#how their both two faced (one figuratively and one literally)

[robbysreaders]

In love with your jack series can we have a hint of what might of happened to cause them to break up ?

This literally made me so sad i need to follow up with a fluffier moment tonight but it was fun to write, thank you for asking!!!!!

pairing: jack abbot x f!reader�� word count: 800ish notes: prequel of ex!reader and babydaddy!jack also yes i did steal another scene from ER so SUE ME

It was never one big thing. It was the slow build — compounding fractures on both sides that never quite healed.

Jack wasn’t the one to suggest space. You were. He would’ve let it spiral into a blowout or let his guilt fester into something ugly. But you knew you both deserved better than that.

You’d been dating for six months when you realized you were late. He was on a tangent about work, barely coming up for air.

“These budget cuts are bullshit. We don’t have enough nurses upstairs, the boarders are piling up, and it makes everything ten times harder—”

“Jack,” you whisper, “How early can you get a pregnancy result from a blood test?”

“Seven days. Did I tell you what Robby said Gloria said?”

“Several times.”

He blinked. “Wait. Did you just say… pregnancy? You think you're pregnant? But—we’ve been really careful.”

“I know.”

“Did you miss your period?”

“Three days.”

“Okay. Okay. That could be stress. We’ll figure it out.”

It wasn’t stress.

A month later, you moved in.

One night, as you were getting ready for bed, Jack leaned in the doorway, “Will you marry me?”

You sat on the edge of the bed, towel-wrapped and exhausted. “No, Jack. We haven’t even known each other a year.”

“I’d marry you tomorrow,” he said softly. “Any day. I want to make this work. I love you. I love him.” His hand settled on your belly like a promise.

“I know you do. But I don’t need grand declarations. I need the little things.”

And Jack... Jack has never been good at the little things.

Sure, he never missed a doctor’s appointment. But he also ran to the hospital on his days off, stress trailing behind him like smoke. He brought work home and snapped, even when he didn’t mean to.

He was on rotation when your water broke. Of course, he wasn’t answering his phone. You called an Uber to get to the hospital alone.

He saw your texts and rushed to L&D just in time. Everything turned out okay. Except it didn’t feel okay. It felt like the beginning of an ending.

Jack was a devoted father. An incredible one, even. But he was a distracted partner. And you couldn’t blame him, not entirely. Postpartum knocked you sideways. You didn’t feel like yourself anymore. And the truth was, you both were just going through the motions — two tired adults playing house around a beautiful, babbling baby.

Beau was just over a year when it truly cracked.

You were walking through the park, leaves crunching underfoot, Beau kicking his legs in the stroller.

“Jack,” you said carefully, “are you happy?”

He didn’t hesitate. “I’m good. I’m good.”

“I think you should talk to someone. Therapy’s helped me more than I expected—”

“I said I’m good,” he cut in. “I’m just tired. The baby. Work. It’ll get better.”

You stopped walking. “Jack. I don’t think this will work if we keep going like this. I think I need a break. I’m going to take Beau to my parents’ for a week.”

He blinked. “I can’t really take time off that short notice—”

“I wasn’t inviting you,” you said.

--

Back at the house, you packed. Enough for you and Beau for a week. Jack held him while pacing the room, in and out like he couldn’t decide whether to stay or bolt.

Finally, you said, “Jack. Just say what you want to say.”

He stopped. Face flat, eyes hollow. Something at the edge of his lips — then he straightened.

“Yeah, um... just let me know what I can do to help.”

The next morning, you left.

Jack called off work for the first time in his career. Claimed he caught Beau’s flu. Robby knew better — especially when he showed up at Jack’s and saw your car gone, the house quiet, Jack hungover on the couch.

It didn’t take long for Robby to coax it out.

“This doesn’t have to be the end,” Robby said, flipping a beer cap off with ease. “She’s giving you space. That’s a gift. Don’t waste it.”

“She’s sick of the big declarations,” Jack mumbled. “Sick of me being all show and no change.”

“As she should be. You want her back, you rebuild the foundation. You follow her lead. Think about what she’s asked for. Start there.”

The next morning, Jack called.

He asked how you and Beau were doing. Asked if your parents hated him now.

“They could never hate you,” you said quietly. “I wouldn’t let them.”

“So, when you get back… maybe we talk? I need to have Beau in my life, and I’ll take whatever part of you I’m allowed. But you’re unhappy, and I can’t be the reason why. I’ll take your lead. If you want lawyers, I’ll pay for both of us to get them. Whatever you need.”

You were silent for a moment, heart cracking a little.

“Yeah, Jack. Let’s talk when I’m back.”

[bambieyedoll]

⋆·˚ ༘ * SETH CLEARWATER HEADCANONS 𐚁̸.ᐟ

𐙚 you’re his imprint and sam uley’s niece

seth imprints instantly the second you arrive in la push for the summer.

you’re standing on sam and emily’s porch, hugging emily tightly when seth pulls up with jacob. he’s laughing at something, casual and carefree, until he sees you.

the imprint hit him like a thunderclap in his ribs. not painful, just loud. like the world had been blurry and suddenly snapped into focus with one glance.

his wolf instincts were screaming “hers, hers, hers” while his human brain was trying to figure out how to breathe again.

you turn around, meet his gaze, and smile warmly like you’ve known him forever. “oh, hi! i’m y/n.”

warmth blooms in his chest like sunlight after a storm, and he can’t help the huge, dopey smile that spreads across his face. sam and emily immediately notice.

“oh no,” sam mutters under his breath.

jacob elbows seth, but he’s speechless. all he can say is, “hi…” like a boy falling in love for the first time.

but you’re so you— full of energy, sarcastic without being mean, and so easy to talk to that seth forgets to be shy. you two fall into step like you’ve been friends forever.

he laughs so much when he’s around you.

you’ll poke his sides, race him through the woods, pull him into the rain because you love storms, and he’s just enchanted.

you’re both radiant, kind-hearted, and endlessly warm—like two beams of sunlight naturally gravitating toward each other.

because you totally match.

you both dance in the kitchen while making midnight snacks, make dumb inside jokes that no one else understands, and have matching mosquito bite scars from falling asleep in the woods once.

when you two are together, it’s like watching golden retrievers fall in love. laughing at everything, brushing against each other without realizing it, always in sync.

the pack calls it “puppy love” behind your back because honestly, no one has ever made seth light up the way you do.

seth will literally beam when you walk into a room. tail-wagging-energy levels of happy. you’ll just smile at him and say, “what?” and he shrugs like, “nothing. just… i’m happy you’re here.”

you steal his hoodies even though you have your own. he never asks for them back. he just watches you wear them with hearts in his eyes.

sam is so conflicted. he trusts seth with his life—but you’re his niece. you’re his sunshine.

he’s a protective older brother figure and it shows.

“no funny business, clearwater.”

“sam, he’s literally just passing me the ketchup.”

he insists on calling seth by his last name now just to intimidate him. and eventually installs extra lighting on your porch after your first date night.

seth: “is that a security camera?”

sam: “is that a hand on her waist?”

seth immediately steps back.

but deep down, sam sees the way seth treats you. with patience, gentleness, and awe. and that’s what really matters.

eventually, he tells seth, “you’re a good kid, seth. if it had to be anyone… i’m glad it’s you.”

seth gets choked up. “thank you, sir,” he whispers.

seth can’t stop staring at you when you’re focused on something. reading a book, drawing, talking animatedly with someone.

it’s not even subtle. he just goes into heart-eyes mode and zones out.

“seth. dude. blinking is free,” embry teases. “shut up, i’m admiring my future wife,” seth says, dead serious.

seth never stops being gentle with you.

whenever you’re having a bad day, he’ll phase and just let you cuddle against his massive wolf form like a pillow. warm, fuzzy, protective. your personal emotional support werewolf.

you wear seth’s wolf pendant because he told you it brings him luck. he didn’t expect you to never take it off and it makes him so happy.

seth constantly brings you little gifts from patrols. flowers, cool rocks, sometimes feathers, and says things like, “this reminded me of you.”

the pack teases him relentlessly. “our little golden boy’s in love.” seth just grins. “yeah. i am.”

you both volunteer at the community center. you’re terrible at organizing papers, but seth lets you be in charge anyway, just to watch your excited rambling.

long walks on the beach holding pinky fingers, running races through the forest, sharing apple slices. just soft. everything about you two is soft.

you’re the only one allowed to ruffle his hair. anyone else tries? he ducks or growls. you? you tug his curls and laugh and he just melts.

he’s not usually the possessive type, but he gets so protective when other guys flirt with you. not in a toxic way, more like a confused puppy watching a stranger try to take his favorite toy.

something primal kicks in. he doesn’t growl but he steps in with a hand on your lower back and a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

he’ll wrap an arm around your waist and say, “she’s kinda taken, actually.”

you: “kinda?”

seth panics, “i mean completely! totally. you’re mine. wait— not mine like mine, just… you know. we are… you know.”

seth imprinted on you weeks ago but he hasn’t rushed anything. he’s been patient, gentle, respectful. he wants you to fall in love with him on your own, imprint or not. but oh boy… he’s so clearly in love.

constant smiles when you talk. nervous hand touches. blushing whenever you lean in close. he wants to kiss you, he’s just waiting for the perfect moment.

you’re not oblivious to the tension, either. the warmth in his gaze, the way he lingers just a second longer when he hugs you… your heart flutters more every time.

and lately, you’ve started wondering, why hasn’t he kissed me yet?

it’s autumn. seth plans a casual date to take you hiking to a pretty overlook just before sunset. “i found this spot last week, i think you’d like it” he says shyly, cheeks pink.

it’s quiet. peaceful. extremely beautiful. and just a little wild around the edges. just like you.

he carries your backpack the whole time. keeps glancing at you when he thinks you’re not looking. holds out his hand to help you over logs or steep parts of the trail and doesn’t let go after.

when you finally get to the overlook, the sky is all painted in amber and lilac. the wind is soft. the view is unreal, but all seth can look at is you.

you sit beside him on a mossy rock, your knees barely touching, and you’re both quiet. not awkward, just so full of blooming feelings.

“you always get quiet when you’re happy,” you tease.

he grins and looks down, a little nervous. “just don’t wanna ruin it. this— this moment. you… us.”

you turn to look at him and realize—he’s already staring at you. like you hung the sun. like he’s aching to kiss you, but too afraid to mess it up.

“seth…” you whisper.

he leans in a little, eyes flicking to your lips. “can i—?”

you nod.

it’s so gentle at first. he kisses you like he’s afraid you might break. like he’s memorizing the feeling. one hand cradles your cheek, thumb brushing your skin.

he pulls back barely an inch, breathless. “wow,” he whispers, eyes closed in awe. “thank god.”

you giggle, heart racing. “that was overdue.”

“can i do it again?” he asks, already leaning in and grinning this time.

the second kiss is warmer, sweeter, more sure. he pulls you closer, arms wrapped around your waist now, and you can feel him smiling against your lips.

you rest your forehead against his, laughing quietly. he’s glowing. like actual sunshine in human form.

“so… does this make it official?” you ask softly, love-shining eyes looking up at him.

he just beams and kisses your nose. “i’m yours. always was.”

on the way back down the trail, he holds your hand the entire time. every few steps, he tugs you close for another quick kiss. “sorry. i’m gonna be annoying now. can’t help it.”

later, he walks you to your door, kisses your hand, and says with puppy eyes, “text me when you’re in bed, okay? i wanna wish you good night before sleeping, is that okay?” you just melt.

he now greets you with that huge, boyish grin and a “hi, baby!” every single time, even if he just saw you five minutes ago.

he’s always touching you in soft, casual ways. looping his arm around your shoulders, playing with your fingers, resting his head on your shoulder like a sleepy pup.

when you laugh, he lights up like a christmas tree.

he picks you flowers. all the time. you mention liking daisies once, and suddenly he’s handing you a tiny bouquet every few days like it’s a reflex.

“for you,” he says, all shy smile and pink cheeks, like it isn’t the hundredth time.

he lives for physical affection. cuddling? yes. hand-holding? yes. falling asleep with your head on his chest while he plays with your hair? double yes.

he does that thing where he nuzzles into your neck and sighs, like he’s finally at peace. “you smell so good.”

he wakes you up with kisses. gentle ones. all over your face—cheek, nose, forehead, lips. “rise and shine, angel,” he whispers with a grin, still in that soft morning voice that makes you melt.

seth loves slow dancing with you for no reason. even if there’s no music. just pulls you into his arms in the middle of the kitchen.

absolutely the kind of boyfriend to pick you up and spin you around when he’s excited.

he doesn’t just say “i love you”— he shows it in a million tiny ways. carrying your bag, brushing snow out of your hair, letting you steal fries without a single complaint.

he’ll walk on the side of the sidewalk closer to traffic without saying a word. always opens doors for you. always checks in.

sees you shiver once and immediately takes off his jacket, puts it on you, and then grins like he just fixed world hunger.

he tucks your hair behind your ear mid-conversation. you’re talking about something random, and he’s just gazing at you with so much love in his eyes, brushing your hair back like you’re the most delicate thing he’s ever touched.

if anyone makes you uncomfortable, his whole posture shifts. he’s still smiling—but it’s tight. he’ll wrap an arm around you like, “you good, baby?” and you know he’s watching.

sends you the most unhinged texts just to make you laugh. memes. selfies with ridiculous captions. “rate my hair. be honest. 1-10. i’ll cry if it’s below 9.”

he falls asleep holding your hand—even when you’re just watching a movie. it’s instinct. his hand finds yours like it’s magnetic.

makes you friendship bracelets. wears the one you gave him until it falls apart, then ties it back together with a string from your hoodie.

gets pouty if you don’t kiss him goodbye. “wait—baby, you forgot something,” he says, pointing to his cheek. “i will collapse if you leave me like this.”

you once kissed the corner of his mouth instead of the center. he blushed so hard. “you missed,” he whispered, already leaning in for another. “here, let me help you.”

when you say “i love you” he goes still. his eyes get wide. and then he just beams—blinding, disbelieving joy.

“you mean it?” he whispers, hands gently cupping your face.

and when you nod, he kisses you like it’s the first time. gentle, reverent. sacred.

“i love you so much, it makes my heart hurt a little.”

sometimes, he’ll whisper “mine” into your hair when he hugs you. not possessive— just awestruck. like he still can’t believe the universe gave him you.

[deliciousangelfestival]

Love Was Never Part Of The Plan - 3

Summary: You are a jewel thief who’s semi-retired, but you agree to take one last job. However, there’s a catch: you have to steal the jewels from an auction where your former lover is now the head of security.

Character: Security!Bucky x Thief!Female Reader

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 ,-

By the way, I published my book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing on Kindle.

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Please leave a comment and reblog. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

“How…”

You were stunned. Absolutely floored.

Your breath hitched when Bucky stepped closer, calm, measured, deadly. His hand moved behind your back, slow and deliberate. Your heartbeat stuttered. Then you felt his fingers curl up, stop just at the nape of your neck—right where your hair was twisted into a sleek bun.

He felt it.

A smug smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as his fingers brushed the hidden compartment. His voice dropped, low and mocking.

“Cute hiding spot,” he murmured. “But sweetheart, you really thought I wouldn’t check the bun?”

Then—click.

You flinched, only now realizing he’d already slipped a pair of handcuffs onto your wrist, snapping the other end onto his.

“It’s time to tame you, my little devil,” Bucky whispered with a glint in his eye. “No more running.”

The way he said little devil… it sent a flush to your cheeks, which you hated, because dammit, not now. Not when you’re literally cuffed to the man you were trying to outsmart.

💎💎💎💎

In that moment, you sat on a cold metal chair in the small interrogation room beneath the gallery, arms crossed, ankle bouncing—not out of fear, but impatience. You weren’t scared. You’d been in tighter spots before. This wasn’t your first game of cat and mouse.

But guilt? That was new. Not because of the diamond. Not because of Interpol breathing down your neck.

Because Bucky had found out.

Because the one person you didn’t want to lie to anymore now knew exactly who you were. And that cut deeper than any set of cuffs ever could.

Joe, one of the senior security guards, watched you from behind the two-way mirror in another room with Bucky.

“Uh… shouldn’t we be calling the police? She’s one of Interpol’s most wanted. Keeping her here might look… shady.”

“Right…” Joe eyed him, then you, then back to Bucky. “Or maybe you just want to stare at your Peggy Sue a little longer before she’s gone?”

Bucky stood with his arms crossed, jaw tight, his body still humming with adrenaline.

“That would drag the gallery through a scandal. One break-in is enough. The diamond’s safe. That’s what matters.”

Bucky shot him a glare sharp enough to slice.

Joe held up his hands. “Hey, I’m just saying… But seriously—how’d you figure it out?”

They both went quiet when they heard you whistle from the speaker.

A soft whistle echoed through the basement. Just a casual tune on your lips—carefree, defiant.

“That,” Bucky said, eyes locked on you.

“That?” Joe was still confused.

Bucky didn’t explain. He didn’t need to. He just stared through the glass, jaw tight, eyes shadowed. But the silence said enough.

Yes. It was you.

It had been you all along.

The whistle had given you away. A simple, offhand tune—barely five seconds long—light and careless.

Thanks to today’s technology, they could hear the voice. It was brief, but Bucky remembered it—tormenting him and reminding him of his failures.

That exact sound had played on a grainy surveillance tape from the night the Queen Amélie rubies vanished. The cameras hadn’t caught a face, barely a silhouette. Just shadows.

He’d replayed it a hundred times. Not because it was evidence—but because it haunted him. Because it mocked him. Because the person behind it had vanished like smoke and left him with a gallery full of questions and a reputation cracked at the edges.

Then, days ago, you walked into his life again, whistling, like no time had passed. And there it was. That sound. That goddamn melody.

His gut twisted. He had wanted to be wrong. God, he had hoped he was wrong.

But his radar for trouble had never failed him before.

He wanted to prove himself wrong—that’s why he asked you out for coffee. In that moment, he just wanted to know where you’d been.

But what gave you away again?

But as you spoke, all he heard were lies, one after another.

He had looked for you, pulled every connection he had, tried to trace your work… but no archaeological site, no records, nothing.

