#was expecting it to be more intense for some reason

[enviedear]

LOVING ALONE IS WHAT YOU MAKE IT

₊ ⊹ JASON TODD

🧸ྀི REQUEST | jason having (what he thinks is) an unrequited crush

CW | lovesick!jason with issues accepting love, just-a-buncha fluff. 1.6k words. 🎧ྀི

your eyes flicker to your window for the hundredth time in ten minutes. there's an attempt at forcing your gaze back to your book, but your concentration on it has long since shattered. it's impossible to concentrate on anything other than him, perched on your fire escape right outside your window—JASON TODD.

he thinks he’s so subtle, as if you'll never notice when he parks himself on your fire escape like some sort of gargoyle. you smile slightly at the thought, heart pounding a little faster than it should. a condition that makes itself apparent far too much when your mind drifts to him.

he's silently taken on a sort of sworn protector role, separate from his nightly redhood rendezvous. you count yourself lucky to have his presence around your domicile so often. you truly never got over the culture shock that was gotham, but jason helps. even if he decides to go to great lengths to try and hide it.

outside, in the frigid and everpresent putrid gotham air, jason todd sits in complete rumination. he has goosebumps marring his arms beneath his leather jacket, but he pays them no mind. no, he's far too busy listing all the reasons he should just leave, why sitting outside under the guise of guard is utterly stupid, but still, he sits.

he runs a gloved hand through his hair, tugging slightly. he feels pathetic. how can he meet death, the criminally insane, survive things that would kill most—and somehow, he's shocked still with nerves at the very idea of knocking on your window.

in his head he has it all pictured, if it went perfectly. you'd come to the window, a confused look on your face until you spot him. he'd pull some stupid line, something he heard dick use once, and it'd make you laugh. he loves hearing that, more than anything. then he'd crawl in—spend the rest of his night with you, doing anything. and in his head, that's perfect.

but the underbelly of that dream keeps him rooted to your fire escape. to him, there's no way you could ever share his sentiments. you refer to him as a friend and no matter how much he wishes for something else, he can't change reality. can't force himself to make something more out of what you give him.

between the blood on his hands and the rage he can never seem to fully rid himself of, he's come to the aimless conclusion that you deserve someone better. someone more delicate, someone who doesn’t live with one foot in the grave. but every time you laugh or shoot him an easy smile, it gets easier to admit that he’s too far gone.

you deign the separation foolish, but still, you give yourself one more attempt at reading before you put your book to the side. really—you just wish he’d just say something. you’ve thought about saying something yourself, more times than you care to admit, but the timing never feels right. besides, there’s a part of you that wonders if jason even realizes you’ve been waiting out for him.

every time you joke or tease, you can see some struggle behind his eyes. as if he wants to let go and laugh with you, but something—himself—holds him back. your very own sisyphus—his very own boulder to carry up a labyrinthine mountain.

maybe it’s his past and the walls he’s built around himself, but you’re over him expecting you to be afraid of him. you wonder how much more evident you need to be. if anything, you wish he could see himself the way you do—intense, yes, but also loyal and good, even if he doesn’t believe it.

he proves it every night when he stands watch outside your shitty apartment.

with a sigh, you stand up from the couch, moving toward the window. he’s always so close, and yet there’s a distance he keeps in place—you’ve had enough of that.

you slide the window open, leaning out just enough to catch him mid-step as he’s about to leave—flee moreso. “going somewhere?”

he turns on his heels, red helmet in his hands, "figured you'd be asleep."

you hum, eyes narrowing, "already? it's six pm on a saturday."

“just didn’t want to bother you.” he admits, voice low, almost timid. he doesn’t meet your eyes, and it’s frustrating how hard he tries to hide, even from you.

“you’re not bothering me, jason.” you say softly, leaning on the window frame. “you never do.”

jason looks at you then, something uncertain flickering in his gaze. his lips dart out to quell his chapped lips—you hold his stare, hoping he can see what you’re trying to tell him, wordlessly.

that you want him here, that you’ve been wanting him all along.

“i can stop by for a few.” he finally says, adding a shrug to the end of his sentence.

you smile, opening the window fully as invitation. jason crawls in, a rather innocuous task but given his stature, always surprises you.

“i have pizza and brownies. saturday special.” you tell him, a persuasion. you want him to eat.

“sounds good.” he’s in the middle of slipping out of his redhood garb, clad in a skintight athletic tee and his cargos—mask sitting on your coffee table. “i’m gonna change in the bathroom, i’ll be right back.”

before his fingers can grab his duffle you start, “why don’t you shower here? i know you don’t have any of your usual stuff but—”

he cuts you off, “i couldn’t. i’m already eating your food…and using your fire escape as a landing spot.”

“jason, seriously. shower here. i’ll heat up the food and put on some tv. it’s a saturday.” you’re not one to beg, but this is treading the line.

his shoulders sag, but there’s a small smile on his face, “thanks, sweetheart. you’re too nice to me.”

his tone is sarcastic, self-deprecating, and that annoys you slightly. you want him to know that he’s welcome here, wanted. needed.

“i like it when you’re here, you know.” you feel like sparking a match, timid flames sparkling. “i miss you when you’re gone and everything.”

he quirks a brow, "what are you tryin' tell me?"

you feel silly at his question, the air around you seemingly buzzing. jason peers down at you with a raised brow, as if he's genuinely confused by the sentiment. as if he's baffled by the notion he could be someone to miss.

your breath hitches as you debate your next move. you're walking a thin line between saying too much and not enough. you could play it safe, keep your cards close to your chest—or you could be honest. near painfully so.

when you find your voice, it comes out soft, "i'm trying to say that i like it better when you come inside instead of sitting on my fire escape. i don't want to be a landing spot for you, i want... more."

he clears his throat, shifting on his feet, "you don't want that." he seems to take a step back, not physically, but mentally. his face goes still, chest breathing even, mind anywhere but the present.

you groan, annoyance evident, "i do though. you have to see that in some way by now." you step towards him, "sometimes i think you feel the same way."

jason’s gaze flickers toward the floor, and for a moment you wonder if you’ve crossed the line, if he’ll pull away entirely. but then he looks up, eyes darker, severely sincere. “you have no idea what you’re asking for.” he cautions, but his voice is lower, almost a whisper.

you smile softly, finally letting your hand touch his arm, feeling the solid warmth beneath. “maybe i do. maybe i’ve been waiting for you to realize it.”

“don’t say that unless you mean it,” he murmurs, his voice rough.

“i mean it.” you reply, sincere in your admission. “i’m not afraid of you, jason. i’m afraid of what happens if you keep shutting me out.”

he grumbles at that, a half-willed attempt to argue against your point. you stay quiet, urging him to continue where you left off. you watch his face contort through a realm of emotions—confusion, fear, and then, thinly masked and wistful poignancy.

“i’m not shutting you out. if anything, i’m protecting you.” he finally decides, arms crossing over his chest, eyes scanning the wall behind you. nervous.

you shake your head, fingers reaching for his twisted expression, finding home on his pink-tinted cheeks. “i don’t need you protecting me from you. i need you to want me as bad as i want you.”

your words are bold, maybe overconfident, but you mean them to the fullest extent. you’re so beyond exhausted of attempting to disregard or conceal your feelings. even if jason’s not, you think he deserves to know.

jason todd looks you over. his eyes raking you up and down like you’re some high valued product—and he’s unsure wether to take the bid or let it pass by. in the time you’ve known him, even in the thralls of his vigilante persona, he’s studied things. eyes pointedly and silently assessing his situation, no matter how far removed he is from his upbringing—his “father” lingers in his antics.

finally, he chuckles, low and more timid than usual, “you don’t know how badly i want you, sweetheart. but…” he stops himself, and you’re grateful because you would have done it yourself if he had continued on with some rebuttal. “fuck. you’re all i want.”

it comes out like a beg, pleading that rarely works it’s way onto his features. you smile, and pull him closer. his arms uncross, opting to gingerly hold your shoulders. still timid, unsure.

“you should know how much you mean to me. you do such a good job of showing me…keeping watch and never letting me eat alone. it’s sweet, you’re sweet. i want you to know it.” you keep his gaze when you speak, hopefully drilling each sentiment permanently into his consciousness.

he leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut, “i believe you. swear. i just… this is new. i never thought…” he falters off, equal parts unsure and dumbstruck. “i like you a lot. i didn’t know you felt the same, sweetheart.”

you grin, inching your face closer to his, “well i do. deal with it.” your tone is teasing, playful. pulling him back into the safety of reassurance—what you want him to anticipate from you.

it seems to put jason back in his element, “oh? you have demands? usually that’s my thing.”

you laugh, “could always be our thing. the demanding couple—sounds inspired, don’t you think?”

“something like that…” his smile is soft, “but for now, i think i’m fine with just being yours.” he says it so earnestly, no thought to it. just the truth, and it feels damn good. it envelops you just the same as his arms, wraps you up in utter victory. love hard fought—and it feels so sweet.

[crescenthistory]

you are my favourite silence

Pairing: Paul Atreides x Reader

Summary: Jessica's lecture and the eventual nightmare-catalysed-reunion, from Paul's tortured, yearning perspective. Based on "in the silence, there is an us".

Words: 3.6k

Warnings: not proofread, angst, hurt/comfort, references to nightmares, intense yearning, descriptions of anxiety and panic, feeling like the world is demanding too much of you, being super in love but not able to say it out loud, cuddling, lady jessica being a c*ckblock/heartbreaker

***

In the face of change, of being pushed into the final phase of growing up, Paul wanted to cling to you like a lifeline. To the gentle rhythm that once existed between him and you, the one he felt becoming more and more unbalanced as the world around dumped expectations on you both. He almost had not noticed it happening at first. You had grown up beside him, a constant presence, and yet now, each time he glanced your way, he was increasingly aware of what could be taken from him. He was only just beginning to grasp how much he cared for you, and the idea that you might feel like you did not belong here, or worse, being shown you do not, made something twist deep inside him.

Sitting beside you in the library, Paul could hear his mother’s words – sharp and pointed, even as he believed they were meant to guide. His whole body felt tense, not because of Jessica’s talk of duty, or the future he would soon shoulder, but because of you. Because he knew what her gaze did to you, how it picked at the part of you that never felt enough. When Jessica moved on to discuss personal relationships, the weight of her underlying meaning came pressing down, and Paul could barely keep his attention on her. His eyes flicked toward you, searching for any sign that her words were cutting too deep. Even when scolded himself, all he could think about is how it would affect you.

He hated this. Hated the way his mother’s eyes would linger on you, as though you were being measured and found wanting. It wasn’t true, but he knew you felt it. He could see it in the way you lowered your head, trying to hide from the sharpness of her tone. His jaw clenched. You were not some distraction, you were his best friend, and that should count for something. You were the reason he could breathe when it all felt either too small or too big.

When the speech was finally over and Jessica left them alone, Paul let out a breath, half-realising he did not listen to a word she said towards the end. The silence between the two of you felt heavy, thicker than it should have been. You should have been able to laugh it off together, snicker at his mother’s dramatics, but he knew you would not do that anymore. He risked a glance at you. His heart sinking at the way you avoided looking back. 

