes raked over you like he was memorizing a canvas, callused fingers roaming over your thighs.

“god, look at you,” he murmured “sittin’ in my chair like you know what that does to me”

he dropped to his knees in front of you, rough hands trailing up your thighs, pushing the fabric of his shirt higher and higher.

“lemme taste, baby,” he whispered, voice wrecked. “lemme make my day better. you’ll let me, won’t you?”

you nodded, already breathless.

jj hooked your shorts with his fingers, tugging them down slow. he didn’t break eye contact.

“fuck,” he breathed, pressing kisses to your inner thigh. “missed you.”

then his mouth was on you—soft at first, reverent. like you were the only thing keeping him grounded.

then he got more demanding; tough hands in the back of your knees, spreading your legs wide, tongue deep in your cunt, nose rubbing against your clit with every lick.

he groaned into you when your fingers tugged his hair, pressing his face deeper into your cunt. you moaned his name, buckling your hips higher, making him smirk.

“you taste so fuckin’ sweet. shit, i could spend hours right here, sunken between your pretty legs...”

and he did. tongue deep, lips locked, your thighs pressing around his head.

he grinned through it, spreading them back open.

“jj―” you moaned, needy. he hummed in response, blue eyes looking up to yours. “can you use your fingers too, please?”

he smiled and nodded obediently (ofcourse he did) “can you gimme a hand here baby?” he mumbled against your pussy, eyes darting to one of the legs he was still holding open. you hooked your leg up with your arm, desperate and needy.

he whined at the state of you; spread open, whimpering, needy and flushed. “all four?” he whispered leaving kitten licks over your folds. you obviously nodded, and he didnt hesitate to slide them in.

as his fingers sunk in your puffy entrance, you felt the heat grow, the wave getting closer.

and so did he.

“you gonna come for me, baby? hm?” he mumbled, fingers pumping inside and out of your gummy walls “do it, right on my chair. imma mark it like a damn shrine.”

you finally felt the knot on your stomach break, orgasm hitting you like a slap. jj kept going even when your thighs squished his face.

“damn baby did i do that good?” he teases, arousal glistening from his nose to chin.

“i came all over your face. what do you think?” you blurted out, panting as he kissed the inside of your knee with his usual smirk.

more of my works here!

+ thanks to my bby @beewritess for reading everything bfore i post it ily

[skyracha]

Our Girl

[3RACHA x Bsf!Reader]

No warnings- just fluff

Word Count: ~ 1.4K

500 Follower Event- Part 2

Synopsis: After not seeing your three best friends- Bangchan, Han and Changbin- in almost 2 years, you score barricade tickets to their show. One by one they spot you in the crowd, leading to staff bringing you backstage for a long overdue reunion.

__________________________

It had been six hundred and eighty-four days since you’d last seen them.

Since you’d sat across from Bang Chan in that little café in Hongdae, his hands warm around his coffee but his smile just a little tired. Since you’d hugged Han Jisung outside the dorms after a late-night snack run, his laughter echoing in the street. Since Changbin had wrapped you in one of those rib-crushing hugs, the kind only he could give, before boarding a van for tour rehearsals.

And then they were gone. Schedules. Time zones. Fame. Life.

You didn’t blame them—never could. But it had left a hollow ache where their laughter used to be.

So when you scored barricade tickets to their show—Stray Kids World Tour, final night in Seoul—you didn’t even hesitate. You’d screamed. Cried, even. Not because you expected anything. Not because you thought they’d remember you after two years of world tours and award shows.

But because this was as close as you’d been to them in so long.

Close enough to see them under the lights.

Close enough to whisper: I missed you.

⸻

You arrive early, hours before gates open, your heart racing as you grip your ticket. You feel ridiculous—dressed in their tour merch, eyes scanning the stadium floor like a fangirl, not a girl who once knew the way to their studio better than her own apartment.

But when the lights go down and the intro VCR starts, you forget everything.

Then they appear.

And suddenly you’re eighteen again, sitting on the dorm floor eating convenience store ramen, their laughter surrounding you. But now, they’re towering on stage—stars in every sense of the word.

And then it happens.

Chan spots you first.

You don’t even mean to make eye contact—it just happens. You’re singing along, arms raised, when his gaze sweeps the crowd, freezes, and locks on yours. His mouth parts. He fumbles a lyric. His brow creases in disbelief. You smile—soft and unsure. He blinks, then smiles so wide you think his face might split open.

Next is Jisung.

He’s bouncing across the stage during his rap in “Topline” when he skids to a stop mid-line, nearly crashing into Felix. He squints into the lights, then grips Chan’s shoulder, gesturing frantically. His whole face lights up when he sees you—eyes wide, mouth curled into that signature grin. He does a ridiculous little hop in place, mouthing, No way—NO WAY.

Finally, Changbin.

He’s mid-verse, all intensity, until he sees his hyungs losing it. He follows their gaze—and his jaw drops. A laugh bursts out of him right there on stage. He holds his mic out to the crowd and just stares at you for a moment, completely off-beat.

Chan leans into his mic and says, “Sorry, everyone—we just spotted a really important friend in the crowd.”

The cheers rise, but you barely hear them.

Because minutes later, a staff member is weaving through the crowd, heading straight for you.

⸻

Backstage smells like hairspray, sweat, and something electric—like memory. You’re guided through corridors, your steps faltering as the noise of the crowd fades behind you.

Then the door opens. And they’re all there.

Chan crosses the room in four long strides. No words. Just wraps his arms around you and pulls. His chin tucks over your shoulder. You feel his heart racing—faster than yours.

“You’re real,” he whispers, voice cracking. “You’re actually here.”

You nod, tears burning behind your eyes. “I had to see you. One more time.”

Jisung crashes into you next, arms looping tight around your waist. “You’re still short,” he teases, voice thick. “Thank God.”

Then Changbin, who just stares at you for a second too long before pulling you in, squeezing so hard you wheeze. “You idiot. You should’ve told us. We’d have flown you out to the first show.”

You laugh wetly. “Didn’t think you’d remember me.”

They all step back at once. Offended. Insulted.

Chan’s voice drops. “Don’t ever say that.”

“We talked about you all the time,” Jisung adds.

“You think we could just forget our best friend?” Changbin shakes his head. “Hell no.”

You’re led to their dressing area, and somehow, they all manage to circle around you like you’re a secret they’ve kept safe for years. The makeup team scolds them for crying off their touch-ups, but no one cares.

“Why didn’t you text?” Chan asks quietly.

“I didn’t want to interrupt your lives. Everything changed.”

He frowns. “It didn’t change how we feel about you.”

Jisung reaches for your hand. “You were with us before the stage. You never had to earn your place here.”

“Yeah,” Changbin grins. “You’re not just part of the crowd. You’re part of us.”

⸻

They pull you out to the wings for the encore.

You watch from just offstage, tears slipping freely as the ocean of lights sway. The boys glance back every few minutes, sending winks and smiles just for you.

And then Chan lifts his mic again.

“There’s someone really special here tonight,” he says, voice cracking. “Someone we haven’t seen in a long time. And even though we’ve been apart, they were always with us. In every lyric, every late-night recording session, every hard moment.”

Jisung grabs the mic. “She believed in us before anyone else did.”

“She’s the reason I didn’t quit,” Changbin adds.

Chan looks toward the wing—toward you. “This one’s for you.”

The lights dim. A soft melody begins—an unreleased song, one you heard once in the studio but never thought would see the light.

The lyrics? They’re yours.

Every word.

You cry. Openly. The staff tries not to stare, but the boys don’t hide it. They point to you, tears in their own eyes, and sing like they’re pouring two years of silence into the music.

When it ends, the applause is deafening.

And you know something deep in your bones.

You were never just part of the past.

You were part of their story all along.

[hockeyxoxo]

helloooo i am very early on your breakfast brunch post, but may i order some muffins with powdered sugar? thank you very much in advance :))

Event homepage

Warnings/contains: Friends to lovers, calling reader 'love', smut, Oral (M receiving), 18+, throat fucking ofc

Order: Will smith + Oral Fixation

WC: 518

An: This was literally the perfect first ask. I can see Will having the biggest Orals fixation. Im still getting used to writing again, so sorry if its a bit short! I can't tell if this is really bad or if it is okay becuase its 4 am as of me writing this. NOT PROOF READ.

"Uhhh- just highlights from last night." He replied before adjusting his pants so his bulge is less noticeable. You glaced down knowing exactly what he was doing and what effect you have on him. You make constant eye contact with him as you suck on your lollipop. His eyes filled with desire as you make eye contact with him. He feel his cock straining against his jeans.

It all started with you sucking on that god damn lollipop. The second you came back home, you had it in your mouth, and of course, that's the first thing Will would notice. He was just sitting on the couch peacefully watching hockey highlights from last night's game when you walked in with that thing in your mouth. It didn't help that you were swirling the candy around in your mouth like it was your last meal. He can feel his dick creating a bulge in his jeans that were already tight enough without you making it worse. He closed his eyes, imagining what it would feel like if his dick was the lollipop instead when you brought him back to reality by sitting next to him on the couch, "What are you watching?"

"Fuck- you know exactly what your doing to me, dont you?" The words almost came out as a whimper instead. His eyes flicker between your lips and your eyes, not being able to decide on which one to look at. You took the lollipop out of your mouth and slipped in Will's as you got on the floor between his thighs.

"Love, if you keep teasing don't blame me for what happens next." Will look at you with his piercing blue eyes. You hummed around his tip challenging him. Before you can even finish your next breath, he grabbed back of your head and thrusted his whole length inside of your mouth making you gag and tear up.

"So are you going to keep me waiting or what?" As soon as the sentence ended Will started to unbutton his jeans and taking off his underwear. Your mouth was salivating at the sight of his roch hard dick. Even his dick was pretty, it was long with a prominent vain on the left side of it. He already had precum dripping from his tip. You opened your mouth and barely let his tip inside, clearly teasing him.

"You are doing so good for me" Will praised you as if he wasn't throat fucking you at the same time. He increased the speed to help him reach high. He was tipped over the edge when he look down at you glossy eyed looking up at him. He came in your mouth, your taste buds overloaded with the taste of him, the mix of salty and a bit of sweet. He pulled out of your mouth as he watch you swallow his cum. He popped the little part of the remaining lollipop out of his mouth and put it on the coffee table. He smirked as he grabbed your chin to forcefully make you look at him. "I'm not done with you yet, Love"

[onabisworld]

ford posing for a dodgy pinup magazine or seven during his space drifter days. poppa’s gotta get his Triangle Killing Gun money from somewhere. these things don’t grow on trees.

cw coercion+ dubcon‼️

this sparked a whole discussion in gc with keri n jack(shout out to them) ... Imagine portal ford. Desperate for metal scraps in a dimension where its hard to come by. Reluctantly agrees to a suspicious offer to film a “human documentary” . He’s already jumpy and nervous, but he’s like “its fine its ok nobody i know is gonna see this” .

He shows up for the shoot, and the whole setup was already dodgy—as the filming team keeps telling him remove his clothes and pose in various risque positions, he realises what exactly he signed up for. And it’s too late to back out.

And the cameraman alien …. too touchy, too hands-on about guiding ford into poses. Something about their cadence, their smile. As they adjust the camera and starts recording, Ford glances back to see a familiar yellow glint. He recognises it the second they make eye contact.