It was like your entire story had been fabricated from thin air.

His device lit up with the silent ping of a data bridge.

Your eyes. You have the look he used to have—a look with a mission. And you’ve got it. It wasn’t the look of someone excited to meet and share experiences.

The way they searched the table for his phone.

So, he baited you. Laid it right there. And just like he expected, you placed yours next to his—too close.

Ooh, my little devil, he thought, it was you all along.

After that, he rewrote the entire security plan. Faked it. Let it leak. Made sure the decoy plans would lure you in.

Then he waited. He knew you’d go for the storage exit—predictable, classic you.

Right into his trap.

“She doesn’t look scared,” Joe muttered, arms crossed as he peered through the two-way mirror. “She doesn’t look guilty either.”

“That’s what you’re dealing with when it comes to kleptomaniacs,” came a voice from behind.

The security team turned to see a woman walk in—mid-thirties, sharp suit, dark lipstick, eyes that missed nothing. “Especially world-class ones,” she said, removing her sunglasses.

“Amy?” Bucky was surprised to see her here.

Amy shot a warm smile and walked closer to him. “Interpol sent me. Well—technically, I sent myself.” She moved to the glass and studied you calmly seated in the small basement interrogation room. “I’ll take it from here.”

Before anyone could respond, the door swung open again.

“Ah, ah, ah... you can’t interrogate her without me,” said a man in a dark tailored suit and round glasses, leather briefcase in one hand. He looked expensive—and smug.

Bucky’s brows knit together. “And you are?”

“David Rochefort,” the man said smoothly, extending a business card with a fake name that even sounded fake. “Legal counsel. She’s my client.”

Joe blinked. “How the hell did she manage to call you?”

Edward smiled, adjusting his glasses. “Good lawyers don’t wait for a call. Especially not when she’s involved.”

Bucky said nothing, but the muscle in his jaw twitched. The tension was subtle but undeniable—he didn’t like this guy. Especially since this lawyer spoke about you with an unexpected warmth.

Inside the room, you stood as Edward entered. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders like it was a long-awaited reunion.

“Why are you so late?” you whispered, voice low against his ear.

“I had to make my appearance believable. Can’t have you thinking I’m a getaway driver,” he murmured with a quick wink.

Across the glass, Bucky’s eyes narrowed before he looked away.

Amy caught the glance. She raised an eyebrow and glanced at Joe, who subtly mouthed something to her—“She’s the one. His ex.” That piece of information seemed to sharpen Amy’s temper.

Moments later, Amy and her partner entered the room. She tossed a file onto the table with a firm thud. “Let’s cut the act, shall we?” she said, leaning forward. “You broke into a highly secured international auction. You knew the camera angles, the power grid layout, the guard rotations. You timed everything perfectly. That’s not luck, sweetheart—that’s inside knowledge.”

You smiled politely. “Or a very good guess.”

Amy’s eyes darkened. “You think this is a game?”

“Only if I’m winning.” You smirked.

Edward placed a calming hand between you and the table. “My client isn’t obliged to respond to your tone or theatrics.”

“She’s toying with us,” Amy hissed.

You leaned toward Edward, eyes fixed on Amy. “Why do I feel like she wants to bite my head off?”

“Not just you,” Edward muttered.

Amy slammed her hand on the table, but the sound didn’t faze you. Not even a blink. Your confidence was bulletproof.

Edward calmly adjusted his cuffs, then leaned in, his tone even. “Let’s not get dramatic. My client didn’t steal anything. She temporarily borrowed an item—and now, the gallery has it back. No harm, no foul, right?”

Amy shot him a withering glare. “Is that really the argument you're going with?”

Edward gave her a tight-lipped smile. “I’m going with facts. You have the diamond. You have no solid evidence. And last I checked, attempted charm isn’t a criminal offense.”

The interrogation dragged on. They questioned your alibis, dug into your background, and analyzed every detail. But there was nothing solid. You were too careful. Too polished. Interpol left the room with clenched jaws and empty hands.

When Edward and you stepped into the harsh fluorescent hallway, the air felt too sharp.

Bucky stood there, leaning against the wall like he’d been waiting for hours. His expression was unreadable as he looked at you.

“Give me your hand,” he said quietly.

You raised your wrist—the handcuffs still clinking softly.

He stepped forward, unlocking them with a soft click. “Don’t steal again.”

You held his gaze, lips curving into something wicked. “No promises.”

A flicker sparked in his eyes—like a match struck to dry kindling. He didn’t reach for you, didn’t say another word. But the electricity between you lingered, humming in the air like a live wire.

“So this is the side of you I never knew,” Bucky said quietly, eyes locked on yours.

You paused, the smallest twitch pulling at your lips. “It’s always been there,” you said, voice softer now, with the faintest edge of something raw. “I just hid it too well from you.”

He didn’t reply right away. The air between you felt like it might catch fire if one of you moved too fast.

You shifted your weight, heart doing something traitorous in your chest. “I never lied about how I felt about you,” you added, eyes searching his face. “Just… about who I am.”

Your voice barely wavered—but it cost you.

Bucky’s jaw tensed, but he didn’t look away. And for a second, you wished he’d yell. Or curse. Or laugh. Anything but this silent, smoldering restraint.

You stepped back, catching your breath like you’d been holding it the whole time. “Anyway,” you said with a wry smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes, “now you’ve seen it.”

Turning away, you walked toward Edward, your steps slow, weighted with something you couldn’t quite shake. Bucky’s eyes stayed fixed on your back, lingering longer than they should.

Edward opened the exit door with a flourish. “You’re free.”

But free from what? The cuffs were off, yet the guilt wrapped around your chest tighter than ever. Free only to face the ache of what was left unsaid—and the impossible space growing between you two.

💎💎💎💎

You and Edward slipped out of the gallery, the night air thick with the scent of rain and something electric between you both. You headed straight for your hideout, a dimly lit loft cluttered with scattered blueprints and stolen treasures.

“Fuck,” Edward muttered, tossing his jacket onto a chair. “We just lost seven million.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Was the client mad?”

Edward pulled out his phone, swiping to reveal an encrypted chat. “Yeah. The client who hired us—he dropped a million as a deposit, so he’s definitely pissed. I sent him the update: the diamond heist failed. His reply? Just one word. ‘Loser.’”

You exhaled, sinking onto the worn-out couch. “Well… we kinda deserved it.”

For a long moment, you just stared at the ceiling, your mind racing. Four years. Four years of silence, four years of running—until Bucky busted you and found out who you really were. That revelation still burned under your skin. A mixture of defeat, defiance, and something sharper—regret? No. Something else. A flicker of something complicated.

Before you could dig deeper, Edward’s voice cut through the silence.

“I found out why that Interpol cop hates you so much.”

You sat up, curiosity sharp. “Why?”

He smirked, pulling up another chat on his phone. “Turns out, Amy’s been on some arranged-date thing with Bucky.”

Your heart jolted. “WHAT?!” You sprang up from the couch and leaned over his shoulder, eyes scanning the screen.

You frowned, a sudden heat kindling in your chest. “Wait… I don’t think Bucky’s interested. See? He just replied with ‘Fine’ and that’s it. No emojis. No follow-up.”

The message thread showed a casual introduction:

Co-worker 1: “You should meet Amy. She’s sharp, good with cases.”

Bucky: “Fine.”

"And look at his message history—he barely mentions her. So the date didn’t go well!" you added, or maybe just trying to convince yourself.

Edward rolled his eyes, clearly amused. “Alright, Miss Delulu.”

You sighed dramatically, crossing your arms. “Aww shit. Why am I feeling this? Why do people like us always fail at romance?”

Edward shrugged with a grin. “Our teacher was a disaster at this stuff too. But hey—he did manage to steal the real Mona Lisa.” He paused, then shook his head. “Honestly, just give up. Besides, you two are on different sides. He’s the good guy. You’re… not.”

Your jaw tightened at the truth. The thought of Bucky and Amy together twisted your gut in ways you didn’t want to admit. You didn’t want to see them like that—like a pair.

Edward nudged you gently. “Stop thinking about it. Let him go.”

You stayed silent, staring off into the distance.

“Shit. I’m gonna need a hot shower,” Edward muttered, rubbing the back of his neck as he headed toward the bathroom.

💎💎💎💎💎

Bucky lay on his bed, shirtless, wearing only his boxers. His eyes traced the cracks on the ceiling as memories of the day replayed relentlessly. The woman he’d fallen for—the one who’d haunted his thoughts—was the thief behind the ruby jewelry once owned by Queen Amélie of France.

A bitter taste filled his mouth. He hated it. Hated seeing you, so calm and untouchable, with that smug lawyer by your side. That smugness, the way he touched you—it stabbed deeper than any blade.

So, four years ago, while you both shared the same bed, you were secretly planning to steal the ruby, with him sleeping right beside you, completely unaware that you were using him to get the security details.

Suddenly, the window slid open with a soft creak. Bucky sat up, muscles tense. There you were—sneaking in like a shadow, casual but impossibly bold.

“Hi,” you said awkwardly, voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t say anything at first, just stared.

You stepped further inside, tossing a small box onto his bed. It landed with a soft thud. Bucky opened it, eyes narrowing as he saw the ruby necklace gleam in the dim light—the stolen jewel.

“What do you want after this?” His voice was low, rough. “You think this fixes everything?”

Bucky stood, tall and bare-chested, the faint moonlight tracing every line of his sculpted body. You swallowed hard, cheeks warming under his gaze—he’d clearly been working out more lately.

“You can’t just come back and fix things like this. I’m not your plaything,” he said, stepping closer until you could feel the heat radiating from him.

You looked down for a second. “I… I know.”

He crossed his arms, eyes sharp. “Then why are you here? You could have just returned this to the gallery.”

You hesitated, then took a step back toward the window, the cool night air brushing your skin.

“I’m here because I want to declare something.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed, curiosity flickering behind his guarded stare.

You smiled—soft, genuine—because you saw the concern in his eyes, the way he still cared.

“I want to tell you... I’m going to steal your heart.”

His eyes widened, disbelief and something else flashing between them.

Before he could say a word, you leapt from the window frame, landing lightly on the pavement below.

Bucky sprinted to the window, heart pounding as he watched you speed away in a sleek convertible with no roof. The same lawyer sat confidently behind the wheel. His guess was right — that lawyer is your partner in crime too.

He stood frozen for a heartbeat, her words replaying in his mind—“I’m going to steal your heart.” A slow, almost reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, his usual guarded expression cracking just enough to let something raw and real slip through.

She’s a thief—always has been. But maybe this time, she’s trying to steal something that matters.

"Damn it,” he whispered, voice low and rough, “why does she have to be this good at breaking me?”

💎💎💎💎

Inside the speeding car, the wind whipped through your hair, but you barely noticed. Edward, a picture of calm amusement behind the wheel, glanced at you. "So... you just professed your love to him, huh? What are you going to do next, send him a dozen roses?"

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. The adrenaline from the heist and the escape was fading, replaced by a mortifying wave of embarrassment, shyness, and a dizzying mix of emotions. "I don't know!" you wailed, your voice muffled. "I just... I don't know!"

Author’s note: What will she do to get Bucky back? As an author, I also don't know. Lol 🤣

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My book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing are on Kindle. Check it out!

Link for Arrogant Ex-Husband

Amazon.com

Link for Dad I Can't Let You Go

Amazon.com: Dad, I Can't Let You Go eBook : Bing, Alina C.: Kindle Store

[general-brain-rot]

Ángel Valdivia, the saddest, wettest cat with incredible characterization

So, Ángel really likes building facades for Beebo to get to know doesn't he? He takes on a new role every loop, and while it's a fantastic way for Bwob to show us aspects of Ángel's character since we (the player) remember events between loops, it's also characterization within characterization as we start figuring out why he relies on masks to deal with literally every single situation in game rather than just being genuine (we do get to see a few unabashedly genuine moments in different endings specifically, don't worry we'll get there guys <3). Between the curious flirt, then the old college friend, then the dashing criminal rival, then the fellow detective, how Ángel interacts with Beebo between loops to try and save everyone at this traumatizing dinner party is some of the most fun dissection of personality to sift through for him, so lets do just that!

(This is longer than I thought it would be, be warned lmao)

(also, spoilers, obviously >:3)

I LOVE when characters are given facades as means of giving them depth, especially when those facades are meant to be dismantled by the audience, like a series of porcelain masks we have to cycle through to see all the aspects of a character, all of their contradictions. The interesting part about Ángel is that, while most fictional characters are given one or maybe two faces to establish themselves, Ángel picks a new one every. single. loop. and even more exciting is that he fully commits to the bit every time! The masks he use all work together to give him an incredible amount of depth told through what is essentially another puzzle for the audience to figure out, so let's run through each major facade he uses and break his character down into contradictions, consistencies, and traits.

Loop 1, the Mysterious Flirt:

The first loop really just establishes that 1) Ángel is interested in Oliver, 2) that Coli may not have invited all these party guests for the best reasons if Ángel is to be believed with the "hunt us for sport" comment, and 3) that he's more than financially stable enough to afford to be a bit reckless with his life. It gives the player a decent baseline for this rich playboy persona we're introduced to and only just begins to complicate with the playful nature between him and Vivi to show the player that he actually does have some soft spots for his friends and a healthy amount of curiosity. He makes a few jokes, helps Oliver feel a bit more safe in the house when he starts to feel uneasy about the rooms, and continues to give off sly-cat energy up until the end of the loop. The last we see of him is crying over a dying Oliver in his arms before we close our eyes and-

Loop 2, the Charming College Friend:

Here's where it starts to get interesting! Oliver doesn't even get to make it out of the main room's doorway before the front door slams open, revealing a far more disheveled Ángel than who we first met out in the snow, cigarette half hanging from his mouth and tears fresh in his eyes. Obviously, watching both Vivi (his since high school friend) and Oliver (his new friend/romantic interest) die in front of him has affected him badly, but even still he is quick to set aside his own panic in favor of trying to look for them and/or Coli to kick his teeth in. We'll see some more of this intensely selfless behavior as time goes on, but for now we get to see him overjoyed to see Oliver alive actually, and close enough to hug! Physical touch love language Ángel you can all pry from my cold, dead hands, this guy needs to have contact or he will wither and die and this is the very first instance we see of that trait peeking through. Later when we see Ángel grab Oliver's hand to get him away from the clock, that's more of the same too, he can calm himself and keep his Beebster safe as long as he's got his hand in his own. Another noteworthy thing is that Ángel is quick to spin up a lie and a new persona once he realizes Oliver doesn't recognize him somehow, even though this situation is absolutely bonkers. While charming to us since the player does retain memory of past loops even if Oliver doesn't, it also makes you think just how easy it was for Ángel to commit to a really good lie, all while he's still actively panicking over watching two of his friends die right in front of him, and might make you wonder if he was even spinning a facade for us in the first loop when we met (spoilers, he was). This is hard proof for both Ángel's social awareness and skill with being able to manipulate himself into anywhere he may need to be, as well as his more emotional side watching him openly crying to handle the pain and go to great lengths to not waste a second chance at keeping his beloved friends safe. Before the loop ends, he admits to Oliver that he isn't so good at communicating after telling him about the fast life he used to live, never quite finding the sense of connection he was yearning for. Connection, a role even Vivi doesn't quite seem to fill, here it's revealed that Ángel harbors a deep sense of loneliness that he just can't seem to shake, likely because he can't seem to bring himself to be truly genuine with anyone he doesn't know inside and out (like Vivi), but is willing to try to find that connection with Oliver. Though, before he gets the chance, that one moment of safety is blown to pieces along with Oliver, always just out of reach of Ángel, always just a little too late to save him before-

Loop 3, the Endearing Ex-Criminal:

Ángel is running out of sanity and energy and finally gives into a bit of his anger. The past two facades were masks for him to both hide behind and blend in with, but until he can equip this next one to start actively trying to solve this situation instead of doing it reactively, he's gonna be a bit of a mess. He's still unafraid to show how he's feeling more honestly while around Oliver, seeing as he is now seriously considering killing Coli himself with a knife he just keeps on his person?? even though he doesn't know how the timeloop works and has no idea if Coli will just come back as well. I cannot stress this enough, he doesn't know, and doesn't seem to care or even think about that possibility while he's blinded by a mixture of exhausted rage and protective care. The next facade of leaning completely into the Dominion persona comes from Oliver this time around revealing him, but that doesn't mean he won't give it his all to play cops and criminals with Oliver as long as he gets to stay by his side the entire loop. Ángel makes a point to mention that Oliver will have to follow his "every move" to keep him out of trouble, which is 100% a scheme to keep Oliver exactly where he can see him and keep him safe. Something else discussed with Oliver that will get expanded upon in the next loop is this line from Ángel about the cigarettes killing him, mentioning that "something has too". It's a heavy melancholy, it's an admission of guilt cloaked in self-punishment for his perceived failures of losing Vivi's photobook and letting his friends die twice, even though those events were out of his control. I'll talk more about it in loop 4 but for now, keep paying attention to these seeds of blighted sadness when it comes to Ángel. Him and Oliver wander all throughout the house, learning it's name and some old inhabitants and more of the party guests, all culminating in Oliver checking out the shed in the yard. Though to do that, Oliver needs to trick Ángel into staying inside the house, and away from where he's going. He obviously doesn't react well, putting up the sad cat energy and starts showing his newly strengthened separation anxiety. This anxiety's true root is that protective nature revealed in previous loops being challenged by his continued failures in actually protecting anything/anyone thus far. This is the point in the game where the loops are affecting each other in tangible ways for Ángel's character, taking traits of his revealed in loops 1/2 and twisting them into warped versions of themselves in loop 3 and soon to be loop 4 from the trauma he's collecting. Protective care turning into separation anxiety and rage towards Coli, loneliness and social self-doubt turning into more intense facades and loss of care for his own safety, bordering on suicidal ideation, to atone for his self-proclaimed sins. Of course, the next time Ángel sees Oliver he's bleeding out in the snow, dying again the moment he left Oliver's side and while he's blaming himself, something finally changes. Oliver remembers the past loops because of the photobook he found in the shed, and renews Ángel's hope that they might be able to make it through this. Oliver dies slowly in the hands of his guardian angel who is finally starting to come up with a plan to save them all, and-

