#<- is 3rd year engineering

[copia]

supposed to be focusing on academics but my day has been made now i've moved my ghost-related tattoo appointment which means i can spend more time with my sewing machine in a couple of weeks making ghost cosplay for the ghost ritual and i can't wait to get some revision done before writing ghost things with some ghostblogging on the side

[moonmitski]

being sober and hanging out in ur room lowkey rules actually. scientists need to get on this

[dogbunni]

so I've had a fucking day

[brunorosenbaum11]

Unreal Game Mechanic - 3rd Year Project

My first time using Unreal Engine!

This time we needed to make a game mechanic. For this project, I decided to design a game mechanic where upon clicking and selecting the stakes placed in the map, they'd levitate, rotate and be launched as projectiles towards the direction the player points to with the mouse.

The mechanic also includes a small health system where turret-like enemies fire bullets at the player, and the player can, in turn, kill them by launching the stakes at them.

Using Unreal proved to be more complicated than the previous projects, as it was the first time I was using a proper game engine. Luckily, there's plenty documentation and tutorials online.

For the entire breakdown of the project and its code, you can check it out here!

[raikkonens]

ok so when are we gonna talk about cat hybrid oscar

[sunfairiess]

𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 || 𝐣𝐣 𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐤

pairing: jj maybank x fem!routledge!reader

tropes: 3rd person narration | sarah cameron’s pov | childhood best friends to lovers | brother’s best friend | best friend’s sister | fluff | soft boy jj

synopsis: sarah cameron meets her boyfriend’s sister for the first time, and understands what being soulmates means.

warnings: cursing, slightly mention of violence

wc: 2.9k

it’s my first time writing a character x reader (and actually writing a ff in years lmao) so i really hope this turned out well! also, i apologize for any typos or grammar errors but english is not my first language <3

song rec: about you - the 1975 ♡

“c��mon guys, time to go back. it’s starting to freeze out here.” pope said, placing his fishing rod by his side before getting up and walking towards the helm of the boat, kiara following him to keep him some company. he was right: the temperature had started to drop, and honestly he didn’t even know why the pogues decided to go fishing at the end of november.

they were all there, except for the pogue princess as they liked to call her. she was john b’s younger sister, just by one year; and even though she was definitely a pogue down to her core, she actually almost looked like a kook: she was always composed, never drank too much, never even touched a cigarette or a joint, and she worked her ass off every afternoon at the country club to help john b with the bills and to afford a few of the things she liked.

she was smart, kind, the type of girl to lighten up a room with the sound of her laughter. she was also one of the reasons why the ‘no pogue-on-pogue macking‘ rule was made: everyone kind of had a thing for her, and jj maybank was the first in line.

“i seriously regret coming, i think i’m going into hypothermia.” jj said, shuddering a little bit. yes, it was cold, but it wasn’t that cold. jj just liked to be dramatic.

“gosh, you’re such a pussy.” john b laughed, smacking his best friend behind the head. they’ve know each other for more than ten years now. they weren’t friends anymore, they were brothers. they loved and cared for each other very deeply, even if they were acting like jerks most of the time.

as pope started the engine of the hms pogue, ready to go back to the château, john b took his sweatshirt off to pass it to sarah, his new girlfriend. she was a kook, but she was different. she didn’t care about how dissimilar their lives were, she loved spending time with the pogues because they were real. they were amazing friends, they were funny and smart, and the kind of people you could have a serious conversation with. they weren’t superficial like the kooks, and she loved them for this.

she felt a little tap on her leg, catching with her vision her boyfriend’s sweater. she gave john b a smile and slid the blue piece of clothing on. “so, i’m meeting your sister for the first time today, uh. big step.” sarah joked, slightly pushing his arm.

since the first moment they started dating, john b had always talked about how he wanted her to meet his sister. she was the most important person in his life, especially after his dad went missing at sea during a storm. he actually wanted sarah to meet her right away, but she asked him to wait a couple of months, just to see if they were solid about this relationship. “yup, and trust me you’re gonna love her. she’s like a little ball of sunshine, she wouldn’t even hurt a fly.” he said, smiling at the thought how of sweet his sister was with everyone.

“he’s right. i don’t think i’ve even ever seen her mad.” jj stated, shifting his seat from john b’s right to sarah’s left.

“she seems really nice, but i’m not worried about me liking her, because, by what you guys always say about her, i already do. i’m just worried she won’t like me, you know because of the whole pogue-kook thing.”

everyone bursted out laughing at sarah’s words, her face more confused than ever. “what? what did I say?” kiara left pope at the helm of the boat, and went to sit in front of her, crossing her legs together. “you don’t need to worry about that, she doesn’t give a shit about the rivalry. trust me, she looks like she walked out of a cruise brochure. the only thing she wants is to see her brother with someone who makes him happy, which you do, so she’s totally gonna be fine with it.” sarah smiled at her words, feeling a bit more relieved now.

even though pope wasn’t seating next to them, he could still perfectly hear their conversation and see sarah’s tensed body. that’s why he decided to lighten up a bit the discussion. “you know, one time she made jj dress up as a reindeer.” he said getting out a chuckle at the memory of jj dressed as one of santa claus’s reindeers.

kiara followed him with a loud laughter “oh my god it’s true, i almost forgot it.”

sarah gave them an amazed look. she was enjoying this too much to not say anything. “okay, this is actually the funniest thing i’ve ever heard. did you had a red nose like little rudolph, too?” she said with a smirk, turning her head towards jj’s.

“oh shut up, all of you. i only did it because she asked. besides, she looked so happy when i changed into that costume. i would honestly do it again.” jj let out an involontary smile at the thought of y/n. it was like this all the time: wether he wanted it or not, the only thought of y/n made him feel like he was the happiest man on earth, even if he wasn’t. she just had that effect on him.

“god, it’s sickening how whipped you are for my sister.” john b said, mimicking a gag reflex.

jj rolled his eyes at his words. sarah switching her gaze between the two boys sitting one to her left, and the other to her right. she then stopped to look at jj. “wait- you like y/n?”

“like? hell, he loves that girl. he’s been in love with her since he was six. the random hook ups he has? that’s all for show. he only does it to not draw suspicion, since the only girl he’d like to fuck— and sorry john b— is y/n.” pope said, fully exposing his friend’s feelings.

not that jj cared anyway. everyone knew how he felt about her, he didn’t even try to deny it anymore.

“and you’re completely fine with it?“ sarah asked john b, knowing how protective he was when it came to his sister.

“i wasn’t always. first time he told me he loved her? i punched him. not my finest moment but i was kinda mad.” john b replied, slightly chuckling, reminiscing his right fist hitting jj’s jawbone. “i mean, the day before he tells me he sees her as a little sister and then that he wants to sleep with her? hell nah, i wasn’t having that.”

“and what changed your mind?”

“because it’s jj. i know my best friend, and i know how much he cares for her. i knew he was never going to hurt her, i’m actually pretty sure he would die for her.”

sarah nodded along. the look on jj’s face confirming that what john b had just said was a hundred percent true. in that moment a thought crossed her mind, making her think about how what jj and y/n must’ve been something truly special.

“bubba, we’re home.” john b shouted, as he opened the château’s door. the house was silent, except for a light melody coming from the bathroom and the sound of the shower running. “shower! be right there!” sarah heard y/n shout back, as every one of the pogues sat on the couch: her ending up between her boyfriend and kiara, next to who was seated pope; and a bit far away from them jj. she figured he left the space empty for y/n.

about ten minutes later, while the pogues were having a conversation about an upcoming party at the boneyard, a sixteen year old girl came out of the bathroom, wearing a pink sweater and long white sweatpants. white socks at her feet and long wet hair cascading down her back. she walked up to them, bending slightly to place a kiss on her brother’s cheek, and proceeding to do the same with all the others.

she then retraced her steps and stopped in front of sarah. “so you’re the reason why my brother stopped being a cranky old lady.” she smiled, offering her her right hand. “i’m y/n, it’s so nice to finally meet you.”

“sarah. it’s a pleasure to meet you too, john b’s always talking about you.” sarah replied, shaking her hand. y/n let out a small laugh, as she walked towards the end of the couch were jj was seated.

she plopped down next to him, tucking her legs under her bottom and leaning into him. he wrapped his arm around her, pulling her closer and gently leaving a kiss to the side of her head. “he’s always talking about you too. i swear the other night he woke me up around 3am just to tell me how amazing your date was. which, don’t get me wrong, i was very happy to hear about.”

“you literally throw a pillow in my face.” john b said.

“duh, because you woke me at 3 fucking a.m. i love you bird, but for gods sakes let a girl sleep.” she replied, making everyone laugh at her comment.

the conversation resumed pretty quickly, this time through with jj paying way less attention to it, more focused on the girl next to him.

the entire evening, between laughters and bottles of beers, sarah observed how jj and y/n were always caught up in their whole world. jj’s hands being constantly on her body, wether it was a arm around her shoulders or his hand on her leg. they were glued to each other, sometimes even whispering between them words only they could catch.

for the second time that day, sarah thought about how jj and y/n’s bond was special, going beyond simple friendship.

it was almost two a.m. when kie and pope left, both returning to their respective houses to avoid their parents storming out on them. sarah instead was going to spend the night there, so since jj and john b were on the front porch smoking a joint, obviously a jj’s idea, she and y/n were the only two people moving around the living room, cleaning up the mess of empty beer bottles and pizza boxes.

the whole night she noticed how jj and y/n acted around each other, so since they were now alone, she just felt like she had to ask. “so what’s the deal between you and jj?”

“there’s no deal, we’re friends.” y/n said calmly.

“bullshit, i noticed the way you look at him and how he looks at you. that’s the look of love, sweetie.” sarah decided not to mention how jj actually felt about her. it wasn’t her place to say tell the truth.

“nah, jj would never go for someone like me. he only sees me as a little sister, besides i’m not even his type.” she replied, giving her a kind smile, even though she felt like a lump was stuck right down her throat. y/n always knew she wasn’t the kind of girl jj would want, the were total polar opposites, and truthfully she never even considered herself that much beautiful to have a chance with him.

“since when jj has a type? doesn’t he hits on every breathing human being?” sarah knew this probably wasn’t the right thing to say, but sometimes people needed a little push to blurt out their feelings. to her surprise though, y/n laughed, most likely because she knew how their friend had a habit of flirting with almost every girl he met. it didn’t matter if they were pogues or tourons, or hell even kooks sometimes. a pretty girl is a pretty girl, doesn’t matter where she comes from.

“kinda, but he always hooks up with victoria-secrets-models type of girls, if you get what i mean. and apart from that, we want different things. he doesn’t do relationships and i don’t do random hook ups. not to mention how the possibility of me and jj being together would probably give an aneurysm to my brother.”

“eh, i wouldn’t be so sure about that, ya know. either way though, you like him, don’t you?“ sarah said, remembering the conversation she and the other guys had on the boat.

busted. y/n stayed silent, sailing her lips in a thin, straight line. she then closed her eyes and took a deep breath, getting ready to spill everything out. she figured it was time to tell the truth anyway, since sarah clearly figured everything out.

“i met jj when i was four, we were in kindergarten and some older boys were picking on me. i was smaller and basically on the edge of tears, until i saw this blonde boy running towards me and putting himself between us. even if he was younger than them he still took my defense. after that he walked me home and told me he was a friend of john b’s. since that day, i don’t think i’ve ever liked someone that wasn’t him.“

she took a small pause, just to catch her breath. but she was so caught up in narrating the whole story, that she didn’t notice john b and jj leaning against the doorframe.

jj’s eyes almost bursting out of his face at her words, not expecting to hear her confession. john b, very aware of how his best friend was going to lose his shit any minute now, he places his finger against his mouth, mimicking him to shut up.