Plot twist: bill was behind the whole set-up the entire time. Saw that ford was desperate for money and set this whole thing up to mess with his favourite tuoy. The camera crew, the recruiters? All working under Bill. He possesses a random alien shmuck from the crew , one thing leads to another yadda yadda, and his borrowed body is pressing up against ford’s bare ass. Before ford can even let out a single angry growl, Bill spanks him hard enough to cut him off, fords voice hitching and ending in a yelp.

Bill cheerfully reminds him the camera is recording, so sixer better behave for their audience*. And if he doesn’t, he’d spank him till Ford’s ass was reddened and sore, and he’d be sobbing and shaking for the entire world to see.

It doesn’t matter though, because at the end of it ford is still crying, tears running down his face and alien cum running down his thighs. Bill runs a depraved commentary the entire time, making cruel comments on his slutty tramp stamp as hes fucking ford doggy-style. Bill uses his fingers to dig in, spreading ford’s hole for the camera. He gathers the remaining spilled cum and stuffs it back into ford’s already overflowing hole.

Bill gropes his stomach while ford lies on his back, alien dick making a sizable bump that bill presses down on. Ford can make out bill’s chipper voice saying something to the camera that most humans are this squishy and soft and pliable (he vaguely recalls this was a (mockery of) a human documentary after all). Ford cant take the smugness of his tone, so he gathers his remaining energy and spears himself on bill’s borrowed cock again, if only to stop his annoying commentary. Above him, bill’s smug voice falters. He lets out a hiss that sounds like “oh fuck, sixer..” this is the only warning he gets, before he’s slamming into ford’s abused hole anew.

*the audience is imaginary. Like bill would ever let anyone else see the recording. The studio and the crew disappears, and the alien body Bill was inhabiting is found mysteriously dead in a ditch.

[vicbutnotactually]

Random 2012 hcs I have in no particular order:

-Leo is blind as fuck and no one (including him) knows it yet

-Raph is color blind

-Mikey had a lazy eye as a kid (“use both ya eyes”)

-Splinter determined who was the oldest by who lost their black alien eyes first and got normal eyes (they had completely black eyes as babies)

-Donnie has gotten multiple stern lectures from different adults (Fugitoid, Rockwell, Bishop, and even Mr O’Neil) on how ass his lab safety is (genuinely this boy needs to be supervised, I’m a STEM student irl and that shit is INSANE)

-each of the turtles is allergic to some kind of food to different degrees but doesn’t know it because they are mostly worms and algae their whole life; Leo = kiwi, Raph = soy, Mikey = peanuts, Donnie = shellfish (Leo and Donnie have the most severe reactions which is basically to just keel over and ascend/descend to the afterlife respectively)

-Donnie is allergic to bees

-April gets really bad seasonal allergies

-Casey is dyslexic

-Donnie has multiple burn marks and scars from blowing up his lab

-Casey’s family is lowkey ass and that’s why we don’t see them in the show

-Dr Rockwell gives Donnie constant shit for his lab procedures

-Donnie makes anonymous YouTube videos on IT topics and gets in arguments with people in the comments

-Casey is a trans guy

-Leo is cheating on the team with another Mazes and Mutants (D&D) group (where he plays the stupidest joke characters he can think of)

-Casey and Donnie drink near-fatal amounts of caffeine

-Casey smokes (both weed and cigarettes)

-Leo’s little healing hand trick can go way further and he can also practice other forms of magic (but once it’s discovered villains 100% go after him to abuse it)

-Both Casey and April fell behind in school as the series progressed but Donnie helped bail them out

-during the whole Broken Foot thing Leo lowkey stole a bunch of Shredder’s cash and found a way to put it in funds under April and Casey’s names (he found it very hard to justify stealing but he did it anyways)

-Casey is like 90% titanium rods like Jackie Chan

-Raph and Mikey bond over their love for animals a lot

-Casey has wanted a pet raccoon his whole life

-Whenever Casey insults Raph he will push back Casey’s bangs to reveal a comically large forehead

-Leo got lost in the sewers multiple times as a kid

-Miley got stuck in random places multiple times as a kid

-Donnie has a secret folder full of instructions on how make bombs

-Donnie 100% tracks everyone’s location

-Eventually after enough incidents they all started wearing little body cams Donnie made

-Donnie hacked into local banks databases and erased Mr Oneil’s debts

-The turtles all REALLY like strawberries

-the boys have the DNA of multiple humans aside from Splinter and other animals since they made contact with them in the pet store

-there are WAY more mutants in New York than what is seen in the show

-Mikey and Casey sprayed themselves in the face with spray paint multiple times

-Donnie, Leo, and Casey know the most first aid

[theartofwoompwoomps]

Who you belong to

Tfp Starscream x human reader

Summary: you’ve been kidnapped and even though you’re not trying to escape your relation with Starscream is interesting? (Spoiler he gets jealous) note: this is going to be a series which explains the slow burn or unnecessary drama lol also this is gender neutral but your called gurl as a saying not as gender

Pt.1

——————————————————————————

You’d think it’d be much more entertaining having powerful evil aliens holding you hostage. 

But it’s already been a few weeks since you’ve been taken, and this place is driving you crazy.

There’s not much to do, especially after realizing everything is a whole lot more inconvenient at your size.

Thankfully, Starscream had some decency of bringing entertainment or things that could distract you, but after of a few days or hours it always lost its appeal.

Sighing as you lay on his berth, time seems to really like taking its sweet time. Without Starscream around the place was really quiet. 

As depressing as it sounds, you at least had one thing to look forward to. 

You see, there’s a few other humans on the nemesis. And after Soundwave found out humans need social interaction for good health, it became the norm to bring all the humans together once every two weeks. 

Of course their mechs were supervising, mainly because they distrust the other decepticons, but hey, the peace hasn’t been broken yet.

Feeling giddy at knowing Starscream will undoubtedly take you. Though he does it cause he likes to brag about his human caretaking skills.

And cause he likes seeing you happy, but you don’t have to know that.

————————————

The berth room’s doors slid open announcing your mechs arrival.

Hopping up from your laying position, you go to greet him, “Welcome back Lord Starscream.”

He enters, looking down at you as he offers you to climb his servo. 

You climb on, yet to receive a response. He looks different… not physically rather, his actions. He’s just looking at you. 

His optics making small movements as they analyze different parts of you. 

Well he doesn’t seem mad, you think, but it’s uncanny how un-chatty he’s being.

“…um, is everything alright?”

His optics make contact with your small eyes, you see his optical ridge, aka brows, frown making him look sullen.

Seeing no verbal response you decide to sit as you continue to look at him as well.

And as you are on his servo, he uses a digit to stroke, more like poke, your back. Your skin pricks as a small shiver goes down your spine. 

After awhile he closes his eyes letting a breath out. “Pet human,” oh surprised he’s speaking to you, “ I have not forgotten the arrangement for you humans today. We shall make our presence there soon.” 

Heading towards the gathering he exits his berth with you on hand.

Normally you both would be excited for the potential gossip but your bot is definitely more tired than amused. 

Upon arriving, you see almost everyone is here. He walks past the others, heading towards the large table. All the humans were there, it’s technically a giant barbie house but you’re not complaining.

Lowering his servo, you hop off once near. “Hey Pet, today’s visit will be short so make the most of time with your humanly things.” Sending him a nod before walking off you go to greet the others. 

Much to starscreams enjoyment, one of the humans who is closest to you is knockout’s pet.

You both tended to have the juiciest information, and he just so happened to be in mood for entertainment. 

Trying to stay close, he stays right where he can hear you but not be seen by you.

“ Eavesdropping so soon Screamer?” 

Groaning as he turns to face the medic, sees his smirk as he walks closer to him. 

“You know your human isn’t going anywhere right.” Starscream rolls his optics in annoyance, 

“Please, your far more protective of these pets than you let on. Besides Doctor, your the one whose been nagging my way of caretaking my human.”

Shrugging as he agrees, both bots continue in conversation as their humans do so as well not that far from them.

Honestly both weren’t really paying attention to y’all until the heard a specific phrase.

“What do you mean (name)? You for real haven’t ever thought of being in another bots care?”

He perks a brow at that, even Knockout pauses his sentence to hear.

“I didn’t think it was an option, so it never really crossed my mind. Have you thought about that?”

Now knockout is as close as starscream, both tilting their helms to get better audio. “Gurl please, with a bot as hot as knockout I ain’t ever going nowhere.”

Hearing your chuckle he also sees the visible grin growing on the medic’s face. Oh boy his ego is showing again.

“But be fr, even if you hadn’t thought about it before, if you could, who would you choose to be your caretaker?” 

Your silence makes him tense. 

He not really sure what you thought on the matter. Heck— he’s not too sure what he thinks about you.

“Hmm, well you didn’t hear this from me, but I’d go for Soundwave—“ “What?! There’s no way!” They gasp out hearing your response. Starscream also having to hold back his own gasp as you continue, “Cmon can you judge me? their human basically lives in luxury.”

“True dat, true dat.”

The conversation continues with both of y’all sharing reasons of how great he is.

But he’s great too.

Even better than that silent freak. Feeling a pang in his spark, anger creeps as he hears that out of all the bots Soundwave is your preferred bot?! Technically you didn’t say that

“Woah calm down Starscream, your vents are going crazy. And just a reminder they are talking hypothetically not reality.” 

But he just feels more infuriated, “I am calm.” Sure, but his tone told a different story. 

The medic backs off as Stars goes to pick you up, literally…

“Hey! This is a bit uncalled for you know !” 

He just grunts out a response too low for you to hear. You would have said something else, but judging from how tight he’s holding you he is definitely pissed.

Arriving back to his berth, which felt like an eternity to get to he places you down in your human corner before mass displacing.

Watching him transform is always mesmerizing, but seeing how angry he is as he approaches you is more menacing than mesmerizing.

“Woah, I’m sure there’s a logical explanation for whatever I could have done to have made you upset.” You slowly back up as he just continues to scowl...with a smile? An angry smile??

And he’s not stopping. He keeps walking towards you.

And that little thing called instincts makes run like crazy especially after hearing his own pedes speeding after you ,

“Get back here pet!”

You screech as you dodge a servo using the couch as defense.  “Nuh uh, I don’t even know why you’re mad at me !”

He scoffs but not necessarily at you, “Mad at you? No. Im upset with someone else who has messed with what is mine.” 

“Huh? Then why the hell are you chasing me for?!” 

He doesn’t respond as  he continues to chase you around the couch, but this time you don’t miss the small laugh on his face as he almost reaches you. 

You let out at snicker as he slipped on the rug, and you quickly rushed to the other side of the couch from where he is.

Though his disheveled self sprawled on the ground made you burst out laughing. 

Groaning as he gets up, holding his helm, he mischievously smiles at you, “You little rascal.” 

Jumps at you without a care that the couch is in between knocking you both to the ground.

You also groan as your body hits the floor. He landed on top of you, thankfully his structure avoided actually squeezing you to the ground. 

Though now he has you trapped.

“Geez, give me a warning next time.” And even though he also feels a bit of pain from the action, he simply snarks back playfully, “At least now I know I have all your attention.” 

“What? That’s sounds a bit silly, is that really necessary?”

“Well I can’t have Soundwave taking up any space in your tiny head that belongs to me.” You look at him in shock, “That’s what this is about?!” 

He frowns a bit as he explains himself, “I heard what you said about him. Not mention I also know you’ve been hanging around him a lot more recently.”

He inches his face plate closer. “But there’s one thing I want you to have clear.” You close your eyes feeling the warm air from his vents.