Loop 4, the Desperate Detective:

This is the fastest that Ángel has come up with a facade, and while it's shaky to us, it's more than convincing enough for Oliver. This is also the loop where Ángel admits he finally understands how scary it is to give your all for someone when interacting with the portrait 'My Heart and Soul', adding into the personality cocktail mix of mischief, empathy, loneliness, care, and adaptability, some good old devotion. This loop also gives Ángel more of his mischievous nature back because of the spark of hope Oliver gave him at the end of the last loop, so he seems to be having a bit more fun and falling easier into his detective facade this time around since he's more comfortable. While he still is urgent about talking to Oliver about what he knows about the house, he still can't help himself to some fun quality time with Oliver, case in point asking him about what he thinks each painting means and I mean each painting, even the dang fish tank! He's planning carnival dates, poking fun at his companion, engaging in banter with every object! He even jokes about the "maniac" coming to kill them when talking about being a father with Oliver, literally poking fun at being legit hunted for sport. It's a bit of a breath of relief before he starts to spiral again, seeing that Ángel isn't completely shattered from the loops and even realizing just how attached he is to Oliver and how good that attachment is for him. We saw earlier how much more emotionally honest Ángel is when around his detective companion, and he's only sharing more and more as the night trudges on, even revealing that a lot of the movies on the shelves he's cried to (like the Bee Movie, again showing just how deeply Ángel cares about everything around him in more ways than one, from art analysis to manipulating the laws he deems as unfair to openly weeping at most any film). Then, we get the emotional pinnacle for Ángel's character from the loops, the discussion in the R-1 bedroom. He mentions that "so many loved people, smart people, capable people" go about their lives as usual, speak with him, and then die just like that. He doesn't feel as loved/smart/capable as these people he's thinking of, he doesn't feel like he's worthy to remember them while they are gone, while he gets a chance at a life that they didn't. He thinks it's his fault, like he's some omen or active influence in the suffering of those around him, and that he should be punished in some way for being that. Ángel's perception of himself is so severely warped and has only gotten worse by being in the house, and now we get to see it on full display. The melancholy, twinges of hopelessness coming through, so much doubt, and he keeps smoking knowing full well that it's hurting him, that it's killing him. He's betting on it. When you're in a situation like his with the background of essentially neglectful parents, a fast and crime-filled lifestyle up until his late 20s, and now this timeloop where only he gets to remember the suffering that's happening to these people he sees as loved/smart/capable when compared with himself, of course he would feel responsible, he would feel awful, and nobody is primed to handle that emotionally. He feels so real, has complications and troubles like a real person does like real people I've met and cherished, and that's the mark of an incredibly well written character. The buildup through the loops revealed him to us, and now, we've got the homestretch-

Loop 5, The Six of Spades and the Truth:

Fun fact, did you know that the Six of Spades card can mean that you're moving somewhere either literally or metaphorically with a goal? that there's a solution close by?? moving on and letting go of the past??? This is the card you draw if you interact with the game table in the bar, I love foreshadowing. As the final stretch of the game commences and we are faced with choices that will determine our ending, Ángel and Oliver draw this card together right before it all goes down, it's a symbol that the end is in sight.

(tangent) This is also where we get the confirmation that Ángel was disowned by his father! And that as Dominion he made sure that his father's will gave everything to him! In the will labeling himself as "the bastard son" is an interesting choice of words especially since we know by now how socially aware Ángel is, which means he wrote that for maximum accuracy to read like his father would write it (everybody in this game got daddy issues damn- tangent over).

Since this is already incredibly long (whoops) I'm going to talk about his characterization in the endings in a separate post, but by this point we've gotten everything out of all of his facades and are able to put all the pieces together of this careful, empathetic, and terrified wet cat man.

From the start, Ángel was putting up the facades he usually does when interacting with new people, if possibly with a bit more tact considering how he thinks the night will go for him. It's his way of integrating himself into any environment and protecting his highly empathetic true self with a bit of armor. It readily establishes his mischievous nature, his inclination for a faster lifestyle (in asking Oliver to share a drink having known him for all of a single minute), and his social charm. Each of these facets is expanded upon after the first loop is done, with his mischief being painted with anxiety, with his urge to live fast fueled by attempting to evade his ever-growing loneliness, and with his social charm developed as a means to make it through today and see tomorrow (or so he hopes). As his fear grows, so too do his primary motivations: the need to protect those he loves and his fear of them going too far from his reach. He thrives under physical contact and overall closeness with those he loves, and he loves so intensely. This is most readily shown in how he cries at most media (even if it isn't saddening in any way) and puts a lot of thought into art that may not actually have a deeper meaning (like a simply broken fish tank). Everything he feels, he feels intensely, and everything he comes to loves he also comes to cherish like a fresh bloom, and that love grows thorns of fear that prick him constantly but he will never let go of that bloom of affection. The only thing that could take it from him is death itself, and it follows him everywhere. So much so, that he blames himself for things out of his control, that he yearns to atone for this curse of survivors guilt and his perceived uselessness. He smokes, because something has to kill him, a small part of him wants Coli to kill him because he thinks it might make up for his assumed wrongs. When in reality he's just been unlucky and afraid, and he hasn't had anyone to comfort him the way he needs and start to absolve him of the sins he sees himself to have. That is, until detective Oliver Beebo comes into the picture and makes him finally finally start to understand that maybe he isn't to blame, maybe he can find connection, and maybe this fear will become more manageable with time, and with some good company. This comes to more fruition in the true ending of the game, but we'll get there in due time. For now, celebrate naives,

FOR I AM FINALLY DONE WRITING THIS PART (lets ignore the fact that the ending's analysis will likely be this long-)

This creature haunts me, lives in my mind rent free even though I know he's rich enough to pay, that little freak. I hope my ramblings were enjoyable! I like this game a lot,,,,,,thank you Bwob for sharing your little fellas with us. I do have other things in the works to be written, but that will be some time yet.

[packleaderbriggan]

Saw a post by @cassofart about Dally and Johnny using their ghostly powers to mess with the gang... and I kinda couldn't stop thinking about it 😂

◇◇◇

One night, Darry wakes up in a blind panic, convinced that Pony had never come home. In his hasty sprint to Soda's and Pony's room, he doesn't notice Dally's barely-there touches, trying to steady his heaving shoulders.

Opening the door just enough to peer in and check on his brothers, he could have sworn he saw the familiar outline of Johnny Cade, perched on the edge of the bed, his hand smoothing Pony's hair away from his eyes. By the time Darry had blinked the sleep-haze from his eyes, the figure was gone.

◇◇◇

Two-Bit had cussed up a storm when his 24-pack literally vanished. It had been the anniversary of Johnny's and Dally's deaths, and he blacked out. The others insisted he must have drank them all, but he knows for a fact that he didn't.

Turns out, Johnny had been sad that Two-Bit was drinking to cope with his grief. He'd felt as though it was partially his fault, watching sadly as Two-Bit lost more and more of his senses. Dally hated the look in the fellow spirit's eyes, so he had launched the leftover bottles into orbit before Two-Bit could finish them.

◇◇◇

Once school started up again, Pony rejoined the track team. He was having some trouble giving up his cigarettes, though, and they were messing with his breathing. Johnny stole one every time Pony opened the box so he'd run out faster and Darry would notice his continued dependency.

Without the nicotine, Pony got stressed more easily and became a chronic overthinker. Johnny would hover near him whenever he could, trying his best to tell him that he was doing great, and to soothe the tension from Pony's shoudlers.

He would urge Soda and Darry to Pony's side when his own ghostly touches just weren't enough to bring the youngest boy back from the recesses of his mind. Sometimes, he would curl up on the floor in front of the couch, his back pressed into Pony's knees as the older Curtis boys converged on their little brother. Even if Pony couldn't feel him, or if he couldn't feel Pony, Johnny would watch on with a small, sad smile, knowing that Soda and Darry wouldn't let Pony out of their sight until they were sure he was okay.

◇◇◇

Johnny had avoided his parents' house for a while after his death. He didn't like thinking about how little impact his life had had on the people who were supposed to love him above all else.

Dally knew this. Unbeknownst to Johnny, while the younger spirit spent his nights with the Curtises, he had taken to haunting the crumbling shack where his parents resided... All it took was one wayward spark. Really, it was almost as if that tinderbox had been asking for it.

Johnny cut him a look the next morning, when Steve and Two-Bit busted in through the Curtis' door... But if there was one thing Dally Winston had always prided himself on, it was his poker face.

◇◇◇

Arson wasn't the only crime Dally committed, even after his death. He was constantly watching out for the rest of the gang, taking note of when their pantry started getting low, or when their socks started showing through their shoes, or when mortgages and water bills started pilling up.

Johnny never asked where the money came from, but he would watch as Dally planted a few 20s, or a 50 here and there. Under rugs, tucked into breast pockets, just inside of cupboards. Then, the older spirit would step back and survey his work with a smug smile, and Johnny wouldn't be able to resist smiling along with him.

◇◇◇

During the war, there were many times Sodapop and Steve had a brush with death. Sometimes, one or both of them were convinced they saw the wavering outline of Dally Winston planted firmly in front of them, taking the brunt of the enemy fire as they ran for cover. They would swear later that they could feel Johnny Cade's old denim jacket brushing against their skin as they huddled together, waiting for the rounds to stop peppering the air.

Given how close the pair of them felt to the Other Side, Steve supposed it really wasn't a surprise that Soda's last words had been the names of their lost friends, spoken with a weak smile and a sigh, through fading strength and bloodied lips.

And when he returned to Tulsa, alone, Steve knew the only reason he had managed to survive the jungles of Vietnam had been because of Sodapop Curtis, Dally Winston, and Johnny Cade. Through thick and thin, they had promised... And his friends weren't the kind of men to let a little thing like death stop them from fulfilling that oath.

[rosemaryhoney27]

Gotham's sunshine child part 4

“No One Tells the Sunshine Kid Anything”

Danny Fenton prided himself on being unflappable.

He had died once. Literally. Been half-ghost for years. He could walk through walls, disappear, fly, and fight beings made of fire, rage, or raw existential dread. He had babysat Ellie, his chaos clone-little-sister, through her “I can fly and you can’t stop me” phase.

But nothing—nothing—prepared him for the sight of his own face plastered across the top of an official-looking document on Bruce Wayne’s desk, next to the words:

“Adoption Petition: Daniel James Fenton.”

He stared at it.

Then stared at Bruce.

Then back at it.

Then he panicked.

“You—you can’t just adopt me!” Danny yelped, his voice cracking spectacularly.

Bruce blinked up at him from his desk with the calm of a man who had faced both clowns and demigods before breakfast. “Technically, I can.”

Danny looked like he might faint. “Wh—why would you—? I’m not—You’re a Wayne! I’m not a Wayne! I’m barely a Fenton! I eat cold pizza off library radiators and wear socks that don’t match! I have a hoodie made of duct tape!”

Tim leaned in from the doorway, sipping coffee. “That hoodie has structural integrity, man. Honestly, I’m impressed.”

Danny pointed at him with wide, betrayed eyes. “You knew?!”

Tim shrugged. “I helped with the paperwork.”

“TRAITOR!”

Bruce held up a hand. Calm. Gentle. Fatherly.

“Danny,” he said. “This doesn’t have to be anything more than what you want. You’d have a roof over your head. Legal protection. Access to our resources—”

“I phase through roofs. I don’t need a roof!”

“Then think of it as a...very big ceiling with heating.”

“That’s worse!”

Alfred arrived mid-meltdown with tea and what he claimed were “emotion-calming biscuits.” Danny took three. Out of spite.

“I don’t need to be adopted!” he snapped, halfway through a butter cookie. “I’m fine!”

Jason walked past the study, heard that, and turned on his heel.

“No, you’re not,” he said, stepping into the room. “You fell asleep outside last week because you gave your blanket to a stray dog.”

“The dog was cold!”

“You were shivering in a bush!”

“...It was a warm bush.”

Jason just stared at him.

Dick flopped in through the window upside down.

“We’re not doing this because we think you’re helpless,” he said, casual as a cat. “We’re doing it because Gotham chose you, and so did we.”

Danny looked between all of them. “…You conspired.”

“Yup,” Damian said, finally entering with a folder. “Here are the signed statements from three soup kitchens, a youth center, one angry barista, and a biker gang requesting your formal protection and adoption. The barista threatened to withhold caffeine from Father if he did not comply.”

“I—what?!”

“They also gave me a sticker,” Damian added, pinning a “SUNSHINE CHILD DEFENSE SQUAD” badge to his tunic.

Danny’s eye twitched. “I’m going to implode.”

“Already did once,” Tim muttered.

“YOU’RE NOT HELPING.”

Danny sulked on the couch for two hours with a cat in his lap and five Wayne kids hovering around him like worried bees.

He didn’t leave.

Eventually, Bruce sat beside him with quiet patience and said, “You don’t have to be alone, Danny.”

Danny stared at his mismatched socks.

“…I don’t know how to do any of this.”

“You don’t have to,” Bruce replied. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

Danny opened his mouth, closed it again. Then, voice small:

“Can I still keep my hoodie?”

Jason snorted. “Kid, we’re not monsters.”

The next morning, Gotham woke to news headlines:

“Bruce Wayne Adopts Local Teen Hero ‘Sunshine Kid’” “Gotham’s Favorite Child Now Officially a Wayne — and Somehow Still Humble About It” “Criminals Warned: ‘Touch Him and Face Gotham’s Wrath’”

Danny groaned and buried his face in the mansion couch.

“Why are there stickers with my face on them?”

Barbara, voice chipper: “Because you’re adorable and Gotham is proud.”

[acid-ixx]

— masterlist !

ngl imagine pulling up in a matching suit with clark kent, your affair partner, your cute, definitely not superpowered lap dog, to the function, being openly affectionate with him in public, allowing his to flirt with you in public as a huge middle finger to bruce wayne as revenge after he's neglected you. THEN removing the first button of your shirt, revealing love marks in front of him and yet never once batting an eye to him, instead choosing to proudly display your ravaged body like an artistic piece of work, as an even bigger FUCK you to him.

like yeah sure, he can sport a raging boner at your braveness, knowing your spiteful attitude paired with your softness to family is his type, but he also has to wear the hat of universal shame 'cause he's not even divorced to his own spouse yet and yet here they are in another person's arms. in clark kent, superman's arms.

bruce can already hear his children swearing at him up and down for how hard he legitimately fumbled. damian is SICK after watching the scene before him, fuming from jon being so sickeningly sweet towards you, careening from your attention like a damn prideful peacock. you're handfeeding jon all the pastries, kneeling before his level and coo'ing when he makes a disgusted face at the food he doesn't like. and damian hates jon's open childishness!!! (he wishes it was him).

steph's all like, "THIS COULD'VE BEEN MY FATHER/MOTHER FIGURE I ALWAYS WANTED IN MY LIFE?!" just watching conner totally, definitely not purposely being clumsy and spilling food all over himself, just for you to gently scold him and help clean off the mess with your handkerchief— tim's already planning a contingency on his best friend in the background, cass is ready to beat throw some hands after the gala.

jason keeps grumbling, swearing at bruce because in no way, shape or form was this man NOT madly in love with you from all your years of marriage! you're literally the perfect spouse material and bruce done fucked up sleeping with others while you both lived under the same roof. (as if he himself wasn't involved in the shared neglect they all had towards you, but he doesn't want to admit it, and he can't deny that it's also a great excuse to bash on the old man, too).

world's greatest detective? more like the world's greatest fumbler of the century. both in canon and in fanfiction and i'm never letting him live that role down.

☝️ this is basically the premise of my upcoming oneshot for a loving family, an unpalatable desire because i kinda wrote way too much words for a supposedly short drabble, and also because i'm excited for the new superman trailer!!! so think of this as my gift LMAO. i'm also trying to finish writing my other oneshots related to this series.

(i chose to make the reader wear a suit because one: suits are so perfect if you want to maintain an elegant vibe and still keep it neutral to the reader's gender. two, because i think bruce would find his own spouse in a suit hot. three: matching lapel pins with clark kent is way too adorable to me is all i can say).

[paucubarsisimp]

Can I request a multiple F1 grid: Trying to build the Lego F1 cars together? I just bought one and it was both fun and frustrating to build. Thank you so much if you do fill my request and of course I understand if you don’t. Have a lovely day!

lego cars

pairings: all current grid drivers x reader

summary: building f1 legos with your f1 driver boyfriend

warnings: swearing

୨ৎ lando norris

the floor was a mess of orange, black, and grey lego pieces, but your boyfriend looked entirely unbothered, sitting cross-legged in the middle of it like a kid on christmas morning.

“are we actually going to finish this tonight?” you asked, squinting at the thick instruction booklet in your lap.

lando didn’t even look up. “of course we are. we’re professionals.”

you snorted. “you drive a real mclaren, babe. that doesn’t make you a lego engineer.”

he finally looked over, a lopsided grin on his face. “speak for yourself. i’ve got the hand-eye coordination of a god.”

you held up two nearly identical orange pieces. “then explain which one of these is step 274 and which is step 275.”

lando stared at them, squinting dramatically. “…they’re the same.”

“they’re not,” you said, already laughing.

and so it went. for every five steps you made progress, lando somehow distracted you for three. whether it was joking around, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your cheek, or making car noises as he pushed the half-built model across the table — he made it fun.

“this is kind of romantic,” he said suddenly, looking at the nearly complete mclaren between you.

you raised an eyebrow. “covered in plastic bricks, sitting on the floor, slowly losing our minds — that’s your definition of romance?”

he shrugged, inching closer. “yeah. it’s like… we’re building something together. literally and figuratively.”

you laughed, but your heart swelled a little at that. “that was either really cute or really cheesy.”

“both,” he admitted, nudging your knee with his.

when the final piece clicked into place, you both just sat there, admiring the tiny f1 car you’d brought to life together.

lando reached over and wrapped his arm around your shoulders, tugging you against him. “we make a good team.”

“you mean i follow instructions and you provide chaos?”