“She didn’t mean it like that,” he said, voice low, unsure how else to cut through the tension. When you didn’t respond, he moved closer, needing to bridge the growing distance. “She’s just worried. That’s all. My mother –”

“Your mother is always worried,” you cut in sharply, and Paul flinched. The tone in your voice was one you rarely ever used on him, only in your worst moments. He knew what it meant. You were pulling away, not just from the conversation, but from him. He could feel it. He wanted to stop it, wanted to reach out and pull you back to where you belonged, beside him. “Maybe she has a point. I’ve been distracting you. I shouldn’t... I shouldn’t keep coming to you.”

No.

Paul’s chest tightened as you began to move, began to slip from his grasp. Before he could even think, his hands moved on their own, gently but firmly gripping yours, desperate to ground you. “No,” he said aloud, his voice more forceful than he intended. “You haven’t been distracting me. You’ve... you’ve been keeping me sane. It’s not the same thing.”

He didn’t have the words. Not really. Not for what he was trying to say. All he needed was for you to understand, to know how important you were to him, but no words were worthy in the moment. His mother could never see it the way he did, she was too caught up in her visions for his future to realise when the only future he cared about was right in front of his nose. She didn’t understand how all the qualities that could make him a good duke were the ones you brought out of him.

He could see your brows twitch in the way they do when you are holding back tears. “But your mother thinks –”

“I don’t care what my mother thinks.”

The words tumbled out before he could stop them, and for a brief moment, Paul felt a surge of panic. He blinked, startled by his own admission that he had not realised rang so true for him, but he didn’t let go of your hands. His grip tightened slightly, and he looked at you, willing you to understand all he could not say. “I don’t care what she thinks about the time we spend together,” he continued, trying to keep his voice level. “She doesn’t understand. She doesn’t know what it’s like to feel like you’re drowning, like the world’s pressing in from every side, and you’re just. Alone.”

She doesn’t know you’re the lifeboat. 

“Whenever I’m with you, it’s the only time I don’t feel that way,” he confessed, his voice raw. He was laying it all out, unsure if he was saying the right things or making things worse, but he couldn’t stop himself. It felt like he was pleading a case. “You’re not a distraction. You’re the only thing that keeps me steady.”

He saw the way your eyes briefly squeezed shut, the blush still remaining in your cheeks, the slightly quivering curve of your mouth, all that internal struggle on your beautiful face. It tore him apart. You wanted to argue, he could see that, but something held you back. Paul wasn’t sure if that was better or worse. He felt you giving up instead of giving in, as you softly said, “We just need to be more careful.”

Careful. That word grated against his every instinct. Paul didn’t want careful. He wanted you, the way you had always been – close, inseparable. 

But then you said, “We can’t keep hiding away in each other’s rooms. We can’t... we can’t keep acting like kids.”

Paul’s heart sank, his body sagging slightly as he was giving up, too. Not on you, on himself, on his situation. He rubbed at his face, trying to shake the helplessness threatening to take over. You were right, but it felt painfully wrong.

“But we’re not acting like kids,” he muttered, trying to keep you from slipping too far away. 

“Aren’t we?” you whispered, your voice filled with something that sounded like heartbreak. “We’re literally sneaking into each other’s beds in the middle of the night, Paul. We’re still pretending like nothing’s changed.”

Paul didn’t have a response. Not immediately, too caught up with the ache in his chest as his disturbance turned existential. Why must sharing a close connection with someone, being tethered by someone, be a thing of only childhood? He felt he needed it more and more the older he got. Yet, he knew better than anyone all he had to do and all he had to be, and that it was time to step up to the challenge. But that didn’t mean he wanted to lose this, lose you, at least this part of you it felt he had always possessed. The idea that things had to change, that you couldn’t be the way you had always been – it was unbearable.

“Nothing has changed though,” he finally said, aiming for conviction. “Not between us.”

Deep down, Paul knew you were right. Everything had changed, just not in the way you were currently discussing, and he didn’t know what to do with it. He was not ready to face it. 

When you stood up to leave, the panic flared again in his chest. He wanted to reach for you, to stop you, to pull you back down beside him. Show you why you had to stay. He did anything but, he could only watch as you walked away, leaving him behind with the oppressive atmosphere of the library. His finger tips lingered on your seat as he clung to your promise: I will see you tomorrow. Even that small promise felt like a lifeline made of plastic.

Paul stared at the spot where you left, the weight of the future settling heavily on his shoulders. 

The following weeks, Paul did everything in his power to bury the gnawing unease that twisted inside him. He cherry-picked from his continuing lectures from his mother, trying to keep only the positives and leave out all the doom everyone seemed to hand him these days. The tension that hung between you only worsened in the silence of the castle’s long nights. You had always shared a restlessness after dark, a sort of curse that made sleep seem impossible unless you were together. But after his mother’s warnings about appearances and responsibilities, Paul felt obligated to put distance between you, to keep his emotions in check. At least for as long as you claimed that was what you wanted, too.

God, he hated it.

At first, he tried to do everything right, tried to focus more on his studies, his duties, his pretenses. He could not afford to slip up, not when he was being watched so closely, not when he was meant to prove himself a future Duke. But the more he tried to be the person he was expected to be, the more he felt himself, Paul, not the future duke of House Atreides, unraveling. 

Every moment spent apart from you gnawed at him, like a thread slowly being pulled loose from the fabric of his mind. His concentration splintered; during meetings, his eyes trailed to the door, wondering if you would ever walk in, during training, his movements felt sluggish, his mind always wandering to whether you were okay, whether you missed him too.

The longer you kept your distance, the harder it became to focus on anything but you and the looming elephant that was your friendship.

He soaked up every interaction you had like a parched man trying to survive in the desert. Even something as simple as sitting beside you during meals or brushing past you in the hallways felt like a lifeline. He clung to those moments, storing them away like precious memories, replaying them in his mind when he found himself alone. He knew you still saw each other a relatively normal amount, the amount usual friends dedicate to each other – but it was far from enough.

During it all you kept up your facade too well for Paul’s state. It was like you practiced it all when you could not sleep at night, you were polite, composed, like nothing had changed between you. Paul knew you better, of course. He could see through it, see the cracks forming beneath the surface. The bags forming under your eyes, the strain on your smiles, the flickering of your gaze when met by any member of the Atreides family now. You were just as affected by this distance as he was, but you were better at hiding it from everyone but him. It only made him want to reach out more, to break through that wall, to remind you that you didn’t have to carry this alone.

Paul sat beside you at the long wooden table in the dining hall, trying to act as though nothing had changed. The usual hum of formalities and business between his tutors, his mother, and the few remaining nobles blurred into a background buzz. All of it felt irrelevant compared to the tension sitting between you and him. He tried to tell himself the change was not that large, out of all the seats in the room, you were still sat together. 

He sneaked a glance at you from the corner of his eye. You were sitting perfectly still, your posture as composed and graceful as you had been trained to be, eyes downcast as you picked at the meal in front of you. On the surface, you looked calm, indifferent even, but Paul could see it so easily. The way your fingers gripped your knife a little too tight, the way your shoulders tensed as if trying to make yourself smaller, invisible. It’s not the same.

Despite his appetite having long since vanished, Paul tried to take a bite of his food. Beside him, you sipped your water, eyes flicking up just once to meet his before darting away again. The briefest connection, but it hit him like a shockwave. He was desperate for more of you, the real you, not this version that was carefully packaged to meet the standards of the room.

A thought ran through his head and before he could compose himself, Paul’s foot nudged yours lightly under the table. A small, almost childlike gesture. His heart raced, wondering if you would acknowledge it, if you would look at him like you used to. When you glanced his way, a flicker of a smile tugged at the corner of your mouth, a sign that you were still there, but it withered away fast.

You straightened in your seat, breaking eye contact, your attention turning back to your plate. A clear signal that you couldn’t do this, not here. Not now.

Paul’s stomach twisted, and he gripped his fork tighter, his knuckles white against the silver. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. There had been no distance between you before. You used to laugh together, share inside jokes over dinners like this. You used to sneak glances that said everything without needing words. Now, there was just this unbearable restraint. The longer it stretched on, the more suffocating it became.

He wanted so desperately to just be your best friend again, like when you were younger, when things were simple. When sharing a bed was not plagued by conventions or the expectations of his mother. Back then, it had been about adventure and laughter. Now it was about survival for poor Paul, it was all he needed to secure him. He wanted you to know how much he cared, how much he needed you. 

He remained silent.

When night fell, it became unbearable. Alone in his room, Paul felt the weight of everything pressing down on him—the responsibilities, the expectations, the growing distance between the two of you. Sleep evaded him. Each night felt longer than the last, and the silence of the castle, once comforting, now felt suffocating. 

He thought of you constantly. 

He wondered if you were having nightmares, the way you always did when there were no storms to distract you. You never reacted well to the stillness of nights like this, and Paul knew it. He knew you too well. 

Should I go to her? 

The thought flickered in his mind more than once, the worry gnawing at him more than usual, but something held him back. His mother’s words still lingered in the air between you, but more importantly your words. You asked for space, even if the reasons felt as tragic to him as they did. He could not risk making things worse, could not risk losing you completely by overstepping. Nevertheless, the longer he lay there, staring up at the ceiling, the more unbearable the thought of doing nothing became.

The hours drifted on, whisking away into the night air streaming in through his cracked open window. He had zeroed in on the sound in hopes it could form a lullaby, but to no avail. In the silence of his room, he heard footsteps in the hallway.

Before he could finish thinking, he was up and out of bed, hand on the door. He was fully expecting to open the door and be met with a wall of nothingness, forced to face how truly delerious he was becoming, but the possibility of any other outcome made him throw the door open without hesitation. 

His pounding heart all but lit up as he saw you standing in the doorway, almost hidden in the darkness. Surprise was etched onto your features and your hand was half-raised, presumably to knock on the door. A relieved smile made it onto your lips, and Paul briefly wondered whether you were aware, or if it was instinct. He breathed your name as a silent thank you to whatever forces brought you back to his doorstep.

In the half-shadows, you looked haunted, and he immediately stepped to the side to make room for you to step back into his world. He had been waiting for you. Hoping, somehow, that you would come to him, that you still needed him the way he needed you. 

You slipped inside quietly, and Paul closed the door behind you, sealing the two of you away from everything – his mother, the expectations, the fear that had been building between you for weeks. His chest tightened as he watched you, taking in the way your shoulders tensed, the way your eyes flicked to his like you weren’t sure if you should be here.

Paul had never been more certain of anything. He needed you here. 

As if your muscle memory controlled your actions, you moved toward the bed, and Paul followed hot on your heels, not willing to let you get too far away from him. There were no words, but there didn’t need to be. You both knew what this was. 

As he watched you climb into his bed, Paul felt something settle in his chest, something that had been fraying ever since the distance had started growing between you. He slid in beside you, immediately wrapping his arm as tightly around your waist as viable and pulling you close.

The quiet of his room that had just felt so suffocating now felt like a refuge. You were his anchor, his constant. For the first time in what felt like forever, the world outside didn’t feel so heavy. 

He heard your breathing slow as you nestled against him, your head resting on his chest. Without any real thought behind the action, he buried his nose in your hair and breathed you in, feeling every part of his body that was touching yours. He could feel the tremors in your body start to fade, and with them, the knot of worry that had been coiling tighter and tighter inside him began to loosen.