“as we grew older the roles kinda reversed and i started to look out for him: when he would come here bruised because of his father i would hug him and clean him up; even if younger than him i helped him study, you know just avoiding he would fail some subjects. at night, dad used to let him sleep next to me or john b because he didn’t want to be alone, thing that of course dad prohibited when i turned twelve. that didn’t stop him though: he would sneak out as soon as john b would fall asleep and come under the covers with me.”

she let out a laugh. “would sir. freud love this? probably yes, but it doesn’t matter. he deserves someone that cares for him, everyone does. and it’s not pity or mercy, i genuinely want to be there for him, because he deserves the best. yet, because of his father he’s convinced he’s worthless, but he’s not. gosh, he’s so funny and smart, which i know sounds weird but he is. he would die for his friends and cares so much for us. and i’m sure he could make it out of obx if only he wanted to. and he’s always so supportive and gen-“

she could’ve kept going on, but she suddenly noticed the two boys staring right up at her. jj’s eyes were watery, like he was going to cry any second now. he didn’t cry much, only when really fucked up things happened in his life, but for the first time he felt like crying not because he was sad and tired but because he was happy. because finally he could’ve had something great going on in his life. he could’ve had her.

without saying anything he launched himself into y/n’s arms, letting her stumble back due to the rushed impact between their bodies. he hold her tight, his arms around her waist and hers around his neck. his face placed in the space between her shoulder and her neck, breathing in the smell of the coconut soap she always used. he didn’t care about sarah and john b still being in the room, he wouldn’t even care if a freaking zebra walked in the house. she was the only thing that mattered. she was his whole universe.

“you shouldn’t eavesdrop, maybank.” she said with a smirk, putting a bit of distance between their bodies so she could look at him in the face, but still managing to play with the of hair at the nape of his neck.

“did you actually mean it? like for real?”

“every word, jay. you know me, i would never lie to you.”

jj maybank was impulsive. half of the time he never thought before acting, which pretty much resulted in him dealing with the aftermath of his stupid decisions. that’s why he didn’t think twice in grabbing y/n’s face with his hands, pressing his lips against hers.

at first he felt her stiffening, probably surprised by his gesture, and for a moment he really thought he had just screwed everything up. but then her hands went to his shirt, yanking him even closer if possible, and he sensed her relaxing, her lips moving against his.

after what seemed like hours, he pulled back, only because they both needed air. if it was up to him, he would’ve spent hours kissing her without getting a break.

“i’ve been loving you for a long time, princess.” she smiled, her cheeks almost hurting because of all the happiness she was feeling.

“well, you’re very lucky then, because i’ve been loving you for a long time too.”

“i can’t watch this, i think i’m gonna throw up.”

sarah nudged her elbow into her boyfriend stomach, giving him a look that said ‘shut the fuck up or i’m killing you’. john b raised his hands in the air, admitting defeat.

and, as they watched jj starting to kiss y/n again, sarah thought of how her own relationship was truly amazing. but in her opinion? what y/n and jj had was the true definition of soulmates.

[hitoshitoshi]

Hair Washing [Husband!Zayne x GenderNeutral!Reader]

Summary: You take care of Zayne and he allows it for once in his life.

Tags: Established Relationship, Married life, Hair Washing, Self Degradation, Hurt/Comfort, Self Indulgent, Workaholic and Stubborn Zayne, Domestic fluff, Non-sexual Intimacy, Romance.

Zayne drove his Audi into the garage, the purr of the engine fading to silence as he cut the ignition. As the garage door descended, shutting out the world where it was just him in his car �� his forehead resting against the steering wheel, eyes closed, the weight of a 16-hour shift was hitting him like a fire being snuffed out by a lid. 

'Pull yourself together,' Zayne chided internally, straightening up with a soft inaudible groan. 

Flipping down the sun visor mirror, Zayne assessed his reflection. Dark circles lurked beneath his hazel eyes, his hair was slightly disheveled, and his skin lost a bit of its glow. Zayne grabbed a comb and meticulously smoothed out his hair into place. 

'You have no right to burden others with your childish grievances,' Zayne reminded himself, a mantra born of years of self-imposed stoicism. Zayne would not allow himself to ever burden you with such a pitiful thing such as tiredness or to ever make you worry as long as he lived. 

Satisfied with his appearance, Zayne exited the car, his movements deliberately measured to hide his bone-deep fatigue that threatened to consume him. As he approached the house, he took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. The mask, Dr. Zayne — the Cardiac Surgeon, slid off as he was now Zayne, your husband. He opened the door, stepping into the warmth of your shared home. 

Zayne called out to you, "I'm home," his voice was steady and neutral, betraying none of the relief he felt at finally being home to where you were, in the house you two had lived in and cherished.

The sounds of rapid footsteps echoed through the house, and Zayne felt a flutter of warmth in his chest. You appeared, eyes bright with joy and relief that your beloved husband came home from work. For a moment, Zayne allowed a soft smile to tug at the corner of his lips as he drank in the sight of his partner. 

Your heart raced at the sight of Zayne, a mix of excitement and concern washed over you. You rushed forward, arms outreached for a hug, but you stopped mid-motion as you took in Zayne's appearance. Despite Zayne's immaculate exterior, you knew Zayne more than anyone else to know that he was tired —  the slight degree of a slump in Zayne's shoulders, the barely perceptible tightness around Zayne's eyes, the shadows under Zayne's eyes being a shade too dark. Your heart clenched, seeing the man you loved with your entire soul, pushing himself so hard. 

"Zayne, you look tired," You said softly as you reached out to touch Zayne's arm. Your fingers trembled slightly, torn between the desire to pull him close and the fear of overstepping even if you two were already married. "Let me take care of you tonight."

Zayne felt a surge of conflicting emotions at your words —  gratitude warring with his ingrained need for self-reliance. It was always Zayne treating and spoiling you, and not the other way around. Even the times when you tried to spoil him back, Zayne would always find a way to turn it around so that it was back to him spoiling you. His eyebrow arched slightly, his expression shifting to one of mild amusement to hide the vulnerability he felt.

"I'm fine," Zayne replied, his tone leaving  no room for argument, even as an iota of him longed to give in, "It was just another day at the hospital." Zayne knew that he couldn't convince you since you were as stubborn as him, but it couldn't hurt to try.

 Your eyes narrowed, unconvinced. You could see the weariness Zayne was trying so hard to hide, and it made your chest tighten with worry. You insisted, "You've been gone for over 16 hours and this was the 3rd time this week back to back that you've had these long shifts. You need to rest. Let me help you rest." 

"I assure you, I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I've had longer shifts that were more troubling throughout the years," Zayne countered, a hint of stubbornness creeping into his voice. Even as he spoke, he felt his resolve wavering under your gaze —  he hated concerning you. He hated making you feel this way —  he hated himself for making you feel this way. 

You stepped closer, your hand was gentle but insistent on Zayne's arm. You could feel the tension in his muscles and the slight tremor of exhaustion. "Please, Zayne," you pleaded, "Let me do this for you once. You always take care of me, let me take care of you sometimes. Even if it's on a blue moon, let me take care of you once." 

Zayne's eyes shifted away as he let out a sigh, the rigid set of his shoulders relaxed a bit. A wave of tenderness washed over him, mingled with gratitude as he reluctantly gave in. "Fine," Zayne conceded, his tone was of his usual deadpan but it was tinged with affection. "If it will put your mind at ease." 

Your face broke into a warm smile, relief and love shining in your eyes. You grabbed Zayne’s hand as you led Zayne towards the bathroom. Zayne allowed himself to lean slightly into your touch. For once, Zayne allowed himself to accept the care he so often denied himself. 

You filled the bathtub with hot water, the sound of rushing liquid filling the quiet room. You added a generous amount of bubble bath, watching as frothy suds formed on the surface. The scent of rose oil wafted through the air as you added a few drops of it to the water. Your heart raced in anticipation and nervousness, hoping that you’d be able to take away Zayne’s stress. 

Soft light from carefully placed candles flickered across the walls as you dimmed the overhead lights. You turned to Zayne who stood in the doorway — a hint of vulnerability in his usually stoic expression. 

“Come,” You said softly, extending your hand out towards him. Zayne took your hand, allowing himself to be led to the bathtub. He raised your hand up to his lips as he gave your knuckles a soft kiss as a thank you. Zayne didn’t know the last time someone had put effort into him that wasn’t you — at least, someone who didn’t have any outside intentions of being nice to him. Zayne was forever thankful that he had such a kind spouse in his life, that out of all the lives he had lived, that he was able to be with you in this one.

As Zayne settled into the warm water, a soft sigh escaped his lips. The tension he’d been carrying began to melt away, and he closed his eyes to savor the sensation. Your heart swelled with affection at the sight of Zayne finally relaxing.

With gentle movements, you began to soak Zayne’s hair with warm water. Your fingers combed through the dark strands, careful not to tug or cause discomfort. Zayne’s breathing deepened slightly, the rhythmic motion lulled him into a state of calm he only experienced with and around you. 

You reached for the shampoo, squeezing a small amount into your palm. The fresh, clean scent filled the air as you began to work it into Zayne’s scalp. Starting at the temples, you used your fingertips to massage in small, circular motions, applying gentle pressure to stimulate blood flow and to clean all of Zayne’s hair and his head. As your fingers worked their way to the base of Zayne’s skull, you could feel the tension that Zayne’s been holding start to loosen. Zayne let out a low hum of appreciation —  the sound sending a small flutter though your chest. God, you loved your husband so much. You worked the shampoo through the rest of Zayne’s hair.

Once Zayne’s hair was thoroughly lathered, you began to rinse it clean. You used a small cup to pour warm water over his head —  your other hand acted as a shield to prevent shampoo from running into his eyes. Zayne’s thoughts drifted, the simple act of being cared for stirred emotions that he usually kept tightly controlled.

Next, You reached for the conditioner, applying a generous amount through Zayne’s hair —  focusing on the ends which tended to be drier. You began to massage Zayne’s scalp once more.You used your thumbs as you applied pressure to the occipital ridge at the base of Zayne’s skull. You then moved to the crown, using your fingertips to make small circular motions. You paid special attention to Zayne’s temples as you used gentle sweeping motions with your thumbs to ease away the day’s stress.

As your fingers worked their magic, Zayne felt himself surrendering to the care being lavished upon him as his eyes fluttered closed once more, his entire body relaxing in the hot water. A surge of protectiveness and tenderness surged through you as you noticed the change in Zayne’s demeanor. You bent your head down as you placed a soft kiss on your husband’s lips who reciprocated the kiss with even more gentleness in his movements.

“Thank you,” Zayne murmured against your lips— his voice was low and thick with emotion. The simple phrase carried the weight of all the gratitude and affection he struggled to express aloud.

You continued massaging Zayne’s scalp as you replied to him softly, “Always.”

The rhythmic pitter-patter of water being poured filled the air as you rinsed out Zayne’s hair; steam curled lazily around them, carrying the fading scent of the conditioner. Zayne’s breathing slowed as the last of the conditioner washed away. Your hand found Zayne’s elbow, steadying him as he rose. The sudden change in position sent a momentary rush to Zayne’s head, his usual grace faltering. Your eyes met Zayne’s briefly in the foggy mirror as you reached for the robe hanging nearby; the dark purple fabric rich against the bathroom’s pale tiles. As you helped Zayne slip on the robe, the soft material settled against his skin, still warm and slightly damp. The sound of footsteps resonated through the house as you both made your way to the bedroom. The air was cooler, raising goosebumps on Zayne’s exposed skin. He sank down onto the bed’s edge; the mattress dipped slightly under his weight. You moved behind him with a towel in hand. The first touch of terrycloth against Zayne’s nape sent a shiver down his spine — bare perceptible but there. You towel dried Zayne’s hair as his eyelids grew heavy; his usual sharp focus softened around the edges.  You reached over to the nightstand where you grabbed the comb, its teeth scraped gently against Zayne’s scalp, with each pass detangling your husband’s hair — detangling all of the stress in Zayne’s mind who only focused on you and your touch. A clock ticked softly somewhere as the lamp on the other side of the bedroom casted a warm glow that softened the lines of their faces, illuminating your faces and your love. As you worked, Zayne found his gaze drawn to your reflection in the dresser mirror. He watched the play of emotions across your face: concentration in the slight furrow of your brows with care in the gentle set of your mouth. Something stirred in Zayne’s chest — an emotion he had sought after for so long that he would fight with his entire soul to keep.