“exactly.” he kissed the side of your head. “perfect balance.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ oscar piastri

the floor was a battlefield of tiny lego pieces in shades of orange, black, and grey. oscar sat cross-legged across from you, his brow furrowed in concentration as he stared down at the instruction booklet.

“are you sure you’re following the instructions properly?” you asked, glancing over at him. “this is starting to look more like a spaceship than an f1 car.”

oscar didn’t look up. “it’s fine. i’ve got it under control.”

you raised an eyebrow, skeptically eyeing the growing pile of mismatched pieces around him. “you say that, but i’m starting to question your lego expertise.”

he finally looked up, smirking. “i’m an f1 driver. i can build anything. it’s all about precision and… patience.”

you bit back a laugh. “precision, huh? so you’re saying you’re totally sure that piece you just put on is supposed to be there?”

oscar glanced down at the piece in his hand, eyes widening slightly. “okay, maybe it’s not exactly in the right place, but it’s close.”

you shook your head, trying to hide your smile. “you’re lucky you’re cute.”

he grinned, clearly pleased with the compliment. “that’s the plan. get by on charm and looks.”

as you worked together, it became clear that while oscar might not be a lego master, he sure was good at making you laugh. every so often, he’d dramatically announce that a piece absolutely belonged in a spot it clearly didn’t, or he’d break into random comments about how the car’s “aerodynamics” weren’t up to his standards.

“this doesn’t look like a proper racing car,” he muttered, holding up a half-finished section. “i think we need to take this back to the pits for some adjustments.”

you grinned. “if only you could bring a lego car to the team garage for a quick pit stop.”

he winked. “hey, it’s the next best thing. no tire changes, but plenty of potential.”

finally, after some back-and-forth and more than a few wrong pieces, the lego mclaren started to resemble something recognizable. oscar stepped back, crossing his arms with a proud smile.

“we did it,” he said, his voice soft but pleased.

you looked down at the completed model and grinned. “well, you did it, actually. i just followed your instructions.”

“exactly,” he said, nudging your shoulder with his. “teamwork.”

“you mean your work and me just looking pretty while pretending to know what i’m doing?”

oscar chuckled and leaned over, giving you a quick kiss on the cheek. “something like that. but seriously, i’m glad we did this.”

you smiled, resting your head on his shoulder as you both admired your work. “me too. i think it looks even better because we built it together.”

he nodded, wrapping his arm around you. “definitely. and now, we’ve got the most unique mclaren f1 car in the world.”

you both sat there for a while, in the quiet satisfaction of a task completed — and maybe, just maybe, a few more moments of laughter and memories added to your time together.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ george russell

the living room looked like a miniature pit lane disaster. grey and black lego pieces covered the floor, coffee table, and parts of george’s lap. he sat, back straight as ever, holding what looked like a front wing and staring at it like it had just insulted his entire career.

“this is… incorrect,” he muttered.

you looked over from the other side of the table. “you said that about the last four pieces.”

“and i was right all four times,” he replied with a faintly dramatic sigh, “but this one’s actually wrong.”

you leaned in. “george, the instructions are literally step-by-step. just follow them.”

he gave you a flat look. “i am following them. but the piece was misprinted.”

you blinked. “you think mercedes messed up a lego set.”

“not mercedes. lego,” he corrected, deadly serious. “mercedes would never.”

you bit back a laugh. “you sound like you’re defending the honor of the factory.”

he smirked a little, then looked down at the tiny W15 replica in progress. “well… they did build this one. just, you know, full size.”

“and not out of plastic.”

“small detail.”

you shifted closer, watching him click the front wing in, still with that careful, surgeon-level precision. “i like seeing you like this,” you said softly. “focused, but not… stressed.”

he looked over at you, some of the usual pressure in his shoulders melting a bit. “it’s nice. building something without a stopwatch.”

after a few minutes of quiet building, broken only by occasional lego clicks and your cat batting a tire piece under the couch, george finally leaned back to admire the half-built car.

“she’s beautiful,” he said, proud. “and more cooperative than the real one some days.”

you raised an eyebrow. “are you giving a press quote to a toy?”

he shrugged. “i speak from experience.”

you nudged him with your foot. “can’t wait for you to give a whole post-race debrief to this thing.”

“if it finishes ahead of me, i might have to.”

you both laughed, and george reached over to take your hand, twining your fingers with his without looking away from the tiny car.

“thanks for doing this,” he said. “i know it’s silly.”

“not silly,” you said quietly. “you spend all day breaking down the most complex machine in the world. it’s nice to see you build something just because you want to.”

he smiled, then gently tapped the half-built car. “it’s a good one. but it’s missing something.”

“what’s that?”

“driver figure,” he said, holding up the little lego helmet. “every car needs one.”

you laughed. “well, you better get him in before he misses quali.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ kimi antonelli

“mate, i swear to god, this is missing a piece.”

kimi antonelli sat cross-legged on your rug, a confused frown on his face as he poked through a sea of grey lego bricks. the nearly-complete mercedes w15 sat between you, missing exactly one sidepod.

you glanced up from your half of the build. “kimi, it’s not missing. it’s under your leg.”

he froze, looked down, and muttered, “ma che cazzo…”

you tried not to laugh as he pulled the piece free, shaking his head at himself. “this is why i drive the car and not build it.”

“oh please, even george finished his set last week,” you teased. “he timed it. wrote it down. probably logged it in a spreadsheet.”

kimi rolled his eyes, smirking. “yeah, well, george also irons his socks. i’m not competing with that.”

you both laughed, but kimi’s focus returned to the tiny car in front of him. he clicked the sidepod into place with careful hands, jaw tight in concentration. despite the casual “mate”s and the chill exterior, you could tell he wanted this perfect.

“you always this serious about lego?”

“only when it’s my car,” he muttered. “first season in f1, first time with mercedes… feels kinda unreal.”

you tilted your head, voice softening. “does it feel like pressure?”

he didn’t answer right away, just ran a thumb along the smooth line of the lego chassis.

“a bit,” he admitted finally. “but… it also feels right. like i’m where i’m supposed to be.”

“you are,” you said, nudging his arm. “you’ve earned every bit of it.”

he gave you a small smile, then leaned back on one hand, holding the tiny lego driver helmet in the other. “hope the real car treats me better than this damn brick one. this thing’s falling apart every time i touch it.”

“just like the rear grip in turn 11?”

he gave you a mock glare. “vaffanculo.”

you laughed, and he laughed with you, head tipping back slightly. there was something bright in his eyes—equal parts excitement and nerves.

“george said he’s gonna come over and check it when we’re done,” you said after a beat.

kimi groaned. “he’s gonna critique it like it’s an aero debrief. 'why did you use the wrong diffuser panel, mate?'”

you grinned. “better get it right then.”

he clicked the final piece into place with a satisfying snap, exhaled deeply, then held up the finished car with both hands like it was sacred.

“look at that,” he said, pride sneaking into his voice. “first mercedes built.”

“first of many.”

“damn right,” he murmured. then, with a smirk, “mate, we’re gonna need a bigger shelf.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ max verstappen

“this is stupid.”

max said it flatly, staring down at the unopened box of the red bull lego f1 car on the table.

you raised an eyebrow. “you picked it out.”

“yeah, well. it looked cool. didn’t realize it had a thousand pieces.”

you smirked. “scared of a few tiny bricks?”

“no,” he said, already slicing open the box with a kitchen knife like it had insulted him. “i just don’t like losing. even to plastic.”

you bit back a laugh. “who are you losing to, max? it’s just you and me.”

he gave you a look. “and i will beat you, obviously.”

“this isn’t a race.”

“everything is a race.”

you sighed, but there was no real annoyance behind it. max was already deep into organizing the pieces into small piles—color-coded, of course. he wasn’t about to admit he cared, but he was treating this with the same quiet focus he brought to race sims.

half an hour in, you looked over at his side of the build. it was surprisingly perfect—sharp edges, clean lines, everything matched the instruction booklet exactly.

“you’re weirdly good at this,” you said.

he shrugged. “spatial awareness.”

“is that what we’re calling lego talent now?”

he gave a smug little smile. “don’t be jealous.”

you rolled your eyes. “you literally threatened to throw yours out the window ten minutes ago.”

“because the rear wing wouldn’t line up,” he muttered, holding up a tiny piece with disdain. “this thing is so unrealistic.”

“you drive a car that hits 300 kph in a straight line and you're mad about a lego wing?”

he grunted, snapping it into place anyway. “it’s the principle.”

eventually, you both fell into a rhythm. soft music played in the background, and the only sound was the satisfying clicks of bricks and the occasional muttered dutch swearing when max misplaced a piece.

“fuck” he hissed under his breath, digging through a pile. “it was here, i saw it—”

you held up the missing piece. “you mean this one?”

he stared. “…you stole it.”

“i found it.”

he narrowed his eyes. “i want a rematch when this is done.”

“max, this wasn’t a competition.”

“you say that,” he replied, snapping the piece into place. “but i’m winning.”

you looked over at his perfectly assembled lego rb20 and sighed.

“okay. maybe you are.”

he grinned, leaned back, and crossed his arms like a smug cat. “next time, we build monaco.”

you raised a brow. “the whole track?”

“yeah,” he said. “then i lap you.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ yuki tsunoda

“why the fuck are there so many pieces?!”

you looked up to see yuki holding a clear bag of lego parts like it had personally offended him. his eyebrows were scrunched, mouth open in disbelief, hair slightly disheveled—classic signs of a yuki meltdown brewing.

“because you picked the detailed version,” you said, trying not to laugh.

he groaned dramatically and flopped back onto the couch. “i thought it was gonna be like, 100 pieces. max.”

“you drive a formula one car and this is what breaks you?”

he pointed at the half-built lego version of his old alpha tauri car, now rebranded and reboxed under a new team name. “this thing is too tiny. my fingers are not made for this shit.”

you reached over and gently fixed a piece he’d put on backwards. “you literally have hands made for this. they’re small.”

“rude,” he muttered, popping a sour candy into his mouth. “also true.”

you smiled and went back to your part of the build. yuki followed, a little grumbly but determined, muttering in both english and japanese as he tried to line up the next wing section.

“this piece doesn’t fit—kuso!—okay, never mind, i fixed it.”

“look at you,” you teased. “problem solver.”

he gave you a side-eye. “i’m gonna throw this car out the window if one more piece falls apart.”

you leaned in close, inspecting the tiny front wing he’d just attached. “actually, this is really good. like, suspiciously good.”

he beamed. “i know, right?”

you blinked. “did you just… accept a compliment without deflecting it?”

“i’m evolving.”

he sat up straighter, brushing brick dust off his sweatpants. “honestly, it’s kinda nice. building something that doesn’t involve brake temps and tire wear.”

you looked over, surprised by the sudden shift in tone. “yeah?”

he shrugged. “everything’s serious all the time. it’s nice to just do something dumb with you.”

your smile softened. “we should make it a thing. post-race lego nights.”

“only if you promise to open the bags next time. i almost sliced my finger on that stupid little plastic edge.”

“deal.”

he held up the half-built car triumphantly. “look! it’s a car. kind of.”

“good enough for an f1 rookie,” you teased.

“oi,” he said, lightly kicking your leg. “i’m a veteran now.”

you giggled, and he reached over, placing the tiny lego helmet on the driver figure with way more care than he’d shown to the rest of the car.

“there,” he said. “now he won’t crash.”

“unlike you in austria 2022.”

“shut up!”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ charles leclerc

the coffee table was covered in little red lego bricks, most of them scattered far beyond where they were supposed to be. somewhere among the chaos sat charles, cross-legged, sleeves pushed up, brows drawn together like this was his actual ferrari on race day.

“you look stressed,” you teased, holding out a curved red piece. “you okay there, captain monaco?”

he sighed dramatically. “this is harder than qualifying in the rain.”

you grinned. “you chose this, you know.”

“yes, but i didn’t think ferrari lego would betray me too.”

you laughed, watching as he studied the instructions like it was a secret strategy briefing. he was painfully serious about it — biting his lip, double-checking every step, occasionally whispering under his breath in french.

“you do realize it’s just a toy, right?” you asked, leaning your chin into your palm as you watched him.

he glanced up, smiling sheepishly. “it’s not just a toy. it’s a ferrari.”

“ah. sacred ground.”

he chuckled, reaching for a piece but brushing your hand instead. he paused, letting his fingers rest lightly over yours for a second. “merci for helping, by the way.”

you shrugged. “i’m here for moral support. and to make sure you don’t accidentally build a mclaren by mistake.”

charles gasped, hand to heart. “that’s… that’s cruel.”

“just keeping you humble.”

as the model slowly took shape, you started to enjoy the rhythm of it — the quiet little jokes, the hum of soft music in the background, charles occasionally singing under his breath in french when he thought you weren’t listening.

at one point, he sat back and held up the half-built ferrari, inspecting it like an art piece. “it’s not perfect, but… it has character.”

“so, just like your real car?”

he smirked. “exactly.”

once the final piece clicked into place, he leaned back beside you on the floor, both of you just admiring the miniature sf-24 in front of you. the iconic red, the delicate little wings, the prancing horse.

“we should put it somewhere,” you said quietly.

“on my sim rig.”

“really?”

he turned to you, eyes soft. “of course. you helped build it. it’s important.”

you rested your head against his shoulder. “maybe next time we build something less… intense.”

he smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “like what?”

“lego monaco. or, i don’t know… a tiny lego you.”

charles chuckled. “you’d still make fun of it.”

“absolutely.”al

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ lewis hamilton

lewis hummed quietly as he picked through the lego pieces, the ferrari logo staring back at him from the instruction manual. the new team, new car, new journey—but still the same lewis, calm and collected, moving through the pieces with ease.

“you’d think after all these months i’d be used to seeing my name in red,” he said, his voice soft. “but it’s still… weird.”

you looked over at him, glancing between the almost-finished lego sf-23 and his focused expression. “weird in a good way?”

he paused, then smiled, that familiar, relaxed smile that had always made him seem like he knew something no one else did. “yeah. definitely. it’s a change, but… a good one.”

you handed him a small piece. “you’ve been in a lot of teams, but this one’s special.”

“it is,” he agreed, clicking the piece into place. “ferrari’s got history. it’s a different kind of challenge, you know? charles and i, we’ve got a good energy together, but there's pressure to live up to everything this team represents.”

you nodded. “but you’ve already built so much in your career. now, it’s just about making something new.”

he gave a short laugh. “i hope that’s how it feels when this lego car’s done. fresh start.”

you watched him attach the rear wing, his fingers surprisingly gentle as he fitted the pieces together. “i think it’s already looking good.”

“well,” he said, eyes glinting playfully, “if it’s anything like my actual car, it’s gonna be fast.”

you smirked. “you mean like the perfectly tuned car you’ve already built over there?” you teased, motioning to the tiny, almost perfect lego ferrari.

“hey,” he said with mock offense. “i told you it was gonna be smooth.”

“that’s the thing with you, lewis,” you grinned, “everything’s smooth.”

he glanced over at you with a warm smile, his eyes softening. “i like to keep things balanced. at least here, we don’t have to worry about track limits or tire wear.”

you chuckled. “yeah, but look at how much you’re stressing over these bricks.”

“mate,” he said, his tone warm but teasing, “this is serious business.”

just as he said it, roscoe trotted over, sniffing around the legos with interest before promptly sitting on a pile of tires.

“oh, no,” lewis sighed, reaching down to gently move the dog. “roscoe, not the tires!”

you laughed. “he just wants to help.”

“help my ass,” lewis muttered, chuckling. “he’s got his own ideas of how to build a car.”

“maybe you should let him try next time.”

“only if he can actually get a car across the finish line,” lewis said, shaking his head as roscoe finally wandered off to nap. he looked at you again, his expression softening. “thanks for doing this. it’s nice to just… relax for a bit.”

you smiled. “it’s fun building this with you.”

he leaned back slightly, stretching out. “yeah. this is what i needed.”

you both leaned in to finish the last few pieces, the ferrari lego car coming together bit by bit.

“looks like we’re ready for the race,” you said as the last wheel snapped into place.

“we?” lewis raised an eyebrow. “i’m the one who’s going to take this one across the finish line.”

you gave him a sly grin. “in this case, i’m the engineer.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ alex albon

alex sat cross-legged on the floor, a slight frown tugging at his mouth as he studied the lego pieces in front of him. his arms were slightly crossed, his posture just the right amount of focus—like he was working on a race car, but also maybe half-watching a documentary on the side.

“i swear, the instructions are getting longer,” he muttered, leafing through the booklet. “first it was ‘snap this piece in,’ now it’s like, ‘align with symmetry,’ and i’m just—what?”

you peeked over from your side of the table, where your own lego car was slowly taking shape. “getting overwhelmed by legos, alex?”

he gave you a deadpan look. “no. it’s just… a lot of tiny pieces. i feel like i need a magnifying glass to find the one i need.”

you smiled and handed him a small pile of sorted pieces. “here. these are for the front wing.”

he looked at you with a raised brow. “are you seriously trying to make me faster than i am right now?”

“just building the car the way it’s meant to be,” you teased, settling back down.

alex grinned, clearly not offended. “ah, i see. you’re the one setting the lap times.”

you both fell into a comfortable silence, the only sound being the soft clicks of plastic as you built. occasionally, alex would let out a sigh or mutter something like “this is ridiculous,” but he was enjoying it. it was the kind of peaceful activity he didn't always have the luxury to enjoy, with racing schedules and endless debriefs.

finally, a piece wouldn’t fit into place. alex’s frustration broke the silence.

“nope, this thing’s just wrong,” he said, holding the piece up. “it’s not even close to lining up. does this look right to you?”

you looked at it, then shrugged. “looks like a sidepod to me.”

“a sidepod?” he repeated, holding it at arm's length. “mate, this looks like it belongs in the trash.”

you snickered, but then the two of you actually took a moment to study the instructions more carefully, only to realize it was the wrong piece altogether. alex huffed, clearly trying not to laugh.

“see?” he said, still holding it up. “this is why i’m better at driving the damn car than assembling it.”

“yeah,” you said with a smile. “you’re better at handling high speeds than handling legos.”

he stuck out his tongue at you, and you both giggled, your hands working together to fix the tiny mistake. after a few more minutes, the lego car was taking shape.