“Are you okay?” Paul whispered, his voice soft, almost afraid of shattering the moment.

You nodded against him, but Paul could feel the weakness in the movement, could feel the words you did not say. In response he held you tighter, his thumb tracing slow, gentle circles on your arm, offering comfort in the only way he knew how.

“I’m glad you came,” he murmured, his voice so quiet it almost didn’t reach his own ears. He had not realized how much he needed to say it until the words were out. “I wanted to come to you, but—” He trailed off, guilt wracking his mind while trying to somehow silence yours. His hand began to trace up and down your bare arm, needing to feel the warmth of your skin to remind himself that you were real, that this moment was real.

“I know,” you whispered, your voice hoarse with emotion. “I wanted to come sooner.”

Paul didn’t say anything, but his heart ached at the truth in your words. You had wanted to come sooner, but something had kept you back. The same thing that had kept him pacing his room, wondering if he should break the unspoken rules and go to you. Although he had always known, being told that the distance was killing you too felt oddly good.

For a long time, neither of you spoke. The silence between you now felt different, like the quiet after a storm, when the air is charged but peaceful. Paul’s hand drifted up to gently stroke your hair, the motion instinctual, as his other hand held your waist. It was one of the most intimate embraces you had had, and it felt so right, to the point where he did not even question it. He wanted to offer you more than comfort, more than just a place to escape your nightmares. He wanted to give you the world, guaranteed safety. Not just a reprieve or a shelter, but a true home, a good life. But the words weren’t there yet. He didn’t know how to say the way he cared for you, that it was more than just… caring. That you were the only person who had ever made him feel like everything might be okay.

Instead, he whispered, “I’ll always be here. I swear it.” It was close enough for now.

You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his in the dim candlelight, burning low. For a moment, Paul’s breath caught in his throat. He saw everything in that look – your fear, your doubt, your hope. Your care. He craved to kiss you, to close the distance that still felt like it hung between you. Instead, he pressed his lips to the top of your head, a tender, quiet gesture that said everything he couldn’t yet.

Neither of you spoke after that. You simply held each other, the world outside disappearing as you both drifted into a peaceful sleep. Paul finally felt safe.

[florawrites-blog]

It all started with a deal.

No emotions. No attachments. Just a bit of fun and company in the late hours. Jay was every bit the gentleman, respectful of the boundaries you set. He was calm, composed, and always took care of things without crossing the line. You appreciated that about him, his quiet dominance—something that never screamed control, but rather, a gentle guidance that made you feel secure. He didn’t smother you; he just knew how to be there.

You didn’t expect to feel anything beyond the surface. But slowly, things began to shift.

It happened so subtly that you couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment you began falling for him. Maybe it was the way he’d bring you your favorite coffee without asking, or the way his fingers would linger a second too long when he brushed a strand of hair from your face. And Jay… well, he started falling first, though he hid it well. You noticed the way he looked at you—like he was seeing something beyond what you showed him. He became a bit more protective, a bit more dominant in ways that made your heart race.

It was during one of those colder nights that you got sick. You tried to push through it, ignoring the weakness in your body, but Jay noticed right away. He didn’t ask; he insisted. He made you stay over at his apartment, not taking no for an answer.

“You’re staying here,” he had said firmly, already leading you inside, his hand on your lower back. You argued, reminded him about the deal, about the fact that you weren’t supposed to be involved like this. But Jay didn’t care. “Don’t argue. You need rest, and I’ll feel better knowing you’re here.”

With a frustrated sigh, you eventually relented. His apartment was quiet, a reflection of him—minimalistic, but warm. Before he left, he handed you one of his white blouses. “Wear this if you’re uncomfortable,” he said, his voice low and a bit softer than usual. You took it, not really thinking much about it, until later that night.

You found yourself alone in his apartment, your body wrapped in his oversized blouse, the fabric carrying his scent. The sleeves hung past your hands, and for some reason, it made you feel… safe. As you wandered around, feeling the cool air brush against your bare legs, you realized something was changing between the two of you. Something deeper than you were willing to admit.

Later that night, after you had finally drifted into sleep on his couch, Jay came back. The door clicked shut softly, and he stepped inside, his movements quiet. He paused when he saw you, lying there in his shirt, hair splayed across the cushion, your lips parted slightly as you slept. For a moment, he just stood there, admiring the scene in front of him. The faint moonlight from the window cast a glow over your sleeping figure, and Jay’s heart swelled with something he couldn’t deny any longer.

He didn’t wake you. Instead, he just watched, leaning against the doorframe, the urge to reach out and touch you almost overwhelming. But he resisted, knowing this was dangerous territory. He was already too far gone.

Things came to a head a few days later, during an argument neither of you saw coming.

“I can’t handle this, Jay,” you said, your voice sharp with frustration. “You’re giving me too much affection, too much attention. We had a deal, remember?”

Jay didn’t respond right away. He just stood there, looking at you, his gaze intense and unwavering. His silence made you even more flustered. You expected him to argue, to push back, to defend himself. But he didn’t. Instead, he just stepped closer, his eyes locking with yours, so deep and unreadable that it made your breath catch.

“Say something,” you demanded, trying to keep your voice steady.

But he didn’t. He just nodded, the tiniest movement, like he understood. Like he knew exactly what you were feeling, even if you didn’t.

And that’s when it hit you. Whatever you said wouldn’t stop him. Jay was hooked—more than you realized, more than you even were. His actions spoke louder than any argument you could have. He wasn’t going to stop caring for you, wasn’t going to stop being there, even if it scared the both of you.

Because, deep down, you knew—he was far more hooked on you than you were on him.

[1-800-crscnt]

-hcs for food/drink preferences that I think some clones would have, more under the cut-

Cody: likes neat-ish breakfast foods that have a bunch of flavor, but can be eaten quickly. doesn’t really have drink preferences, but first choice is always ice cold water with a little mint leaf in it. doesn’t hate any food/drink at all, but dislikes cleaning up after eating messy food (think of those very tall sandwiches that have the ingredients spilling out while covered in a sauce).

Wolffe: Big meal + with a snack guy. Has a more intense sweet tooth than expected of a clone, so he likes to pair a sweet snack with whatever he’s eating if he’s able. Hates most seafoods and liquid-y foods, but likes most other things. Doesn’t like to drink water so he either mixes syrups in or deals with it. Usually goes for very doctored-up caf, but his men are too intimidated to tease him for it.

Dogma: prefers non-spicy meaty foods no matter the size, but he ends up usually going for things he can eat in <15 minutes. Forcing himself to like vegetables for several reasons, but it isn’t going that well. Dislikes too-sweet things because of a fear of cavities and the burning/“full” feeling his mouth and throat gets. Denies having a drink preference at all, but he prefers just plain milk.

Rex: LOVES stews and salads and doesn’t care about anything else the entire time he’s eating. would love to have them for every meal if he could. Likes energy drinks and fruit smoothies even if he hates most sweet foods/drinks (gets made fun of for this by brothers and Ahsoka). also, not a messy eater but a loud eater, doesn’t care if it’s annoying.

Fox: despite being near so much food and eating a large variety of it, never actually developed a preference for particular kinds because he doesn’t feel hunger and everything is just “fuel” to him. Does prefer protein shakes and energy drinks, but can’t stand caf (smell is too strong for him, but will drink it if there’s nothing else). sometimes considers faking having generic preferences so his men stop trying to trick him into eating inedible things.

Stone: loves spicy & greasy foods, but is overall very adventurous when it comes to food, will try anything at least once. likes fruit juices and most alcoholic drinks, but won’t make efforts to get the latter since he’s usually very busy. genuinely hates bland food/drinks and won’t finish them, leads to some arguments/teasing/dares with others. has a citrus allergy but assumes it’s just a thing everyone goes through.

Bly: actually loves seafood prepared in any way (including raw), won’t eat any other meat dishes though. Likes any tea, hot water, and milkshakes. dislikes alcohol & caf + their smell and will sneer / walk away if someone is drinking it near him. wouldn’t consider himself vegetarian, but nearly everyone else does. also, hates being watched and talked to while eating, and gets angry/uncomfortable if he’s the only one eating in a group.

[thetravelerwrites]

What is Expected, What is Understood (The Sacrificial Princess and the King of Beasts) Part 1

Rating: Explicit Fandoms: Niehime to Kemono no Ou | Sacrificial Princess & the King of Beasts Relationships: Sariphi & Leonhart, Amit & Jormungand Additional Tags: Loss of Virginity, Blood Mention, Discussion of Conception, Discussion of Pregnancy, Discussions of Oral Sex, Detailed Descriptions of Sex, Discussion of Menstruation, Breeding, Post-Canon, Canon Compliant, Extension of Canon Words: 4929

It's been four years since their wedding and, for one reason or another, Sariphi and Leonhart still have not consummated their union. Under the constant pressure to produce an heir, and after a disastrous first attempt, they realize they are unprepared and decide to hire a midwife.

This one has been up on my Ao3 for a while, but I decided to bring it to tumblr. Please reblog and leave feedback!

Four years had passed so quickly since the wedding that it felt to Sariphi like it had been no time at all. Even still, she often struggled to believe it was real and not some fanciful fever dream she had conjured up as a coping mechanism as she waited in passive acceptance for the day of sacrifice to arrive. 

Now nineteen, Sariphi was a little less impulsive than she had been when she first came to the kingdom, making a conscious effort to conduct herself with more dignity and grace now that she was queen, but she was no less enthusiastic and eager. Her influence was felt in every corner of the palace, like a breath of fresh air. Staff who had been working in the palace since the time of the previous king could feel a dramatic difference in the atmosphere: the palace had been tense and darkly oppressive during the reign of the former king, while it was silently somber and cold after His Majesty had ascended the throne. Sariphi’s presence had made the palace warmer, lighter, and more brilliantly bright in comparison. 

After many, many intensive lessons, Sariphi had finally taken on some of the administrative work from Anubis within the last few months, with Amit as her assistant. The work was hard but rewarding, and Sariphi was simply happy to be helpful. Even so, it was still two months before Anubis would let her do any of the work on her own without hovering over her shoulder, watching for mistakes.

“Should this document be filed under regional, capitol, or national?” Sariphi asked Amit one afternoon while working. “It’s an assistance request for the outer ring of the capital city, but that falls on the border with the nearby province of Reiza.”

“Hmm,” Amit said, looking over it. “Who sent the request?”

“Both the governor of Reiza and the alderman of that district of the city. It’s a joint request.”

“Ah. Perhaps make copies of it and file it under all three. That way, there would be a record of the request for every category. For reference.” 

“I see.” 

Before being sent as a bridal candidate and eventually becoming Sariphi’s official companion and lady-in-waiting, Amit had been thoroughly educated in administration, so her help was invaluable to Sariphi, who’d had none of that training before ascending the throne. Although it would have been expected of her to take on the administration work immediately after becoming queen if she had been a beast princess, she had been far too busy learning history, etiquette, language, and politics in the first year to even begin administration.

“We’ve been at this for hours,” Amit said, sighing. “Why don’t we take a break? I have tea and snacks I made myself. Everything was checked before I used it.” 

“Who checked it?” Sariphi asked suspiciously. 

“It wasn’t me!” Amit insisted. “The ingredients were tested by the imperial alchemist, I swear!”