“No,” his servo holds your face, “Look at me as I tell you this.” You resist the urge to squirm feeling a bit uncomfortable at the change mood.

“Remember pet, you belong to me.”

——————————————————————————

Masterlist

[s0s1mple]

BLOSSOM — Yan!Idol!Enha x Reader

Part 9 — Salve

TW: Unhealthy fixation/dependance, possessive behavior, mental stress, self-confidence issues, threatening behavior, blackmail (reader is gendered and named)

Masterlist — Part 1 -- Next Part

“Who is she?” Management sat across from them at the table, a whole team staring them down. Almost like an intimidation tactic of some sort. If Enhypen were younger, if this was done when they were less experienced, they might have been worried. Might have bowed their heads, apologized, and promised to end contact when they told them to.

But they were Enhypen. Global superstars, the biggest source of funding for Belift Labs, experienced idols, and they knew their importance now.

Even more importantly, the boys knew Haneul’s importance, and they were making it exceedingly clear to management that she would be going absolutely nowhere.

“A friend.” Sunoo rolled his eyes, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair like this was a waste of time. Because really, in his opinion, it was. The idea that they were going to stop his friendship with her? That they were going to take away his favorite gossip buddy, his favorite confidant, his sunshine? No, that was laughable. She’d seeped into his brain and heart and rooted herself there until the idea of her not being there with him, talking to him, indulging him and giggling with him, was inconceivable.

Sunoo was her friend. She was Sunoo’s friend. And the only way that would change is if it changed into something more.

And god, Sunoo hoped it would.

“A friend. Kim Haneul, huh? Are you taking advantage of a fan? Again?” It was said suddenly, rudely, and the entire group bristled. Heeseung and Jake especially, the two glaring harshly at the head of management, Byungho. They’d already sorted this issue out, after all. Idols having one night stands with fans was hardly unheard of, and they’d gone through all the proper avenues whenever wanting to have some fun. NDA’s, assuring consent, all the stops. To have it phrased like that had Heeseung staring daggers at the men across the table, face eerily even.

“She’s not a fan. She’d never even heard of us.” Jake grunted, voice heated. Polite still, but just barely.

“Uh huh.” The disbelief was obvious. Sunoo scoffed, but it was Riki who spoke up. Whereas Sunoo was mocking and Jake polite yet irritated, Riki was outright hostile. 

“I was the one who bothered her, not the other way around. Stop acting like she’s a fucking problem. What, we’re not allowed to have friends? Last time I checked that wasn’t in the contract.” He sneered, eyes narrow. He was angled forwards in his seat, entire posture radiating displeasure, his arms crossed across his chest. 

“Watch your tone.” 

“Or what, huh?” Riki snapped back. Sunoo knew well enough that with his tone dropping like that, dropping way into the lower register of his voice, their maknae was on the verge of saying or doing something that fully crossed the line they were already toeing. It wasn’t a surprise, really. Riki had known Haneul the longest, had grown attached first. He was the one who called her every day, who looked up gifts for her and swiped Jay’s credit card to pay for it, only to get too shy and just buy her candy instead. Who postured and pretended to be suave and cool, all because he wanted to be viewed as an option for his crush. Only to realize she didn’t care for all that, that she preferred the boy beneath the idol persona he was used to putting on, and to fall even harder.

“Riki.” Jungwon broke into the conversation. Not in a reprimanding voice, but a controlled and even one. Let me handle this, it said, I’ll make this right. Riki huffed, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets, and leaned back in his chair in a too-relaxed posture. His gaze flicked around, utterly venomous. “We understand that sneaking her onto set and hiding her from you wasn’t right, that we should have maybe been more open. But tell me truthfully that you wouldn’t have tried to nip our friendship in the bud the instant we told you, like you are now.”

“Truthfully? We would have vetted her, done background checks, and the like. Seen if we could have paid her off to leave,” Byungho was blunt. They all knew the rules, the avenues. There was no need to sugar coat things. It didn’t make it feel any better, though, especially when a certain thought was brought up. If Haneul had been paid enough, would she have left them? Blocked them, left her job, went entirely without contact? Part of them had to wonder, to feel their insides ache with betrayal and anger at the idea. It was always a possibility, after all. She worked so hard for so little, so why wouldn’t she take that option? But the other part of them preened because it just knew that Haneul wouldn’t do such a thing. She liked being around them, entertained their antics, brought something to their life that they hadn’t had in so long.

Normalcy.

“But remove her instantly? Not necessarily.” 

“Really?” Heeseung asked blandly, brow raised. His head was propped up at the end of the table, the male leaning his chin into his palm as he considered them all. Management’s eyes cut to him quickly, assessing. He hadn’t spoken much since they got into the room, something strange in a situation akin to this one. Heeseung wasn’t the leader, sure, but as the eldest he always had an opinion.

“Really.” Byungho answered. Sunoo rolled his eyes all over again, casting a sideways glance at Jungwon. Jungwon just sighed. What a stupid idea. They all knew that the company would have instantly removed Haneul. All they were trying to do now was save face, to manipulate them and say that ‘if you had just come to us immediately, this wouldn’t be happening- you need to trust us.’ And like hell did they trust their company. “But now, with how you all reacted at the set? I don’t think I can allow you to keep seeing her.”

“Why?” Jay’s voice was calm. Cold. Composed as he stared blankly at Byungho. He’d been statuesque since they entered. Answering in short, clipped words, revealing nothing of the storm Sunoo was sure was humming below the surface. 

Jay was an interesting case when it came to Haneul. He didn’t quite have the same connection to her as the rest of them did, having been more cautious and more formal initially when it came to the girl. But he was closer now, on friendlier terms. If Sunoo had to guess, most of his anger was not from Haneul being torn from him, but being torn from their group as a whole. About the injustice of it all. He didn’t doubt Jay saw how much the group loved her, same as Jungwon had, the two of them always on similar wavelengths when it came to the mood of the team. With how protective Jay was, how much effort he took to keep them all happy, it was only natural he’d view an attack on Haneul as an attack on them all.

Sunoo’s attention was yanked back to the table as Byungho responded. “Well for one, your reaction when she was rightfully being removed from the premises. It was way out of proportion. If you can’t even control yourselves with-”

“They were yanking her around! What, like someone like her was going to do any harm?” Riki spoke up again, incredulous, and it was Sunoo this time who gripped his shoulder in a silent bid to calm down. 

Even if he agreed with the younger member, it was best to work things through diplomatically. Or at least with the illusion of diplomacy.

“She was being removed as anyone else would be,” Byungho replied smoothly, tone dropping into that condescending one that they all hated. Like they were still those easily controllable teenagers they’d once been. Sunoo heard Sunghoon’s deep breath. He didn’t even have to look to know Sunghoon was stony-faced as usual, arms crossed, shoulders set. But he was certain if he leaned around Riki and touched him, he would feel the elder male’s muscles trembling with frustration. “And to go back to what I was saying, your reactions were out of proportion to the situation. With how much you’ve been hiding this Haneul from me, how much you’ve been communicating with her-”

“You looked through our fucking phones-?” Jake burst out.

“I think you all are getting too close to her. It’s going to distract you from your work, and with a comeback on the way you can’t afford to do that. Or do I have to remind you how much is invested in this comeback?” Byungho leaned back, clicking his pen. The noise was the only sound in the room for a long moment. Jungwon made eye-contact with Heeseung, then the eldest stood up. Leisurely, assuredly. 

“With how much you have invested in this comeback, it would be really bad for you if it didn’t happen, right?” He said softly. Another stretch of silence.

“Excuse me?” Byungho asked, tone tight.

“You control our diets, our schedules, our clothing, our appearance, our everything. We ask for one thing- one thing!- in return, and you decide you want to take her from us? Mmm, I don’t think so.” Heeseung shook his head, grooming his cherry-red locks away from his face. He was chuckling breathily, like the idea was utterly ridiculous. “You tell us to worry about our comeback, when really I think it’s you who needs to worry. We don’t have an investment in it, now do we?”

“There are all sorts of movements overseas, you know. About boycotting, about how idols get mistreated, about all sorts of things. If we refuse our schedules, refuse to make this comeback happen, do you really think it's us who will be blamed?” Jungwon finally piped in, standing up just as Heeseung had. He leaned forward slightly, hands braced on the table. Not aggressively, even if it was obvious he wanted to be, but certainly assertively. “You will lose money. You will lose fans. You will lose customers.” 

Byungho seemed baffled, mouth opening and closing. The room was pindrop silent. No more murmurs between management like this was some normal, casual meeting. The tables had turned straight into the idols’ favor and the energy of the room expressed that. “You have a contract,” He finally settled on saying. “If you break it-”

“We’ll be held liable in court.” Jungwon said dryly. “We’re well aware. But you’re also well aware that you’d have to take us to court, right? That it would cost more money to do so? So that’s the cost of our comeback with no product, plus the cost of the courts, plus all the media you would have to pay off to maintain a good image… and all of that just to face Jay-hyung’s money in court…”

Byungho’s eyes flickered to the stoney-faced male. Jay was lax, clicking his pen rhythmically, staring directly at him. He cocked his head but said nothing, instead checking his too-expensive watch with mock-laziness. Jay was a humble person. A hard-worker. Enough to where it was easy to forget on occasion just how wealthy the male was. But here Byungho was facing that reality, and he paled slightly as he realized just how out of his depth he was becoming.

“Do you think you’ll recover without asking for more money from Hybe? Or are you fine with being completely bought out of your ownership of your own company?” Sunghoon finally spoke, voice soft. Even.

Sunoo swore he could hear his own pulse in the ensuing silence.

“You’re drawing a line in the sand here. You know that, right?” Another member of management piped up when he realized Byungho was floundering for something to say. All seven pairs of eyes flicked right onto him, intense enough to warrant the male shrinking back slightly.

“All of this for some girl. And supposedly a friend, too. Are you kidding yourselves, or are you lying to me?” Byungho finally settled on saying. You’re too invested in this, to go so far for someone you only recently met. You’re too invested in someone who doesn’t seem to understand how you feel about her. Do you even understand how you feel about her?

“We’re friends.” Jungwon said firmly. Sunoo was certain he didn’t care to discuss the matter with those across the table from them. Personally, Sunoo would rather have their management never speak her name again with how they were acting. 

“So what, you threaten your company first? What’s next? Each other?” Now that? That got a longer pause. It was the first time it had been brought out into the open, the reality of all seven of their feelings towards Haneul. All seven of them held something special for Haneul, for the girl who unexpectedly slid into their lives like she’d belonged there all along, and they were all privately aware of that fact. There was jealousy- of course there was -for who received the most attention one day or who received the most selcas. But at the same time… time had passed since they all realized that fact. That each of them wanted some unnamed thing with her.

Enhypen was a team. That would never change, not over anyone. If anything, she brought them closer. Pulled them together to socialize, made them laugh and joke with each other, helped them let loose and explore new interests together… 

And of course, Haneul’s smile was brightest when with them all. 

“Worry about yourself.” Heeseung grinned back at Byungho. “We can handle ourselves.” It was a non-answer, but it answered plenty. A dismissal of the mere idea. And just like that the matter was brought to light and solved all in one go by their eldest’s confirmation. Haneul wasn’t some bone to be fought over, some rope to be tugged at both ends. No, they were brothers and they would remain as such. They wouldn’t let something tug them apart.

They wouldn’t let a fracturing bond tear you apart from them.