“hey,” alex said, his voice slightly more serious now, “this actually looks pretty good.”

you looked over at him, admiring the completed piece. “yeah. we make a good team.”

alex leaned back, stretching his legs out and looking at the car with satisfaction. “i think we just built the best f1 car ever.”

“only because it’s the one you made.”

he flashed you a cheeky grin. “fair. but i’ve got the race car driving skills to back it up.”

you nudged him with your foot, laughing. “keep telling yourself that, albon.”

he leaned forward again, fixing the tiny helmet in the driver's seat. “maybe next time, we’ll race our cars. legitimately.”

you raised an eyebrow. “only if you’re ready to lose.”

he smirked, giving the car one last look. “oh, i’m ready.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ carlos sainz

lego pieces were everywhere—on the floor, the couch, even somehow in carlos’s hoodie pocket. he stared down at the instruction booklet, jaw clenched.

“¿pero qué coño es esto?” he muttered, turning a piece over for the third time.

you laughed from your spot on the rug. “that’s literally the front wing, carlos. we’ve built, like, four of them by now.”

“sí, but this one looks backwards,” he grumbled, snapping it in the wrong way again.

you scooted closer, gently taking it from him. “nope. trust the manual. or me, preferably.”

he huffed but gave in, watching you click the piece into place with maddening ease. “you’re scarily good at this.”

“just say it. i’m the better engineer.”

he glanced at the half-finished lego williams car between you. “i’ll admit it when i’m not being humiliated by a plastic toy.”

you snorted. “this is your car now, by the way. you should probably get used to it.”

he paused, then gave a small, crooked smile. “yeah… it’s weird seeing it like this. not red anymore. it’s a whole new world.”

you softened. “and you’re building it. piece by piece.”

he reached for your hand without thinking, fingers brushing yours as he looked down at the little blue machine. “and you're here with me. that helps.”

you smirked. “even if i bully you about legos?”

he rolled his eyes playfully. “cariño, you’ve been talking shit for an hour. qué pesada.”

“and yet… you’re still here.”

he chuckled, leaning in to kiss your temple. “i must be un poco loco.”

from the corner, your cat knocked over a bag of bricks with a loud clatter.

“joder,” carlos muttered, already crawling after them. “your cat’s trying to destroy my career.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ esteban ocon

esteban sat on the floor, surrounded by a sea of black and white lego pieces. he was intensely focused, his brow furrowed as he carefully put together the first bits of the haas f1 car. the faint sound of a podcast played in the background, but esteban barely seemed to notice. in fact, you were starting to wonder if he could hear anything over his laser focus on the legos.

"hey," you said, nudging him with your foot. "you alright there, esteban? you look like you're about to go into qualifying mode."

he looked up at you, blinking like he'd just snapped out of a trance. "what? oh, yeah, just—wait, where's the piece for the front wing?"

you picked it up from beside him and handed it over. "here. you're getting a bit too into this, don’t you think?"

he smirked, giving a quick shrug. "it’s a race, no? besides, i’m here to show you how it’s done."

you raised an eyebrow. "oh really? last time i checked, you were the one struggling to find the right pieces."

“don’t act like you’re not intimidated by my lego skills,” he teased, snapping the front wing into place with ridiculous precision. “i’m about to make this thing look like a real car.”

you laughed, watching as he clicked another piece into place. "sure, but we both know your real talent is behind the wheel."

"and on the lego track, apparently," he said, his grin widening. "but yeah, ollie and i—it's gonna be a killer season with haas. we’ve got chemistry already. the car feels good, and i’ve been helping him get settled. we’re both pushing each other."

you couldn’t help but smile at how invested he was in not just the car, but also the team dynamic. "you two gonna be unstoppable this season?"

"absolutely." esteban's eyes sparkled with that signature intensity. "and when we’re not fighting for positions on the track, we’ll be fighting for the best lego car at the end of the night."

he gestured to the near-complete haas car in front of him. you tilted your head, inspecting his work. "not bad, ocon. this looks pretty good."

"not bad?" he repeated, arching an eyebrow. "this is perfect. i’m practically a lego engineer."

you chuckled, adjusting a small piece that was slightly off-center. "i hate to break it to you, but your sidepod’s a little crooked."

"what?!" esteban turned, eyes wide. he immediately started fidgeting with the sidepod, mumbling in frustration. "this can’t be happening. it’s not my fault, the instructions are all wrong!"

you raised a hand, feigning innocence. "hey, if you need help, i'm here."

he sighed dramatically, but then grinned. "fine, fine. maybe you know a thing or two."

as you both worked, the car slowly began to look like a proper haas—sleek, powerful, and ready to tackle whatever challenge came its way. esteban placed the tiny driver figure in the seat and leaned back, admiring the finished product.

"not bad for a couple of rookies," he said with a smirk.

"rookies?" you teased, nudging him. "last time i checked, you're a veteran."

"don’t remind me," he muttered, but there was a playful glint in his eyes. "i’ll take the veteran status when it’s time to win, not when i’m dealing with legos."

you both sat back, taking in your creation.

"so," you asked, "who’s gonna take pole position in the lego world?"

esteban raised a brow, clearly enjoying the playful challenge. "obviously, me."

you grinned. "we’ll see about that. next time, we do a real race."

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ ollie bearman

ollie was leaning over his nearly finished lego haas car, squinting at the tiny details. he’d been quietly focusing, but his attention seemed to shift as he spotted something. with a grin, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small plush bear—one that was probably about as big as the driver figure in the car.

"hold on," ollie said, eyes glinting with mischief. "i’ve got the perfect touch to make this car legendary."

you raised an eyebrow as ollie carefully placed the tiny bear in the driver’s seat of the lego car, next to the little plastic figure. “seriously? you’re putting a bear in your f1 car?”

“yep,” ollie said proudly, smoothing down the bear’s little paws as he adjusted it. “this is my secret weapon. a lucky bear.”

you couldn’t help but laugh. “so, you think your haas is gonna be faster because of a bear?”

ollie leaned back, admiring his work. “exactly. you’d be surprised how much extra speed a bear brings to the table.”

“uh-huh,” you said, chuckling. “and how do you know this?”

he gave you a wink. “let’s just say the bear’s been with me through some wild races. and, well, we’re a package deal now.”

you stared at the bear sitting there in the lego car, grinning. “you’re actually serious about this?”

ollie nodded with mock seriousness. “mate, you’ve got to believe in the power of the bear. it’s the most powerful underdog move I’ve got.”

"alright, well," you said, leaning back and crossing your arms, "i guess that makes your car the bear necessities of the lego world."

ollie cracked up at the pun, clearly proud of your pun game. "i see what you did there. clever."

he took a step back to admire the car, as though it was the most normal thing in the world to have a plush bear in a race car. "now that’s what i’m talking about. this car is gonna win the lego world championship."

you raised an eyebrow. "we'll see if your bear can handle the speed."

ollie gave the little bear a quick pat on the head, then turned to you with a playful grin. “don’t underestimate it. next time, we’re racing. and when my haas wins, you’ll have to acknowledge the bear’s power.”

“fine, fine,” you laughed. “but don’t say i didn’t warn you when my car blows past yours.”

ollie gave you a mock salute, already too invested in his plush-powered vehicle. “we’ll see, mate. just remember, you’ve got no chance when the bear’s behind the wheel.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ lance stroll

lance was crouched on the floor, his hands moving with surprising precision as he snapped pieces together on his lego aston martin car. the intense focus in his eyes was almost the same as when he was in the car during a race—every move calculated, every piece placed with care. it was clear that this was going to be the perfect lego build.

"you know," he said, not looking up from his work, "this might actually be harder than driving a real f1 car."

you raised an eyebrow, smirking. “you’ve got to be kidding. you’re building legos, not doing a race.”

lance glanced up, his expression serious, but you could see the glint of mischief in his eyes. “hey, it’s all about precision, okay? every piece has to be in the right place, or it’s like losing a few tenths on track. just doesn’t work.”

you chuckled, watching him intently as he worked. “you’re really taking this seriously, huh?”

he gave you a playful, almost smug grin. “someone’s gotta bring the winning attitude to the table. i’m just making sure this thing’s perfect. no shortcuts.”

“no shortcuts?” you teased, leaning over to inspect his work. “you sure about that? i think you’ve missed a piece back there.”

lance immediately straightened up, frowning as he checked the spot you pointed to. "what? no way…" he muttered under his breath, and sure enough, a piece was slightly out of place. he let out a dramatic sigh, shaking his head. "great, can’t even build a lego car without messing it up. might as well be qualifying for a race right now, huh?"

you grinned. "it’s all part of the process, babe"

he flashed you a look as he fixed the mistake. “process or not, this thing’s gonna be perfect. mark my words."

“perfect, huh?” you said, rolling your eyes. “we’ll see when we race these lego cars. i’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve.”

“oh, i don’t doubt it,” lance said, giving you a knowing smile as he clicked another piece into place. “but trust me, my aston martin’s gonna blow yours away.”

you crossed your arms, feigning seriousness. “i’m not so sure about that. mine’s got better aerodynamics.”

“pfft,” lance scoffed, not missing a beat. “aerodynamics? babe, this is a lego car, not an actual f1 car. it’s all about the driver’s focus.”

you laughed. “oh, i see. it’s all about the driver now, huh?”

“of course,” he said with a grin, clearly enjoying himself. “i can’t be having my lego car losing to yours, can i?”

you leaned back, arms folded. “we’ll see about that when it’s time for the race.”

lance finished up the final details on his lego car, smoothing out a few edges. he gave it a quick once-over and nodded in satisfaction.

“there,” he said proudly, sitting back to admire his work. “done. now that’s what i call a winning build.”

you took a quick glance at your own lego car, still in progress. “you sure about that?”

“positive,” lance said, leaning over to check yours out. “looks good, but i’m confident mine’s faster.”

you raised an eyebrow, your competitive side kicking in. “you want to put that to the test?”

“oh, i thought you’d never ask,” he replied with a smirk. “bring it on. my aston martin is ready for the track.”

you both leaned in, preparing for the “race,” with lance already planning his victory speech. the playful tension was thick in the air as you positioned the cars on either end of the table.

“ready to lose?” lance asked, his tone light, but with that familiar competitive spark.

“we’ll see who’s really the one losing, stroll,” you shot back, and with that, the lego race was on.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ fernando alonso

fernando sat on the floor, a serious look on his face as he examined the lego pieces laid out in front of him. his brow furrowed slightly as he picked up the pieces, inspecting each one with the kind of focus you'd expect from a veteran driver gearing up for a race. there was no casual attitude here—he was all in.

“this is more complicated than i thought,” fernando muttered to himself, snapping a piece into place.

you leaned over, watching as he worked, clearly in his element. “i thought you were used to high pressure situations.”

“this is different,” fernando replied without looking up. “f1 cars don’t have tiny pieces like these to put together.”

you grinned, a bit amused by how seriously he was taking it. “it’s just legos, fernando. relax a little.”

he looked up at you, his gaze cool but playful. “you think i can relax when there’s a lego car in front of me? it needs precision, just like an f1 car. one wrong move and it could all fall apart.”

“yeah, and i’m sure a little bit of pressure will make you build the best lego car ever,” you teased.

he smirked, snapping a piece into place with the speed and precision you’d expect from someone who’s mastered the art of fast decisions. “that’s the plan.”

as fernando continued to build, you noticed how quickly he was getting into the zone. it was almost like he was back in the cockpit of a car, moving seamlessly from one step to the next. you couldn’t help but watch in awe.

“impressive,” you said after a few moments of silence. “you’ve got this down.”

“i’ve done this before,” fernando said, his voice smooth and confident. “except it wasn’t lego. but the idea is the same—each piece counts.”

you raised an eyebrow, half-joking. “are you sure you’re not overthinking this? it’s just legos.”

“there’s no such thing as ‘just legos’ when you’re trying to create perfection,” he said, clearly not backing down from his approach. “every detail matters.”

you couldn’t help but laugh at how serious he was about the whole thing. “you’re really taking this as seriously as a race.”

he met your gaze, eyes glinting. “why shouldn’t I? if you’re going to do something, do it right. if not, what’s the point?”

you gave him a playful side-eye. “so no shortcuts, huh?”

“no shortcuts,” he confirmed, a grin spreading across his face as he placed the final piece on his car. he straightened up and surveyed his work, nodding to himself. “done.”

you leaned in to take a look at his completed lego car. it was sleek and solid, just like you expected. “not bad, fernando. looks like your focus paid off.”

“of course,” he said, leaning back and stretching. “this is what happens when you treat legos with the same respect as a race car.”

you smiled. “alright, alright. but can your lego car actually race?”

fernando raised an eyebrow. “it’s built for speed. trust me, this is going to beat whatever you’ve got.”

you grinned, shaking your head. “we’ll see about that. i’m not going easy on you.”

he chuckled, his competitive edge still sharp. “i wouldn’t expect anything less.”

as you both prepared for the final “race” between your cars, fernando gave you one last look, his eyes sharp and full of that familiar fire. “ready to lose?”

“we’ll see,” you said with a smile, lining up your cars for what was about to be an epic lego showdown.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ liam lawson

liam sat on the floor, a lego instruction manual spread out in front of him and pieces scattered everywhere. his brows furrowed in concentration as he snapped together small parts, but there was a hint of amusement in his eyes. the vibe was pretty relaxed—after all, he was a guy who knew how to handle intense moments, whether it was on track or with legos.

“this doesn’t seem right,” liam muttered, inspecting a piece of his lego car with suspicion.

you leaned over, glancing at his progress. “you’re sure you’re following the instructions? seems like it’s a bit… off.”

he glanced up, his face breaking into a grin. “instructions? pfft, i’m just free-styling here. it’s all about the feel.”

“free-styling, huh?” you laughed. “well, that explains why the car’s looking a little… creative.”

liam raised an eyebrow. “hey, no one said a lego f1 car had to look perfect. i’m building with personality.”

you smirked and leaned back. “personality? i think you’ve got a bit too much personality going on there.”

he chuckled, clearly enjoying himself. “alright, alright. maybe i missed a piece. but hey, i’ve got this. vcarb is all about resilience, right?”

“vcarb, huh?” you teased. “starting to sound like you're trying to work some team spirit into this lego build.”

liam shrugged, snapping another piece into place. “well, you know, after joining up with isack, i figured i could at least carry the spirit of the team wherever i go. even if it’s just legos.”

you raised an eyebrow. “you’ve only been with vcarb for a minute. are you sure you’re ready to bring the team spirit into a lego race?”

“hey, i’ve had enough experience with chaos and speed to know how to pull it all together,” liam said, grinning. “besides, i’m building a car that’s meant to win.”

you looked over at the lego car he was putting together. it was definitely taking shape, even if it was a little… unique in its approach. “that’s what you keep telling me. but can it actually race?”

liam’s eyes sparkled with confidence. “you’d better believe it. when it’s time to race, this thing’s going straight to the front. just like vcarb.”

you couldn’t help but laugh. “you’re a bit too confident about your lego skills.”

“nah,” liam said, snapping the final piece into place. “this is pure genius. i’m a natural at this.”

he sat back to admire his work, a look of satisfaction on his face as he surveyed the completed car. it looked like it could survive a crash, but you weren’t entirely sure it was the fastest lego car in the world.

“there we go,” he said with a grin. “that’s what i’m talking about. vcarb speed.”

you leaned over, inspecting his finished product. “well, it definitely has… character.”

“exactly,” liam said, flashing a cheeky smile. “you can’t have a fast car without a bit of flair.”

“flair, huh?” you raised an eyebrow. “we’ll see if that helps you win.”

“oh, it’ll help,” he said confidently. “just wait until we race these things. i’m gonna show you how vcarb handles speed.”

you smiled. “we’ll see about that. just don’t be too disappointed when my car blows past yours.”

liam shot you a playful look. “we’ll see, but i have a feeling your car’s not gonna stand a chance against this.”

“don’t get too cocky, liam,” you said with a grin. “the race is still on.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ isack hadjar

isack sat across from you, focused on the spread of lego pieces in front of him. the young driver’s eyes were intense, as though he was analyzing the parts the way he would a racing setup, trying to figure out how everything fit together for the fastest result. he was definitely the type who liked to get things just right.

“you know, this is harder than it looks,” he muttered, squinting at the instructions as he carefully clicked a piece into place.

you raised an eyebrow, leaning over to check his progress. “you’re really treating this like an actual race, huh?”

isack glanced at you and shrugged, his face calm but his eyes sharp with focus. “when you’re in vcarb, everything’s about precision. even building a lego car.”

you couldn’t help but chuckle. “i’m sure liam’s not treating his lego car with the same intensity. he’s probably got a plush bear in his.”

“liam’s got his own style,” isack said with a small smirk. “but for me, it’s about getting it right.”

you watched him carefully place each piece, his methodical approach almost like watching a pit crew during a race, making sure every part was aligned perfectly. “it’s like you’re building a f1 car in miniature.”

he glanced up at you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “if only it was that easy. but hey, a lego car can still teach you a lot about patience.”

you leaned back in your chair, smirking. “patience, huh? i thought you were more about speed.”

“you can’t have speed without precision,” he replied, his voice calm but firm as he clicked another piece into place. “rushing doesn’t work in racing. and it doesn’t work with legos either.”

you shook your head with a grin. “you’re seriously going full-on race mode with this.”

isack shot you a playful look. “i’m always in race mode.”

you raised an eyebrow. “we’ll see how that works out when we race these cars. you’ve got all that precision, but does it actually make your car faster?”

“don’t doubt it,” he said confidently, pausing for a second to glance at his almost-finished lego car. “this thing’s going to be fast.”

you leaned in closer, inspecting the lego car carefully. it was sleek, clean, and well-constructed—definitely built with care. "looks like it might actually give mine a run for its money."

isack didn’t even look up, his hands still working quickly but steadily. “it’s not about just looking good. it’s about performance.”

"so, you're telling me your lego car is going to perform?" you teased, giving him a sideways glance.