“Hmm,” Sariphi said, taking a biscuit. “If you say so.”

Sariphi had nearly fallen victim to a couple of assassination attempts in recent years perpetrated by anti-human militants that had infiltrated the palace staff, those who still resented the king for his lineage and her for her mere existence. As a result, every bit of food and drink that was placed before her for the last year had to be tested and monitored closely from kitchen to table. Amit had tried to appoint herself Sariphi’s poison tester, but Sariphi had quashed that idea immediately. As had Jormungand.

Sariphi yawned as she accepted a cup of tea. 

“Are you tired today?” Amit asked. 

“Yeah,” Sariphi admitted. “I haven’t been sleeping well.” 

“Oh? Why is that?” 

“Well… I heard the maids talking. They seem to feel like an heir should have been conceived by now.” 

“Are you bothered by that?” 

“A little.” 

“You shouldn’t take it to heart, Sari,” Amit said, patting her shoulder. “They’re just worried about you.”

“It’s not just them. The royal council has been putting pressure on His Majesty about it since the wedding. Anubis has been dropping suggestions in that roundabout way he does, too. His Majesty is sick of hearing about it.”

Amit laughed. “You don’t need to worry too much about it,” She said. “You and His Majesty love each other so much that I’m sure you’ll hear good news very soon.” 

Sariphi blushed and looked away. “I don’t think that’s true.” 

“Why not?” 

“Well… we’d have to… He’d need to… we haven’t…” Sariphi stuttered to a stop and hid behind her hair, embarrassed. 

Amit gasped. “You haven’t…” She squeaked and blushed as well. “Consummated your nuptials yet? Anyone against your union could use that as ammunition to force you to annul the marriage if they found out! They could use that to make His Majesty take a concubine! It’s been four years!” 

“I know!” Sariphi exclaimed, and then lowered her voice. She was glad Cy and Clops weren’t there in her office at the time and that Bennu was fast asleep in his gilded cage. “But he’s never touched me and I’ve been too nervous to make a move on him. I know he’s worried about hurting me, but… I’ve also wondered… if he wasn’t interested in me like that.”

“But he loves you!” Amit said.

“I know he loves me, I’ve never doubted that he loves me, but romantic love and sexual love don’t always go hand-in-hand.”

“Have you talked to him about it?” 

“I’ve only brought it up once recently. He told me that I’m still young and we have lots of time and not to worry about it. I’m nervous that if I bring it up too much, he’ll shut me out. He has a bad habit of keeping his worries to himself.”

“He’s not alone in that,” Amit said shrewdly, and then covered her mouth with her hands at her own boldness.

Sariphi sighed. “I know. It’s not just about having heirs. I… I want to be more intimate with him. I want to be his wife in every possible way.”

“Have you told him that?” 

“No. I guess my mistake was assuming he would already know that. I forgot that he can be hesitant when it comes to personal relationships, even when he really cares for someone. After hiding his true self for so long and only existing for the sake of the kingdom, he’s still learning to voice his desires. He doesn’t know how to be selfish or ask for things he wants for himself.”

“You should talk to him again and tell him how you feel. I really envy that you and His Majesty can talk to each other so openly. I hope Captain Jormungand and I can have that kind of relationship once we marry.”

Jormungand and Amit had been engaged for nearly half a year and their wedding was planned for spring. Sariphi was so excited to be the Matron of Honor for her, since none of Amit’s family would be attending to stand with her. Though Jormungand may have the Captain of the Imperial Guard and a talented man with many accomplishments and accolades, the royals of Murga were still affronted by the fact that Amit would be marrying a commoner. According to Amit, being shunned by her family was nothing new, since she had no value to them as the fifth princess, and although she tried to behave unperturbed, Sariphi knew she was sad about it. 

Amit was acutely aware that it was a serious breach of etiquette to even ask the queen to participate in the wedding of a commoner, and though she knew Sariphi would be overjoyed to accept, she couldn’t bring herself to ask. It was Jormungand, not Amit, who asked Sariphi to be Amit’s Matron of Honor in her stead. Jormungand, who had no family, was quite unhappy that Amit’s family had snubbed her due to her marriage to him, though he knew their relationship had always been strained. He decided there was no higher honor, nor greater satisfaction, than having the queen of the realm standing in their place, especially considering the king himself would be standing for Jormungand. Sariphi agreed wholeheartedly and accepted with delight.

“You’re right,” Sariphi said. “I’ll talk to him tonight.” 

Sariphi was nervous all through the dinner banquet and avoided His Majesty’s eye out of embarrassment. She could feel him staring at her, though he said nothing to her and the evening passed without fuss.

That night, after they retired for the evening, had their baths, and returned to their chambers, he caught her by the waist and easily lifted her onto his shoulder, which he was still prone to doing when they were alone. After climbing into the bed, he sat her atop his lap and caged her in his embrace. 

“Out with it,” He said without preamble. “Why have you been avoiding my gaze all evening?” 

“Why do you have to be so inconveniently perceptive?” Sariphi sighed exasperatedly.

“Anyone with eyes could have observed your odd behavior,” He retorted. “My queen is many things, but subtle she is not.” 

“Something Anubis will probably scold me for later, I’m sure,” Sariphi agreed. “As he always says, ‘Tact and decorum is the benchmark of every great queen’.”

“Do not change the subject,” Leonhart said, squishing her face in his claws. “What troubles you?”

Sariphi sighed. “I was thinking about the heirs thing again.” 

Leonhart sighed in turn. “We have discussed this. There is an abundance of time to worry about that. It is not something that requires your concern at present.” 

“When should I be concerned?”

“Never. It is not worth your energy.”

“Amit said that if anyone finds out that we haven’t consummated our marriage, they could lawfully force you to take a concubine or make us get an annulment.” 

“Which is why it shall not be discovered.” 

“Leo… It’s not just that,” Sariphi replied. “Talking to Amit today made me realize… the reason why it bothers me isn’t just the need for an heir.” 

“What is the reason, then?” 

Sariphi flushed and picked at a single strand of his mane rather than looking him in the face. 

“I… We… We’ve been married for four years now… and we haven’t… been intimate… and I wondered if you weren’t interested in such things.”

Leonhart was silent and Sariphi, feeling anxious, began rambling very fast.

“I know we had discussed having kids before and I know you don’t want to hurt me, but you had mentioned that you wanted to have at least two, but we need to be intimate for that to happen, but you’ve never made a move, so I thought you didn’t want to, but I–” 

“Sariphi, stop,” Leonhart said, taking her chin and making her look at him. “You do not need to explain yourself, I understand what you are saying. To tell the truth… you are correct. I have been hesitant to attempt intimacy with you because I do not wish to hurt you. The difference in our size obviously means that the act would cause you immense discomfort. You did not seem to show much interest in it, either, so I assumed until now that you were satisfied to wait.” 

“So… you do want to? Be intimate with me, I mean?” 

“I do wish for that, yes,” Leonhart said. “Of course I do. Truthfully… I have thought of it quite often as of late, especially now that you have grown taller and gained weight. It is hard not to notice how… lovely you look, and your warm body lying next to me every night is often difficult to ignore. But as I said… I worry about hurting you.” 

“Perhaps it won’t hurt,” Sariphi said optimistically. “We’ll never know until we try, right?”

“I suppose you have a point,” Leonhart agreed, though he looked skeptical. “You also truly wish to be intimate with me?”

“Yes, I do,” She said earnestly. “I’m your wife and I love you. I want to do all the things husbands and wives do.” 

“I see,” He said slowly. “Do you… wish to try tonight?” 

Sariphi gulped but nodded. “No time like the present. Honestly, I’ve been ready for a long time, I just didn’t know how to tell you.” 

“I see.” Leonhart took a deep breath. “I fear I have no experience with this. I am unsure how to begin.” 

Sariphi moved off of Leonhart’s lap. Kneeling next to him and plucking up her courage, she carefully drew her nightgown over her head and off of her body, then removed her undergarments, fully exposing herself to him for the very first time. His eyes widened and his breathing sped up slightly. Rolling onto his knees as well, he reached out to touch her but stopped short, seeming unsure, looking at his large claws in dismay.

“It’s okay, Leo,” Sariphi said, moving forward to press her breast to his palm. “You can touch me. You won’t hurt me. It’s okay.”

As much as she tried to reassure him, he was still intensely cognizant that his claws could wrap around her entire body with room to spare, claws that were strong enough to rend solid stone, and his need to be careful was obvious. Instead, he turned his hand and caressed one of her nipples with the back of the claw on his first finger. She inhaled sharply and made a slight sound, biting her lip. She looked anxious, but she gazed at his face with open trust. 

Leonhart leaned forward and pressed his nose to the hollow of her neck, breathing in deeply. She reached up and raked her fingers through the fur of his neck. His arms encircled her, and he pulled her bare body against his own clothed chest. He felt himself stir below, and shrugged his arms out of their sleeves. He pulled her toward him and lay her down on the bed under him, stripping off the drape around his waist and letting it fall heavily to the floor. Her beautiful body lay open to him, her silver-white hair spread out around her head like a glowing halo, and she reached for him.

Carefully lowering his body over hers, he kissed her. She moaned softly and moved underneath him, stroking his chest. He pressed his hardness to her entrance, pausing for a moment to observe her face before attempting to enter her slowly. She seemed fine at first, but as he pushed harder, her brow furrowed and her breath stuttered. 

“Are you alright?” He asked. 

She didn’t speak, but nodded. He continued, but stopped when she closed her eyes and gritted her teeth, holding her breath. 

“Are you sure I should carry on?” 

“Yes,” She said, her voice strained. “It’s okay.” 

He had barely moved an inch when he noticed tears gathering in her eyes, and the moment he caught the scent of blood, he removed himself and climbed off of her. Sure enough, there was blood on the sheets under her. It wasn’t a lot, but it was more than enough to ruin his mood.

“Why did you stop?” Sariphi asked, wiping her eyes. 

“I have hurt you, just as I feared I would,” He said, putting his clothing back on and stooping to gather up her clothes as well. 

“I’ve heard it’s normal to bleed the first time,” She insisted. “Many women do.” 

“It is not just that,” He said. “I could see on your face that you were in pain.” 

“It wasn’t that bad, I swear!” She said, holding her nightgown to her chest. “I can do it! Even if it’s painful, I can handle it! I still have to bear your successor regardless! Everyone expects it of us!”

“As loath as I am to hurt you for my own satisfaction, I am even less inclined to do so to suit the wishes of others,” Leonhart said. “We will try again another day, when you have healed. I refuse to injure you further.”

“But–” 

“No,” He said, his voice leaving no room for argument. “Not tonight. It is not as though I am suggesting we never consummate, but it seems we are not ready for this yet.”

“Leo, it’s been four years.”

“I am well aware of that, Sariphi. Neither of us know much about this subject. We need… help. Advice.”

“Advice from whom?” 

“I am unsure,” Leonhart admitted.

"Are there books we could read?"

"Oh, I am certain there are, but I do not even know where to begin looking, nor do I wish to ask. All I am certain of is that I do not wish to cause you further pain. There must be something we can do to make this… process… easier.” He took her nightgown out of her hands and pulled it back over her head. “I’m far more concerned with the well-being of the woman I love than I am for any amorphous children who are yet to exist. Whatever our responsibilities may be, you are my wife before you are the queen.”