“I love you.”

“I love you most”.

It was more than just a hair wash to both you and Zayne; it was an act of love, trust, and vulnerability that would deepen your bond in ways words could never express. 

A/N: I love Zayne. I really really really love Zayne as you can tell. Have I mentioned that I love Zayne? Because I love Zayne. I have Zayne smut in drafts thats halfway written :3

Masterlist | TWITTER

[dannyriccsystem]

lando’s crash today… i know he’s beating himself up, so would you mind writing a fic where reader comforts him or smth?

i loveeee all your works and i hope you’re having a good day/night MWAH

MY LOVE, MINE ALL MINE…

FORMULA ONE DRIVER X READER

Summary: Lando needs some comfort after a bad quali :(

Warnings: Light angst, comfort

Featuring: Lando Norris x Reader

Switching from 3rd person to 2nd 🤔 Let me know what we think!

Thank you sm for the request! I wish him the best of luck tomorrow 🥹

This was the first time in all of Lando’s career he was ahead of everyone else. He started the year off strong, ripping away Max’s longtime title of WDC leader, and proving all of the haters wrong. The first time in six years, and he felt good.

It was helpful to have you, his girlfriend, right there beside him, supporting his every step along this journey. Even when he was behind everyone, bearing the burden of being ‘Lando Nowins’, you were there for him, like a beacon of hope.

But today, April 19th, it felt like all of that was stripped from him. He sat a total of three points ahead of his teammate, Oscar, who had just qualified in P2. But Lando? Lando crashed. Lando had to start P10. It wasn’t fair.

If things played out the way they should tomorrow, he’d lose that lead. He’d lose all the work he had done, and practically have to start over. It was a stupid mistake and he knew it— Nobody knew it better than he did. He’s always his own harshest critic.

He sought you out as soon as he could. He found you in the Mclaren garage, discussing with a few of the mechanics, engineers, and reserve drivers. You were so carefree and friendly— The perfect person. It hurt him to have disappointed you in such a way.

No words had to be said. You both simply shared a look. He gazed at you with a look that resembled a pathetic dog, his metaphorical tail between his legs. Right now, the only thing that would cure his heartbreak was you.

You excused yourself from the conversation, which was thankfully dying down anyway. Everyone seemed to understand, allowing you to break free from the circle of discussion. Your arms flung around his neck, pulling him tight to you. He seemed to bury his weary face in your neck, finding consolation in the warmth of your skin.

He breathed in shakily, trying to hide his pain. You could see right through him, but didn’t want to push more than you already had. Pulling away momentarily, you pulled him down to press a comforting kiss to his forehead, hands running through his perfect curls. “Hey, you did great.”

“I crashed, Y/N.” He spoke as if it was a rebuttal, his voice a soft whisper. He should be congratulating his teammate on the high position, but right now he wanted to be selfish. Right now he just wanted your reassurance, and to know that you still cared.

“Everyone crashes. It’s part of the sport.” He tilted his head down, staring at you through damp lashes. “You’re going to be okay. I believe in you. You’ll rise back to the top,” You hummed, pressing your forehead to his. “You always do.”

He squeezed you tight, like he was making sure you were real, and were in fact right there in front of him. “I’m sorry for being a baby.” He laughed softly, but it was weak. Like he was slowly recovering from the hurt. Maybe he was being dramatic, but he didn’t care. This meant so much to him. He needed to prove himself more than anyone else.

“Don’t apologize.” Even there, in the crowd of the garage, it felt like it was just the two of you in the world. Nothing would ever come inbetween your love. You slowly pulled back, your hand intertwined with his. “Come on, we should go congratulate Oscar.”

With a soft smile, he nodded, allowing you to tug him along. Deep down he knew it’d be okay, because no matter what… He’d have you.

[littlexdeaths]

𝕝𝕖𝕥’𝕤 𝕘𝕠, 𝕕𝕠𝕟’𝕥 𝕨𝕒𝕚𝕥 (𝕥𝕨𝕠)

eddie munson x shy fem reader

warnings: lots of cute first date jitters, reader is clumsy, also a lot more cheese 🧀 — take your lactaid besties.

part one | part three

let’s go, don’t wait masterlist

a/n: i’m honestly blown away by all the sweet comments on that first little blurb. shy reader is 1000% me, so this is very near and dear to my heart. i hope y’all like this one just as much! also big kisses to my lovely angel @undead-supernova for looking this over for me <3

“This looks stupid.”

You huff, glancing at your reflection before rushing back over to your closet for the 3rd time in a span of twenty minutes.

But Nancy grabs your wrist from before you can make it there, pulling you down onto the bed beside her.

“Everything you’ve tried on has been cute… I don’t see the problem here.”

You groan and flop back onto the mattress, covering your face with your hands.

“I wasn’t exactly trying to go for cute, Nance.”

Your words are muffled behind your palms, but she gets your message loud and clear.

“I know you want to impress him, but my best advice is to just be yourself… that’s why he asked you out in the first place, right?”

You sigh, uncovering your face to look up at her. She has a brow raised, and as much as you’d hate to admit it— you know she’s right.

“Do you always have to be right about everything?” you puff out a small laugh and she beams, nudging your knee with hers.

“Of course, I am the brains of this operation, remember?”

You roll your eyes fondly before returning to your feet, smoothing over the denim of your skirt when you meet your reflection once more.

“Oh god, what about make up?!”

You only managed to change your shirt one last time before Nancy had to practically barricade your closet door shut with her body. Reminding you that, once again, you looked great.

It doesn’t help much to soothe that little voice in the back of your head that disagrees— but the rumble of an engine and a blaring guitar riff distracts from those thoughts momentarily as the panic finally starts to set in.

“Shit, shit, shit! He’s here already?” you squeak, glancing over at your beside clock.

6:45 pm.

He was 15 minutes early.

“He’s early… color me impressed.” She grins before peeking out your curtains.

“I’m… I’m not ready, Nance.”

Your heart is about to pound out of your chest and your palms are beginning to sweat. She steps away from the window to put her hands on your shoulders, face full of determination.

“Just breathe, okay? I’ll go down and let him in, you just take a minute and come down when you’re ready.”

You nod dumbly, eyes widening further when the doorbell rings.

Eddie’s here… actually standing on your front porch. Bouquet of flowers grasped tightly in his own sweaty palms.

“Thanks, Nance.”

She just gives you a reassuring smile before starting down the stairs and opening the front door. To say Eddie is surprised when Nancy Wheeler appears at your front door instead of you is an understatement.

“Uh… please don’t tell me I’ve got the wrong address,” he steps back to take a look at the number on the house again.

“No, you’re at the right place. She’s just finishing getting ready, come on in.”

Nancy can see the way his shoulders sag in relief before he steps past the threshold. Dark eyes wandering around the interior of your entry way in utter curiosity. Pictures of you and your parents line the walls, but one in particular catches his attention.

You’re smiling up at the camera, eyes scrunched closed behind the round frame of your glasses— with your two front teeth missing.

The sight has him grinning despite himself, already catching more of a glimpse of the girl that’s been on his mind for the better part of that year.

“So… where are you taking her?” Nancy asks casually, leaning against the doorframe of your kitchen.

Eddie turns then, still clutching the flowers tightly in his fist.

“The Palace… and then Benny’s. But don’t worry, I’ll have her back before 11 pm. Scout’s honor.” He grins, raising his other hand in a mock salute.

You can hear their voices floating up the stairs, which only seems to worsen the butterflies fluttering around in your stomach. You take one last look in the mirror to straighten your top and make sure your eyeliner wasn’t smudged before you turn the knob and make your way down the hall.

The creak of the floorboards alerts them both to your presence when you slowly begin to descend the stairs. Your hand grips the railing tightly, eyes finally lifting once you reach the landing.

“Wow,” he whispers in dumbstruck awe.

You can feel your skin warm under the intensity of his gaze, tucking your lower lip between your teeth to hide a grin.

But the sweet moment is quickly squashed when your foot catches on the edge of the step, and you go tumbling forward. Eddie drops the flowers in his haste before closing that short distance between you to catch you in his arms. Your bodies collide, much like what happened earlier in the cafeteria.

Only this time he doesn’t let you go right away.

“Steady now,” he chuckles, and your eyes can’t help but drift lower to stare at his lips. “You okay?”

You nod, not fully trusting your voice when he’s so close like this, you swear he must be able to hear how fast your heart is fluttering beneath your ribs.

“Oh goddammit, the flowers.” Eddie groans, making sure you’ve got your footing before he bends down to pick up the crumpled bouquet.

“Uh, I promise they weren’t like this when I got here...”

He hands them out to you with a sheepish grin, the apples of his cheeks now flushed a soft shade of pink. And from this close proximity you can see the faint freckles dotted along the bridge of his nose.

Man, he sure is pretty…

“They’re beautiful,” you smile, finally finding your voice. “Thank you.”

“… well, you two should probably get going, right?”

You had almost forgotten Nancy was even there.

“Oh what about—” you gesture to the bouquet in your hands, but she quickly cuts you off.

“I’ll put those in some water and lock up for you, sound good?”

You don’t have much time for protest when she carefully takes the flowers from your grasp and nudges you right into Eddie’s chest. You apologize between small giggles when he steadies you again, and Nancy disappears into the kitchen.

His eyes are almost sparkling in childlike delight at the sound of your laughter, and it’s something he’d like to continue hearing for a long time. Eddie guides you both toward the front door. His rings clink against the knob when he swings it open, taking a slight bow before motioning you forward.

“Your chariot awaits, mi’ lady.”

The Palace is packed by the time you arrive, but for a Friday night in Hawkin’s— that’s no surprise.

Young teens dart between the different games with renewed excitement while Keith watches on with a bored expression. Eddie’s hand is held loosely in your own, fingers intertwined while you decide what to play first.

You both agree on air hockey, allowing him to tug you toward the table with a newfound pep in his step. He hands you the blue paddle, teasing telling you that red is always his color before he crouches down to slip two coins in the slot.

“Prepare to be demolished, sweetheart,” he grins cheekily.

Your stomach flips at those seemingly innocent words, and Eddie silently pats himself on the back for how flustered he’s already made you. That’s not something he’s used to, making a pretty girl fumble over her words. But it’s something he’s decided he wants to see a lot more of tonight.

Eddie ends up winning two rounds of air hockey, but his victories were entirely due to the fact that you were so distracted. Poised across from him, you spent more time admiring the way his tongue poked out from between his lips in concentration— or when he had to pull his wild hair back into a bun when it kept flying into his face.

Not that you would ever mention that little fact to him.

“What’s next?” you ask, unable to hide your glee when he takes your hand without hesitation this time.

“Have you tried Dragon’s Lair?”

He nods his head over to the game that was just recently abandoned in a fit of rage by short boy with dark hair. If you were being honest, skee ball and air hockey were more your speed when it came to arcade games. But the look of absolute delight on his face has you willing to try regardless.

And just as you suspected, you’re terrible at it.

You’re barely able to get past that first level without dying repeatedly but Eddie continues to give you an encouraging smile while he leans against the machine. He adores the way your lips are pouted in a slight frown when the dragon engulfs the knight in flames again.

“Here,” he mumbles, sliding in behind you. “Let me help.”