“exactly,” he said with a soft grin. “a well-built car will always outperform one that’s just thrown together.”

you laughed, appreciating the effort he was putting into this. “alright, you’re on. but don’t be too shocked when my car beats yours.”

isack shot you a confident look. “we’ll see about that. when it comes to racing, vcarb doesn’t lose.”

he clicked the last piece into place and sat back, admiring the finished product with satisfaction. “there we go. now that’s what i call a masterpiece.”

you took a moment to check out the finished lego car. it was clearly designed for speed. "not bad, Hadjar. you might just have a future in lego racing."

he gave you a small nod, his competitive edge still sharp. “it’s all about balance. precision, patience, and speed.”

“right,” you said with a grin, “just don’t get too cocky when i beat you in the race.”

“oh, trust me,” he said, his voice calm and confident. “i won’t.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ pierre gasly

pierre sat cross-legged on the floor, the lego pieces scattered in front of him, a look of quiet focus on his face. the competitive energy was there, but it wasn’t the high-octane, race-ready kind—it was more of a calm, methodical kind of determination. he clicked a piece into place, leaned back, and surveyed his work.

“you know, i’m pretty sure my lego car is already ahead of yours,” pierre said, glancing over at you with that playful, confident grin of his.

you shot him a look, trying to suppress a smile. “is that so? i think you might be getting ahead of yourself there.”

pierre raised an eyebrow, still working on his car but never losing that casual, self-assured vibe. “it’s all about precision. i don’t build things just to watch them fall apart.”

he snapped another piece into place, his fingers moving quickly and efficiently. “unlike some people,” he added, giving you a teasing glance.

“excuse me? i’m just taking my time. rushing doesn’t always work out, you know?” you said, shooting him a grin. “maybe you should slow down a bit.”

pierre chuckled. “rushing? no. i’m just working with a bit of confidence here. there’s a difference.”

“uh-huh, confidence,” you teased, leaning closer to see what he was doing. “is that what you call it? it looks like you’re just really into this whole thing.”

he flashed you a quick, sly smile. “well, if you want your lego car to look like it was built by someone who actually knows what they’re doing, you’ve come to the right person.”

you rolled your eyes, laughing. “i think you’re taking this a bit too seriously, but fine. i’ll let you think you’ve got the advantage. for now.”

pierre paused for a moment to look over at your progress, smirking. “not bad, not bad. but if you want to beat me, you’ll need to step it up.”

“you really think you’re going to win this thing?” you challenged, crossing your arms and raising an eyebrow.

“of course,” pierre said, leaning back and looking at his near-finished car. “just like on the track, i’m always going for the win.”

his fingers moved deftly as he put the final pieces together, clicking them in place with ease. “done,” he said with a satisfied grin, looking at you. “what do you think?”

you inspected his lego car, which looked sleek and well-constructed—just like he said, it had that careful precision. “i’ll give it to you, it looks pretty good. but don’t get too cocky, i’m not done yet.”

pierre leaned back, his arms crossed over his chest as he looked at you with a half-smile. “you’ve got a bit of catching up to do, but i’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

“i’ll show you,” you said, putting your focus back on your own lego car. “you might have finished first, but this is far from over.”

pierre chuckled, clearly enjoying the playful banter. “we’ll see who wins when it’s race time.”

you both lined up your cars, a playful tension in the air. pierre gave you one last teasing look before the race began. "prepare to lose."

you smirked. "we’ll see about that, gasly."

and just like that, the lego race was on.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ jack doohan

jack sat on the floor, a lego instruction manual in one hand and a pile of pieces scattered in front of him. his focus was intense, but there was a hint of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he worked, clearly enjoying the challenge more than he was letting on.

“this thing’s gonna be perfect,” jack said, snapping another piece into place with a satisfying click. “i’ve got it all figured out.”

you glanced over at his progress and raised an eyebrow. “is that so? it looks a little… lopsided to me.”

he shot you a playful glare, but didn’t miss a beat as he continued assembling the lego car. “it’s called ‘character,’” he said, his voice light and teasing. “you wouldn’t understand.”

“‘character,’ huh?” you laughed. “or is it just that you’re rushing to finish first?”

jack smirked, not looking up from his work. “hey, there’s no rushing when you know what you’re doing. it’s all about precision. just wait, this thing’s gonna be a masterpiece.”

you watched him carefully add another piece to his lego car. “sure, sure. but don’t be too surprised when my car beats yours.”

“oh, i’m not worried,” jack said, still grinning. “you might have a head start, but i’ve got the advantage. i’ve got the doohan touch, you know?”

you raised an eyebrow, not entirely convinced. “the ‘doohan touch,’ huh? is that what you’re calling it?”

“yep,” he said confidently, placing the final piece into place. “it’s all about balance and precision, mate. just like a race car.”

you couldn’t help but laugh at how seriously he was taking it. “well, i guess we’ll see how well that ‘doohan touch’ works in a lego race.”

jack leaned back, admiring his finished lego car. “pretty proud of that one. you’ll see, it’s got speed written all over it.”

you shook your head, teasing him. “speed, huh? let’s just see if it can actually stay together long enough to race.”

jack shot you a playful wink. “don’t worry, mate. i’m confident in my work.”

you took a glance at your own car, still a work in progress. “alright, alright. we’ll see who comes out on top when it’s race time.”

“oh, we will,” jack said, leaning back with a grin that told you he was ready to win. “prepare to lose, though.”

you couldn’t help but laugh. “we’ll see about that, jack. we’ll see.”

you both lined up your lego cars, ready for the ultimate showdown. jack gave you one last cheeky grin before you both prepared for the race. the tension was light, fun, and full of that competitive spark.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ nico hülkenberg

nico hülkenberg sat across from you, his expression focused but relaxed. he had a pile of lego pieces in front of him and an instruction manual open. there was no rush in his movements, just a steady, methodical pace, each piece carefully chosen and snapped into place with precision.

“you know, it’s all about patience,” nico said, glancing over at you as he placed another piece on his lego car. “you can’t rush something like this. you’ve got to get it right.”

you leaned back and crossed your arms, watching him with a raised eyebrow. “i’m pretty sure you’re taking this way too seriously, nico.”

he smiled slightly, the corners of his mouth turning up just enough to show he wasn’t offended by the teasing. “not too seriously. just enough to build a car that actually looks good.”

you glanced down at your own lego car, which was… well, definitely not looking as neat as his. “you’re not worried about the competition, then?”

nico chuckled, a low, smooth sound. “i don’t really get worried. just confident in my skills.”

“confident, huh?” you shot him a sly grin. “we’ll see how that works out when it’s race time.”

“oh, i’m not concerned,” he said with that same calm smile, moving his hands skillfully as he added another piece to his car. “i’ve done this before. racing’s all about consistency, right? well, legos aren’t so different.”

you were about to retort, but then you paused. nico had a point—he was approaching the lego build with the same level of focus and consistency that he brought to racing.

“fair enough,” you said after a moment, feeling a little impressed despite yourself. “you really do bring your race mentality into everything, don’t you?”

“it’s a mindset,” he replied with a shrug, his eyes never leaving the pieces in front of him. “whether it’s racing or building legos, it’s about paying attention to the small details and getting the right outcome.”

you leaned in to inspect his progress. the lego car looked sleek and clean, every piece perfectly placed. “not bad, hülkenberg. i’ll give you that.”

“thanks,” he said, looking up at you with a hint of pride. “but i’m just getting started. wait until you see the final result.”

you couldn’t help but laugh. “i’m not sure your lego car will be able to beat mine.”

nico raised an eyebrow, his smile widening just a little. “oh? you’re sure about that?”

“absolutely,” you said, fully confident despite the perfection of his build. “i’m just getting warmed up.”

nico shook his head, still smiling. “well, we’ll see about that. i’m all about the details, but you can’t forget about speed.”

you looked at your lego car again, already planning your next move. “you’re right about that. but don’t get too cocky.”

“don’t worry,” nico said smoothly, clicking the last piece into place with a final, satisfying snap. “i’ve still got a few tricks up my sleeve.”

you looked at his completed lego car—sleek, precise, and definitely built for success. “alright, well, let’s see how that car performs when the race starts.”

nico leaned back, arms crossed, his usual calm but confident demeanor in full force. “i think you’ll be surprised.”

you both lined up your lego cars, the playful rivalry clear in the air. nico’s calm confidence was palpable, and you couldn’t wait to see how it would translate when the race began.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ gabriel bortoleto

gabriel sat across from you, legs crossed, and a pile of lego pieces neatly spread in front of him. his eyes were focused on the instructions in his hands, each movement deliberate as he began to piece the car together. there was a quiet concentration about him, a level of calmness that made it clear this wasn’t his first time doing something like this.

“you know,” gabriel said without looking up, “i’m pretty sure this car is going to be the cleanest build out of all of us.”

you gave him a sideways glance, smirking. “that so? you’re already talking like it’s a done deal.”

he finally looked up, offering a small smile. “it’s not about talking, it’s about getting things done the right way.”

you leaned back and crossed your arms, intrigued. “and how’s that going for you?”

gabriel’s fingers moved swiftly as he snapped another piece into place. “it’s going well,” he replied calmly. “just focusing on one step at a time. no rush.”

you chuckled. “looks like you’re taking this way more seriously than i thought.”

he shrugged lightly. “i don’t do things half-heartedly. if i’m gonna build a lego car, it’s going to be good.”

you took a look at his progress. the car was coming together quickly, each piece fitting perfectly. it was starting to look sleek, just like his racing style—clean and efficient.

“not bad, bortoleto,” you admitted, giving him a nod of approval. “but don’t get too cocky. my car’s going to be faster.”

gabriel raised an eyebrow, a hint of a playful smirk appearing. “faster, huh? we’ll see about that.”

“yep,” you said, leaning forward and studying your own lego car. “just wait until mine’s done.”

gabriel clicked another piece into place, his hands moving quickly and with purpose. “i’m not in a hurry. i’m just building it the right way.”

you tilted your head, genuinely curious. “what makes you so confident?”

he paused for a moment, looking over at you with a slight smile. “i know how to focus on the details. when it’s time to race, it’s the little things that matter.”

you laughed softly. “alright, alright. i see what you mean. but let’s see how that focus works when it comes to beating me.”

gabriel’s expression shifted slightly, a flicker of determination crossing his face. “i don’t underestimate anyone, but i’m confident in how this is going to turn out.”

you watched him for a moment, noticing how calm and controlled he was as he continued working. there was no stress in his movements—just the quiet confidence of someone who knew what they were doing. “well, we’ll see who wins when it’s race time,” you said with a grin.

gabriel finished another section of his car, stepping back to admire it. “it’s all about the details. the perfect combination of speed and precision.”

you laughed. “guess i’ll just have to be faster than you at the finish line.”

gabriel looked at you, a small, amused smile tugging at his lips. “we’ll see about that.”

the two of you lined up your cars, the playful tension between you now palpable. gabriel’s calm confidence stood in stark contrast to your competitive energy, and you both knew the race was about to be more than just a lego challenge.

taglist: @barcapix, @universefcb, @joaosnovia, @ilovebarcaaaa, @levidazai, lmk if you want to be added!

[apatheticsunday]

Dead Tired College AU

AKA "Danny Fenton and Tim Drake go to college at Gotham-U together" headcanon!!

Maybe Danny moved to Gotham to avoid his parents finding out about Phantom and Tim is a part-time college student trying to get his business degree so people stop accusing Bruce Wayne of nepotism after Tim inherited WE. (It absolutely still is, but at least this way Tim is at least somewhat more qualified on paper.)

Anyways, they both took Anthropology as their humanities/pre-requisite elective and they're discussing death rituals, afterlife, etc. Now imagine Danny, officially Half-Dead, and Tim, who's brothers (Jason and Damian) literally died, getting into a heated discussion about spirits.

I also find the idea of them arguing via fucking Canvas (or whatever discussion forum/platform Gotham-U uses) so, so funny.

Imagine it's like 3am;

Danny, insomniac, been awake for 42 hours and popping melatonin gummies like gummy bears, furiously typing: i'm literally THE KING of infinite realms?? i know what i'm talking about, i fucking died

Tim, also been awake for 42 hours, chugging an energy drink, sending a response in 0.2 seconds: Half of Gotham has died at some point. You're not special, dumbass.

Give me "group of scientists losing their minds and climbing over the table to assault one another during scientific conference" vibes!!

And then they get paired up to do a group presentation (and Brad, who they ignore because they're both Experts, so this poor frat dude just slowly sinks into his chair between two sleep-deprived maniacs screaming at each other in the library). But Tim notices something weird about Danny, aside from his insane views on afterlife. Danny... glows? And sometimes doesn't really touch the floor when he walks. They're going to get coffee (so they can keep arguing debating, obviously, not because they enjoy each other's company or anything), and Tim watches as Danny just kind of... floats. Like, he's still walking but he's not really touching the ground.

Danny's hands are also super cold. Tim knows this because he grabbed Danny's hands once or twice (or more) to do... something, idk. But since his hands were so cold, Tim figured he should probably keep holding them; y'know, to warm them up.

And when Tim leans in to ask a question or insult him, Danny's breath comes out almost like a mist. Visibly white, like exhaling a hot breath in winter. Which... what. Holy shit, is his presentation partner actually sort of dead??

Danny, on the other hand, has no idea that Tim doesn't know. He literally said he died? And Tim took it so well, snarked back that he's not special - it was so nice to just feel normal. So he lets his guard down a bit. Maybe isn't as tangible, maybe is a bit more floaty, lets his body temperature drop enough to be comfortable. Doesn't put a whole lot of effort into making himself look so alive (because it's really tiring to pretend to be something you're not) when it's just him and Tim because Tim already knows, right?

They could be friends or they could be more! Whatever floats your boat.

But I could totally see Danny squinting at Tim holding his hand, remembering how Tim bought his favorite coffee, saved him a spot a the library, constantly texted him (because, c'mon, Tim is a bit obsessive and you don't think he'd be texting his new "friend ;)" every minute he has the chance?), and always leaned in super close to "ask a question"...and be like, are we flirting?? Oh, Hells, am I into him??

For plot reasons, Danny could be like, "I can't tell Tim I like him! What if I ruin our friendship? It'll be my secret."

And then, one day, Tim is like, "Hey, I know you're keeping something from me. I think I know what it is." And Danny's like ohshitohfuck. This cumulates into them saying, at the same time, I know you're a ghost and I have a crush on you.

Tim and Danny: *shocked Pikachu face*

Then, Danny's like, "I can't believe I have a crush on a fucking idiot."

[tbaluver]

Husband/ Father Headcanons- The Love And DeepSpace Men

order: xavier x fem! reader, zayne x fem! reader, rafayel x fem! reader, sylus x fem! reader, caleb x fem! reader genre: fluff fluff a/n: hihi lovelies! i apologize that my reqs are coming supa late but i should finish and post them so soon after my school semester ends! i literally have so many in my drafts (╥﹏╥) i usually overthink my reqs which is why i take super long but here's some husband material to feed you all for now i hope ( ◡̀_◡́)ᕤ talk to you all so soon mwah (∩˃o˂∩)♡

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

He loves doing simple things with you like going to the supermarket. He’s read somewhere on the internet that that's what married couples are supposed to do on earth.

Morning routines with Xavier are always so warm and sweet. As you both get ready for the day, he’ll take your hand, carefully adjusting your wedding ring before giving it a soft kiss.

Whenever your newborn baby starts crying just as you’re both about to eat, he always prioritizes you. He’ll reassure you that you can go ahead and eat without him and enjoy your meal, promising you that he’ll take care of the baby.

You and Xavier share a special inside joke just between the two of you about the cute sounds your baby makes. Whether it’s the random babbling or their adorable squeals, always brings a smile and laugh to the both of you.

Xavier loves hearing and seeing your child laugh and will do absolutely anything to make them smile whether it’s through tickling, playing peekaboo, pulling silly faces, or using a high pitched voice

Lots of snuggles with you and your baby. You’d have your little one nestled safely right in the middle of the two of you as you all fall into deep slumber. He especially loves having his child rest on his chest while you snuggle up beside him.

Zayne:

Whenever your baby girl starts walking or crawling, he’ll consistently clean the floors of the house multiple times to keep the floor clean for his baby girl and to also have a clean house in general.

Your daughter has her own little kitchen playset because she loves watching either of you cook. Sometimes, while Zayne’s busy with his patients reports, she’ll run up to him with a plate of her plastic food to share her ‘cooking’ with him. He loves to play along to see her adorable smile, pretending to savor it and tell her how delicious it is.

Whenever it’s a quiet time between the two of you, enjoying each other’s company and doing your own thing, Zayne often reaches over to gently rub his thumb against your wedding ring, often reminiscing about the day you two got married and a small smile curling on his lips.

Anytime you ask him to grab something for you while he’s out, he always goes the extra mile and adds a little something extra for you- and for him as well especially if it’s something sweet. If you ask for the next series of your favorite book you love, he’ll just get the entire collection so you can binge-read it right away. He’ll even pick up a copy of the book you’re currently reading so he can talk about it with you.

Rafayel:

Everyday being married to you feels like a blessing from the gods. He wakes up in the morning to see your beautiful sleeping figure right beside him, wearing the wedding ring on your finger that ties you both together forever. Rafayel always greets you with something cheesy when you wake up like, “Hello my beautiful wife.” with a big smile on his face.

Rafayel flirts with you as if you haven’t been married for a couple years now and often says “I love you” with any chance he gets. “Heyy my lovely gorgeous wife, before you come home, do ya think you can pick me up some extra brushes? I think our little glub glubs hid them again...oh and by the way I love you!”

He always wears his ring. He can’t help but fidget with the ring whenever he starts to miss you, smiling as thinks about the day you both exchanged your vows.

After a long day at work, you can always find your lemurian children running up to greet you with your husband. Sometimes they like to show off their artwork they’ve all made together and most of the time it’s all just for you.

However he can always tell when you’re exhausted and drained, so he’ll gently excuse the kids, assuring them you’ll spend time with them later. For now he’s happy to entertain the children so you can get your rest. He’ll make up a random activity to keep the children busy so he can do small things for you like running a bath or preparing some meals for you

Sylus:

Anytime Sylus and his baby girl are shopping, he’ll always ask her what she wants or what she prefers. He treats her like a princess just like her mommy.