“Shouldn’t it be the other way ‘round?” Sariphi asked, reluctantly pulling on her undergarments. “The queen exists for the country, so her discomfort is not important if it’s for the good of the people, right?”

“Perhaps,” He said. “But I care not. If it would cause you harm, it is not worth doing.” 

“Do you not want to be intimate anymore?” 

“No, I still wish for that,” He replied. “But only if it is good for us to do so. For both of us.” He pulled her back into his lap and embraced her once more. “Do not misunderstand, Sariphi. I love and desire you. That has not changed, nor will it ever. Be assured of that fact and do not fret.” 

“Okay,” She said, cuddling into his chest. Though he was not one for words, he seemed to always know what she needed to hear. They lay down together and tried to sleep, but neither found much rest that night.

The next morning, His Majesty insisted that Sariphi stay in their chambers and rest for the day, calling Amit to keep her company. Sariphi had to admit, she was a little bit sore, and gratefully accepted. 

“How did it go?” Amit asked once they were alone. “I heard the maids say there was blood on the sheets.”

Sariphi shook her head. “We tried, but he stopped almost immediately when I started bleeding. He says he won’t try again until we get some sort of help.” 

“What sort of help?” 

“I don’t know,” Sariphi admitted. “I don’t know who we could possibly ask about this.”

Amit sat quietly in deep thought. “What about a midwife?” 

“Midwife?” 

“Certainly,” Amit said. “A midwife could solve this problem, wouldn’t you think? Conception, pregnancy, and childbirth are the sole scope of their expertise, is it not?” 

“Well, sure,” Sariphi agreed. “But is there one in the palace?” 

“Oh,” Amit said contemplatively. “I’m not sure. Anubis would know. Hiring staff who work directly with the royal family is one of his many duties.” 

Sariphi blushed. “I couldn’t possibly ask Anubis about this.” 

“Then mention it to His Majesty and have him pass on the message to Anubis. If the palace doesn’t have a midwife, then they can find one.”

The next day, after Sariphi told His Majesty about it the night before, His Majesty sat in his office, pouring over paperwork, when he finally broached the subject with Anubis. 

“Anubis.” 

Anubis looked up from his own work. “Yes, Sire?”

“Does the palace have an imperial midwife at present?”

“A midwife?” Anubis echoed in surprise. “Could Her Majesty be…?”

“No,” His Majesty replied, looking into the far distance out of the closest window in an effort to appear magnanimous rather than embarrassed. “Not as of yet. It is for that reason we require such a person to seek their advice on the matter. It seems Her Majesty has been quite worried about the constant prattling on the subject of an heir, despite the fact that the queen is still quite young and we have only been married a short time.”

“Four years is plenty of time to conceive an heir, Sire,” Anubis pointed out.

His Majesty glared at him.

“I-I see,” Anubis replied hastily. “The palace has not had an imperial midwife since the passing of the previous queen. By rights, a new imperial midwife should have been appointed upon the queen’s ascension, but in the aftermath of the attempted insurrection prior to the sovereign marriage rites, and then the peace talks with Yoana directly after, it appears that the appointment was overlooked.” 

“Very well. Hire one immediately.” 

“Of course, sire,” Anubis said, but he paused. “Although… I am concerned that there may not be any midwife in Ozmargo willing to take the position.” 

“Because the queen is human?” 

“Well, yes,” Anubis said delicately. 

His Majesty sighed. “I had believed this sort of discrimination would have been much reduced by now, though I suppose it is to be expected.” 

“I didn’t mean necessarily in terms of discrimination. More to the point, I doubt that there are any of beastkind in the kingdom who would know how to treat a human.” 

“Ah,” His Majesty said. Anubis was correct, of course. “Could we not call one from Yoana?” 

“I suppose we could,” Anubis said. “But what woman in her right mind would make that journey? The way between the kingdoms is still treacherous and full of peril. Even with guaranteed security, there may not be any who would agree to such a dangerous undertaking.” 

“Post a job notice regardless, in both Ozmargo and Yoana. If even one person were to answer, that would be enough to begin moving forward.” 

“As you wish, Sire,” Anubis said. He bowed and excused himself.

It took more than two months to finally get a response to the job posting. An old, bent woman of the pangolin tribe, leaning on a walking stick, ambled up to the palace after sending a notice that she would take on the position. The scales of her tail rasped across the marble floor as she walked, making something like a soft rattlesnake sound. Her eyes were bleary and brown in color with blue along the edges of the iris. She looked around the palace as if unimpressed. 

Anubis, having been notified of her arrival, met her at the large double doors of the throne room. 

“I understand you are the one who responded to the request for an imperial midwife?” Anubis asked without pleasantries. 

“Yessir,” The old woman said, her voice cracking with age. 

“Your name, so I may announce you to His Majesty?” 

“Coral will do.” 

“I see. Follow me.” 

Anubis turned at the guardsmen manning the doors and nodded. The doors swung open, and sitting there were both His and Her Majesties. His Majesty’s throne sat center stage on the raised dais with Her Majesty’s smaller throne to his immediate right, turned slightly to face him. Sariphi wasn’t used to receiving guests while sitting on her throne yet, so she often stayed silent unless directly spoken to. His Majesty had told her she didn’t need to receive the guests if she didn’t want to, but Sariphi had insisted she wanted to take her role as queen seriously, and that included being a welcoming host.

“Your Majesties,” Anubis said, coming up and bowing. “I present Coral, the woman who has answered the request for an imperial midwife.” 

“Very well,” His Majesty said, waving his hand. Anubis bowed again and stepped to the side, allowing the old woman to stagger toward the dais. “We welcome you, Coral. Before your official appointment, you must prove yourself capable of the duties you will be assigned. We have the documentation and testimonials you sent us beforehand, but that will be useless to us if you are deemed unfit for the position.” 

“Seems fine,” Coral said amiably. “Although it seems like you’ve not got much choice, elseways, as I'm the only one who showed up.” 

“Mind your tongue!” Anubis hissed. “You are in the presence of Their Majesties, if you’ve forgotten! Be respectful!” 

“Hush up, pup,” She said, flapping her hand at him dismissively. Anubis seethed, but His Majesty waved him down “I’m as old as dirt and twice as bitter, so I ain’t all that keen on niceties. If you want to get all bent out of shape ‘cause I’m not standin’ on ceremony, you go right ahead, but I reckon I was called here for a reason, and that ain’t it.”

Sariphi hid a giggle. Coral reminded her of Bennu and she instantly felt affection for the old woman.

“Indeed,” His Majesty said, nonplussed. “Are you confident you can treat a human?” 

“Sure, sure,” Coral said with a shrug. “I’ve been a midwife for nearly a century now, and I’ve helped all manner of child into the world. Humans are mammals, as I understand, and the basics of mammals are reasonably similar; the bits are usually in the same place and work just the same. Usually. Shouldn’t be a problem.”

“We understand,” His Majesty said, standing. “What do you need to begin?” 

“Well, to start, I need to examine the girlie here,” Coral said, nodding at Sariphi.  “She’s the one I’ll be lookin’ after, I figure.” 

His Majesty glanced at Sariphi, who nodded and stood up. 

“You are permitted to conduct an examination,” He said. “Though you will not do so alone. Princess Amit will be present for the examination, and Captain Lantevelt will stand guard outside of the door.” 

His Majesty motioned for the edge of the dais, where Amit and Jormungand stood. Amit stepped forward while Jormungand stepped back. He also motioned near the other side of the dais, where Lantevelt was standing. He joined Amit and waited for Sariphi to step down. 

“There is a dedicated room for you in which you may work,” Anubis told Coral. “And your sleeping accommodations are also located there. Princess Amit knows where it is and will lead you there. If you pass the trial period and are hired, you will report directly to Their Majesties or to myself. Do you understand?”

“Yes, yes, you’re very important, I get it.”

Anubis growled in agitation. 

“You will relay your findings to us when you have finished,” His Majesty said. “Afterward, we wish to speak to you privately.”

“You got it, boss,” Coral said, not waiting to be dismissed and waving her stick at Amit. “Lead on, missy.”

“Yes,” Amit said, bowing. “Follow me, please.” 

Sariphi patted His Majesty’s hand briefly before following Amit, Lantevelt, and Coral. His Majesty watched the group walk out of the throne room and sat back on his throne. 

“You seem worried, Sire,” Jormungand told him. “Her Majesty is well, I trust?”

“She is as robust as she has ever been, yes,” His Majesty replied. “It is not out of fear for her health that I do this.”

“I do not presume to know what troubles you, Sire,” Jormungand said. “But as a soon-to-be husband myself, I can imagine I may face similar tribulations in the future. You have my sympathies.” 

“Hmm,” His Majesty said, standing. “Your concern is appreciated, Captain.”

Anubis sniffed in discomfort. “As I have nothing to contribute to this conversation, I will carry on with my duties. If you will excuse me.” He bowed and left. 

Jormungand laughed. “As cold as ever, Abi.” He turned back to His Majesty. “I shall also take my leave, Sire.” 

“You may do so,” His Majesty said. As Jormungand bowed and made to depart, His Majesty called suddenly. “Jormungand.”

Jormungand halted and turned on his heel. “Yes, Sire?”

“We must imagine Anubis would find discussing domestic troubles quite… distasteful,” He began slowly. “Would we be correct in assuming you would be… more receptive to such things?” 

Jormungand tilted his head. “That may be. Certainly more so than Abi.” 

“In the future…” His Majesty said, but then stopped himself. 

Jormungand realized what His Majesty was trying to ask and chuckled. 

“If ever you need an ear, Your Majesty, I’m more than willing to lend you both of mine. Feel free to call me Jor when we are alone. If it suits you, of course.” 

His Majesty showed a hint of a smile, since no one else besides himself and Jormungand was there to see it. “We are… I am grateful. Jor. Thank you.” 

Jormungand gave him a good-natured laugh.

“What are friends for, Your Majesty?”

With that, Jormungand bowed again and excused himself.

Friends. For many years, His Majesty had debated whether it was appropriate or even possible for a king to have friends. His father… well, his uncle, the previous king, certainly had no one that could be considered a friend. The closest would have been the previous Anubis, the current Anubis’s father, though the previous king barely batted an eyelash when his most loyal vassal had died right in front of him. 

When he first became king, His Majesty had emulated the previous king in behavior, since he had no other example to follow. Now, after having met Sariphi, he had come to realize that the previous king’s life was rather… empty. Hollow. As such, His Majesty decided that he didn’t wish to live the same way. Granted, having friends would require him to be more open, which he still found difficult, but he believed it would be worth it in the end. 

He’d had only one friend since he was a boy. Now... he had two. His Majesty smiled to himself and went back to his office.

Please do me a favor and reblog this story if you enjoyed it. Help me reach a wider audience! To help me continue creating, please consider buying me a Kofi, becoming a Patron, or donating directly to my PayPal!

Thanks for reading!

My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

[itsahotminuteinbetween]

some doodles from @sneeblbop's magma-mostly just gitm stuff and my truman show au brainrot

sandman belongs to @/venomous-qwille

[irbcallmefynn]

Sometimes the ability to write things on Fynn and have them affect his body can be really problematic. Other times it lets him be normal about a character. At least Fynn's jacket conformed, but genuinely where did his pants go? And his gloves too but mainly his pants (and shoes)!?