His arms cage you in against the machine, and you can feel the heat from his chest seeping through the thin cotton of your blouse. Ringed fingers gently hover over where yours are stationed on the controls, and in your nervous state you don’t notice the way his fingers tremble slightly.

Eddie guides your hands with ease, all but playing the game for you at this point. But your focus is no longer on the dragons and knights. They instead settle on his hands, and how they completely engulf yours in size. And the way his chain bracelet rattles against your skin with each flick of his wrist on the joystick.

They continue to travel a little higher, noticing how the muscles in his forearms contract each time he pushes that red button in rapid succession. It has your mind wandering to places that it definitely shouldn’t be…

Like how his hands would feel gripping your hips…

Stop that.

When you take a shuddering breath, you get another whiff of his spicy cologne when he leans his head forward. The faint hint of tobacco and mint still lingers on his lips when he blows a breath out in frustration when he finally looses that round.

The words GAME OVER flash across the screen in brightly colored letters, and you feel a little disappointed when he begins to remove himself from you. But you’re suddenly feeling a little bold, gently turning to grab his hand before looking up at him.

“Show me again?” you mumble, chewing nervously on your lower lip.

Eddie grins down at you, eyes flicking down to your mouth for a fleeting moment. But his next move has your brain about to melt out of your ears.

He takes your lower lip between his thumb and forefinger, carefully removing it from between your teeth. He allows the pad of his thumb to graze over your lip while the other slips around your waist. Eddie guides you back around by your hips, quickly resuming his position behind you.

“Sure thing, sweetheart.”

taglist: @sheneedsrocknroll92 @blckbrrybasket @your-nightmaredoll @missmarch-99 @fandom-princess-forevermore

[starset21]

I Know Love Pt.1

Pairing: Lando Norris x Piastri!sister reader

Summery: Lando has always been a friend, her brother’s easygoing, fun-loving teammate. But when a fleeting moment in the garage—a near fall, a steadying touch—sends an undeniable spark through her, she starts to see him in a different light. And she’s not the only one. Oscar notices the shift, and he’s not thrilled.

Standard disclaimer: I do not consent to the posting, translating, or publishing of my work to any 3rd party site, the only place it may found is on tumblr or A03 under the same name. This is all fake. It does not reflect real people, real events or their actual actions or relationships. May contain google translated languages.

A/N: Wow a Lando fic? who am I?

The McLaren garage was a controlled storm of movement—mechanics tightening bolts, engineers huddled over screens, the scent of fuel and rubber thick in the air. It was a world she had always been a part of, but this year, it was different. This year, she wasn’t just Oscar Piastri’s sister. She was an engineer. Fresh out of university, she had spent the last year interning with McLaren while finishing her degree. Now officially part of the team, she was living the dream she had worked for—traveling with one of the most competitive teams on the grid, analyzing data, working with some of the brightest minds in motorsport. And yet, as she stood in the garage, taking in the organized chaos around her, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched. 

She didn’t have to look to know who it was.

Lando Norris.

He was perched on the edge of a workbench, race suit tied around his waist, arms crossed as he half-listened to an engineer briefing him about car setup. But his eyes—those sharp green eyes—kept flickering toward her. He had been doing that a lot lately. She tried to ignore it, just like she had ignored the lingering glances, the subtle teasing that felt just a little too personal, the way he always managed to be near her, even when there was no real reason to be.

Lando had been in her life since Oscar signed with McLaren. She had known him as her brother’s teammate, as the guy who spent way too much time in their apartment, as the one who dragged Oscar into ridiculous online challenges and way too many rounds of golf. But now?

Now she wasn’t just Oscar’s little sister who tagged along to races. She was a part of this team. She was someone Lando wasn’t supposed to flirt with, wasn’t supposed to look at like that.

And yet, here they were.

“Hey, rookie!” She turned at the sound of Oscar’s voice, watching as her brother waved her over from across the garage. She rolled her eyes at the nickname. He was already half-suited up, looking effortlessly in his element, the Piastri name printed proudly across his back. “Can you grab the updated telemetry from the board? We need to go over it before FP2.”

“On it,” she called back, already moving. The responsibility of being part of McLaren, of making real contributions to the car’s performance, was still something she was adjusting to. But she was good at her job. She had worked too hard, spent too many late nights studying aerodynamics, data analysis, and race strategy, to be seen as just Oscar’s sister. She was here because she had earned it. Navigating the crowded garage, she focused on her task—until the moment she didn’t. Her foot caught on a thick cable running across the floor, and before she could react, she was falling. A sharp gasp left her lips, but before she could hit the ground, strong hands grabbed her, pulling her back against a solid chest. 

Everything stilled.

A familiar scent of cologne and race fuel filled her senses. A steady grip held her firmly, keeping her upright. She knew exactly who it was before she even turned her head. Lando. His hands lingered on her waist for a moment too long before he finally loosened his grip. “You alright?” he asked, voice lower than usual, his breath warm against her cheek. Her heart was hammering in her chest—not from the fall, but from this. From him. She straightened quickly, trying to ignore the heat crawling up her neck. “Yeah, I just—” she exhaled, forcing a light laugh, “—was testing gravity. Works great, in case you were wondering.”

Lando smirked, the familiar mischief flickering in his expression. “Good to know. Maybe try not to test it in the middle of a race garage next time?” She rolled her eyes, brushing herself off. “I’ll keep that in mind.” But then, his voice dropped slightly, softer, more serious. “Careful, though,” he murmured. “I’m not always around to catch you.” And just like that, the teasing edge was gone, replaced by something heavier, something unspoken.

Her breath hitched slightly, her brain scrambling for a response, but before she could find one, Oscar’s voice cut through the moment. “What the hell was that?” She spun around to see her brother standing a few feet away, arms crossed, brows raised. Lando immediately stepped back, clearing his throat and running a hand through his hair like he hadn’t just been holding her like that. “Nothing,” she said quickly, shooting Oscar a look. “I just tripped.” 

Oscar’s gaze flicked between her and Lando, his expression unreadable before he exhaled, shaking his head. “Right. Well, try not to break anything before FP2, yeah?” She gave a mock salute. “No promises.” As Oscar walked away, she turned back to Lando, expecting another smirk, another teasing remark. But he was already looking at her—like he was thinking about something he wasn’t saying. She should have walked away. Should have ignored the way her stomach flipped. Should have reminded herself that this was a bad idea. But instead, for a split second, she let herself wonder.

What if?

The garage was alive with movement—mechanics fine-tuning the car, engineers cross-referencing data, the rhythmic hiss of drills filling the air as tire changes were simulated over and over. It was the kind of organized chaos she had come to love, the pulse of an F1 weekend beating strong around her. And yet, she felt… off. She was supposed to be locked in, completely focused. But ever since yesterday—since him—something had changed. It wasn’t anything obvious. Lando still moved through the garage like he always did—laughing with the team, listening to the engineers break down data, cracking jokes to lighten the mood. To anyone else, nothing was different. But she knew better. It was the way his eyes flickered toward her across the room, how he never seemed to look away fast enough. It was the way his presence felt closer— lingering near her workstation when he never used to before, standing just a little too near whenever she was giving Oscar or the engineers updates. And it was in the way she noticed him more now, too. She wasn’t blind—Lando had always been easy to look at, and plenty of girls did. She had spent years rolling her eyes at every new headline linking him to a model or influencer. It had never mattered before. So why did she care now?

She was deep in concentration, reviewing telemetry for the upcoming session, when Lando’s voice cut through the hum of the garage. "Whatcha looking at?" Before she could answer, he leaned down over her chair to glance at the screen, one hand bracing against the desk beside hers. His arm brushed against her shoulder, his body heat close enough that she could feel it even through the fabric of her team shirt. Her fingers tensed on the keyboard. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, trying to keep her voice steady. “You suddenly care about telemetry when we aren’t in a debrief?”

Lando smirked. "I care about looking fast. And if you have some secret data to make that happen, I should probably know about it." She rolled her eyes but didn’t push him away. “If you’re looking for extra speed, maybe listen to your engineers instead of flirting with them.” His smirk deepened. “Who said I was flirting?” She turned her head then, her breath catching slightly at how close he was. Their faces were only inches apart, and there was something unreadable in his expression. A flicker of amusement, yes—but also something heavier, something deeper than his usual teasing. For a split second, neither of them moved. Then, just as quickly as he had leaned in, Lando straightened, grabbing a water bottle from the table like nothing had happened. “See you out there, rookie.” And just like that, he was gone, leaving her heart racing in his wake.

In the engineering office during a quiet moment between FP3 and qualifying. She was sitting at her workstation, buried in a complex set of calculations, when she heard it— Her name. Soft. Slow. Amused.

"Hey, you."

She glanced up and, of course, it was him. Leaning against the desk next to hers, looking far too relaxed for someone about to drive a car at 200 miles per hour. And then he did it again. Said her name, except this time, there was something in the way he dragged it out, a teasing lilt at the end that made her stomach flip against her will. She swallowed, trying to keep her voice level. “What do you want, Norris?” His smirk deepened, and she instantly regretted saying his name. “Just checking in,” he said, rocking slightly on the balls of his feet. “You seemed stressed earlier.” She huffed, turning back to her screen. “I’m fine.”

“You sure?” he asked, his voice dipping lower, quieter. She clenched her jaw. Focus. Focus. But then he leaned down, elbows on the desk, close enough that she caught the clean, fresh scent of him—something woodsy and warm that made her thoughts scramble. He tapped a finger against her laptop. “You work too hard.” She forced a scoff. “I think that’s a prerequisite for working in F1.”

“Doesn’t mean you should forget to have a little fun.” She turned to him, arching an eyebrow. “And I suppose you’re offering?” He grinned. “Maybe.” Her pulse spiked. It was dangerous how easy this was for him.

She thought she was done for the night. She thought she’d made it through without anything happening—without slipping up, without letting whatever this was get to her. But then she stepped into the hotel elevator and the doors started to slide shut, only to be stopped by a hand catching them. Lando. Of course. He slipped in, the doors closing behind him, and suddenly it was just the two of them in the small, enclosed space. And there it was again—that feeling, that unshakable sense that something had changed. They stood in silence for a moment as the elevator started its slow climb. Then Lando spoke, his voice quieter now, almost contemplative. “You’re avoiding me.” She inhaled sharply, keeping her eyes locked on the floor numbers slowly lighting up. “I have not been avoiding you.” Lando scoffed, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. “Oh, really?”

“You’re just in my space more,” she shot back. His lips quirked, but his eyes were serious. “Maybe.” Silence stretched between them. She could feel the weight of it pressing against her chest, thick and heavy. Then, he leaned in slightly. Not close enough to touch, but close enough that his voice was meant just for her. “You know I see you watching me, too, right?” She inhaled sharply. Heat crept up her neck, and she cursed her own reaction. “Don’t flatter yourself.” Lando let out a low chuckle, shaking his head and stepping into her space. “I think you like me.” Her jaw clenched. “You’re an idiot.” 

“Not denying it, though.” She glared at him, her heart hammering against her ribs. But before she could snap back, the elevator dinged, she instinctively stepped away from him and the doors slid open to reveal Oscar standing on the other side. His eyes flicked between them, sharp and questioning. Lando didn’t move for a moment, as if debating whether to push just a little further, but then he stepped back further with a knowing smirk. “See you tomorrow, then,” he murmured before walking past Oscar with an easy nod, disappearing down the hall. She exhaled, realizing just how tightly wound her body had been. Oscar, still holding the door open, gave her a look. She rolled her eyes. “Oh, shut up.” He didn’t say anything, but she felt his judgment.