After a moment, Sunoo spoke up again. He stood, smoothing out his pants, and pushed his chair in with an easy smile. “If that’s all, I’ll be leaving. I have to go over some choreo. When is our photoshoot again?” He asked with a tilt of his head. His voice was deceptively sweet, an echo of his normal self, and Sunoo would be a liar if he said he didn’t privately take some pleasure in the uneasy looks of those sitting across from him.

“In three days, I think?” Jake answered, following his lead.

“Ah, alright then. Make sure to set up an extra chair for Haneul, will you?” Sunoo waved goodbye, bowing politely, and left the room. It wasn’t long before the others followed, nothing much needing to be said otherwise.

They’d gotten what they wanted, and that was to keep Haneul. To keep his sunshine.

Sunoo’s mimicry of a smile stretched, turning to something genuine, something that tugged at his chest and lifted his entire being out of the bad mood he’d just been in. Two days… then he’d surely see her again. Out in the open, unafraid.

Hopefully he would never have to see her that anxious, worried, that afraid ever again. 

Not when she was with them.

One consequence that they hadn’t foreseen in the aftermath of that day on set was her pulling away. It wasn’t fully, not like she wanted to escape or ignore them, but that she was nervous. Skittish. Anxious. Something that she should never have to experience around them. It was just another strike against their company’s choices, in the grand scheme of things. 

The day happened. Haneul was taken away after she’d calmed down a bit, driven home by a taxi because despite the boy’s pleas to drive her home, she’d offered a shaky smile and said she needed some time alone. So they’d let her go, only really because she requested it and because they needed to deal with the staff and their management as soon as possible. As soon as possible just so happened to come in the form of the next day, regrettably, which left little room for them to visit and check in on her at her job.

Instead, they fired off text after text. Are you ok? Do you need something? Silly emojis, pictures of pets, anything to boost her mood because it was exceedingly obvious just how affected she was. Haneul’s texts were similar in frequency, sure, but they were shorter. Less involved, less enthused, like she was afraid to talk all of a sudden. Riki had tried to get on a call with the girl as soon as the matter with management had been dealt with, but she’d responded after a long while with a text explaining that she was too tired.

Haneul was never too tired for a phone call.

So forgive Riki if he was worried. Forgive him if he left the dorm in the middle of the night when everyone else was asleep, if he ignored their words to give her some space, if he walked all the way to her convenience store. Riki needed to see her, and he was more than certain Haneul needed to see him too. She had to, after all. They were best friends now. They shared everything, comforted each other, were there for each other. And since she needed support, it was his duty to give it, wasn’t it? It could even be a surprise. 

She was going to be working the late shift. He was certain of it. He’d memorized her schedule, after all. So he walked up and walked through the door, clad in his usual ensemble of black hoodie and mask. And then there she was, standing there like a zombie. Haneul looked exhausted, to put it simply. Like she hadn’t slept well. Riki’s heart ached at the notion even as it sung at the sight of her. Three whole days without calling? He missed her and her voice. He didn’t waste any time shopping around or playing coy, instead just waltzing right up to the counter as he slid his mask off. He grabbed a sweet potato, setting it before her and snapping her out of her daze.

Haneul startled, looking up at him with those wide, sweet eyes, and it had to be one of his favorite sights in the whole world.

“Riki.” She breathed. He nodded, privately buzzing at hearing his name off her lips again. He didn’t think he’d ever get over it, personally. In fact, he was so distracted, he only realized after a second too long that he was staring. 

“What are you doing here?”

“Are you ok?” They both spoke at the same time. It was Riki who stammered next, leaning over the counter on his elbows until he was closer to eye level. “Sorry, you first.” He chuckled slightly.

Haneul managed a smile back, and Riki’s worried yet content mood upon seeing her slipped right back into worried. It was a small thing, not at all genuine. “Sorry.” She muttered. Then she cleared her throat, checking the time, and furrowed her brows. “It’s late. Didn’t you say you have a photo shoot tomorrow?”

“No, it’s the day after.” Riki clarified. He shuffled a bit. For once, he felt awkward. Unsure of how to proceed with how… down she seemed. “I just wanted to go on a walk and- uh-“ A pause. He switched tactics and just told the truth. “I was worried about you. Things… have felt different since the other day.” His tone lowered to a murmur, almost a whisper, lips pursing thin as he studied the girl over.

Haneul blinked at him, slow and tired, and raked a hand through her hair. “I’m not sad or anything, if that’s what you’re thinking. Or mad. Or… upset, or whatever.” She finally said. Riki tilted his head, a silent question on what on earth it could be instead. It was a slight relief, of course, to hear such a thing. If she was mad at him? Or anything else? He wasn’t totally sure how to handle it. He’d want to cuddle her, to hold her close and make her laugh until it was forgotten about, but…

But they weren’t at that point yet.  And god, that hurt so bad. So, so badly. So badly that somewhere deep down, Riki knew he was clinging too hard and getting in too deep. 

“It was just a lot, I think. I forget sometimes that you guys have so many more responsibilities sometimes, which is kind of dumb, I know-“

“It’s not dumb.” Riki said quickly, hands flexing against the counter. He’d wanted to grab her hands at that moment and had barely held himself back. In fact, had they ever properly held hands? He didn’t think so. How would they feel in his? Small, warm, soft-? He broke away from the thought and anchored his eyes back to hers. “We’re just people too, you know.”

“And so are actors, and politicians, and everyone else. I know that. But… I still feel guilty all the same. I mean, I know you guys said it was all sorted, that everything was fine now, but I just- I don’t want to be a burden. Especially not to people with so many people counting on them.”

“A burden?” Riki was taken aback for a moment. Of all things he expected, that was not it. It almost made him laugh if it didn’t make him also want to seriously smack someone. Someone, somewhere, at some point, had instilled this sort of mentality into her. They’d seen glimpses of it before, that self-sacrificing behavior, the slight anxiety spikes and the refusal to skip work even on sick days. It wasn’t the money, though of course that mattered, but just… a part of her. But to know she was still broken up about this when everything was fixed, that she suddenly felt lesser? “Is this about the phones? Noona that- that doesn’t matter. We can buy ten phones a piece if we wanted to. It was nothing.” It’s all he can think of to say, trying to smile comfortingly.

“It’s not that. I don’t know- I- I really like you guys. Like, I really, really like you guys and,” she took a deep breath, seemingly trying to articulate something. “And I don’t want to ruin things. But I feel like somehow I will, and I don’t want to be the cause of something bad. And so if I make you guys feel awful or upset, that’s on me, you know?”

“No, noona-“

“Look, I know it sounds stupid. Like I said, I do. I know in my head that I’m being irrational and anxious and all this other stuff, looking a gift horse in the mouth and everything, but I still feel it. I think… I need a moment to process things and sort myself out.” Then, a terse and slightly sad smile. Haneul pursed her lips, hand raising hesitantly, before she scooted it towards his.

Riki’s breath caught. Oh, so she’d noticed his floating hands earlier.

Her hand slipped over his, gentle as a feather, and rested there for just a moment. A soothing touch. The itch to hold her was so, so goddamn strong. Was it wrong to crave her so much in that moment, to want to hold her for his own wants while she was so frail? 

Yeah, probably.

“I’ll be back to normal soon, I promise. Ok? Just, in the meantime don’t coddle me too much, ok? Just text like normal, and I’ll get back to normal.” Her voice sounded firm, but it was soft and a little shaky. “I’ve got struggles that I need to get through on my own. I’ve always had them, its just something about how that whole thing went down triggered them, I think.”

A pause, her hand slipping away, and in a sudden burst of adrenaline Riki twisted his hand to catch hers. She blinked in surprise, and he gentled his touch like he was handling something frail. “I- how long is soon? Not to be normal, but- until- I don’t know-“

“Until we hang out again?” She asked, saving him from his floundering thoughts. A soft smile tugged at her lips and Riki relaxed just a tad, seeing the Haneul he was used to underneath all that tiredness. “I’m not sure. Give it time, let me sort things out, and then we’ll be back to normal before you know it.” Riki waited, then nodded, then gingerly released her hand. He shuffled around a bit.

“I-“ his throat felt tight as he peered at her. God, why did it hurt so much to be pushed away like this, even slightly? Even when it wasn’t really him being pushed away, but held at arms length temporarily. Was it worse? Why did it feel worse? Why was everything so jumbled and messy and amazing and horrible when it came to Haneul? “I’m sorry. If we pushed too hard, I mean.” He finally managed.

“Don’t be sorry. It was really cool seeing the set.” Even now, when she was just so vulnerable, it was her comforting him. Providing sanctuary, just like when they first met. “Did you know Jiyeon and I are still talking? We talked things over and I apologized for not telling the truth. Apparently she wants to go out to shop with me soon.”

And even when everything was dark in her mind, she was fighting for a way out. 

Riki blinked, some sort of pressure behind his eyes, and reached into his pocket. “That’s really nice. I’m glad you had a fun time. I just- I just want you to have fun with us. To want to be around us.”

To want us.

He pulled out some cash, pressed it down onto the table, and slid the sweet potato over with a crooked smile. “Don’t go to sleep hungry, noona. I’ll see you soon. You… you should come to our photo shoot. If you’re up for it, I mean. There’s some really cool photography things- uh, techniques- that they’re supposed to be doing. And we’ve got like three more photo shoots coming up after that, so if you can’t make the first-“

“We’re closing soon, Riki.” Haneul said softly. It was enough to make his mouth click shut. Space. Yeah, space. He could do that. He totally could do that without worrying about Haneul hating him or never coming back or-

“See you, noona. Stay safe.” He managed as he shoved his hat back on and pulled up his mask. He didn’t want to leave her, especially not like this. But at the same time, he wanted to take off and pretend there was absolutely no strain there, even if it was small and would blow over with time like she said. Like always, Haneul seemed to understand him.

“Thanks for the potato. That was really sweet of you.” She said, unwrapping it. She took a bite, and finally Riki managed to breathe for a moment. He nodded and turned on his heel, forcing his legs to move away.

Just temporary. Just temporary. Just temporary. Just-

A knock on the door. I wrapped up cleaning my plate, calling over my shoulder that I’d be right there, and dried my hands. Over to the door, peeking through the peep hole, only to see a figure whose eyes were blocked with a ball cap and a mask over their lower face. I frowned. “Enhypen?” I called out tentatively. A nod in return. 

My first thought was Riki. He’d been… odd after their meeting. Obviously trying to stay normal like I had mentioned needing, and for that I was thankful, but in the process he was also overcompensating. Overly excitable, overly suave, overly everything. It felt artificial, and I got the impression with how insistent he seemed to be about how cool the photoshoot I missed turned out- and how the upcoming photoshoot would probably be even better!- that he wanted to see me desperately.

Like somehow my anxiety had transferred to him and he was feeling it infinitely worse.

To my credit, I managed to not make myself feel guilty over the matter. I’d said my piece, and I knew Riki understood me. He just missed me, it seemed, especially judging by the others saying that he was sulking around and asking if they could all drop by the convenience store as soon as I was fine again.

So yeah, he just missed me. It felt nice to be missed, especially because I did in fact have plans to keep up with my friends. Of course, his reaction to my contact-pause and missing me was to a slightly worrying degree, but I digressed. 

Yeah, this was probably Riki.

I sighed, gathering my thoughts, and opened the door. “Riki, I don’t know how you got my apartment number, but I said I’ll-“ I paused as he stepped in and took off his hat and mask.

It was Sunghoon.

“Huh?” I said dumbly. 