Yeah I started reading PHTR6G. Absolutely dastardly to introduce a character like Nox who speaks in honest-to-god L337 5P34K only to have him them (I was just informed Nox is they/them) immediately stop doing it. I get why they stopped, but you couldn't have given him them like 3 more pages of L337ing it up?

Also so far I think Edge might be my favorite. She's just really cool. But peer pressure dictates I gotta be NoxXxy so I shall. I just reached chapter 6 so no spoilers plz x~o (<- NoxXxy emoticon)

[here-there-were-dragons]

as a general rule, on average, if americans consistently complain about a food being conceptually weird, gross, and scary, then it probably tastes amazing. or at least inoffensive.

this is because in my experience americans for the most part (give or take a few exceptions by region) think eating literally anything other than beef, chicken, bread, eggs, peanut butter jelly sandwitches, ketchup, and disgusting cloyingly artificial brown sludge soda is insurmountably weird, gross, and scary.

[wizardnuke]

yalls tags on the caleb astrid post are all SO spot on thank you for understanding the uh. canon that was given to us. not saying that anyone doesnt. but i am.

[felidthing-fr]

i am so tired of seeing an immediate wave of complaints every time an ancient comes out can you guys chill for two seconds

[queen-of-obsessing]

just watched the first half of RWRB and I have to say...it's pretty good! Taylor and Nick's chemistry isn't off-the-charts (in my opinion), but it's decent! Have some small spoilery criticisms but overall a fun movie so far and I look forward to the rest of it 👀

[hatake]

.

[thedevotionaltour]

in terms of art alone im sorry. im a jrjr defender to my last breath you be fucking nice to him. i dont wanna hear shit❗️❗️❗️

[asmileforyourscrapbooks]

OMFG THIS COMMENT. GUISE. THAT LAST SENTENCE IS SO FUCKING RAW

edit: i see a lot of people arguing over the 'eat the rich' thing and i'd like to clear up my standing currently! i know they aren't the same kind of fancy multi-million corporation that our beloved phrase talks about, and the reason i agree to a point with this comment is that watcher is evidently trying to become that. they're doing some shitty things in regards do disregarding poorer fans, and are seemingly blatantly ignoring the economic crisis by saying 'everyone can afford that!', all in direct contrast to their entire branding of being leftist and openly supporting things like eat the rich.

"You said 'eat the rich' then handed us the forks, laid on the plate, and expected us to spare you?" at least from my understanding isn't flat-out saying watcher are now the rich we eat, but are well on the track to becoming so, and are quickly developing the same ego.

BUT!! don't like people directly hating on steven like that!! they're all grown men who can make their own decisions, and pretending like shane and ryan are out little baby beans and then calling steven evil and whatnot isn't okay. they can all be held equally accountable. though i do somewhat understand being the most disappointed in shane, as he's the one who speaks on shit like eating the rich the most, and is generally more outward with his ideals, so it's perfectly reasonable to feel betrayed more deeply. but bottom line is they're all equally accountable for this decision.

some shit we can't take back. i probably got pissed and said some weird/uncool shit initially because of the intense emotions i was dealing with, which other people amplified. i do regret some of the things i've said to a point when it comes to being hateful, but i can't just un-say it all, so i'm not even going to try. i'm going to leave everything be and allow it to serve as something to look back on for what not to do in future circumstances. while this new path for watcher is, in my opinion, not the smartest and generally really shitty, they're human beings who make mistakes, and they deserve our acknowledgement of that.

in short, i don't like it but i'll stop being a bitch about it because they don't deserve that. also sorry for the wall of (probably incoherent lmao) text i got passionate <3

edit 2: guys. im screaming. the apology was amazing imo and i genuinely think they really mean it, like it doesn't seem bullshitted. i think they realized they fucked up for reals and feel bad. im so happy for them, but also for us as fans. yay :D

[oofthwoods]

STEPS TO YOU! ── ˙ ̟ lando norris !!

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 :: lando norris hates the idea of soulmates. for him, it's hard to see everyone in his life with a matching tattoo, or a timer, or the inability to see colors, while he has to be content with the fact that he may never find his perfect match. that is, until he starts to see mysterious footprints around the paddock, hinting at a path he never expected.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 :: this is my confession that my favorite soulmate!aus are the ones where they don't think they have one. the sadness of thinking you are not destined for a great love only to find out that there's someone out there for you??? mwah chefs kiss

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 :: to be added.

LANDO NORRIS WAS A ROMANTIC AT HEART.

He had a secret love for romantic comedies. Watching couples overcome comical obstacles before finding their happy ending always brought a smile to his face. Though he would never admit it, he found joy in the cliched plots and endearing moments portrayed on screen.

The Brit also enjoyed weddings. Family, friends, or mere acquaintances— it didn't matter. To him, the ceremony was a tangible display of true love that existed beyond the silver screen and scripted Hollywood romances.

Despite everything, Lando knew that he would never experience anything like it. Everyone around him seemed to have a sure sign that they were meant for great love: Carlos with his past life visions shared with his beloved, George with his key pendant symbolizing his destiny, and even Oscar, who occasionally vanished, leaving a girl in his place. But not Lando. No visions, no tattoos, no words etched on his arm foretelling what his soulmate would say upon their first encounter. He felt like an outsider in a world where everyone seemed to have found their perfect match, while he knew he would be alone forever.

As Lando's realization sunk in, it was an emotional rollercoaster. He wasn't just a late bloomer; he wasn't meant to blossom at all. In his childhood innocence, he embraced his supposed independence and declared that girls were gross and he could live without someone by his side forever. But as adolescence took over, he found himself increasingly on the sidelines, watching as close friends shared stories of connection and love, filling him with a painful mix of envy and despair.

Every tale of someone else's romance felt like a dagger to the heart, a wound that refused to heal. Lando couldn't help but wonder what he had done to deserve this solitary fate in a world where everyone else seemed to find their soulmates.

Occasionally, he gazed up at the dark expanse above, yearning for solutions. Had the universe overlooked him or was love just not in his destiny? Some claimed that soulmates were like atoms connected since before the Big Bang, their bond enduring despite eons passing. But what did this mean for Lando? Was he destined for a solitary life even before the cosmos took shape?

As an adult, Lando struggled to convince himself that he had come to terms with his fate. He told himself over and over again that finding true love was possible without a soulmate being involved. It didn't have to be some cosmic arrangement. Yet, deep down, even as he tried to comfort himself with this reasoning, he couldn't shake the desire for something more. He yearned to be uniquely crafted for someone, to be cherished wholeheartedly despite his imperfections and weaknesses.

Lando shook his head, pulling himself out of his thoughts and back into the present moment. The unforgiving Melbourne sun beat down on him, its golden rays spreading across the circuit. Heat radiated all around him, almost suffocating in its intensity. He cursed his decision to wear an orange hoodie that morning as a bead of sweat rolled down his forehead. Walking from the entrance to his garage, he couldn't escape the discomfort caused by the heat. The thick fabric clung to his skin, trapping him in its grasp as the temperature continued to rise.

Beside him, Oscar emanated an infectious energy. The pilot was fully immersed in the atmosphere of his home country's race, evident through his beaming smile. Despite the hustle and bustle around them, they maintained a calm demeanor, as if they were in a world of their own, oblivious to the cameras of the photographers trying to capture every moment.

Lando observed Oscar's anxious glances, as if he was searching for a particular person.

Deciding to break the silence, Lando asked, "Has your family arrived?"

Oscar's mind seemed elsewhere as he replied, "Oh, yeah. They're here. I'm just looking for someone else."

Someone else. Lando's brow furrowed as he thought about the mysterious bond between Oscar and his soulmate. Every now and then, without warning or explanation, the Australian would switch places with the girl he was connected to. Initially, Lando feared that this could happen during a race and result in a disastrous outcome. However, he soon realized that the universe was smart enough to only make these switches when both were safe.

"You met her?" Lando finally asked, curious about Oscar's soulmate. He looked at him with confusion before smiling sadly.

"Not yet, and she's not the one i'm looking or," Oscar replied, bringing a small sense of relief to Lando. He immediately felt guilty for wishing that others wouldn't find their soulmates, knowing it was selfish and petty.

Additionally, Lando could recall a peculiar incident from the previous year, when Oscar suddenly disappeared, and a girl had surprisingly turned up in the McLaren garage, clad in pajamas and exuding an unusual calmness about the situation. He remembered her as a charming and witty girl, and the thought that Oscar had someone special to share his life with brought a comforting warmth to Lando's heart, though it was tinged with a hint of jealousy.

"I have a friend coming over today," Oscar interjected, breaking through Lando's thoughts. "We went to elementary school together, but it's been a while since we've seen each other. She finished college last year, and managed to take a few days off to visit."

Lando nodded along as Oscar talked about his friend, dividing his attention between their conversation and the busy paddock. He couldn't help but notice weird stains on the ground and wished people would be more considerate of the space.

The two McLaren pilots still had a few minutes before the first meeting and the final free practice before qualifying. They decided to take refuge from the scorching sun inside their respective driver's rooms, seeking a moment of tranquility before the hustle and bustle of the track.

Lando made his way down the narrow path to the driver's room, noticing strange marks on the floor. The team garage was typically spotless, and he couldn't comprehend how it had become so messy.

"Who the hell made this mess?" Lando furrowed his brow and glanced around the room.

Oscar, perplexed, asked, "What mess?"

With a chuckle, Lando replied, "Are you blind? Look at the damn floor, it's covered in stains." He pointed to the ground with his arm.

Oscar tried to play along, forcing a laugh. "Mate, did you hit your head on the way here? The floor is spotless, as always."

Lando's eyes narrowed as he examined the stains on the ground more closely. What he imagined was dirt from a worker's shoe, appeared to not be random splatters; they seemed deliberate, almost forming a pattern. And then, in a sudden moment of clarity, Lando's heart skipped a beat as he realized the stains looked like footsteps.

"This is strange," he muttered, crouching down to get a better look.

Hearing Lando's concern, Oscar joined him and peered at the marks. "What are you thinking?"

Lando's mind was filled with various thoughts. He wondered if the intense heat was causing him to hallucinate. A thought crossed his mind that someone had wandered into the garage barefoot, possibly in search of new shoes. Everything seemed mildly possible.

Despite his efforts to suppress it, a nagging part inside him reminded him of the nights he spent wondering about potential invisible soulmate connections. He couldn't help but recall the excitement of discovering invisible threads - like leaving colorful marks upon touch or having their thoughts connect when within a certain distance, almost like telepathy. Things that wouldn't appear on his body when he turned eight, but still meant he had someone.

The 15-year-old version of himself seemed to be pounding on his chest, making him remember the thread through footsteps that he had long forgotten about, and started to question if even existed. Yet, Oscar didn't seem to notice the distinct marks on the floor and Lando couldn't possibly be hallucinating from dehydration.

Oscar placed his hand on Lando's back and felt a shiver run through his friend's body. "Lando, you're starting to worry me. Do you want to go to the medical bay?"

Lando quickly got up from the floor, shaking off Oscar's touch. "No need, Os. I'm fine." He forced a smile, but there was a lump in his throat as he tried to swallow down the fear and uncertainty. He didn't want to get his hopes up again, only to have them crushed once more.