[copia]

my dutch friend's response to me getting st tickets in amsterdam and trying to combine it with a long-overdue meetup in the middle of november

[okkotsuus]

"COLLEGE! AU" ー tabieitaken 🪽

features: tabito karasu, eita otoya, kenyu yukimiya

contents: college au, friendships, polycule jokes, jealousy/competition, very messy headcanons, 0.8k

notes: since my lovely @cheralith has tabieitaken stuck in my head at all times... this is literally just me talking at the wall

ALL

they're all in the same frat (alpha tau omega) and ended up rooming together after their first year in an apartment a few minutes off campus. tabito is the primary name on the lease, but yuki handles most of the stuff with their landlord (otoya just forks over money every month).

every friday, without fail, they all get together to do something, whether it be movies or dinner.

their apartment was decorated by yuki and karasu; but otoya is the one who most often brings home decor for the apartment (usually it's something stupid he bought).

they actually don't cook very often, like in terms of full meals, yet they are still an ingredient house iykyk.

one time, otoya accidentally hotboxed the bathroom and yuki went to take a shower and almost died.

despite how popular they all are, they refuse to host parties because their building is mainly elderly folks and they would feel horrible for them having to deal with hammered college students.

tabito and otoya went to highschool together and met yuki in their freshman year through the frat.

despite their differences, they are all actually extremely intelligent.

TABITO KARASU

3rd year biomedical engineering major.

tabito, despite literally never speaking in class except when called on, is very well known.

takes extremely elegant and detailed notes for every lecture: no matter how fast the professor is talking.

somehow always locked in, even if he's extremely hungover from an event the night before.

the kind of guy who really only talks to people unless they talk to him first or he's tipsy.

has never failed a class, he's extremely intelligent.

he has this very specific ritual he does before every single exam where he sleeps with his notebook under his pillow (it's so stupid but it has never failed him).

plans to go into biomedical engineering to design medical devices that put less of a strain on the patient (e.x. streamlining insulin pumps or making pacemakers less intensive)

actually extremely passionate about his work, got in on a full-ride for his essay which was his planned thesis for grad school.

works as a lab assistant in the school's medical research facility.

EITA OTOYA

3rd year political science major.

if you actually see otoya in class, it's rarer than getting struck by lightning: double credit if he's sober and awake.

despite this, somehow everyone in all his classes knows him and he knows everyone's names (it's bc he's a lurker).

the pledge hazer, he is so annoying; but he's never malicious about it like some of the guys are.

he smokes or takes edibles, constantly has some fruity vape on him at all times. he swears he can stop whenever he want (he cannot).

originally planned to take a gap year but his mom almost beat his ass for even suggesting it so he chose the major he thought was the easiest.

he doesn't know it yet, but he will end up going to law school to be a criminal prosecutor trust.

despite his horrid attendance, his grades are pretty good (lowest is a 82%), he's one of those smart kids that could be a genius if he just applied himself.

works at the local dispensary and as a barista on the campus cafe.

KENYU YUKIMIYA

3rd year fashion design and business management double major.

he wants to end up with his own clothing line, but he is actually horrible at sewing so it's kind of funny. he's only good at the designing part fr

literally everyone's hallway crush, everyone knows him and all the freshmen have a thing for him at some point.

the kind of student that all the professors like, even the typically rough ones that seem to hate everyone (he's a kissass and he knows it).

perfect attendance unless he is ill to the point of physically unable being to go to class.

academic validation kid, struggled hard his freshman year when everything wasn't easy peasy anymore like it was in high school.

partial-ride, about half of his tuition.

he became an ra for the free room and board his second year but ended up hating it so he didn't do it this year.

really good grades, but not as good as karasu's even though he tries harder (it really pisses him off)

works as a freelance model/actor and at the local movie theatre

⚜️ ㅤ okkotsuus ㅤ 25

[inkyquillstories]

Trading Medals Part 1 (A Body Swap Story)

Note: This story with more photos (nsfw) and videos is found on my discord! https://discord.gg/mMY9wSu4rS

Mark Calloway had always been the kind of guy people noticed when he walked into a room. At 6'3" and 225 pounds of solid muscle, he carried himself with the effortless confidence of a college athlete at the top of his game. His dark brown hair was kept in a slightly messy yet undeniably charming style, and his deep-set hazel eyes often flickered with amusement or quiet contemplation, depending on the situation. Born on June 10th, Mark was a summer child through and through, thriving in the sun and always finding a way to be outside, whether it was training for football, hitting the gym, or just hanging out with friends. 

His love for sports extended beyond football—he had a knack for basketball and occasionally joined pickup games for fun. However, what most people didn’t know was his more private love for music. His guitar, often lying on his bed or propped against the wall in their dorm, was his escape when the pressure of school, sports, and expectations became overwhelming.

Despite his outward charisma, Mark carried a secret that weighed heavier on him than any of his rigorous weightlifting sessions. He was bisexual, though he had never fully acted on his attraction to men. Growing up in a conservative family, he knew that coming out wasn’t an option—not if he wanted to avoid the inevitable disappointment in his parents' eyes or the risk of losing the support that kept him moving forward in his football career. So, he kept it buried, deflecting with his easygoing personality and frequent dating life with women. Most people just assumed he was a classic ladies' man, a stereotype he let them believe. Beneath the surface, though, there was always an ache—a part of himself that he felt he had to lock away for the sake of his future.

Ethan Graves was the complete opposite of his roommate in almost every way. Standing at 5'7" and weighing around 140 pounds, he was wiry and lean, not out of any conscious effort but simply due to a lack of interest in physical activity. His short, slightly unkempt light brown hair framed a face that still had a lingering boyishness to it, paired with glasses that he often adjusted absentmindedly while focusing on something intently. Born on February 3rd, he was a winter child, preferring the indoors to the heat and chaos of the outside world. While Mark spent his time on the field, Ethan spent his nights hunched over a laptop, preparing Dungeons & Dragons campaigns, coding small projects, or getting lost in the latest fantasy novel.

Back in high school, Ethan had dated a fellow nerd, a girl who shared his love for tabletop games and sci-fi marathons. They had been good together, but when college decisions came around, they knew they were heading in different directions. They ended things amicably, both understanding that a long-distance relationship wouldn’t work. Since then, Ethan hadn’t really pursued dating—between his studies in Engineering, his online gaming sessions, and his occasional self-doubt about his looks and social skills, he figured relationships could wait. His world was one of structured logic and imaginative escapism, where he could be the hero in a fantasy realm rather than feeling out of place in real life. Despite his quiet nature, Ethan wasn’t completely isolated. He had friends—mostly online or fellow D&D enthusiasts—and, more importantly, he had Mark. Though they seemed like an odd match as roommates, over time, they had formed an unshakable bond that neither of them had expected.

When Mark and Ethan were first assigned as roommates during their freshman year, Ethan had been apprehensive. Mark reminded him too much of the guys from high school—the ones who mocked his love for Dungeons & Dragons and made gym class a nightmare.

But his worries faded almost instantly when Mark greeted him with an easy smile and a laid-back attitude. Unlike the bullies from his past, Mark wasn’t just friendly—he was genuinely kind. He never mocked Ethan’s interests, never looked down on him for preferring books over sports. Instead, he respected their differences, and over time, Ethan found himself enjoying Mark’s company far more than he expected.

Ethan preferred to stay in their dorm when he wasn’t in class, spending his time studying, streaming shows, or working on his latest D&D campaign. He was meticulous about keeping his space clean, making sure his desk was organized and his bed neatly made every morning. 

Mark, on the other hand, was hardly ever around. If he wasn’t in class or at football practice, he was at parties, on dates, or just out with friends. When he was in their dorm, his presence was hard to miss���his side of the room was perpetually messy, with discarded clothes near his bed and the lingering scent of sweat and cologne. More than once, Ethan had walked in to find Mark passed out on his bed, still in his practice gear, the room filled with the unmistakable musky scent of an exhausted athlete.

Despite their differences, they made their arrangement work. Ethan knew that when Mark brought friends over, it was time for him to retreat to the library. When Mark needed the room for a date, Ethan would take the hint and find somewhere else to be. Mark, in turn, always made sure to make it up to him, usually with snacks or small gestures of appreciation. Their odd dynamic confused those around them—Mark’s football buddies didn’t get why he spent so much time with a nerd, and Ethan’s gaming friends couldn’t understand why he tolerated a jock’s messy habits. But the truth was, they had become more than just roommates—they were best friends.

Late at night, when the dorm was quiet, they’d sometimes just talk for hours. That was when Ethan learned about Mark’s struggles with his sexuality and his fear of coming out to his family. In turn, Mark listened as Ethan admitted his own insecurities—his struggle with self-image, his difficulty finding a girlfriend, and the lingering doubt that he wasn’t interesting or attractive enough.

They were each other’s confidants in ways no one else could be. Mark even took it upon himself to get Ethan into working out, though Ethan’s sporadic dedication to fitness left much to be desired. Meanwhile, Ethan was always ready to help Mark with his studies, ensuring that he didn’t fall behind in classes he found difficult.

Three years passed, and their friendship only grew stronger. Their respective social circles were always surprised by how close they were, with some friends even overlapping. Mark’s teammates recognized Ethan as someone important to him, while Ethan’s gaming buddies gradually warmed up to Mark’s presence. At the end of the day, they had each other’s backs in ways that mattered most. They were more than just roommates—they were brothers in everything but blood.

Ethan barely looked up from his laptop when the dorm room door slammed open, but the frantic energy that followed made him pause. Mark stood in the doorway, breathing heavily, his face a mix of stress and desperation. His usually confident posture was gone, replaced by jittery movements as he ran a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. Ethan glanced at the time. It was a little past three in the afternoon—Mark should’ve been at practice. “Dude, you look like you just saw a ghost,” Ethan remarked, adjusting his glasses. 

Mark didn’t laugh. Instead, he strode into the room, dropping his gym bag onto his unmade bed with a heavy thud. “I’m screwed,” he blurted, his voice uneven. “I had a test today. A huge one. I totally forgot about it.” Ethan blinked, not entirely surprised. This wasn’t the first time Mark had neglected an exam, but the sheer panic in his voice meant this was different. “Okay,” Ethan said slowly, shutting his laptop. “We’ve been through this before. You cram, I quiz you, you barely pass but still pass. We got this.” Mark groaned, rubbing his temples. “No, man, you don’t get it. I don’t have time to cram. I have to take it in—” he checked his phone “—less than an hour.” Ethan winced. “Oh. Yeah. That’s... bad.”  

Mark sat down heavily on his bed, looking almost physically ill. “If I fail this, I fail the class. If I fail the class, I can’t graduate on time and I can’t play in the championship game. This is my entire future, Ethan.” There was an unmistakable vulnerability in his voice, and for a moment, Ethan genuinely felt bad for him. “Okay, so what do we do?” he asked. Mark looked up at him, eyes flickering with something intense. “You’re gonna take it for me.” 

Ethan nearly laughed, but the serious expression on Mark’s face made him stop. “Mark. That’s impossible. We look nothing alike.” Mark stood abruptly and pointed at Ethan. “That’s why you’re gonna wear my clothes and pretend to be me.” Ethan scoffed. “Dude, I’m half your size. People would notice.” Mark groaned, frustrated. “Not if we swap bodies.” Ethan stared at him. “…What?” 

Without hesitation, Mark reached into his duffel bag and pulled out a medallion. It was an old, circular pendant, made of tarnished silver, with intricate carvings along its surface. Ethan frowned. “What the hell is that?” Mark held it up. “It’s been in my family for generations. My grandpa always said it had magic in it.” Ethan crossed his arms. “Mark, be real. Magic doesn’t exist.” Mark smirked, his usual cocky confidence flickering back. “Oh yeah? Then swap bodies with me. Prove me wrong.” 

Ethan hesitated, looking between Mark and the medallion. He was a man of logic—this was ridiculous. But Mark was so insistent, so utterly convinced, that curiosity started creeping in. “Fine,” he sighed. “What do we do?” Mark grinned, tossing him a shirt. “First, we swap clothes.”