“Riki’s upset.” He said simply. We stared at each other. Then he continued. “I’m also upset.”

“About me?” I managed. This all felt a bit odd, to see Sunghoon of all people coming to me about this sort of matter. Whatever… this matter was, that was. With Sunghoon, it was kind of hard to tell. He was guarded. Not cold or closed off, but guarded. “I just needed-“

“Space, I know. I’m not upset about that.” A small tick in his jaw. Maybe he was upset, but I was quick to put it in the same category as Riki’s reaction to missing me. It’s just that Sunghoon was better about hiding it. “I’m upset that you feel like a burden.”

“Oh. He told you?” I asked weakly. My lips pursed.

“He implied it. On accident, really. He didn’t want to say something you didn’t want him to say.” Sunghoon sighed, taking his hands from his pockets. Instead they ended up balanced on his hips. With the look on his face and the stance, the sudden comparison to a disappointed father came to mind. It was probably that funny visual that kept me from spiraling a little. “I’m not going to ask why you think that, because you already know why you think that, and that’s all that matters to you about it.”

I swallowed thickly. “Then why are you here?” 

“To tell you you’re wrong.” He stepped into her space then, right up in front of me to where I had to tilt her head back a little to meet his eyes. My own widened in surprise. Of all people to be this upfront, to come to my house and start this sort of conversation, Sunghoon was the absolute last I would have thought of. 

“So you’re here to tell me you enjoy being around me, and having fun, and everything else? I’m well aware of all that. I know how you guys think of me.” I crack a slight smile, trying to lighten the serious atmosphere, but Sunghoon’s face remains the same. His eyes flit over mine instead, studying closely. I trail off and shift awkwardly before he speaks up again.

“So you do know, then. How much you mean to us?” 

“How much I mean-?”

“Mm, figured.” He tilted his head as he peered at her, and a pregnant pause followed. Then he stepped closer, and closer, until Haneul took a step backwards when the tension got too high. What the hell was he doing? The hands were off his hips now, and instead hung by his sides. A quick glance revealed them clenching and unclenching a few times. Haneul furrowed her brows, confused. “Come to tomorrow’s shoot, Haneul. You belong there. Around cameras and lights and all the other things you like. You should be around things that make you smile. You deserve that.”

“But my work… I can’t…”

“Call off. They can survive without you. We-“ then there was a slight crack in his voice. Not intense, but there, and enough to make him stop about.

“You won’t?” I finished, confused and a little worried. What the hell was going on? It was just a few days, and all of a sudden despite originally feeling like I was the one who was being emotional and overreacting, here I was getting hung after hint after hint that it might actually be the other way around.

Why else would the introverted, quiet, polite Sunghoon be here? Be up close to me, something intense in his eyes.

“Are you ok? Are you all-? Did something happen?” That was the only thing I could think of. That they’d lied and things weren’t as good as they said they were, or that something sudden had happened, and the reason they seemed so desperate to see me was because they were simply seeking comradery. I was familiar with the feeling, but this was really unexpected. My brows pinched in worry. “Sunghoon, what’s wrong?”

“Everything feels strained. It’s because we’re not together. Not really.” He hummed. “We’re better together. We make you happy, and you make us happy. You make us feel better. We just- I just want to do that for you too.” It was the most he’d said in one go in a while, the words carefully said. Vulnerable. “I think things will get better when we’re together again.”

“Sunghoon, I don’t… I don’t want to tie my happiness to other people. You guys make me happy, but I also have to learn to be ok with myself-“

“To be ok with yourself? What is there not to be ok with?” His brows furrowed then, face finally shifting into something confused and determined all at once. Another step in, close again, and I stepped back. So instead of moving closer and chasing me away, he lowered his head, bending down towards me until we were just a bit too close for my heart to beat normally. My mouth went dry. “You’re smart. You’re dependable. You’re loyal and you’re funny and you’re calming. You’re passionate and talented. You’re beautiful. You couldn’t be a burden if you tried.” He breathed out each word slowly, like he really wanted them to stick.

My ears flushed, my cheeks burned, the sound of his voice so earnest catching me off guard. So close, our noses almost brushing. My lips parted and I wanted to say something, anything, but instead I suddenly found myself bawling. I was instantly pressed to his chest, his arms wrapping around me tightly, chin against my scalp. Strong, steady, like a boulder to keep me from drifting away.

Had I needed to hear that? I guess I had. Judging by the amount of snot I was getting on his shirt, I probably really needed to. Needed to have it said firmly, like a declaration and not like a plea. And suddenly, it occurred to me that if all of the members to be able to deliver that sort of message, Sunghoon was the absolute best.

“Thanks.” I finally mumbled into his chest. I felt his hand stroke up my back, soothing and weighty. He hummed in return, the noise vibrating against my ear. It felt like a ton of bricks had been lifted off of me, to get that crying out. Like the anxiety had melted away with it, had been beaten back into the dark recesses of my mind.

Once upon a time, my mother had said the best way to feel better was to cry. I guessed she was right.

I tried to pull back, mumbling something about ruining his shirt and paying for cleaning, but his arms held fast. Caging, thumb brushing against the back of my neck. All of a sudden, it didn’t feel as casual, but more intimate. My cheeks, already red from crying, burned further. Why was he holding me like this? 

Sunghoon knew what she was feeling. He was a confident person, sure, always assured by others that his visuals would carry him far and his elegant movements even further. But at the same time, he’d always worried. Worried about his place in entertainment, in his own group. He wasn’t praised as readily for his vocals as Heeseung or Jay, wasn’t praised for his dance like Riki or Jungwon, wasn’t praised for his presence on variety shows like Jake or Sunoo… he couldn’t help but feel insecure at times. He had his own category, his own charms, and he was well aware of that fact, but still he had his moments throughout the years. Trying so hard to become other people just to satisfy that itch that said pretending to be someone he wasn’t would make him not drag the group down.

So he’d wanted to provide that comfort, to tell her exactly what he thought of her. Not fully, of course, because he couldn’t just walk into her apartment and say everything he felt. About how his heart flooded with warmth upon seeing her, or how his throat caught when she looked at him and smiled, or even how numb he felt when he wasn’t around her these days. About how loved she made him feel when she saw how quiet he was and pulled him in to engage or simply to sit next to and enjoy his peace, or how equally loved he felt when he was in an excitable, louder mood and she joined in with the exact same level as him.

Or how wonderful she felt in his arms. 

To be Haneul’s comfort in this moment, holding her close as she wrapped her arms around him in turn, warmth spreading over his chest from her tears and the feelings swirling inside… It was euphoric. Sunghoon wasn’t a hugger. He didn’t engage in skinship, instead being independent for the most part. But with her? He felt like a teddy bear, all gooey and mushy inside, his arms pulling tighter around her. So small in his grasp, like she needed him to protect her.

Like she needed him.

Something unfurled in his chest, a fire roaring slowly higher and higher as his chin pressed to her head. She smelled warm, like coziness and vanilla. Dimly, he registered as she released him slowly, a silent request for space again, but he felt like he couldn’t move. He held on for a bit longer, eyes fluttering closed, and drifted his thumb over the back of her neck.

How good it would feel to hold her right there, right at the nape, and tilt her face up to his. To press his lips to hers and-

Sunghoon released her, holding her at arms length and hoping his ears weren’t red. He cleared his throat. “I’ve got tons of clothes, plus a washing machine. Your tears aren’t an inconvenience.” He said. She looked so pretty, like there were diamonds in her eyes, shimmering from the tears she just shed. 

A small pause, the two just studying each other. Him trying to decipher her, and her him. Finally, he released her and dipped his head with a slight smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Haneul.”

Tentatively, she smiled back. “Alright. See you, Hoon.”

Hoon. Hoon, Hoon, Hoon. HoonHoonHoonHoonHoon-

Sunghoon left, heart pounding out of his chest, unable to pull her words from his head. Hoon. 

Her Hoon.

His Haneul.

[elzifelzi]

PHANTOM

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Chapter 19: Haunted Hallows Part 4.

After their little episode the group went back to their respective rooms for some well needed rest.They especially needed it for what they were soon to experience in the coming days. 

The night had passed by rather quickly and it was now morning Dan and Tucker got up early with Sam waking up much much later. She woke to find Dan and Tucker out at the front of the house in their sweats, Tucker made eye contact with her and waved her over to them. 

Sam:”What are you guys doing?”

Tucker:”Well as evident from your little ghost run in last night we know Dan is useless without his powers.”

The ghost boy shook his head in agreement.

Dan:”This is true…”

Tucker :”And we can't risk Danny going ghost and possibly giving away our location at least not until we know for sure that he can face whoever Skulker sends our way next.“

Dan:”This is also true..”

Tucker: “So I had an idea,What if Danny didn't have to go ghost to use his powers?“

Dan:”I've done it before 

Sam:”But won't Skulker still be able to track him?”

Dan:”I thought of that but we realized that skulker isn't tracking my powers just my ecto signature..” 

Sam:”ummm explain…”

Tucker:”After doing some research based on the ghosts Danny has fought before, I figured out that an ecto signature is something unique to each ghost's undead body.. It's essentially an energy that envelopes a ghost's body causing it to exist outside of the ghost zone.. “

Sam:”ahh I think I get it so since Danny can turn his ghost half on and off he can do the same with his ecto signature?”

Tucker:”exactly so all we need to do is get Danny used to using his powers in his human form and problem solved... He may never need to go ghost again!”

Dan:”Well you see, that won't help with the whole secret identity thing and what not..sooo.”

Sam:”Danny's right, but at least it'll give us the edge that we need out here. I can't always be saving your asses. “

She shoots him a smug grin.

Dan:”shutup”

Dan playfully nudges Sam

Tucker :”Speaking of which, what happened last night?”

Dan raises an eyebrow at tucker. 

Dan:”What do you mean?”

Tucker :”Well you guys were gone for a while and the phone call couldn't have lasted more than a few minutes.. So what were you doing after you guys escaped the ghost?”

Dan and Sam simultaneously recall the somewhat steamy exchange they had moments before Dan's phone went off and the two of their faces turned crimson red in embarrassment. 

Dan and Sam:”I-I-it W-was n-nothing!!!!”

Their embarrassed stammering didn't go unnoticed by Tucker who shot them a knowing glare.

Tucker :”It doesn't seem like nothing..”

Dan:”nah we just lost track of time is all... R-right Sam?? “

Sam:”yeah right... Well you guys should get started on training. I'm gonna grab something to eat since I kissed breakfast.....”

Tucker gave Sam a confused look and when it dawned upon her what she had said her face became redder than even humanly possible.

Sam :”I mean MISSED!!! I missed breakfast.”

Before she could make an even bigger fool of herself she left. Tucker finding the entire situation funny just chose to ignore it and refocused his attention on Dan.

Tucker:”Look man,we need to talk..”

Dan was in the process of stretching but stopped after seeing Tucker's rather serious expression.

Dan:”uh sure,about what?”

Tucker:”I'm sorry about yesterday man, I shouldn't have come at you like that,Just with Skulker and everything that happened I just…”

Immediately Dan waved his hand dismissively,in his mind Tucker hadn't said anything that wasn't true and maybe Dan needed to hear it.

Dan:”It's fine,besides you weren't wrong…I just didn’t want to hear it.”

He lets out a weak chuckle as a way to indicate to Tucker that he was fine with it but his friend wasn't fooled one bit.