“hmm....pink! no, red!...pink!”

“how about....we get both dear?”

and there’s something so adorable seeing her so happy that makes him feel so warm and fuzzy inside.

Sylus does not mind in any timeline or universe if you’re comfortable being provided for. He can afford it and nothing can hurt his card even if you tried.

As years go by, he’ll make sure your wedding ring isn’t getting worn out or has any chips in it. Not that it would ever get worn off from its high quality. If it does have any problems, he’s quick to get it fixed, making sure that your ring will always shine with you.

Before you both unwind for the night, he’ll gently kiss the back of your hand where your wedding ring rests, before slowly slipping it off for the night.

Anytime you’re home from a long day of work, he’s already outside waiting for you to take out things in your car so you don’t have to carry anything.

After a long shift, you can always come home to find a warm dinner waiting for you with your favorite drink. The house would be clean and your baby girl is already tucked in. He’ll sit by you at the dining table, a glass in his hand, sharing stories about his day or simply listening as you tell him about yours.

Caleb:

Caleb absolutely treasures being a father. He became the father that he wished he had, present and involved in every moment. Whether it’s cheering from the sidelines at their games or helping with their homework ( without yelling and making them cry at the kitchen table ), or just listening when they need to talk, he’s always there for his kids. He’s just as devoted to you, always making sure you feel as supported and loved.

Caleb is the type of husband that would wake up early or stay up late to make sure your lunch is ready for work the next day. He knows exactly how you like your meals, carefully preparing each dish and packing it with everything you need. He does the same for his kids, packing their lunch boxes the night before with their favorite snacks and an apple.

Playtime is a must with his kids. He believes in letting his kids experience the joy of childhood to its fullest. The living room is always filled with the sound of his laughter as he lifts them high into the air, making airplane noises or chasing them around the house from their made-up games. He would also make sure to keep track of their growth, marking their heights on the wall.

Once all the kids are tucked in bed and actually asleep, he’ll swoop you in with a kiss. His kisses were always so hungry and sweet and he seriously cannot get enough of you, always wanting more.

“We have food at home” type of father but your kids never mind because he always cooks them whatever they’re craving. His home cooked meals always HIT. The house would be filled with delicious smells that make everyone feel right at home. His love is always served in each and every dish that makes his cooking way more special than going out to eat.

Your home is filled with many memories of your marriage but Caleb has a special place for his favorites. He keeps them up in your shared bedroom so when he wakes up beside you with the cool metal ring around his finger is a reminder that brings him back into reality that he’s married to the love of his life and there is always an escape from his nightmares.

[rhaenyraeri]

Co-Star Tensions - Jack O’Connell

based off this behind the scenes picture hehe

minors dni!! 18+ only!!

Part 1, Part 2, Interlude, Part 3

Summary: You and your costars were called back for some reshoots, and one night after a long day of filming, something unexpected happens.

Pairing: Jack O’Connell x fem!Reader (and technically Remmick x fem!Reader?)

Warnings: it is filth y’all, oral (m receiving), thigh riding, there be’est role play involved, some swearing, i’m not great at writing smut unfortunately

Note: this is an rpf (real person fic) so i encourage that if you don’t like that, please keep scrolling. i’ve never wrote one of these before but i felt compelled to lol. also if there are any mistakes pls let me know 🫶

The tension could, almost literally, be cut with a knife on the set. Everyone could tell, but no one would say it. They wouldn’t speak about how you and Jack had scenes just barely near each other, but you both gravitated closer. No one would dare mention how hard you locked in on him when filming the scene with vampire Burt, how he sat in the rocking chair covered in fake blood.. there was something about it. Something, dare you say, carnal, was awakening in you.

The nights you yearned to touch him, yearned to just have your hands on him, sexually or not. The nights just hoping he felt the same way. Just watching him in his element, such a talented actor and great man, having the honor to work alongside him. He just had that charm about him, and that charm resonated into Remmick. You wanted him, and you wanted Remmick. Two birds, one stone.

There were just a few nights of filming left, and the two of you had spoken earlier in the day about how sad it was to say goodbye to a wonderful cast and to people you’d grown to call friends. Some scenes needed some touch ups, and others need reshoots due to new ideas flourishing from the director.

—————

Walking past the set to your makeup artist’s camper, you noticed a figure in the dark. Leaned back in the rocking chair, in the corner of the darkened room used for a reshoot earlier that day. The light in the corner cast a slight shadow onto the figure and you stopped to get a better look. It was Jack, still dressed in the bloody Remmick costume from the scene filmed earlier with Joan and Burt. The way he looked at you after ran chills up your spine. He caught you staring from the sidelines of the crew. Tensions were already high due to your character and Jack’s being romantic partners, and having to say filthy shit to each other had you reeling, yearning for it to have meaning behind it.

“Hey baby,” he spoke, that thick southern drawl that Remmick had came out. Your mouth dropped slightly, your hands holding your belongings slowly lowering. He was staring right at you, that was meant for you. He slowly began rocking, eyes never leaving you. “You gonna come on over here, darlin’? I’ve been waitin’ for you.”

Oh, what the southern drawl did to you. You didn’t think it’d corral you into him like this but it did. That thick accent made you swoon, in and out of character. Seeing him calling out to you, and you alone, warmed you up.

“Come on now, lass. You just gonna leave ol’ Rem hangin’?”

Ah. So this is how he’s gonna be. Jack wants you, and he’s going to do it in true vampiric Remmick nature. He’s luring you in.

Realizing you’d better play the part, you close your eyes and get into character. You dropped your items and starting making your way to him.

“There she is… there’s my girl. I’ve missed you,” shaking his head slightly, still rocking in the chair. Your feet clicked against the concrete floor almost antagonizingly slow, your eyes never left his, and you felt your body heat up. Crossing onto the wood, the change of energy set the mood. There he was, still covered in that fake blood from earlier, dripping right over his face and down his neck. The lights of the set were all either off or dim, save for this one hanging overhead. Just enough to hit him like a spotlight.

“I’m sorry, Remmy. I didn’t mean to make you wait on me. Are you upset at me, baby?,” you spoke to him. You could watch as those words made every hair on him stand up, the gulp traveled down his throat, and his hand gripped the armrest. His foot started to shake a little. You put on those big puppy dog eyes your character has when she looks at her lover. Slowly, you stepped closer and closer to him, walking behind the chair and putting your hands on his shoulders. You leaned down to his neck, right beside his ear and said, “I’m here now, baby. Did you need somethin’?”

“I just missed you, darlin’. Missed your touch, your voice… your face. Lord, that face of yours,” he admired as a hand reach beside him and held your cheek. The tension you two had all lead up to this moment. You took your hand and ran it up his arm and over his that was placed on your face, locking your fingers into his. Taking your other hand off of his shoulder, you walked in front of him, and used your free hand to touch his face in return.

“You’ve made a mess, Rem. But you look just as handsome as always.”

“Nah, darlin’, this ain’t no mess. A mess is what you’ve made me into, and I think you know just how to clean it up.”

Did you? Did he want you to touch him? Fuck him? Be with him? This is all new to you, this role playing thing. Not to mention it being with a man you’ve admired for so long, and just hoped that one day you’d be able to have him this way. This was your chance to finally have what you wished for.

Your eyes left his, scanning down his body in that outfit that made you an unstable wreck, and stopped at his pants. Smirking, you nodded, and stood between his now open legs. He took his free hand and grabbed your waist, bringing you closer to him. His body was practically calling out to you, you could feel how badly he wanted you, and he could feel you the same way. You bit your lip, and got on your knees.

“Oh, Rem. You got this worked up over me? I can’t just let you suffer, can I, my love?”

He gulped hard, biting his lip and hardening his lock on you.

“Nah, I don’t think that’d be very kind of you.”

“I didn’t think it would.”

Your hand left his face, running down his neck, chest, then stomach, and finally ending at his suspenders and pants. Your fingers got to work fast on his buckles and buttons, as you wanted him more than you could imagine. You wanted to taste him. You were going to. That was certain between the two of you.

Pulling off his pants and underwear in one movement, they fell to his ankles. He was hard for you. Thinking about how you walked on the set each day, head held so high and you were so passionate about your work. So passionate about the project.. about your characters. About him, he wished.

You kissed his tip, making sure to keep that eye contact. A guttural moan left him and you felt your heart flutter with pride, excitement, and admiration for the man in front of you. Your right hand came down to wrap around him, moving it up slowly, taking in what you’re about to do to him. Stroking him for a few more moments, you grew impatient. You wanted the taste of him, and you wanted the feeling of having the man you’ve pined over for months in you finally. Leaning back down, you opened your mouth and ran your tongue down the length of his dick. Stopping at the top after a few times of going up and down, you sucked, letting your tongue roam around him. You hummed against him, the sensation making him let another low, sexy moan out. Your head began to bob up and down, and your cheeks hollowed out as you went as far as you could. Your eyes closed, humming as you sucked on him. You felt his hand trace your jaw and entangle itself into your hair, grabbing a loose fist full of it and guiding you.

Deciding it was enough, he used his grip on your hair to pull you off him, and got a good look at your face. Your eyes filled with lust met his eyes, matching the same level of desire that you had.

“Stand up, I want you to try somethin’ out for me,” he said, breath shaky, as he ran his hands up your costume dress, and pulled your underwear down, “good, now we’re even.”

He put a hand on your waist, guiding you down to his thigh, using his grip to rock you back and forth over it. You grabbed his shoulder with one hand, and the top of the chair with other, now guiding yourself across with his assistance still being used.

“Oh, yeah. You like that, huh? Grindin’ on my thigh all desperate like. ‘Cause that’s what you are, desperate, right?” That drawl invoked a loud and, like he said, desperate moan from you, right into his ear. The hand on his shoulder now gripped his hair, holding him closer to you.

“I saw you watching me from the sidelines. You wanted me so bad, now you’ve got me. This is what you wanted, right? You’ve made me a damn mess, girl.”

His façade as Remmick was now gone, and it was his pure intentions coming out of him. That accent change damn near made you release then and there, but you were too lost in the feeling of his warm thigh against your pussy as you took out your sexual yearning on it. His other hand ran between your body and his, rubbing your clit, and he took his fingers to his mouth. He made sure to get your eyes to look into his as he savored your arousal. The fake blood mixed into his mouth a little as he finally got a taste of the beauty before him.

“You couldn’t be the only one that got a little taste, huh, darling?”

That was enough to get you off, and you came hard onto him. His moans from seeing you getting yourself off to a part of him that wasn’t even sexual filled your ears as you moaned into his ear, wrapping your arms around his neck as you came down from your high. You stayed like this for a few minutes until you both calmed down. You raised up, running a hand over his chest before placing it around his heart.

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve wanted you. Not even just like this, you know? You’re special, you’re beautiful. Absolutely perfect. D’you want to go out sometime? Properly get to hang out?”

You smiled, nodding along with the idea.

“I’d love to. I hoped for so damn long that you felt that way, too, you handsome devil.”

“Handsome vampire, get it right.”

You giggled, leaning in to give him a kiss.

“Oh, and for future reference, just know that was hot as fuck.”

“Duly noted, love.”

[meganegatari]

i was busy having a mental breakdown only i saw this art and just about creamed my pj pantaloons so i needed to do something about that!!!!! cait i love you my beautiful princess with a couple disorders but that should be me RAHHH hi vi nation i have something for yall (also written in like 2 seconds be nice)

nsfw drabble—overstimming vi. 18+ content. sub!vi, fingering, overstimulation, squirting, brief mention of masturbation, vi body hair mention (you already KNOWWW) + aftercare.

orgasms climbing high into the double digits—yet you still weren't done with her. actually far from it, you felt like pushing her buttons, both literally and figuratively.

vi is spent, so limp and exhausted laying next to you, powdery blues begging for your mercy. but you didn't falter. you sat on your knees to the fiery haired woman's side, your fingers—coated with her slick from previous rounds—prancing upon her defined abs. you traced from under her ribcage, to each individual muscle on her torso, down to the wispy strands of magenta hair of her happy trail increasing in thickness until you reached the vermillion tangle resting on her mound, but before you could part her swollen lips once more, you heard her wince from above.

“fuck babe— s'too much, im- hahh, i dunno how much more…” she trails off, her whiny voice music to your ears, the sweetest candy to your sadistic soul.

her eyelids fluttered open while her chest heaved and head lolled against the pillow underneath—strings of hair stuck to her forehead. her face was shiny, with sweat or even tears, it made her shimmer. the apples of her cheeks were as crimson as prime picking season, a stark contrast from the vulgar mess between her trembling thighs.

her hips twitch—the smallest jerk upward—paired with a woeful plea from her clenched jaw, she needed you again. enough time had passed, and you were ready to give her everything you had.

“one more?” you quip at her, honeyed voice deepening her blush.

with that, she manages a brisk nod.

and like so, that was your cue to resume your descent.

you watch her like a hawk, grazing her skin with an agonizing feather-light touch, revel in how her breathing visibly quickens—gods this sexual intimacy was otherworldly.

tattooed biceps rise to shield her face, arms crossing and settling atop her eyes, but you still had a good view.

your stare unmoving, you skip down to tease her inner thighs, kneading the flesh lovingly—playing with the webs of essence that decorated her.

a whine fills the air, she was growing impatient.

you comply, finally moving your hand up to where she needs you most, you part her and break your line of sight away from her face to marvel at how she sucks your middle two digits in, her back arching.

she lets out a breathy moan—an unguarded sound that makes your own core ache, and you find her thumping clit and press on the bud with your thumb.

you see her mouth fall open, her shallow heaves quickly turning into animalistic pants, the release was bubbling inside her already.

you begin to circle her bundle of nerves gently, your two digits simultaneously pumping in and out of her quivering walls—her sounds only growing more and more lewd. this was pornographic, but the way she didn't hold back flipped a switch inside you.

you press down harder, then flick her swollen clit up and down until she jolts, your assault on her g-spot inside causing spurts of pearlescent cum to land on your hard at work forearm.

you were so mesmerized, so focused, you could even call it entranced by her. you had to fight the urge to shove your free hand down your own undergarments and soothe the build up there but you resisted, this was about her.

her whimpers and groans came in time with your rhythmic, regular thrusts, you felt her pussy spasming as another orgasm rushed through her, overtaking her entirely.

the sight, the syrupy squelching sounds and the smell of her sex drove you insane.

you continue to fuck her all the way through the high, until her eyes were welling up with tears and her knuckles lost their color from how hard she was gripping at everything around her—her hair, the sheets, you.

when it got too much, she squirmed away from you instinctively, and you obeyed to not hurt her. you'd never do so.

“you're so fucking hot vi, fuck—the things you do to me…” you mutter under your breath, taking in the sight of her fucked out form. she really was ethereal.

you put your fingers in your mouth to clean up, sighing at her sweetness.

she continued to lay there before you, only this time with a faint smile on her pretty lips.

her eyes were closed, and she looked so peaceful. before she fell asleep you dashed to get a damp washcloth and very gingerly wiped up the remnants of her pleasure from her creamy skin, grinning all the while.

when you were done, you tossed it to the side and joined her horizontally, nuzzling into her embrace.

deciding to make a joke, you try, “what do you say, one more?”

luckily you're met with a belly laugh from your love, and a playful shove to your shoulder.

“not a chance. next time it's your turn, i'll make you cum until you cry.”

taglist: @vifilms @ch6douin @aouiaa @sapphic-ovaries @astro-cat2 @paqerings @littlefallenangel111 @srooch @sinfulprayerss @lvlymicha @sunnsh1ne @pinkcwake @marsworlddd @caszzine @saturnsdrafts @mascdom @ashaynep @angelynn-nicole @ellabbss @aylabv02108 @lonelyfooryouonly @melsmunch @e11williamsgf @imdrowningindespair @spncrrdlvr @cheyisagirlkisser @thatgyalfisher @eroselless @i-dont-know-00 @ithinkimfuckincrazy @liaponderstings @lesbian-useless @slutzandcuckz @finalgirllx

[bunni-v1]

Going to bed rn but… thinking about how artists depict pv’s soul jam as an erogenous zone…

MDNI

The souljam is the most important part of a cookie, it’s what separates them from a lifeless desert and a living creature. It’s their soul, their very being, and most cookies aren’t out in the open because it’s not safe for them. Pure Vanilla and Shadow Milk has his out on full display, like a thing of pride. He’s more than capable of defending it, so why not?

That doesn’t mean it isn’t sensitive, though. The souljam, when touched directly, has a very serious physical affect on its cookie. Be that with intent to harm or not, if a cookie was able to get close enough to either of them to touch the souljam it would be quite the sight.

To get so close to him, in a romantic sense, shows a lot of trust. His souljam is very very sensitive to both touch and intent, so if he’s allowing you to touch it, it’s a huge honor.

For Pure Vanilla, it’s not something he allows you to do early on, but after a while of gaining trust and learning how to love one another. It takes him some time, but once he finally feels comfortable he’ll allow you to touch his souljam.

It’s a very intimate ordeal, and he sets it up to be such. He’s quite literally allowing you to touch his soul, he is aware of the weight of the situation, and as such he wants it to feel important.

The two of you face each other on his bed, the dim light of the candles illuminating your rapidly warming figures. The gentle yellow glow glints off his souljam, temping you to reach out and touch it, but you hold yourself back. He is nervous, you can tell in the way his hands shake as he holds yours. You try to calm him by squeezing his fingers, and he gives you an uneasy smile.

You want to tell him that he doesn’t have to do this, that you understand, but the stubborn furrow of his brows tells you not to say anything. He had already made up his mind, there was no wavering his resolve. So you give him all the time he needs, and when he is ready, he brings your fingers to his lips. He gives each tip a soft kiss, as if blessing them with his approval, then he guides your hands down right before his souljam.

You can feel a pull to it, as if he was begging you to touch it, but you still hesitate. Your hands curl in on themselves for a moment before reaching out and resting on the golden crest which houses it. You see him swallow, only able to imagine how he might feel in this moment. Your trace your fingers along the gold rimmed edge, trembling for a moment before finally you press a careful finger against the smooth surface.