Ethan hesitated as Mark tugged his own shirt over his head, tossing it onto the bed before reaching for Ethan’s. Without thinking, Mark yanked Ethan’s shirt up and over his head in one smooth motion, leaving the smaller man momentarily stunned. “Come on, no time to be shy,” Mark said, handing over his own shirt.

Ethan took it with some reluctance. The fabric was damp, still warm from Mark’s body, and the scent hit him immediately—musky, a mix of sweat, deodorant, and whatever aftershave Mark used. It was the kind of scent that clung to Mark’s bed and his gym bag, an undeniably masculine smell. Not bad, but overwhelming to someone who wasn’t used to wearing another guy’s clothes. Ethan grimaced but pulled it over his head anyway. It draped over him like a loose tarp, the sleeves nearly reaching his elbows, the fabric practically swallowing his lean frame.

Mark, meanwhile, pulled Ethan’s shirt over his head, immediately feeling how snug it was. The cotton clung to his broad chest and shoulders, and he had to tug at the collar to make it sit right. The sleeves were tight around his biceps, emphasizing just how much bigger he was. The scent was different—clean, fresh, with a faint trace of laundry detergent and something subtle that was just Ethan. Mark smirked, flexing his arm slightly. “Damn, dude, this is tight,” he muttered.

Ethan looked down at himself in Mark’s oversized shirt, then lifted his arm and flexed it just for curiosity’s sake. His usual frame was almost lost in the baggy fabric, but he still went through the motion. “Yeah, well, this is ridiculous on me,” he replied, shaking his head. Then, on impulse, he lifted the edge of the sleeve and took a whiff. The scent of Mark hit him again, even stronger now that he was fully wearing the shirt. It was strange—he smelled like Mark now.

Mark caught what he was doing and grinned. “You getting a good sniff there, bud?” he teased, lifting his own arm and sniffing the armpit of Ethan’s shirt in return. The scent was subtle, but pleasant. Different from his usual smell, but not bad. He chuckled. “I don’t smell like me anymore.”

Ethan rolled his eyes. “Yeah, no kidding.”

Then, Mark grabbed a pair of Ethan’s pants and tossed them onto the bed. “Might as well go all in,” he said, unbuttoning his own jeans. Ethan hesitated for a second before doing the same, the moment suddenly feeling strangely intimate.

Then, Mark held up a pair of his boxers, eyes darting between them and Ethan, uncertainly. Ethan exhaled sharply, muttering, “This is so weird,” but he still stripped off his own boxers and slid Mark’s on. The difference was immediate—the waistband fit loosely, the material clinging to his skin in a way that felt unfamiliar yet… oddly satisfying. Mark, meanwhile, slid into Ethan’s underwear, the fabric feeling tighter than he was used to. He shifted, adjusting to the fit, then let out a low chuckle. “Well, now we’re officially swapped.”

They turned slightly away from each other as they swapped boxers and jeans, though Ethan couldn’t help but glance at Mark struggling to pull up his boxers and  jeans down over his more muscular thighs. Ethan meanwhile slid into Mark’s looser pants with ease. The fabric barely hugged his waist, and he had to cinch the belt tight to keep them from slipping. He laughed.

Mark stretched once before grabbing the medallion. “Alright, let’s get this over with.”

The two of them stood shoulder to shoulder, gripping the metal piece together. The carvings seemed to pulse under their fingers, sending a strange warmth through their hands.

Mark took a deep breath and began the incantation:

“I, Mark Christopher Bennett, wish to swap bodies with Ethan Daniel Graves.”

The medallion pulsed. Ethan hesitated for only a second before responding:

“I, Ethan Daniel Graves, wish to swap bodies with Mark Christopher Bennett.”

A tingle spread through Ethan’s arms. He could feel it creeping along his skin, like static electricity building.

Mark kept going, his voice steady:

“I, Mark Christopher Bennett, accept Ethan Graves’ body as my own.”

Ethan swallowed hard, following suit.

“I, Ethan Daniel Graves, accept Mark Bennett’s body as my own.”

The warmth turned into something hotter, something that crawled through their veins. Their skin tingled, their muscles tightened, and the medallion itself grew almost unbearably warm.

Then, together, they spoke the final line:

Mark: “I am Ethan Graves, and he is Mark Christopher Bennett.”

Ethan: “I am Mark Bennett, and he is Ethan Daniel Graves.”

The medallion flashed brightly, and then everything shifted.

As soon as the final words of the spell left their mouths, the medallion flared with a brilliant, golden light. A strange force gripped their bodies, like an invisible current pulling at them from the inside out. It started subtly—a tingling in their fingers, a strange weightlessness in their limbs—but quickly escalated into something far more intense.

Mark was the first to notice the shift. A peculiar sensation crawled through his toes, as if they were shrinking. He looked down in shock as his feet visibly pulled inward, the size and shape rapidly changing. His broad, calloused feet—hardened from years of training—were dwindling, the veins and rough patches vanishing. The structure of his foot narrowed, the arches lifting slightly as they transformed into Ethan’s smaller, leaner feet. He staggered slightly, gripping the edge of the desk for balance as his legs followed suit. His powerful thighs and muscular calves trembled before steadily deflating, the firm bulk of his quads thinning into a shape far less defined. His legs weren’t just shrinking; they were getting weaker. He could feel it—his strength slipping away, his body losing the athletic power it had spent years building.

“Shit… my legs…” Mark muttered, watching them pull inward. His height was vanishing, too. He could feel himself sinking, the world tilting as his perspective shifted. The floor was closer than it had ever been before, the comfortable feeling of towering over Ethan now slipping away. Panic flickered in his chest. I’m getting shorter. I’m actually getting shorter.

Ethan, on the other hand, gasped as the exact opposite overtook him. A deep warmth spread through his legs, a sensation unlike anything he had ever felt before. His feet stretched, the fabric of his socks straining as they expanded in size. His toes elongated, his entire foot widening as it reshaped into Mark’s larger, more rugged ones. The floor felt different beneath them—his balance was shifting, adjusting to the broader, sturdier foundation. 

Then came the legs. Ethan felt a rush of power surge through him as his thighs stretched, his femurs lengthening to accommodate the sudden growth. His calves filled out, muscle taking shape where there had been none before. His legs were no longer thin and unimpressive—they were strong, athletic, the kind that could launch a person forward with speed and force. He straightened instinctively, marveling at how natural it felt to stand taller. He wasn’t used to this perspective—the room looked different, the angle foreign but exhilarating.

“Whoa…” Ethan exhaled, running his hands over his thighs. They were firm, packed with muscle that wasn’t there before. He lifted one leg slightly, feeling the sheer strength behind it, the weight distribution completely different from before. This… this is incredible. I feel stronger already.

Mark, however, wasn’t sharing in the enthusiasm. He glanced up at Ethan—no, Mark’s body now—and immediately felt a surge of discomfort. For the first time since they’d met, he had to look up at Ethan. His former roommate, the guy who was always shorter than him, was now taller—standing confidently in a body that Mark had worked so hard to build.

Mark scowled. “Damn it… this is weird.” He shifted his weight, feeling how much lighter his body was. His legs, once filled with explosive power, felt comparatively frail. He tried flexing his calves, but there wasn’t much there to flex. His thighs lacked the tension he was used to, the once-familiar bulk gone. It was disorienting—like his body had been stripped of something vital.

Ethan, meanwhile, grinned, shifting his stance and rolling his shoulders. “This is insane,” he murmured, testing out his new longer legs, even bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. The sensation of strength beneath him was intoxicating. He had always envied Mark’s athletic build, and now… now he had it. Or at least, he was starting to.

Mark huffed. “Yeah, well, don’t get too comfortable. This is temporary.” He tried adjusting his footing again, struggling to reconcile with how much smaller he felt. His balance wasn’t bad—Ethan had always been relatively stable on his feet—but it was different. His former presence, his towering confidence, had quite literally shrunk.

Ethan couldn’t stop grinning. “Right, right… temporary.” But as he stretched out his new, longer legs, testing the newfound control he had over them, he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted it to be.

Mark barely had time to react before he felt an odd pulling sensation deep within him. It was like something was shifting, retracting, and reshaping from within. A strange tingling spread from his lower abdomen, creeping downward, as if his entire center of gravity was being rewritten. His breath hitched as a cool sensation pulsed through his groin, making him instinctively shudder. He felt like his balls retracted nearer towards his abdomen while the girth and length of his member got slimmer and shorter. He immediately grasped his groin feeling a smaller package.

Ethan, meanwhile, gasped as warmth spread through his lower body, a rush of unfamiliar weight settling between his legs. It wasn’t just size—everything about the proportions, the way it rested, the way it felt connected to his body—was completely different. He felt heavier, more substantial, and a nervous thrill ran through him as he shifted his stance, adjusting to the unfamiliar presence. A small smirk tugged at his lips. This was real. It was really happening. He felt his balls get bigger, fuller, heavier, and lower. While the shaft got longer, thicker, and sensitive. His new soft member is bigger than his older tool even when hard.

Ethan yanked off his newly oversized shirt, eager to take in the full extent of his transformation. As the fabric slipped over his head, he was met with a sight that made his breath hitch—his abs, once lean and barely defined, were now replaced by a set of toned, muscular ridges. His stomach was flat, his obliques sharp, and his chest, now completely smooth, broadened in a way that made him feel powerful. He ran his hands over the newly sculpted contours of his body, relishing the firmness, the raw strength packed into every inch. A grin stretched across his face as he flexed, feeling his core tighten with an effortless strength he had never possessed before.

Mark, meanwhile, was much slower to remove his own shirt. As he pulled it over his head, he was met with an unfamiliar softness where his solid six-pack used to be. His once taut and chiseled abs had faded, replaced by a more average, softer stomach. It wasn’t flabby, but it lacked the definition he had worked years to maintain. Worse, there was now a light dusting of hair spreading across his chest and belly, something he had never had before. His fingers instinctively brushed over it, feeling the texture of hair that wasn’t his, and he frowned. Looking up, he saw Ethan—his own body—standing taller than him, grinning with clear satisfaction. It made his stomach twist. He had never felt small before, but now, standing in Ethan’s body, he was distinctly aware of how much less imposing he was.

Ethan, still reveling in his new form, lifted his arms and flexed, watching with satisfaction as the biceps and triceps bulged under his skin. His arms were massive compared to what he was used to—thicker, stronger, and undeniably powerful. 

He gave his right arm a playful squeeze, feeling the solid muscle beneath his palm, and laughed. "Damn, Mark, you’ve been holding out on me," he teased, admiring how his veins faintly surfaced along his forearm as he moved. He turned his arms, feeling the weight of them, the sheer strength that came with every motion. It was exhilarating.

Mark, in contrast, felt the unsettling sensation of his arms shrinking. His once thick, muscular biceps slimmed down, losing mass and strength. His shoulders narrowed, and his forearms thinned, making him feel… weak. He flexed instinctively, but instead of the satisfying tension of coiled strength, he felt only a modest resistance. His arms weren’t scrawny, but they weren’t his either. And the worst part? He could see Ethan, still in his body, basking in the newfound strength. "This is so weird," Mark muttered, feeling out of place in his own skin—or rather, Ethan’s.

Then he caught a glimpse of his underarms and frowned. The hair was lighter, finer than what he was used to—his own armpits had always been dark and thick. Ethan, meanwhile, lifted his arms and let out a low chuckle. His armpits were now covered in Mark’s usual black, coarse hair, and with it came a distinct, musky scent. He leaned in slightly, taking a quick, curious sniff, and smirked. "Damn, I smell like you now," he remarked, flexing his arms again for good measure. "And you? Bet you smell like me."

Mark, reluctantly, raised an arm and sniffed. Sure enough, the scent was completely different—cleaner, milder, less sweaty than what he was used to. He exhaled sharply, a mix of discomfort and disbelief washing over him. Everything about this was so wrong. Ethan, on the other hand, was clearly loving every second of it, and that only made Mark’s frustration grow.