Tucker:”No… listen…dude..you got hurt..you were damn near on the verge of death,the horror I felt seeing it couldn't even be comparable to what you must've felt and I know that but ... .being your friend knowing the kind of life you went through its …….”

Dan cuts him off.

Dan:”you don't have to say it dude,I know..but believe me when I say that it's because you know my past that I'm glad you said something.”

Tucker:”Really?”

Dan nods.

Dan:”Dude you're my best friend in the whole world.I need you, to be straight with me more than anyone else,I don't need you sugarcoating shit cuz you think I can't handle it…nor do I want you to.”

He extends his fist to Tucker.

Dan:”you got that?”

Tucker nods before bumping Dans Fist with his own. 

Tucker:”Bet!”

Tucker:”Speaking of your past,I know your folks called you last night,how're you feeling about that?”

As Dan recalls the intense feelings he experienced the prior night he begins rubbing the bridge Of his nose.

Dan:”not Good…”

Tucker:”Wanna talk about it?”

Dan:”not really, but I'm sure you're gonna make me.”

Tucker:”Then start talking.”

A sigh escapes Dans lips

Dan:”They told me that they're ready to bury The hatchet…that they're ready to move past everything that happened.”

Tucker:”Isn’t that a good thing?”

Dan:”It would be if it was for the right reasons.”

Tucker:”What do you mean?”

Dan:”Apparently Jazz is missing,and she's been missing for a while so…..”

Tucker cuts him off almost immediately, knowing what Dan was insinuating.

Tucker:”So you think they reached out to you because they don't wanna deal with the guilt of having both a missing daughter and an estranged son?”

Dan nods.

Tucker:”Look I understand your parents aren't really the best and I get why you would be apprehensive to let them back in, but…and this is just my opinion if it feels like they're trying to make a genuine effort..It wouldn't hurt to meet them halfway on it..”

Dan:”You don't seriously expect me to forgive them,do you?”

Tucker Shakes his head.

Tucker:”No,It wouldn't be fair to you.You don't have to forgive them,hell you don't even have to talk with them but I know you're hurting and I know that while you are angry at them,you don't want to be.So if you really do wanna make any kind of dent in that huge wall of trauma you got maybe try talking to them on your terms,and if they still choose to be thick headed then I'd say Screw them!”

And there it was,the famous Tucker Foley wisdom that Dan could never refute no matter how much he tried.It was moments like this that made him truly realize how lucky he was to have Tucker by his side,of course he'd never outrightly say it,but his friend was more than smart enough to figure it out.

Dan:”I think you're right…”

Tucker scoffs.

Tucker:”I mean I'm rarely ever wrong.”

Their conversation lulls to a close as Dan's training was about to commence.

Dan:”So how's this work?”

Tucker :”Well, we're gonna do tests that are specifically tailored to your ghost powers.. The 1st is intangibility.”

Dan:”So what, you're just gonna throw rocks at me until they pass through me?”

Tucker :”yup”

Without warning Tucker threw a barrage of rocks at Danny all of which hit him Dead on.. Leaving small rock shaped wounds on his body..

Dan:”What the hell Tucker!!!!” 

Tucker :”what?” 

Dan:”at least give a guy a heads up!!”

Tucker:”Sorry, heads up!”

Tucker threw a final rock at Dan and for a brief moment the ghost boy's eyes flashed green and he was able to turn intangible..with relative ease.He assumed he had just gotten much better at using his powers but,could it have been something more? Dan didn’t ponder the thought for very long he couldn't, they had a lot of ground to cover as far as his powers were concerned and an undetermined amount of time to do it.Trying to make the most of their time they spent the rest of the Day testing out Dan's other ghost powers and by the time they were done night had eventually fallen.Then feeling satisfied with the days events they retreated to their living room to discussed Dan's progress. 

Sam:”So what powers can Dan use?”

Tucker:”Well so far the only confirmed abilities are.. His basic ghostly strength, intangibility, invisibility and ghost ray..the catch is all these are at less than Half their full strength while in his human form.”

Dan:”Either way it's still some progress.”

Tucker nodded his head in agreement.

Tucker:”Also, I'm still working on it but I may have come up with something to help us fight off the ghosts!”

Sam:”That's amazing Tucker!

Dan:”Yeah how did you manage that?”

Tucker scrolls through his phone for a bit before showing Dan blueprints for a thermos like device.

Dan:”Hey I recognize this thing..”

Tucker:”It's one of your mom's old designs,It's supposed to be able to trap ghosts.”

Sam:”Sick! So this thing could seal away Skulker or something?”

Tucker:”Basically.”

Dan:”Then its completion is definitely on the top of our list of priorities.”

Tucker:”I couldn't agree more.”

They chatted idly for a while longer before they each retired to their respective rooms for that night,unbeknownst to them while they slept the most unholy of alliances was being formed against them. In the ghost zone the mysterious figure had done exactly as skulker ordered him to and brought him Vlad masters. They arrived at Skulkers Island where he was torturing the blind and defenseless box ghost under the guise of helping the ghost perfect his new ability but really he was mainly doing it for fun.

???? :”skulker?”

Skulker :”what is it now Technus? “

The ghost pulled over his hood to reveal green skin with white circuit-like markings along his face and body and long white hair tied in a ponytail and shaved at the sides; he wore large square framed tinted glasses and had jagged teeth. 

Skulker :”why have you disturbed me? I was just about to rip off his hand.”

Technus:”that can wait.. I got you the human you were looking for..” 

Technus points to Vlad who had been too busy admiring the ghost zone to pay attention. 

Skulker :”Finally ready to reveal your true Nature Vlad!?!”

Vlad flashes him a mischievous grin and In a Flash of light Vlads human appearance changed to a more ghostly mischievous appearance  his skin turned blue and his vampiric qualities were made apparent by his glowing red eyes,sharp fangs and his jet black hair and goatee which took the shape of horns. 

Skulker flashes him a grim

Technus :”So why did you keep it hidden?” 

Vlad:”A half ghost running a ghost hunting agency?If I had ever been found out then everything I worked hard to obtain all these years would’ve been wasted!”

Technus:”So you let Skulker and the other ghosts do your dirty work..gathering materials from the ghost zone to enhance your ghost hunting machinery and in turn make More money without ever having to Get your hands dirty.”

The halfa shrugged 

Vlad:”It's just business,I prefer to only use my ghostly abilities when the situation requires to.A While back I realized that you would probably need my direct help for this grand mission of yours.”

Technus:”Grand mission,how much has Skulker told you?”

Vlad scoffs 

Vlad:”Oh Skulker had managed to keep a very tight lip on most of the important information Especially after Daniel got his powers. All he let me know was that after his plans were completed and the boy was secured I'd be rewarded handsomely and I never pressed further.”

Technus:”So if Skulker never told you anything,what are you going on about?”

Vlad:”please, you really think i haven't figured out what you need young Daniel for?”

Technus :”how would you know what we need him for?”

A chuckle escapes from Vlads mouth.

Vlad:”You see, I'm a rather smart man and I love my research. The boy is the key to the Else Awareness isn't he?. I know how to take you there... “

 Technus Froze, He couldn't believe what he was hearing could this human have really figured out their plans?He looked over to Skulker who hadn't batted an eye,he was simply waiting to know more and Vlad,who was feeling confident that he had the high ground approached Skulker with full intent to give it to him.Eventually Technus recovered from his trance like state and spoke up.

Technus:”how do you know what the Else Awareness is? it's supposed to be a myth!!” 

Vlad grew increasingly amused by the ghost's floundering. Contrary to the polite and patient demeanor he had in his human form as a ghost he reviled In watching beings who he viewed as below him squirm under his influence and right now he was having the time of his life.

Vlad:”if a myth was able to produce such a reaction from you,I fear to see how You would behave when faced with the truth.”

He walks over to Skulker's empty throne and sits down feeling quite confident in his position. His ego was inflated even more when the Hunter did nothing to stop or oppose him; he just waited in anticipation of what Vlad had to say next.

Vlad:”A long time ago I realized that Skulker's partnership with me had to have had more benefits to him than simply turning A blind eye to his antics on earth..so I did some digging in both the human and ghost world and I eventually arrived at this conclusion. What is so valuable that the greatest hunter in the ghost zone would go through the lengths of allying himself with a known, ghost hunter to get?It would have to be something that wasn't easily attainable,something that you couldn't just find in the ghost zone.Then after that I wondered why you'd seek me out specifically.  Yes it could be for my wealth and influence,but after working with you for a while I knew it could never be that ,I understand that you sought me out because somehow, someway you managed to figure out that I was a halfa.”

Skulker simply grunted.

Vlad:”But you didn't hunt me,surely a ghost and human hybrid would've been the perfect prey but that wasn't it either so I dug a bit deeper and scoured through all the ancient texts I learned of the Else Awareness and that's when I knew for certain what you were after.”

Taken aback at what was excellent deductive reasoning on Vlads part, Technus quickly jumped on the defensive.

Technus:”You have no idea what you're talking about,The Else Awareness is nothing but a rumor!!”

Enraged at the Ghosts constant Denial Vlad lashed back.

Vlad:”Do you take me for a joke?”Why else would you seek me out!? Why else would a Hunter like Skulker pass up the ultimate prey not once but twice!!?? It's because You need a halfa to gain access to it. I'm guessing that's why you sought me out at first but you quickly realized my willingness to betray my human side for personal gain made me ineligible for the task. Then Daniel got his powers and began pursuing heroics, so you once again jumped at the cause.But young Daniel wouldn't be too keen on being your tool So you asked Me to jump in hoping that I could sway him. Am I right or Am I right?”

A grin grows on Skulkers face this human was clever and he respected that,this entire time Skulker thought he was stringing Vlad along,but he couldn't have been more wrong Vlad had been in control since the very beginning everything had just been Vlad feigning ignorance on his side until Skulker had no choice but to let him in on his plan.While he hated being used even Skulker had to admit it was very crafty.

Skulker :”how do you know the location of the Else Awareness?”

Vlad :”because I've seen it with my own eyes.”

Enraged by Vlads words, Technus seized him by his collar thinking that Vlad was mocking him.

Technus”:do you take us for fools!!? How could you have seen the Else awareness!!? Not even residents of the ghost zone have found it!”

With ease Vlad pushes the ghost off of him  and dusts himself off.

Vlad:”as I predicted you know very little of what you seek. Your higher ups would be very ashamed.” 

Technus: “what do you mean?” 

Vlad:”Think about it...the ghost zone Is a flipside of earth correct?”

Technus nodded.

Vlad:”And the Else awareness is in the ghost zone right?”

Skulker :”where are you going with this?”

Vlad:”I'm saying that surely the Else awareness has to have an equivalent in the human world.”

Skulker :”how do you know this?”

Vlad pulls out his phone and shows Skulker and technus pictures of a worn out looking book.. The book had a gold clasp on it and a picture of a skull with one eye. 

Skulker :”What is this?” 

Vlad :”more proof that you 2 are  fools. This is the Spectral Archive. Everything there is to know about the ghost zone is in this book..” 

Technus:”That book has been lost for ages. How'd you get it?”

Vlad:”In my many travels, whilst doing research on ghosts in the human and ghost worlds I stumbled upon it...it's missing a few pages now.. But it's intact enough that I've managed to locate the human world equivalent of the Else awareness.:

Skulker:”where is it?”

Vlad:”haunted Hallows....:

Meanwhile back at haunted hallows the trio were relaxing outside after a long day of training. 

Tucker :”So Sam , I've been meaning to ask you, why'd you pick this place as our hideout?”