"What do you think of the place?" Oscar's voice startles you from behind,.

A smile lights up your face as you turn around to see your friend in person for the first time in a long while. You eagerly embrace him with open arms, attempting to lift him off the ground like you used to when you were kids.

"Wow, okay, you're not as light as you used to be."

Oscar chuckles, and playfully returns the favor by lifting you up. "Nope, I'm not. Or maybe you're just not as strong anymore."

You tease, giving his shoulder a light slap. He winces and holds onto it, pretending it hurts.

"It's impressive." You answer his previous question. "So many people, so much noise, but I can see why you love it here." You take in the bustling atmosphere with a laugh.

The Aussie leans back against something and asks with a playful glint in his eye, "So, what's been going on in your world?"

You chuckle, immediately feeling at ease with him. "Just the usual post-grad life. Trying to figure it all out."

"Will you stick with auto sports?" He asks hopefully.

"I have an interview lined up to shadow a F2 journalist, so let's hope for the best." You make a gesture of crossed fingers. You thought that graduating with a degree in Journalism would give you direction in life, but almost a year later, you're still searching for your calling.

"It's already yours. I've never met anyone who could get honest answers from drivers like you do." He tried to calm you.

"I interviewed you once for a college project, Os. I don't think that counts." You chuckle.

"Come on, I was in f2 back then. That's definitely something to put on your resume."

"I'll keep that in mind." You nod.

It didn't feel like it had been so long since you two last saw each other in person.

As your gaze sweeps over the cluttered garage once more, something strange catches your eye, and you furrow your brow in confusion.

"Isn't Easter still a ways off?" Your eyes follow a trail of small, misshapen footprints leading around the room and you can't help but comment, "And whoever left those prints definitely didn't excel in their Arts & Crafts classes. They look nothing like bunny paws."

Oscar couldn't believe it. What was going on with his friends and footprints that day?

He squints and shakes his head. "I don't see anything," he says, trying to follow your gaze.

"Of course you don't. I've been telling you to get your eyes checked for years," you tease with a laugh. You walk over to him and point directly at the pawprint (that looks more like a footprint) on the ground that you can clearly see, even though it's slightly faded. Oscar looks at you with confusion.

"Are you and Lando in on this together?" He starts to suspect a prank.

"Lando? Your teammate?" You shake your head. "I've never even met him, Os." A mischievous grin spreads across your face. "But maybe I should."

Oscar's gaze shifted from the empty space in front of him. "Don't even go there, missy. Teammates are strictly off-limits."

You couldn't help but tease, "Why, does he have a soulmate?"

Oscar used to give you pitying looks whenever you mentioned not having a love thread, but it had been a while since then. He missed all of you - including your bad puns.

"I don't know. We've never discussed it," Oscar shuddered. He and Lando had grown closer over the past year, but the Brit never seemed to want to talk about that topic, so Oscar left it alone.

You continue to tease, "I still don't see why he's off-limits."

"Can you imagine how traumatizing it would be to see Lando making out with my best friend?"

"It wouldn't be any weirder than collecting bugs with my best friend and then suddenly having a random girl in front of me," your counterpart argues.

"Touché" It wouldn't be right for Oscar to dictate who you should pursue, especially since you had no control over randomly talking to his soulmate after swapping places. "It still would be fucking weird."

"You know, if two people saw those pawprints and you didn't, I think it's safe to say who's the one in the wrong here," You nudged him playfully. "Maybe you're just not looking close enough. Let me guide you."

Stepping closer to the mysterious prints, you crouched down and examined them closely. "They seem... fresh, don't they?"

Oscar joined you, squinting his eyes as he tried to make out any shape or form on the ground. "I swear, there's nothing there. Are you sure this isn't some elaborate prank?"

You shook your head, running your fingers over the indentations. "No, these are real."

Despite trying his best, Oscar couldn't make out what he was supposed to be looking at. "Alright, you got me. Congrats on your and Lando's little joke."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Your frustration grows as you wonder how he could have missed the obvious footprints right in front of him.

"He saw these so-called "footprints" too." He gestured with air quotes, convinced that his best friend and teammate were up to some strange prank together.

Before you could protest, someone called out your friend's name. "I have to go, it's my engineer," he said, getting up from the floor. He gave you a friendly smile that quickly turned into a knowing smirk. "And don't follow the footprints, Alice. They won't lead you to wonderland."

Wonderland or not, you would be stupid not to follow it.

As you follow the trail of footprints through the crowded garage, your curiosity builds with each step. You maneuver carefully around toolboxes and piles of spare parts, focusing on the prints as they lead you deeper into the maze-like space.

At last, you reach the end of the trail and come face to face with a closed door. Your heart races with excitement and anticipation as you stare at the sign above it: "Lando Norris' Driver's Room"

You furrow your brow in confusion. How could Norris' driver's room be connected to the strange footprints you've been tracking? Is this some kind of elaborate prank that Oscar roped Lando into as well?

Despite the nagging feeling that something was off, you stood your ground and refused to give into whatever it was that was trying to lure you in. You mentally prepared yourself to turn around and head back to Oscar's garage, where at least you felt familiar, and he couldn't pull pranks on you in front of his entire team.

And then, as if on cue, the door swings open, revealing Lando Norris standing on the other side. His presence fills the doorway, commanding attention with an effortless grace that leaves you breathless.

In that moment, you can't help but drink in the sight of him—the way the soft glow of the room illuminates his features, casting his angular jawline and chiseled cheekbones in sharp relief. His eyes, a mesmerizing shade of azure, hold a glint of mischief as they meet yours, and you find yourself drowning in their depths.

Lando is clad in his fireproofs, the sleek material hugging his lean frame in all the right places. His racesuit hangs by his waist, a vibrant burst of color against the backdrop of the room. There's a confidence in the way he carries himself, a hint of swagger that speaks of countless hours spent behind the wheel of a racing car.

But it's not just his physical appearance that captivates you—it's the strange electricity that seems to crackle in the air when your eyes meet.

Your heart skips a beat as you find yourself in a predicament, searching for a clever excuse. You definitely didn't want to appear as a stalker-fan who snuck in. "Um, I was just... uh..."

"Oscar?" Lando interrupts, a knowing glint in his eyes.

"Yes, Oscar!" You latch onto the name like a lifeline. "I'm a friend of his."

"He mentioned you," Lando nods, a friendly grin spreading across his face.

"Ah, so Oscar's been gossiping about me, huh?" You tease, a playful smirk curling your lips as you lock gazes with Lando. "I hope he said only nice things."

Lando chuckles softly, leaning casually against the doorframe. "Oh, absolutely. But he forgot to mention how gorgeous you are"

You feel a warm flush creeping up your cheeks at his compliment, and you playfully bat your eyelashes. "Oh, did he now? Well, I'll have to thank him for the rave reviews later."

An easy silence falls between you, charged with unspoken chemistry and the promise of potential. Lando breaks the quiet with a mischievous smirk, closing the gap between you.

"Care for a little tour while we wait for Oscar? I promise not to lead you astray... too much," he adds with a wink.

Despite the lingering adrenaline from the close call and the unexpected encounter with Lando, you find yourself nodding eagerly. Oscar had been too occupied to give you a proper tour, and you were itching to explore the place.

"Lead the way, but I'm holding you to that promise of not getting lost," you tease, motioning for him to lead. As he begins to walk, you fall into step beside him, the playful brush of your shoulders sending sparks flying.

"Do you have a habit of getting lost?" Lando asks with a playful glint in his eyes.

You laugh, shaking your head in mock dismay. "Define 'a habit'," you retort, a playful sparkle in your eyes. "When we were younger, Oscar and I used to roam around this massive mall near our homes. I lost count of how many times he had to page me over the speakers because I got sidetracked and wandered off."

"I'll have to keep a close eye on you, then," Lando quips. "Can't have Oscar's friend getting lost on my watch."

You chuckle at his teasing, reveling in the easy banter between you two. As he continues to show you around the McLaren paddock, pointing out various spots and sharing amusing anecdotes, you find yourself drawn to his effortless charm and infectious energy.

"You know, I never expected today to turn out like this," you admit, stealing a sideways glance at Lando. "But I'm glad it did. Especially if it means getting a personal tour from McLaren's charming star driver."

Lando beams at your words, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Consider yourself lucky, then. Not everyone gets the VIP treatment around here." He pauses for a moment before adding with a playful grin, "Although, I must confess, it's rather challenging to focus on giving a proper tour with you flashing that smile."

Your heart flutters at his words, but you play it cool with a playful roll of your eyes. "You need to work on your flirting skills, dude."

"But do they work?" Lando counters with a cheeky smile.

"Maybe. Keep trying, and who knows where it might lead."

"Ah, so you're admitting my charm has potential?" Lando shoots back, a playful glint in his eyes.

"I didn't say that," you reply with a smirk..

"Ouch, that hurts," Lando feigns offense, placing a hand over his heart dramatically. "Here I am, giving you the grand tour, and you won't even give me credit for my rizz."

"Okay, okay, maybe just a little credit," you concede with a laugh, nudging him lightly with your elbow. "But don't let it get to your head."

Lando grins. "Don't worry, I'll try to contain my ego."

As the tour comes to an end, you and Lando bid your goodbyes, thanking each other for the enjoyable time spent together. It's time for qualifying, and Lando is escorted towards his car by a member of his team. Just before he gets in, he looks back towards you with a faint smile. In that moment, his gaze locks with yours, and he freezes as a realization dawns upon him. The footsteps he had noticed earlier, weaving through the McLaren paddock, had a familiar pattern. They were from you.

He looks back to the path he took with you, and the marks on the floor as clear as day. They appear in front of his driver's room, in the small cafeteria where he took you to get the best coffee from the paddock (his words), and they follow you as you make your way to Oscar's side of the garage.

Lando's lips part slightly, as if he couldn't get enough air.

Before Lando could take a step towards you, his engineer's firm grip on his arm pulls him back. "Where are you going? Quali is about to start," his engineer reminds him, snapping him out of the mesmerizing realization.

Lando looks torn, torn between the exhilaration of discovering a potential connection he never noticed before and the responsibility of his racing career. He gives you one last longing look before reluctantly turning away, his mind buzzing with newfound thoughts and possibilities.

As he slides into the driver's seat and revs up the engine, he can't shake off the image of your smile, the sound of your laughter, and now, the footprints you left behind that seemed to lead straight to him. The engine roars to life, drowning out his racing thoughts as he steels himself for the high-stakes qualifying round ahead.

There were various theories floating around regarding why Lando secured the pole position. Some attributed it to an engine change, while others praised McLaren's performance on the specific circuit. But deep down, Lando knew that his main motivation was to finish everything quickly so he could talk to you.

He heard his engineer's voice in his ear through the radio, but he wasn't really paying attention. He knew he had interviews to do, photos to take, and a tire to sign, but as he stepped out of the car, his mind was consumed with thoughts of the girl he never knew existed.

After the whirlwind of interviews subsides and Lando returns to the bustling garage, his mind remains fixated on one thought: finding you. He navigates through the maze of mechanics and engineers, his determination unwavering.