It strikes you as odd that it’s warm, you expect it to feel cold, but it was heated beneath your touch. You press another finger to it, carefully rubbing over it with intrigue. Pure Vanilla shudders, the effect immediate. You don’t stop, now cupping it in your palm. You can nearly feel appreciation through it, and you see it clearly on his face. Brows scrunching up and cheeks turning a deep red, his breath is already ragged too.

You rub your thumb over him and he grabs at your hips, grounding himself. You nearly stop, feeling bad for how much this seemed to get to him, but he opens his eyes and gives you the most lustful stare beneath heavy lashes. You’ve never seen such a look on his face, but you can’t help but find it beautiful.

You give him what he wants, pressing him into a deep kiss as your other hand cups the other side of him. You continue your slow strokes as you make out with him, tongues clashing desperately against each other. You can tell his mind is foggy from how slow he reacts to your challenges, and the little moans that he sighs into your mouth. You pick up the pace of the stroking, using your whole hand to service him.

It gets him huffing, unable to keep up with the pleasure and your mouth. You allow him the grace of leaning against your shoulder, instead of forcing his mind to split two ways. His hands are digging into your sides, pressing you as close as he can get you. It’s like he can’t get enough of it, and he pulls you onto his lap pressing his face into your shoulder.

It’s harder to play with the souljam like this, but when he begins to rock his hips up into you, you find you don’t care. You match the pace of your fingers with the pace of his thrusts, which he figures out quickly and abuses for his own use. Speeding up enough to have your head lulling back as you continue stroking him like your life depended on it.

He falls back into the mattress after a moment, giving you access to ride him through his pleasure. Your fingers massage the warm thing as your hips move in time, eyes appreciating the sight of him falling apart beneath you. It was rare you got to take care of him like this, so you wanted to savor the sight of his screwed up face. Each thrust is followed by a broken moan, hands grabbing at you as if that might make things easier on him.

As you watch him, feel what makes him who he is, a thought crosses your mind. Depraved, and maybe crossing a line, but you had to try. You lean down over him, feeling his eyes squint on you in confusion when you remove your hands from his souljam. It doesn’t last long, your lips pressing against the jam. He gasps, fingers curling into your hair - not pulling, just encouraging you to continue.

Naturally, you do, kissing him slowly. You can feel it heat up with each kiss, which only encourages you to continue. Another thought pops up, just as bad as the last, but Pure Vanilla has been nothing if not receptive. You’re sure he won’t mind if you get a little taste. So, you open your mouth, locking eyes with him, and lick a slow stripe across the rounded surface.

He groans in a way you’d never heard, pressing his hips into yours with a newfound desperation. You squeal when he flips you over, giving you a disapproving frown. Seems that was a little too much, but he couldn’t be too mad, not when he quickly pushes your clothes aside and sinks himself inside you. Leaning over you, burying his face into your neck again, he begins without any fanfare.

The pace is faster than usual, hips meeting yours eagerly. Each thrust is deep, dragging against your walls deliciously. Your fingers find his souljam, continuing their previous ministrations, and he groans again. It’s so unlike him, all of it, but you like it. It’s a new side of him that he’s trusting you with, you can only hope to see more in the future.

When he comes undone, it is the loudest cry you’d ever heard from him. Broken and desperate, cracking through the quiet of his quarters like lightning. His body trembling in your grasp like the aftershock, but his hands remain firm and strong against your dough. He fills you up with warm sticky goodness, reminiscent of the heat of his souljam. It feels nice, to be so surrounded by him, and you know he feels the same too.

You press gentle kisses to the side of his face, calming him from his high. He returns to earthbread slowly, chest heaving against yours with effort. When he is coherent again, he gives you a smile — warm and typical from him. Your sweet Vanilla coming back to you with all the love in his eyes.

“I might have gotten carried away,” He admits shyly.

You smile, “I don’t mind. It was nice.”

He hums, nodding in agreement. His souljam is hot between your bodies, warming you further where it rests atop your clothes. When he pulls away he kisses your cheek, taking a moment to admire you before leaning back with a satisfied smile.

“We should do that more often,” You mumble from your spot in the sheets.

You can’t see his face from your position, but you don’t need to when he pats your thigh, “I agree. Much more often.”

[of-many-fandomss]

Drinks and Jackets

pairing: lando norris x reader

summary: lando comes home drunk and doesn’t recognize you, and you can’t help but swoon at the devotion your boyfriend has for you

warnings: drinking, slight cursing

word count: 0.9k

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

A long sigh left Lando’s lips as he pushed his bedroom door open, stumbling slightly in his steps as he did so, needing to cling onto the door frame for support so he didn’t go flying face first into the carpeted floor of his bedroom.

After inhaling a deep breath from his nose- the man's eyebrows furrowed in concentration- he pushed off of the frame and attempted to shrug his jacket off of his shoulders. Which only ended in him banging into the wall next to his bed with a small, “Ow,”.

“Lan?” A soft voice rang through the darkness of the room after the thud was emitted.

Norris jumped at least a foot into the air with a small, high pitched squeal of surprise, whipping around with wide eyes just in time to see a figure turn on the lamp beside the bed.

You were tiredly rubbing at your eyes, pushed up on one elbow as you looked at him from across the room, imminently taking note of his wide eyes and tousled hair. Not to mention the fact that he only had one arm through the sleeve of his jacket.

Slight amusement crept onto your features when you realized you had startled him, though a hint of guilt kept you from openly laughing as you gently asked, “Are you alright?” Sleep lacing your tone.

The wide eyes of Lando didn’t shrink. In fact, they only seemed to widen as he looked at you as if you had suddenly grown two heads right before his very eyes, “Who are you?” He hissed, panic and confusion seizing his tone.

At his words, all of the exhaust suddenly disappeared from your body and you finally pushed yourself to fully be sitting up, now wide awake and alert, “What-”

You didn’t even get to finish voicing your bewilderment before Lando- literally- stumbled over his own feet to reach the opposite side of the bed you were sitting on, “That’s my girlfriend's spot!” He exclaimed, eyes still wide as he stared at you.

Your eyebrows drew downwards, “I know, it-”

“Listen, I’m warning you lady, you need to get out of here before she gets back.” He was nodding along to his own words. While he clearly thought he was looking very serious- and maybe even threatening- it was difficult to even consider him whilst he looked hilarious. Clearly drunk and jacket half hanging off of him.

And just like that, the mumsnet flickered back inside of you and a slow grin slowly lifted the corners of your lips, “Is that so?” You asked, playing along when you realized just how drunk he was.

Lando nodded again, “Yeah, and she could kick your ass.” He said it so matter of factly with his chin raised, clear pride laying in his words, even as wasted as he currently was.

Unable to hold it back anymore, you let the first chuckle slip out of your lips as you pushed yourself to your knees and made your way over to the other side of the bed until you were in front of him at eye level.

You reached out and hooked your arms around his neck, tilting your head to the side as you gazed at him lovingly, “And what if I wanted to kiss you right now?” You teased.

Just as the brunette man's eyes widened in a panic and he looked as though he was going to move to swat you away, he froze, blinking once. Twice. Three times at you.

“Love?” He looked like a little, lost puppy dog when he tilted his head to the side, the first bit of recognition flaring through his eyes when he finally realized that it was you in front of him, not some random girl sleeping in his bed.

“You had fun with Carlos and Danny, I take it.” You joked, subconsciously toying with his curls.

“Oh, love, I missed you so much.” Lando gushed suddenly, face automatically becoming alight and housing a lovesick expression.

A laugh escaped your lips as the man wrapped his arms around your center and brought you both flying down onto the mattress before holding you close, his eyes already shutting as he let out a hum of content.

You chuckled, watching as he snuggled closer to you, inhaling the scent of your hair with his eyes still squeezed shut.

Gently, you maneuvered the two of you so that his head was resting against your chest and you were the one cradling him. He let you do so without an ounce of argument, the soft smile still sitting on his lips as he held you close.

Despite the fact that his jacket was still only half off of him and he was yet to change out of his clothes that he was in to go out, you knew from past experience that there was nothing on earth that could pull Lando off of you at that moment. Even to get fully ready for bed.

So, instead, you held him close, running your fingers through his hair after flicking off of the lamp light and waited for your boy to fall asleep.

“I love you,” The words were mumbled against your old sleep shirt with the man himself being halfway to sleep.

“I love you too, Lan.” You dipped your head to place a lingering kiss on the man's forehead, “So much.”

[kthologue]

Dying thinking about gojo literally pinning and hardcore simping for reader, literally showering reader in praise, flattery and gifts because he no longer gives a damn about hiding his feelings, almost proposing to reader whenever he can and reader's just... completely clueless about it💀 and she thinks it's just gojo being friendly. Poor man would be absolutely devastated when he goes one day "[name] i'm in love with you" and she just goes "me too, i love all my friends!" 💀

she loves me, she loves me not! — gojo satoru x fem!reader

contents. fluff, lovesick!gojo (what’s new), highschool!gojo, he’s pathetic but in love your honor, oblivious!reader, ooc gojo i got carried away soz

notes. anon, when i first read your ask i literally started giggling and kicking my feet. that. is. so. gojo coded.

“please reject gojo and put him out of his misery,” utahime implored, taking hold of both of your hands. you think she’s asking, no, begging you to. beside her, shoko nods vigorously. 

“but why?” you furrow your eyebrows, perplexed by their sudden request. “i can’t reject someone who doesn’t like me.”

shoko giggles at your comment. her laughter only wanes when she notices the dead serious look on your face. “... you seriously have no idea what we’re talking about?”

“not really,” you shrug, criss-crossing your legs to find some comfort on the hard wooden floor in shoko’s small dorm. it was late, past midnight, and the three of you had a shared mission tomorrow, but for some reason your two friends managed to rope you into their drinking circle.

utahime and shoko exchanged a significant glance, their unspoken communication raising your curiosity. utahime takes a long sip of her beer. 

“hopeless. they’re both hopeless,” your short haired brunette friend lamented, pinching her nose bridge. it leaves a faint pink mark.

intrigued, you lean in closer towards the two, “care to elaborate?”

“you’ve never once questioned satoru’s borderline inappropriate behavior?” shoko asks you earnestly. you ponder for a moment, trying to recall any moments in the two years you’ve known the snow-haired boy.

“satoru is satoru…” you mumble, shaking your head in denial. 

utahime’s eyes bug comically. she slams her can of beer harshly on the ground. you wince at the loud noise of the metallic can hitting the floor.

“you’re kidding. even i can see through that jerk!” utahime’s black pigtails sway wildly. 

“[name], how about what happened in shinjuku last week on our day off?” shoko quietly reminds you of last weekend when the two of you along with satoru and suguru decided to empty your pockets in one of tokyo’s largest entertainment wards. 

utahime’s head whips back and forth from her best friend to you, “eh? what happened?!”

from behind the dressing room curtain, you voiced your concerns, “shoko, i don't think we can afford designer clothes on our student budget.” the cream-colored silk dress you wore clung to your body, its price tag undoubtedly surpassing a year's worth of your student earnings.

“don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” shoko’s voice carried a knowing smile. “just come out and show me the dress!” you think satoru’s carefree attitude is rubbing off on her.

with a nervous sigh, you emerged from the dressing room. the dress fit like a glove, accentuating your body in just the right places.

bright flashes from shoko's phone startled you, and she chuckled deviously while rapidly typing. she tossed her phone onto a luxurious cushion, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of exposure.

“you look so sexy. even better than the model.” she gives you two thumbs up, eyes roaming your figure. you feel flushed at her praise.

“as flattered as i am, there’s no way i can afford this,” you look down at the dress, lips downturned. “i’d be in debt for life.”

“no need to worry,” shoko winked, leaving you confused. given that her income was similar to yours, it didn't make sense for her to be able to even dream of shopping designer.

a soft thud interrupted your conversation. you turn around to see a blue lollipop rolling on the expensive carpeting of the store.

“suguru, are my eyes deceiving me or is that an angel?”  satoru's mouth is wide open as he shamelessly checks you out. he takes one of his hands and places it over his heart, gripping the fabric of his white shirt. the windbreaker he is wearing rustles at his dramatic movement.

“i think… i’m experiencing a heart attack! shoko help!” he kneels in the middle of the store dramatically. shoko shares an unamused look with suguru. the pair nod before simultaneously kicking satoru.

during all of the commotion, you stand awkwardly in the million yen dress. 

“satoru, are you okay?” you watch him take the two blows from your friends, concern evident in your voice. he grunts softly before gently taking ahold of your hand.

“no,” he croaks with a playful glint in his eye. “i’m wounded and there’s only one way to fix it.”

you look at him, your gaze heavy with concern.

“i’m afraid you’ll have to kiss me for the pain to go away.” he added, blinking at you expectantly with his blue eyes.

 you lightly shove him away from you. “you’re an idiot.” satoru laughs loudly.

“that’s what love does to a man.”

“yeah, yeah. i’m going to change out of this dress, don’t get into any more trouble while i’m gone.” 

 satoru’s grip on your hand strengthens, halting your actions.

“how much?”

“excuse me?”

“the dress. how much for it?” he stands up to his full height, reminding you of the obvious height difference between the two of you. 

you're at loss for words. gojo was crazy, but definitely not crazy enough to spend a million yen on a silly dress.

shoko happily chimes into the conversation. “one million yen. it’ll be two million yen with the rest of my purchases though!” 

suguru’s calm demeanor is replaced with shock. the black haired male’s jaw drops, “two million– satoru, you’re seriously not thinking about–”

“hah? who said i’m paying for your stuff?” gojo makes an ugly face at shoko.

she raises her hands innocently, “it’s not my fault the dresses come in a set. if you want to see your beloved [name] in that dress you’ll have to pay for mine as well.”

you watch shoko and satoru engage into a silent argument. the tension in the fitting room section is so thick, you think it’ll take a special grade weapon to slice through it.

trying to alleviate the mood you tell gojo, “satoru, you really don’t have to–”

“i’m buying you that dress.” 

“o-okay.” 

half an hour later, satoru happily strolls out of the store with an arm around your shoulder like he’d just won the lottery.

perhaps gojo is just naturally flirty, you had tried to reason to shoko and utahime.

it’s been a week since the eye-opening conversation with the two and you’ve found yourself on cleaning duty with said snow-haired boy. it was a miracle that satoru even showed up. he had a tendency to skip his turns, often resulting in a long lecture from yaga.

as the two of you worked silently in the empty classroom, you couldn't help but admire the setting sun. its golden rays painted the sky with hues of pink and orange, casting a warm glow over everything. unknowingly, while you gazed at the sky, gojo's gaze was firmly fixed on you.

breaking the silence, he asked, "have you ever thought about getting married?"

his question caught you off guard, causing you to momentarily pause from wiping the windows.

“not really,” you replied, biting your lip gently. “unless my family decides to arrange a marriage. you know how unforgiving the world of jujutsu sorcery is.”

gojo's grip on the broom tightened, his eyes locking onto yours with a newfound intensity.

"we should get married y'know," he blurted out.

the piece of cloth you were using slipped from your hand in shock. surely, he couldn't mean what he was saying. after all, the two of you were only second years.

“what?”

“i’m saying i think i’m in love with you.”

“oh.” 

silence engulfs the room once more before a soft giggle escapes your lips.

satoru can only watch, entranced.

“that’s good to hear! i love you too– and suguru and shoko! perhaps the four of us should all just get married.” you chuckle into your hand.

satoru can't help but stare at your hand in envy. perhaps if he were the palm of your hand, he’d be able to feel the touch of your lips.

but he couldn’t. he was cursed as a man with an overpowered innate technique, and despite it all he couldn’t even gain the one thing he desired. gojo satoru watched you, eyes filled with a mixture of longing and defeat.

his devastation does not go unnoticed by you.

you were under the impression that he was grumpy because yaga had forced him into cleaning with you.

"cheer up, satoru! if we finish early enough," you continue, your tone highspirited, "we can go to the new crepe shop that opened last week. my treat!" you winked, and that immediately caught his attention.

“like a date?” his eyes sparkled with hope.

you shrug, a smile on your face. “i suppose if you look at it from a certain perspective…”

“great, it’s a date!” 

good things come to those who wait, satoru thinks, humming happily as he starts to sweep the room at an inhumane pace.

maybe in ten years time the two of you will be happily married with eight kids, he smiles to himself.

[ari-sa]

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻

roommate!geto x reader. part three

cw: mdni. smut, a little bit of breeding, oral (f!receiving)

a/n: part three! thank you all so much for the support on the first two parts!!<3

this will probably have one more part but i wanna try to make it as more of an actual drabble/fic rather than this headcannon format!

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻

roommate!geto who you go looking for at 3am when you’ve had a nightmare.

roommate!geto who says “you alright baby?” when he sees your tall, slender figure at his door-

as you walk up to him, teary eyed in your cute sleep shorts and tank top, he opens up his blanket to welcome you in. he sleeps only in his underwear?

he kisses your temple as you get into bed before covering you both with the blankets and taking his spot behind you. does everyone's roommate care so much about them?

roommate!geto who presses his hard on against your back while he cuddles you <3

roommate!geto who spoons you all night and peppers open mouthed kisses down your neck and shoulders~

roommate!geto who’s touch you lean into because it feels so genuine and sincere~

roommate!geto who starts fondling your boobs until he’s on top of you kissing you-

you finally get to feel his tongue piercing when he swipes his tongue against yours.

he slowly works his way down as he’s undressing you- worshipping your body as he uncovers it. littering your body with love marks. how long has he waited for this moment?!

roommate!geto who’s hands roam your body while he eats out your pretty pussy~

you let out a moan when you feel the cold metal of his tongue and lip piercings against your sensitive clit.

roommate!geto who literally whimpers when you say “please sugu, I need you”

roommate!geto who’s favourite position is missionary because he loves watching how your facial expressions change with every thrust

“shit baby, this pussy was made for me- you’re taking me so well”

roommate!geto who goes crazy when you scratch your nails into his back~

roommate!geto who's thrusts become so animalistic and rough. all he can think about is your abused cunt overflowing with his load. you'll finally be his~

roommate!geto who’s face flushes when he tells you he loves you as he stuffs you full of his cum~ “fuckkkk, I love you so much baby”