Sam:”mmm?”

Tucker:”I mean you said that they have numerous other houses at different locations right, so why this one? Surely there had to be others further from where we lived right?”

Sam sat up from her lounge chair and turned to face the two boys.. 

Sam:”Part of the reason is because sure it's close but it's also uninhibited noone around to bother us.”

Dan:”That makes sense,and the other part?”

 Sam:”alright I'll tell you but promise you won't freak..”

Dan:”I'm literally a freak soo....”

Sam:”soo my parents used to bring me to this specific house a lot after we moved,i guess it was their favorite out of all of them or something But as a kid I noticed a lot of freaky shit happening.. People disappearing, creatures lurking around at night, animals floating all kinds of freaky shit. This was actually where I saw my first ghost and as I got older the shit I saw got freakier.”

Dan:”that is freaky”

Sam:”After my parents died I visited here a couple more times. I began doing some investigating as to why this place seemed like a haunting hotspot and I found out that this entire village is coated in the same energy that ghosts let out.”

Dan:”this place is lined with ecto energy?”

Tucker:”But that's not possible is it?”

Sam:”it shouldn't be, but after more research I found out that this place isn't even really on the map.. Like the spot on the map that would be haunted hallows is just an empty plot of Forrest.when I asked my Gran how my folks found this place and she said that they just stumbled on it one”

Tucker:”So it doesn't exist?”

Sam:”more like it shouldn't exist... In our realm that is?”

Dan and Tucker were awestruck. What could she mean by that? Where was she getting this information?And what did this mean for them?Luckily, they didn't have to wait long for an answer.Sam went into the house and soon reemerged holding pages that looked similar to the ones from the book Vlad talked about. 

Sam:”These pages are from some Ancient ghost book. I was looking through Dan's parents notes and I found them…at first glance they looked like random scribbles but when I looked over them again I found out that this place is actually in the ghost zone!”

Dan:”What do you mean ? How are we in the ghost zone?”

Tucker:”Danny I don't think she means we're literally in the ghosts zone, I think she means that this place belongs in the ghost zone..”

Sam nodded

Dan:”So what? it moved from the ghost zone to the human realm. How is that even possible?”

Sam:”I don't know? But according to these pages this place is the key to finding some place called the Else awareness..”

Dan:”So you brought us here to look for it?” 

She shakes her head

Sam:”if it is what the pages make it out to be then chances are he doesn't even know it exists,which means it's not likely that he'd find us here.”

Dan picks up the pages and glances over them.. 

Dan:”The Else awareness, I wonder what's in there.”

To be continued 

We back at it!! it's been a minute since the last one but i'm back!

nothing but lore dumps this chapter but i hope you guys enjoy. Also Technus is revealed he just looks like a dirty man

Also first official appearance of Vlad plasmius as well

READ the other released Chapters here.

[sirxaibs]

Do you know that scene in 'Regular Show" when Rigby tells Mordecai that his dating someone? You know, this one.

https://youtu.be/mTj87DvP0zE?si=dHh1sLPRuU5AA7RU

Right, so this is the exact same way I Imagine Sal telling his gang about him and his S/O. Right so you can just do whatever with it, you can turn it into a fic, use it in one of your other request, or just don't do anything with it. I just wanted to rant ig💀

OK GUYS PRETEND IM READING MY REQUESTS AND NOT BUSY!!!

this is a short one and is a heavily silly one!! I guess this can go with for popular reader AU! (modern au? idk i make a zoom reference)

masterlist

synopsis: gang minus ashley (supposed to be a dude hang out until the reader crashes it) finds out youre dating sal. Larry is as dramatic as fucking always.

“Dude,” Larry groaned, voice raspy like he’d just woken up which he had, two hours ago. “I think I’ve hit a new low.”

Todd didn’t even look up. “You say that so often bro.”

“No, no, this one’s different,” Larry muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “I stayed up late watching compilations of goth girls with nose rings reading poetry last night. I don’t even know why. My brain’s starving, bro.”

Sal snorted softly, while drawing. “You’re unwell.”

“I’m deprived, man,” Larry said, dragging himself into a slouched sit up. “I haven’t been touched in, like, months. Not even accidentally. I brushed hands with some chick at 7 Eleven and popped a big one.”

Todd grimaced and finally looked over. “You need help.”

“I need a miracle,” Larry said, pointing between them like he was conducting a funeral. “I’m surrounded. Whores to the left of me ” he gestured to Todd, “virgins to the right ” he tossed a finger toward Sal, “and here I am, balls dry and brain fried.”

Todd pushed up his glasses. “Being in a committed relationship with Neil does not make me a whore.”

“tell that to neil, i think he would say otherwise” Larry replied, picking up a cold chicken nugget from the coffee table and eating it without hesitation.

“That’s private.”

Sal blinked. “youre actually so gross man”

“Don’t act surprised,” Larry said, pointing a chicken finger at him. “You’ve got that hopeful little ‘I believe in true love’ look in your eye. It’s disgusting.”

Sal gave a noncommittal shrug. “I just think you find the right person when the time’s right. Someone who sees you. Who, like, actually wants to sit in your mess and love you anyway.”

“Okay, Plato,” Larry scoffed. “You say that like someone’s gonna come knocking on the door and say, ‘Wow, Larry, I love how you smell like weed and sweat. Let me fix you.’”

Sal offered a small smile. “Maybe they will. You never know.”

Larry stared at him, deadpan. “Dude. No offense, but I’m not taking dating advice from the other virgin in the room.”

Sal opened his mouth like he might respond, then just shrugged again. “Fair enough.”

“Like, I’m dying out here,” Larry groaned, tossing his head back. “I’m the whole package! like you both think I am!”

Todd was trying not to laugh now. “You are… impressive.”

“Don’t parronize me, Todd. You’re out here getting laid between being a smart fuck and fucking smart and I’m just trying to remember what it feels like to make eye contact with someone who isn’t in a Zoom lecture.”

“You haven’t been in a Zoom lecture for months,” Sal said helpfully.

“Exactly!” Larry snapped. “I’m practically a ghost!”

Todd sighed, rubbing his temple. “You do realize that you could… I dont know, go outside and meet someone, right?”

Larry leaned forward with a dark grin. “thats not in the cards mate”

Sal let out a laugh that made Larry smirk. “dude then that's fully on you”

“Thank you,” Larry said proudly. “I may be dying inside, but I’m still funny. That’s all I’ve got.”

“Maybe you should try actually dating instead of just flirting with sad bookstore cashiers and girls who sell crystals on Instagram,” Todd muttered, standing to stretch.

“I like sad girls!” Larry defended. “They’re mysterious. not to manic pixie dream girl these girls but fortunately for them, it makes them on my radar, they've seen things”

“They’ve seen you,” Sal muttered under his breath, grinning.

“Exactly. And they ran,” Todd added.

Larry flopped over. “You’re both cruel. I open my heart and you throw shade.”

“much needed shade,” Todd muttered.

“literally shut the fuck up” Larry said with a shrug. “Anyway, if either of you know anyone hot, weird, emotionally damaged, and preferably into aliens or tarot, please send them my number.”

Sal gave him a look. “You say that like you’re a good investment.”

“I could be,” Larry corrected.

Todd rolled his eyes. “dinner could come faster if you shut up.”

“mmmm sure,” Larry said, suddenly perking up. “And if it’s pizza, I’m sitting next to you and giving you a personal special gift.”

“God, please don’t,” Todd muttered

Sal stretching. “We’re getting you a hobby.”

“Sex was supposed to be my hobby!” Larry called after them.

Sal blinked slowly, coming back from his stretch. “Dude, calm down.”

“I won’t!” Larry flailed his arms dramatically.

Todd shifted just enough to rest his chin on his hand. “You have issues.”

“I have needs, Todd. Human ones. I’m touch starved and mentally unstable. It’s a great combo if you’re into damaged goods, but apparently no one is!”

Sal sighed, still sketching. “Maybe you need to stop going after people who are guaranteed emotional disasters.”

“Oh, and what would you two know about my kind of dating?” Larry snapped, voice getting sharper. “Todd, you skipped the trauma part and jumped straight into cozy domestic bliss with Neil like it’s some damn romcom. And you ” He jabbed a finger at Sal. “You’ve got the dating experience of a damp napkin. Don’t lecture me on romance when your only action comes from drawing mysterious girls in your sketchbook like it’s 2005.”

Sal’s pencil froze for half a second. Larry leaned back, huffing, muttering under his breath. “God, even my insults are sad now.”

But Sal didn’t respond. He slowly set the pencil down and looked up. The room was quiet.

Larry glanced up. “What?”

Sal gave Larry a long, tired look. His voice was low and calm. “Actually, smart guy, I have been dating someone.”

Larry froze. “What?”

Sal shrugged once. “Yeah.”

“…Bullshit.”

“I’m serious.”

“No. No, you don’t just drop that like it’s nothing. Who? Who the hell would date you?” Larry excitedly looked at him. “No offense, but if i were into you, I would but that’s because we match each others freaks, who else would?”

Sal leaned forward slightly. “It’s Y/N.”

Larry blinked. Todd looked like he was trying not to visibly flinch. Larry sat up a little straighter. “I’m sorry what?”

Sal nodded, a little awkwardly but without backing down. “Yeah. It’s been a little while now.”

“You’re telling me… Y/N. Our Y/N. The only normal person who tolerates our lame asses. That Y/N.”

“hey im normal”

“youre literally not todd”

“Yes.”

“And you’re dating her?”

Sal just nodded again.

Larry slumped back into the couch like he’d just been slapped across the face with a cold fish. “Unbelievable. I am literally in hell.”

“It wasn’t a secret,” Sal added quickly. “We were just… taking it slow. Didn’t want to make it weird.”

“Didn’t want to ” Larry laughed, raspy little noise. “Bro. Everything is weird. You should’ve led with that like, weeks ago! That changes the entire dynamic! I’m out here crying about not being loved while you’re sneaking off to make googly eyes at the one decent human being left in our orbit!”

“It’s not like I did it to spite you,” Sal muttered.

Todd held up a hand. “Okay, let’s not turn this into a thing ”

Larry ignored him. “You didn’t even tell me! ME. im highkey offended.”

Sal actually looked a little guilty. “I didn’t know how to bring it up.”

“’Hey Larry, stop crying into your ramen, I’m dating the coolest person we know!’ That’s how you bring it up!” Larry exclaimed.

Todd muttered under his breath, “You’re being a little dramatic.”

“I earn my drama,” Larry hissed. “You guys are all out here winning at love, and I’m over here making up scenarios in my head.”

Sal’s voice was quieter now. “I get it. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything.”

Larry let out a long, exhausted sigh. “Nah. Nah, it’s fine. I’m happy for you, man. Seriously.” He looked off to the side and added, “I’ll just go sacrifice a lock of my hair to the moon goddess or whatever the hell it takes to not die single.”

Sal chuckled. “Want help with that?”

“Not from you, traitor.. You don’t belong in my trenches anymore.”

Sal offered a faint, slightly guilty smile. “youll find someone ”

“I know,” Larry mumbled. “its just so rough”

The three of them fell into silence again Larry sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “Whatever. At least I still have pizza.”

“I actually thought we would warm up some leftovers” Todd pointed out.

Larry stared blankly into the void. “I have nothing.”

then the front door creaked open.