Spotting Oscar amidst the commotion, Lando strides over, his expression a mix of eagerness and urgency. "Hey, Oscar," he calls out, drawing his friend's attention.

Oscar looks up from his conversation with a mechanic, a puzzled expression crossing his face at the intensity in Lando's gaze. "Hey, Lando. What's up?" he asks, curious yet cautious.

"I need to talk to your friend," Lando replies, his tone serious.

Oscar's confusion deepens, and a hint of protectiveness flickers in his eyes. "My friend? Why do you need to speak to her?" he inquires, his tone guarded.

Lando hesitates for a moment, searching for the right words. "I... I just need to ask her something," he says evasively, unwilling to divulge the true reason behind his urgency.

Oscar studies Lando intently, sensing there's more to the story than meets the eye. "Is everything okay?" he probes, his concern evident.

Lando shifts uncomfortably under Oscar's scrutiny, torn between his desire to find you and his reluctance to reveal too much. "Yeah, everything's fine," he assures, attempting to brush off Oscar's concern.

But Oscar isn't convinced, his protective instincts kicking into overdrive. "Look, if you're going to involve my friend in something, I need to know what's going on," he insists firmly.

Lando sighs, realizing he can't keep dodging the question. "It's just... I met her earlier, and I... I need to talk to her," he admits, his voice tinged with vulnerability.

Oscar's expression softens as he recognizes the sincerity in Lando's words. He may be protective, but he also trusts his instincts when it comes to his friends. "Okay," he relents, nodding in understanding. "She's in my driver's room."

Before Lando can make his way there, Oscar grabs his arm, a serious expression etched on his face. "Look, I know we don't talk about this, but…" He hesitates momentarily. "I don't know if you have a soulmate, but she doesn't. And I don't want you giving her false hope, only to disappear the moment someone mentions what's on your arm, or whatever."

Lando offers a reassuring smile. "You're wrong."

"Listen, I don't care if your mark is on your arm or your ass, my point was-"

"It's not about that. It's about her not having a soulmate," Lando interjects.

Oscar's expression turns grave. "What do you mean?"

"Footsteps," Lando responds simply.

Oscar's frustration bubbles to the surface. "What's going on with both of you? First, you mention footsteps, then her." He glances at his teammate, who meets his gaze with a serene smile. In Lando's eyes, there's a glimmer of hope and relief that Oscar can't quite comprehend. Initially, he considers escorting both of his friends to the medical bay, puzzled by their strange behavior regarding footsteps that only they seem to perceive—

Footsteps that only they can see.

A sudden realization dawns upon Oscar, his eyes widening. "You two are soulmates."

"Hopefully," Lando murmurs. "I—I never thought I had one. No marks, no dreams, nothing. But this morning, I saw footsteps. And then we met, and I showed her around. We were side by side, so I didn't pay much attention. But before Qualifying, I noticed her walking toward your side of the garage, and there were footsteps leading there."

As the realization settles between them, Oscar reluctantly releases Lando's arm, allowing him to continue on his way. However, just as Lando begins to move away, Oscar calls out to him, his tone a mix of seriousness and jest.

"Lando, wait," Oscar says, his voice tinged with playful threat. "Soulmate or not, if you ever hurt my best friend, I'll make sure to crash into you in every single race."

Lando stops in his tracks, turning back to face Oscar with a wry smile. "Fair warning," he replies, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "But I can assure you, if I ever did hurt her, I'd deserve every crash."

The Brit's heart races as he stands before the door, realizing he doesn't need to ask Oscar about the girl when the footsteps guide him straight to her. He wonders if he'd ever noticed those phantom imprints before, dismissing them as mere smudges or dirt. And in a fleeting moment of clarity, he wonders if those same invisible marks had led you to his door earlier, tracing a path he hadn't noticed until now.

As Lando hesitates outside the door, uncertainty gripping his thoughts, he contemplates his next move. Should he pace back and forth until you notice the traces on the floor? Or perhaps he should boldly declare their connection as soulmates upon entering? Before he can settle on a plan, the door swings open.

"Wow!" You exclaim, your initial fright giving way to laughter. "Okay, I probably deserved that. Second time's the charm, right?"

"Uhm," Lando's throat constricts, his words stumbling over each other. In his mind, this conversation had seemed much simpler. "Look, I—I need to ask you something. Do you… have a soulmate?"

Your gaze hardens, but it's not anger that flickers in your eyes, only a hint of sorrow. "We just met today," you confess, your tone tinged with vulnerability. Lando realizes it might be an invasive question; after all, some people prefer to keep such matters private. "Is it that obvious?"

"Yes. I mean, no. I mean—" Lando fumbles, his nerves getting the best of him.

"It's alright, I understand," you say, crossing your arms with a sad smile. "You do?"

"I do," Lando confirms, gesturing subtly to the scattered footsteps that crisscross the room.

"Cool," you respond, your expression disoriented.

"No, wait, that's not what I meant." Lando's frustration mounts as he struggles to articulate his thoughts. Was this what it felt like to be stupid in love?

"It's okay, Lando, really," you reassure him gently. "I know some people like to have... fun before finding their soulmate. I won't judge you for that." Yet beneath your understanding tone, a pang of sadness lingers, the thought of forever being a mere diversion rather than a final destination.

"Listen," Lando interjects, laying his hands gently atop yours, a jolt of electricity coursing between them once more. "Earlier today, you saw those footsteps, didn't you?"

"Actually, yes," you reply, confusion clouding your features. Oscar had vehemently denied their existence, leaving you to question your own perception.

"Me too. I saw footsteps this morning. Then I noticed footsteps leading towards Oscar's garage," Lando reveals, his voice soft with emotion. He silently pleads for you not to notice the trembling in his hands. "And now, I see footsteps again. Emerging from the door and heading toward the couch. A circle of them, right in front of the television."

As Lando confides in you, his vulnerability palpable, you begin to piece it together. Your eyes widen in realization as you look around. Although you can't see the invisible footsteps he's describing, you can distinctly perceive a path, stretching from the door to where Lando stands before you.

"Every step leads me to you," he murmurs, his gaze locked on yours with unwavering intensity.

A tender smile graces your lips as you absorb Lando's words, a rush of warmth flooding your chest. "I never thought I had a soulmate," you confess softly, your voice tinged with wonder.

Lando's own smile mirrors yours, a mixture of affection and amusement dancing in his eyes. "Look at that, one thing that we already have in common," he replies, his tone gentle yet playful.

You share a moment of quiet understanding, the air thick with unspoken emotions swirling between you. It's a realization that defies logic yet feels undeniably right, as if the universe itself had conspired to bring you together. Well, it did, didn't it? Maybe you should apologize for all the times your cursed at it.

"And here we are," you say, a hint of awe coloring your words.

"Here we are," Lando echoes, his gaze never leaving yours.

A mischievous glint twinkles in your eyes as you playfully tease, "You know, when I suggested you keep trying to flirt with me, this wasn't exactly the outcome I had in mind."

Lando chuckles, his grin widening. "Well, lucky for me, there's no one I'd rather up my game with than you."

You laugh, feeling the tension ease between you as the playful banter continues. "Smooth talker," you tease, giving him a playful nudge.

"Just stating the truth," Lando replies, his tone lighthearted yet sincere. "Besides, you will have to deal with it for the rest of your life."

Your heart skips a beat at his words, the playful façade giving way to a deeper connection between you. "I suppose you have a point," you concede with a smile, feeling yourself drawn even closer to him.

Lando's eyes light up with mischief as an idea sparks in his mind. "You know," he begins, a playful grin tugging at his lips, "I've spent my entire life thinking you didn't exist. I have a lot of making up to do."

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise at his bold statement, but a smile tugs at the corners of your lips, intrigued by his playful demeanor. "Oh really?" you reply, a teasing glint in your eyes. "And just how do you plan on making it up to me?"

Lando's grin widens as he leans in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Well, I was thinking we could start here. I can't really go out, but my hotel has an amazing restaraunt" he suggests, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "After that... Have you ever been to Monaco? Or Italy? Maybe after that, we could..."

You can't help but laugh at his enthusiasm, charmed by his playful spirit. "I say you're full of surprises, Lando Norris," you tease, interrupting him, a playful sparkle dancing in your eyes. "But I like the way you think."

A bashful smile graces Lando's lips as he chuckles softly. "Great," he replies, his tone now tinged with a hint of shyness. "I've got a meeting to attend, but after that, how about we meet back here?"

"You'll know exactly where to find me."

As warmth floods through Lando's heart, a tender smile graces his lips. In that fleeting moment of realization, it dawns on him—he'll never doubt your existence again. Not when there's a trail of footsteps leading him straight back to you, a path he'll eagerly follow time and time again.

Lando Norris is a romantic at heart. The universe, in all its wisdom, understood that he deserved nothing less than the greatest of loves.

fun fact i actually hate this

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[am-i-the-asshole-official]

Am I the asshole for getting my best friend killed?

I swear to God, it was an accident.

My (27) BF (34) has a reputation for getting himself out of any jam you can imagine; and at first it was just a fun little thing the friend group noticed: there goes Oily J wiggling his way out of trouble again. but as the meme evolved in the group, it got to the point where we'd loykey started getting him into situations just to see how he'd get out of 'em, and he akept getting out of em. He was having fun with it too same as us. "Oh you guys," he'd say, "getting me into situations again," before laughing it off and getting out of it, so it was enrichment for our shared enclosures, and as time went on, the situations got more intense.

The trouble is, it turns out that putting a man in too many situations eventually gets the police interested. And not local hobsknockers cops either; they was like, proper three-letter FEDs. They put out a bounty on any information pertaining to his capture and everything. It was good money too so I thought, hey why don't I put J in another situation he can wiggle out of like always (and he'd wiggled outta worse before, so I thought this one'd be relatively mild), and at the next boardgame night (cause it was too late to do anything special for this one) we can buy some extra strong booze and get absolutely blitzed while having a giggle about the situation.

Boardgame night, and we were playing some social deduction nonsense or another and he says: "One of you is gonna betray me tonight." and I can't help but think, looking back on it, that he knew. It's stupid, I know he was talking about the game, but the way he said it, it was like he knew. We all felt it, and we had a big round robin round the table taking turns promising that we'd never betray him. And I said it so easily cause I thought it was true. Sure, I was gonna talk to the feds about a bounty; but, I fully expected my big beautiful oily boy to wiggle his way out of the trouble I was 'bout to cause, and that's not a betrayal. I wasn't lying. I didn't think I was lying.

My big beautiful oily boy didn't manage to wiggle his way out of it. They killed him and I got my blood money. He's gone.

He's gone and I'm devastated, crying, mourning. I loved him so much. We all did. And I can't stop thinking that it's my fault: that I'm the reason he's gone. and it is. and the guilt is eating me up inside. and I just need to talk to someone about it. So, I tell the rest of the group what happened in the group chat, hoping they'd understand that I didn't want this. I didn't want the government's blood money. It was supposed the be a prank. some joint enclosure enrichment. He was supposed to wiggle out of it like he always does... did, i mean.

They call me, among worse things, the asshole and kick me from the group chat. And, I know it's my fault he's dead: I know that. If I didn't do what I did, he wouldn't be dead right now. But, I didn't mean it for it to end up this way. He was supposed to be okay, damn it. I loved him. AITA?

What are these acronyms?