Ethan grinned at him. "Man, this is awesome," he said, stretching his arms above his head. "I feel amazing."

Mark was still coming to terms with his smaller, leaner body when he suddenly felt an odd tightening around his throat. He instinctively placed a hand on his neck, feeling the way it slimmed down, losing some of the natural bulk and thickness he had always taken for granted. His Adam’s apple wasn’t as pronounced, and his entire neck felt… weaker. It wasn’t a dramatic change, but it was enough to make him uneasy. Meanwhile, Ethan let out a surprised grunt, rolling his shoulders as he rubbed his own thickening neck. He could feel the new mass settling in, his Adam’s apple growing more prominent, his throat stronger.

And then they spoke.

“Dude, what the hell?” Mark blurted, his voice coming out higher, softer—exactly like Ethan’s. His eyes widened in shock as he clapped a hand over his mouth. That wasn’t his voice. It was Ethan’s.

Ethan, on the other hand, let out a low chuckle. Except it wasn’t his chuckle—it was Mark’s deep, confident, almost velvety voice. He smirked. “Holy crap,” he said, testing out the voice again. His words were smooth, rich, carrying the same natural charm and weight Mark always had. “This is so weird.” He reached up to his throat again, feeling the difference. His voice felt powerful, commanding—something he had never experienced before.

Mark shook his head, disturbed by how foreign his own voice sounded to his ears. “Okay, this is seriously messing with my head,” he muttered, hearing the unfamiliar tone escape his lips again.

But the changes weren’t done yet.

Mark suddenly felt a strange tingling across his face, a sensation of shifting bones and muscles. His jawline subtly reshaped, becoming less sharp, more rounded. His facial features softened in a way that felt foreign to him. The skin on his cheeks and chin prickled, and when he reached up to touch his face, he felt sparse facial hair sprouting—something he wasn’t used to. His normally smooth, well-groomed jaw now had the same scattered, fine scruff Ethan always had. But what truly threw him off was the sensation on his scalp. His thick black hair lightened before his eyes, the color shifting to Ethan’s usual light brown. Not only that, but it grew longer, shaggier, falling slightly messier over his forehead.

Ethan, meanwhile, was feeling the exact opposite. His jawline sharpened, becoming more chiseled, more defined. His once ordinary features morphed into something undeniably striking—more angular, more attractive. He could feel the slight stubble growing in, thicker than what he was used to, covering his chin and upper lip with a rougher texture. He turned his head slightly, feeling the natural confidence that came with such a strong, masculine face. But the biggest change was his hair—his usual light brown locks darkened to an inky black, shortening slightly into Mark’s usual well-maintained, styled cut.

Both of them locked eyes, and their expressions mirrored each other’s shock.

They had completely swapped.

From head to toe, there was nothing left of their original selves. Mark, once tall and powerful, now stood shorter and leaner, wearing Ethan’s face, voice, and body. And Ethan, once small and unassuming, now stood in Mark’s athletic, towering form, exuding the presence and charisma that had always belonged to his friend.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. They just stared at each other, absorbing the sheer impossibility of what had just happened.

Ethan was the first to break the silence. He grinned, flashing Mark’s signature smirk. “Damn,” he said, running a hand through his thick black hair. “I look good.”

Mark groaned, rubbing his temples. “This is insane.” His voice—Ethan’s voice—made it even weirder.

Ethan flexed his arms one more time, admiring the sheer size and power behind his new body. “Alright,” he said, flashing Mark a confident grin. “Time to ace that exam.”

Mark, arms crossed over his smaller chest, let out a sigh. “You better, dude.”

Ethan grabbed Mark’s discarded shirt from the bed, the fabric still warm and slightly damp from Mark’s body. He pulled it over his head, feeling the familiar sensation of soft cotton—but now on a body that wasn’t his own.

Mark tossed Ethan’s phone to him, and Ethan caught it effortlessly. His new reflexes were sharper, his grip stronger—it was surreal. They exchanged their belongings, including their wallets, IDs, and keys, ensuring every detail was covered. Ethan slung Mark’s backpack over his shoulder, the weight feeling significantly lighter thanks to his new strength. Taking one last look in the mirror, he smirked at the reflection of Mark’s face grinning back at him. With a deep breath, he turned and left the dorm, heading straight for the college building.

Walking across campus was a bizarre experience. Students he didn’t even recognize greeted him with nods and fist bumps, some calling out, “Yo, Mark!” He responded as naturally as possible, slipping into Mark’s easygoing persona. His larger strides carried him effortlessly to the exam hall, and when he entered, the professor barely gave him a second glance.

Sitting at Mark’s desk, Ethan picked up his pen and started the test. The questions were straightforward—nothing too difficult for him. But he knew he couldn’t make it perfect. So, he deliberately made a few errors, adding just enough mistakes to make it believable. He worked at a steady pace, finishing with confidence but ensuring the score would be in a safe passing range. As he handed in the exam, he felt a surge of satisfaction. He had done it.

Meanwhile, back in the dorm, Mark sat on Ethan’s bed, arms crossed, feeling restless. He had thought about playing video games, but the idea didn’t excite him the way it normally would in his own body. He flipped through the TV channels, landing on a football game. Normally, he would have been fully engaged, analyzing plays, cheering for his team—but now, it just felt… uninteresting. It was like watching from a distance, as if it no longer mattered to him.

He sighed and let his eyes wander around the room. His gaze landed on Ethan’s bookshelf, packed with books he had never paid much attention to. Out of curiosity, he reached for one, flipping it open. The first page caught his interest, and before he knew it, he was a few chapters in.

Mark had never been much of a reader beyond what was necessary for school, but something about the way the story unfolded intrigued him. The world-building, the characters, the tension—it was all strangely captivating. He leaned back against the wall, fully absorbed, losing track of time as he devoured page after page.

For the first time, Mark realized he might have been missing out on something.

Ethan pushed open the door to their dorm, his larger frame moving effortlessly as he stepped inside. He had grown more comfortable in Mark’s body over the course of the day, the way his powerful legs carried him with ease, the way his deep voice naturally rolled out when he spoke. The weight of Mark’s broad shoulders no longer felt foreign—it felt natural, like he had been this way all his life. He was still getting used to the constant attention from people on campus, but he had played along, nodding and responding to greetings with the same confidence Mark always carried.

As he entered, his eyes landed on Mark—his real body—sitting on Ethan’s bed, hunched over a book. Ethan raised an eyebrow. Mark was so focused that he didn’t even notice Ethan at first. The sight was amusing, almost surreal. The guy who usually spent his time running drills and lifting weights was now flipping through pages like he was lost in another world.

Mark glanced up, realizing he had been caught. His face—Ethan’s face—flushed slightly. “Uh… I just got curious,” he muttered, closing the book a little too quickly.

Ethan grinned. “Dude, you don’t have to explain. It’s a good book, right?”

Mark hesitated, then let out a chuckle. “Yeah… I guess it is.”

Ethan tossed his backpack onto Mark’s bed—his bed for now—and leaned against the desk. “Anyway, mission accomplished. I took your exam, made a few mistakes so it wasn’t too obvious, but you’re definitely passing.”

Mark’s eyes widened. “Dude! Thank you! You saved my ass.” He sat up straighter, shaking his head in relief. “Seriously, I owe you big time.”

Ethan shrugged. “No problem. It was kinda fun, actually.”

Mark thought for a moment, then smirked. “Y’know… it’s Friday. How about we stay swapped for the weekend?”

Ethan blinked. “You’re serious?”

“Yeah,” Mark said, leaning back. “Think about it. You get to enjoy being me for a couple more days—no exams, no engineering stress. Just football, working out, hanging with friends. And I get to chill, read some more, maybe play some video games.” He smirked. “Call it your reward.”

Ethan’s lips curled into a grin. “Alright. I’m in.”

With that, they fully embraced the swap. They agreed to sleep in each other’s beds, sealing the illusion further. And for the rest of the weekend, they would call each other by their swapped names—Mark would respond as Ethan, and Ethan would respond as Mark.

The end (for now; Part 2 coming soon)

[mxstellatayte]

hiiii ! could you write a part 2 for the charles and the vibe fic?

YIPPEE!!

i was gonna write it anyways but now i have an excuse to do it!

warnings: this is pure filth, threesome (mmf,) p in v sex, unprotected sex (DONT DO THAT,) mirror sex, carlos is an ass guy, charles is a boobs guy tho, kinda exhibitionism?, creampie, sex under the influence kinda?, it's all consensual though!

all you wanted to do was tease charles. all you wanted to do was see how much you could tempt his resolve before it would crumble. you had no idea it would result in getting eaten out in the bathroom and then promptly realizing that carlos had heard the whole thing and had covered for you and charles.

in exchange, carlos wanted to make even on a bet that he and charles had made at the start of the 2023 season.

monaco. february 10th, 2023.

"what do you think the odds are that one of us wins a race this year?"

charles looked up from the chessboard, his eyebrows furrowing. "what do you mean?"

"i was looking at the red bull and mclaren numbers and our car splits them. we have a fighting chance this year, so do you think one of us will get a win this year?" charles moves a rook, taking one of carlos' pawns.

"it depends. if my entire radio just sounds like 'we are checking, we are checking' and i have to make my own strategy and tyre calls, maybe. if xavi learns basic engineering and communicative skills or gets replaced altogether, i'd say yeah, there's a chance."

"you wanna bet?"

"what are we betting?"

carlos hesitates, then looks up when he hears the door opening. something clatters in the closet before you can be heard cursing quietly, then rearranging the fallen shoes onto the rack. eventually, you come through the doorway to the living room, and, when you see carlos, your face lights up.

"carlos! cómo estás?" (how are you?) you walk over and lean down, kissing his cheek in greeting.

"bien. un poco nervioso para bahrain, pero el carro maneja fantástico este año. y vos?" (good. a bit nervous for bahrain, but the car drives amazing this year. what about you?) you walk over to the kitchen while he's talking and pull out ingredients to make yourself a bowl of yogurt and berries- your favorite snack to have after work before you take your pit bull out for a walk.

"i'm alright. the marketing team made a stupid mistake so i had to do some damage control that took way longer than it should have, but i know martin is going to give them absolute hell tomorrow for it, so at least it doesn't reflect badly on me." your bowl clinks on the countertop as you sit down at the island and take out your computer, your headphones that were previously resting around your neck being slipped over your ears. "i've got some emails to write for an upcoming content creator collab we're doing, so i'll be in my zone. you guys know the drill?"

charles nods. "hermit mode?"

you smile, slipping the second speaker over your ear. "hermit mode."

a few moments pass before carlos speaks again. "are you okay with betting her?"

charles' eyebrows raise. "what do you mean?"

carlos makes his move on the chessboard. "if i win more races than you this year, i get her for a night. if you win more races than me, you can use me for a night. however you want."

the thought of his teammate and closest friend getting to fuck you lights a fire inside of charles, and while he wants nothing more than to agree to the bet purely for the stakes of it, he needs to check in with you first. "can i run it by her and get back to you on that?"

carlos nods. "just get me an answer by bahrain so we can figure something else out if she doesn't want to do that."

italy. february 3rd, 2024.

you had forgotten about the bet. charles and carlos had not.

now, just minutes later, you find yourself with your back once again against the wall, but this time you're staring into carlos' eyes while he fingers you gently, your legs wrapped around his waist and charles leaning against the vanity facing both of you. your eyes unintentionally flick over carlos' shoulder to your boyfriend who is an absolute mess. he's palming himself over his slacks, and you can tell just from the flush in his face that creeps down to his neck and the way his eyebrows are pinched together that he likes what he sees. before you can eye-fuck him the way you know he likes, carlos pulls his fingers out of you and you whine, but he carries you over to the vanity and taps your ass to get you to let go. "spin around, amor. let me see that beautiful ass of yours."

this is a side of carlos that you've never seen before, and it would be a lie to say that it's not hot. without a second thought, you spin yourself around so that your back is resting against his chest and your ass rests against his crotch. "come on, hermosa. bend over." as slowly as you can, you lean forward, resting your hands on the vanity and grinding yourself against him and you swear you can feel his dick twitch inside of his own black slacks. as soon as your forearms are fully resting on the granite vanity, carlos runs his hands down your back and to the front of your legs where he pulls the scarlet fabric of your dress to gather on your left side, the slit opening so that your entire ass is exposed. "no panties?" oh. you forgot about that.