“Hey, losers!” came Y/N’s familiar voice. The warmth in her tone was immediate, She kicked off her shoes in the hallway with a thunk, holding a tote bag full of snacks and energy drinks. “I brought sugar and caffeine. Prepare to worship me.”

Larry didn’t even look up. “Oh, look what the cat dragged in.”

Y/N paused, eyebrows knitting in confusion. “What’s with the tone?” She walked in further, holding out the snacks proudly. “I got those weird sour gummies you like, Larry.”

“Oh, wow,” Larry said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Sour worms. Truly, you do care.”

Sal was now refusing to make eye contact with her, suddenly very invested in the corner of his page. Todd, meanwhile, was watching the scene unfold like it was a sitcom. Y/N squinted at all three of them. “…Did someone die?”

“Not someone,” Larry muttered, resting his chin on his knees. “Just my faith in friendship. And honesty. And romantic transparency. But whatever.”

Y/N blinked. “Okay. Definitely weird vibes going on here.”

“Is it?” Larry asked, dramatically pulling the blanket tighter around his body like he was the heartbroken lead in an indie film. “Or is it just the smell of secrets festering in the air?”

“What is going on?” Y/N laughed nervously, looking between the three of them. “Why are you all acting like you just got caught burying a body?”

Todd hummed. “Could say something was buried.”

Sal cleared his throat and didn’t look up. “Larry’s being dramatic.”

“Oh, I’m being dramatic?” Larry whipped around to glare at Sal. “You kept your little romance saga under wraps like it was state security, and I’m the problem?”

Y/N’s smile faltered. “…Romance saga?” Silence. Too long. “Sal?” she asked slowly, eyebrows raised.

“Hmm?”

“Wanna fill me in?”

He shrugged. “Not really.”

Todd let out the tiniest chuckle. Y/N looked back to Larry, confused. “Okay, am I missing something? Why are you glaring at me like I just kicked you in the face?”

“Oh, don’t play coy, Juliet,” Larry hissed. “You think you’re slick. Romeo told me everything”

“did he now?” Y/N laughed, exasperated now.

“i would argue not everything” sal peeps in

Y/N’s mouth opened, then closed. She looked at all three of them, eyebrows furrowed in panic. “Wait. Wait. What do you think you know?”

Larry stood, pointing dramatically. “Don’t play dumb! I know about you and Sal!”

“Oh my god,” Y/N finally muttered. “He told you?!”

“Damn right he told me,” Larry snapped. “Dropped it right in my lap like it was no big deal.”

Y/N flushed. “It wasn’t supposed to come out like this ”

“Oh, you think?”

“I didn’t mean ”

Larry threw up his hands. “Do you know how long I’ve been bitching about being single to both of you?! You could’ve at least let me know you were off the market so I could suffer in targeted isolation!”

“I was going to tell you eventually!” she said, defensive now.

“When? At your wedding?” Larry barked.

Todd: “Oof.”

Y/N rubbed her temples. “Okay. Okay, fine. It’s true. We’re dating. Happy?”

Larry crossed his arms. “Not really. I was hoping one of you was secretly wanting to date me.”

Sal smirked faintly, still not looking up. “Sorry.”

Y/N looked over at Todd. “you're such a bitch”

“Oh, I wasn’t going to help,” Todd said casually. “Watching it click was the highlight of my week.”

Larry exhaled through his nose. “Yeah. So congrats, lovebirds. I hope you’re very happy. I’ll just be in my room. Alone. Googling shit for special time that looks like one of you.”

He stomped toward the hallway like a man defeated. Y/N looked to Sal. “…Should we talk to him?”

Sal shrugged. “Give him fifteen minutes. He’ll come back for snacks.”

Todd held up the sour gummies while opening them. “I’m hiding these until he calms down.”

Y/N sighed and flopped down onto the couch with an audible groan. “dawg i’m so confused, i feel like i just cheated in him.”

Sal finally looked up, his voice quiet and honest. “Ew me too, but at least its out in the open.”

Y/N gave him a small smile. “Yeah. I guess it is.”

Todd smirked to himself. “About time.”

[st4rssky]

Ermm part 2 of the little Kenma Drabble :3 warnings: She/her pronouns, like 3(?) mentions of Y/N, I need to find a better term…

Kenma is far from a confident man. He was fairly confident in his gaming skills and knowledge, but that was all shattered after he was dominated in a 1v1 by a girl who just so happens to be the new club manager for his volleyball team. Keeping his head lower than usual his eyes not even trained on his hand held device but the floor as he and his long term friend, Kuroo, walk through the school halls together.

“Are you okay, man? Normally you’d atleast give me a sign of acknowledgement by telling me to shut up. But you’ve just been letting me talk this whole time!”

Has Kuroo seriously been yapping this whole time? Kenma was so lost in thought thinking about how practice is gonna go later he didn’t even realize what was going on around him! In fact, he was so preoccupied with remembering the gentle voice calling him ‘The best setter’ that he nearly died of embarrassment when he saw they were standing infront of the gym! That ‘later’ practice he was thinking about..was happening now.

“H-huh?! Oh yeah- I’m fine.”

Kenma quickly stuttered out his words as he shoves his hands in his pockets and walked towards the locker room to change.

Now, as Y/N stood beside coach Nekomata her diligent eyes scanned the room, trained on every new face that came in looking for him. She knew his face, she was a fan after all! Always showing up to watch the practice games, bringing signs to root for that pretty fake blonde at all the real games. Her gaze always focused on his eyes, so sharp and precise, anytime they’d make eye contact she felt as if they were the only ones in the room- scratch that- the world as he looked at her with those bright golden eyes.

She rocked back and forth on her feet as she waited for him, player #5. She was so ashamed but she didn’t know his name. The team captain was always more popular, and from what she’s heard the official setter doesn’t have many friends or talk to anyone besides his teammates. But she got to hear his voice. So smooth and the perfect pitch- deep enough to not sound like a child but not so deep it sounds fake. His laugh, god it made her head spin- and the way he said her name!? She had never been more thankful for having her real name in her gamer tag.

Did she have a plan here? Absolutely not. From the abrupt end of their call last night she figures he must be a little shy. But she can work with that! She cracked his shell online, she can do it in person too! And then, it happened. The moment she’s been waiting for since she found out the funny boy she beat in valorent last night was really the boy she’s had a crush on since she watch her school teams volleyball match. He walked in along side the team captain. Arms exposed just enough to see the lean defined lines from setting, his constant half lidded eyes scanning the room as he pulls his hair up.

As Kenma looked over to where coach Nekomata had everyone lined up, he saw who he could only assume was her. He recognized her face, she’s watched practices before. When the manager spot opened up she must of seized the opportunity he thought to himself. He joined the line up next to the other players, looking everywhere but at the annoyingly cute girl in front of him.

“This is your new Manger, Y/N. I expect you to treat her with as much respect you’d give us coaches.”

“It’s nice to meet you all! I hope we can all get along!”

As coach signals everyone to start warming up Kenma quickly turns to join until he’s stopped, his shoulder tensing as he hears his name.

“Not you, Kenma. Help our new manager get the water bottles filled. Show her to the nearest fountain and help her carry the bottles, would ya?”

Kenma slowly turns around muttering a quick “Yes, coach.” As he looks at her for the first time since he walked in the gym. Coach Nekomata walks over to the other team members as Kenma quietly mumbles “Follow me.” As he grabs the empty water bottles and shows her to the nearest fountain.

Y/n bites the inside of her cheek as she fills the bottles. The silence between them being akward to say the least. Finally she gains the courage to speak.

“If i didn’t know any better, I’d think your still sour from me beating you last night..”

Kenma perks up at her words, mentally debating on whether he should say something or not.

“I was never ‘sour’, you beat me fair and square. Which is something that doesn’t happen often..” He mumbles the last part to himself.

“Who knows! Maybe it was a fluke and next time you’ll beat me.”

“Next time?”

Shit.

“I mean- if we happen to be in the same lobby again-“

“Or I could send you a friend request and we could play together..”

Looking up from the fountain her gazes shifts to the boy beside her, whose eyes are trained to the floor with a pink blush settling on the tips of his ears. She smiles softly, filling up the last bottle as she speaks.

“Yknow, I never got your name.”

“…Kenma”

“Well, Kenma, wanna play after practice?”

[bloodandiron-if]

Care to share some facts about the ROs?

Ooo, I was ready for this one!! (For now I’ll give five each)

⚠️ LENGTHY CONTENT INCOMING ⚠️

- - -

OPERATIVE D-6

- Has a very uncanny ability to memorize rooms, exits, threats and people within seconds of entering an area.

- They tend to flinch at loud, unexpected laughter since they don’t know how to react to joy that feels too big for them to handle.

- Sleeps facing the door, always. Even in deep sleep, their muscles stay slightly tense.

- (If you had a good relationship with them as a child) They used to trace the edge of the MC’s palm in the Facility over and over again like it was there grounding ritual.

- Doesn’t believe in luck. Only timing.

- - -

DETECTIVE JUNO REYES

- Has a beat-up cassette player in their car that only plays two tapes: one is Latin jazz, the other is Springsteen.

- Keeps a photograph of their younger brother tucked inside their badge wallet—face rubbed half faded from years of handling.

- Smokes when they’re stressed but only lights half the cigarette.

- Hates lying, but has become frighteningly good at it.

- Would rather take a bullet than let someone else bleed on their watch.

- - -

NICO/NIA RUSSO

- Has a scar on their right hand from punching a metal paper towel dispenser in high school.

- Carries a beat-up bottle opener on their keychain—it used to hang in their uncle’s pizzeria before he gave it to them “for luck.” They act like it’s junk, but never go anywhere without it.

- Refuses to let anyone else touch their food, but will steal bites off your plate without hesitation.

- Swears they don’t care about anything, but will offer to walk you home in the dark.

- Once got into a fistfight over someone insulting Reese (and won).

KIERAN/KIERA MYLES

- Tends to favour sleeping with a knife under their pillow, even if they’re in a luxury hotel.

- They always gravitate towards wearing cologne/perfume that smells like gunpowder and leather.

- You’ll never hear them tell the same story twice the same way.

- Knows exactly how close they can stand without touching you—and enjoys pushing that line.

- Keeps a cracked silver lighter on them at all times. It's old. It's sentimental. No one gets to ask why.

- - -

ALEX/ALEXI MONROE

- Has a resting bitch face that makes them seem cold or unfriendly—but one real smile from them and that whole illusion falls apart.

- They used to work for a program that looked after unloved and abused kids. They understood that kind of silence—growing up in a home where love was distant and no one really looked out for each other.

- Has insomnia, but sleeps best when curled up against someone else.

- Mutters random strings of words under their breath when nervous—never loud enough to be caught.

- They will touch your face like they’re afraid you’ll vanish between blinks.

- - -

ROWAN/RHEA CARTER

- Has read The Communist Manifesto, The Art of War, and Jane Eyre—and quotes them out sometimes.

- Keeps lists of names in their journal of people to save, people to burn, and people they couldn’t do either for.

- Carries matches even though they don’t smoke. Says it’s a symbol. No one’s ever gotten the full story about it.

- They hold eye contact like it’s a challenge—but softens immediately when you’re the one looking back.

- Believes in justice more than survival. But when it comes to you? That belief gets real…complicated.

[scorbut0]

Well

I've covered the suspicious squinty eye from that hallucination where we he's jumps on us and-

EYE CONTACT, this shows that his left eye is the "healthy" one!

it's very interesting to be able to correctly perceive his gaze.

((hlysht, he's so cute))