"i kept them for good measure," charles says, pulling them out of his pocket. "you want 'em? you might have to shut her up. she never stops moaning."

"i know. i heard everything. you two are lucky i was the one outside and not anyone else. now," carlos says, taking your panties from your boyfriend and shoving them in his pocket, "do you feel like returning the favor?"

the whiskey you'd downed earlier is taking its effect, and you can't help but bite your lip and nod. normally, you wouldn't be nearly as confident as you are now with someone other than your boyfriend having you in the position you're in right now, but you trust carlos and frankly, you're too turned on to care. charles is in the same room and you're both comfortable enough in your relationship that it's okay. "yes, carlos. i'll return the favor. whatever you want." as you're talking, you can hear carlos unbuckle his belt and unzip his slacks, and when there's finally one layer of fabric between the two of you, carlos reaches into his jacket packet and pulls out a condom. before he opens it, though, you pipe up, your voice embarrassingly breathy and high. "i'm clean and on the pill. don't waste it if getting me pregnant is your only concern."

"are you sure?" carlos says, glancing over at charles. your boyfriend only responds with a shrug and points his thumb at you.

"whatever she says. you're the one fucking her."

carlos doesn't waste a second setting the condom on the vanity, pulling his slacks and underwear down his thighs just enough so that it's comfortable, and pushing into you. you have to bite your lip and cover your own mouth to prevent yourself from moaning too loudly, the stretch from carlos being so different to the one you're accustomed to with charles.

when you look up, carlos' head is thrown back and his hands grip your hips so tight his knuckles are white. it might be the hottest sight you've ever seen. "carlos." your voice is whiny, and you're shocked you can even get his name out.

"hm?"

"fuck me, please."

"are you sure?" his voice lilts in the way you're used to hearing, but this time, there's something slightly different about it. maybe it's the fact that he's currently buried inside of you, his hips flush with your own, or maybe it's the fact that every time you move your head to look up at him, your cunt squeezes around him so perfectly he fears he might cum within three thrusts, but either way, you feel so, so perfect.

"positive. now please. fuck. me." slowly, carlos pulls his hips back before pushing into you, slowly increasing his pace until every time his body meets your ass, you're shoved forward slightly on the counter and your breasts bounce forward, almost falling out of the low neckline of your dress.

"mierda, amor, tienes un coño hecho para mi," (shit, love, you have a cunt made for me,) carlos groans out, pulling your arms back and holding them with one hand while the other goes to hold you up by your neck. the restriction to your windpipe makes your head spin and the new angle has carlos' entire cock running against your g-spot with every thrust. you're able to wiggle your hands free, your left hand reaching back to tug at carlos' hair and your right goes down to rub circles around your clit, making you tighten around carlos' dick, and the combination of the pain from his hair being pulled and your cunt spasming around him makes him tip over the edge.

the feeling of carlos filling you up in turn sends you into your own orgasm, and as you cum, you look to your left, where charles jerks himself off watching you. when you make eye contact with him, though, it's the last straw and he spills into his hand with a quiet groan and his head thrown back.

the three of you catch your breaths and carlos pulls out of you gently, then shoves his cum back inside of you. the forgotten egg vibrator in charles' coat pocket is reinserted into your cunt and you whine at the overstimulation, slightly anxious that charles might tease you again, but he whispers a quiet promise in your ear that you've been good tonight, he won't turn it on anymore.

eventually, carlos slips out of the bathroom and you follow shortly after, walking back down the large hallway to return to the event. later that night, after speeches have been made, hollow promises have been spoken, and many, many bottles of expensive champagne have been toasted with, you make your way back outside, your arm linked with charles' as he calls his car to be pulled with the valet service. carlos walks up and stands next to the two of you, his car already on its way up, and turns to you.

"i'd say the bet is settled, no?"

there you have it folks :D

[julietsf1]

Factory Reset - Franco Colapinto x Engineer!Reader

summary: After a major crash, Franco Colapinto is sent to the Williams factory to work alongside the engineers repairing his car. Tensions run high as he’s forced to confront the realities of their work and the sharp wit of performance engineer Y/N. What begins as a clash of worlds becomes an eye-opening experience for both. (6k words)

content: overconfident Franco; smart but salty Y/N; 3rd person POV; written by someone who doesn't know much about engineering lol it's the vibes that count innit

an: Sorry for disappearing cuties! I had some unexpected work obligations but will be uploading all my WIPs today! thanks for sticking around <3

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The tension in the Williams Racing debrief room was almost as palpable as the screeching halt Franco Colapinto’s car had come to in Las Vegas. The crash had been spectacularly disastrous, with debris scattered across the strip like confetti. And now, here he was, summoned not to a glamorous event or strategy meeting but to a mandatory visit to the Williams factory in Grove. Franco couldn’t remember the last time he felt this much dread walking into a building.

James Vowles stood at the head of the room, his usual calm demeanor carrying an edge of authority that demanded attention.

“We’re implementing a new initiative,” James began, his sharp eyes darting between Franco and the engineers gathered. “To strengthen team spirit and accountability. After a crash like the one in Vegas and our previous years with many crashes, it’s crucial to recognize that Formula 1 isn’t just about what happens on track. It’s also about the people who make it all possible behind the scenes.”

Franco leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. He wasn’t a fan of the lecture tone, but he wasn’t about to interrupt.

“This initiative,” James continued, “involves drivers spending time at the factory. Working alongside the team. Seeing firsthand the hours, the sweat, and the dedication it takes to repair the damages—damages that fall under the cost cap.”

There it was. The thinly veiled jab. Franco sat up straighter, his jaw tightening.

“I’m sure we all agree,” James said with a smile that wasn’t entirely warm, “this will benefit everyone. Franco, you’ll spend the next three days with us here in Grove.”

The engineers in the room exchanged glances. Some smirked, others looked indifferent, but one person in particular didn’t even bother to mask her displeasure. Y/N, one of the team’s senior performance engineers, leaned back in her chair, arms folded, with an expression that screamed, “Of course it’s him.”

Franco noticed her immediately. He’d seen her around the garage before but had never exchanged more than a brief nod. Now, as her steely eyes bore into him, he felt the weight of the animosity she clearly didn’t bother to hide.

“Any questions?” James asked, breaking the silence.

Franco raised a hand half-heartedly. “Yeah. What exactly am I supposed to do for three days?”

James smiled, his tone sharper than the words themselves. “Learn.”

…

The hum of machinery filled the Williams factory, a symphony of clanging metal, whirring drills, and distant chatter. Franco stood awkwardly at the edge of the main floor, dressed in a team-issued polo and jeans, feeling painfully out of place. Engineers bustled past him with purpose, pushing carts laden with parts or gesturing at detailed schematics. Everyone seemed to know where they were going—everyone but him.

Y/N emerged from a row of workstations, a tablet tucked under her arm and a look of mild irritation on her face. Her presence was commanding, despite her relatively small stature among the towering racks and machinery. When she spotted Franco, her expression tightened further, as if this entire ordeal was a personal inconvenience.

“Right,” she said, stopping in front of him. “Let’s get this over with.”

Franco raised an eyebrow. “Wow. You really know how to make a guy feel welcome.”

Y/N didn’t bite. Instead, she thrust the tablet toward him. “Here’s your schedule for the day. You’ll shadow me for the morning. Try to keep up.”

“Keep up?” Franco smirked, taking the tablet. “I’m an F1 driver. I think I can manage.”

She didn’t even look back as she turned on her heel. “We’ll see.”

The morning was a whirlwind of tasks that Franco barely understood. Y/N walked him through the telemetry department, where engineers analyzed data from his car. The lead analyst, a middle-aged man named Paul, greeted Y/N warmly but barely spared Franco a glance.

“So this is the data from Vegas,” Y/N said, pulling up a graph on one of the monitors. “See these spikes here? That’s where you oversteered.”

Franco squinted at the screen, trying to make sense of the jagged lines. “Okay, but in my defense, the rear was completeshit by that point.”

Y/N shot him a sharp look. “In your defense? Do you know how much work it took to rebuild the floor after that?”

Paul cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the tension. “It’s not all bad,” he interjected. “We did get some valuable data—”

“Valuable data doesn’t fix a wrecked car,” Y/N cut him off, her eyes still on Franco. “Next time, maybe don’t treat the car like it’s disposable.”

Franco clenched his jaw. He was used to criticism from team principals or the media, but this felt different—more personal. “I don’t crash on purpose, you know,” he muttered.

Y/N turned back to the screen. “Could’ve fooled me.”

The tour continued through the machine shop, where technicians were crafting replacement parts, and the aerodynamics lab, where wind tunnel models were being adjusted. Franco noticed that while most people greeted Y/N with respect, their reactions to him ranged from polite nods to outright indifference.

By the time they reached the assembly area, Franco was bristling with frustration. “Is everyone here always this friendly, or is it just me?”

Y/N glanced at him, her expression unreadable. “They’re busy. Unlike you, they don’t have time to play the victim.”

Franco stopped walking, forcing her to turn around. “What’s your problem with me?”

“My problem?” Y/N folded her arms, her voice low but pointed. “You think this team exists to make you look good on Sundays. But for us, this is our life. Every crash, every mistake, it’s hours of extra work. Late nights. Missed weekends. Let alone you blaming it all on the car every time. So yeah, excuse me if I’m not rolling out the red carpet for you.”

Franco opened his mouth to respond but couldn’t find the words. Instead, he fell silent and followed her as she led him to the next department.

The afternoon brought more hands-on tasks. Y/N handed Franco a wrench and pointed to a disassembled gearbox. “Think you can manage this?”

“Depends,” Franco said, inspecting the gearbox. “What’s the record time for putting one of these together?”

“This isn’t a race,” Y/N snapped, but there was a flicker of amusement in her eyes.

Franco worked diligently, occasionally asking questions that Y/N grudgingly answered. By the end of the day, the gearbox was reassembled, and Franco felt a small sense of accomplishment—though Y/N didn’t offer any praise.

As they packed up, Franco noticed her pause by one of the workbenches, her expression softening as she examined a photo taped to the wall. It showed a younger Y/N during her internship at McLaren, laughing with Daniel Ricciardo and Lando Norris.

“You worked at McLaren?” Franco asked, genuinely curious.

Y/N nodded without looking at him. “Internship during uni. Best year of my life.”

“Let me guess,” Franco said. “You were one of Danny Ric’s ‘shoey’ victims?”

Y/N laughed, a sound that surprised them both. “Only once. But it was worth it.”

For a moment, the tension between them eased. Then Y/N’s phone buzzed, and she glanced at the screen. “Back to reality. See you tomorrow, Colapinto.”

As she walked away, Franco found himself smiling despite himself. 

…

The second day at the Williams factory was already shaping up to be a long one. Franco arrived earlier than expected, determined not to let Y/N accuse him of slacking off. The factory came alive with distant murmur of conversations slowly filling the space. He leaned against the telemetry lab doorframe, holding a cup of coffee that smelled like it had been brewed by an engineer experimenting with car oil, waiting for Y/N to show up.

When she finally appeared, cradling a steaming cup of tea and glancing down at her tablet, Franco couldn’t help himself. “Good morning to you too, sunshine.”

Y/N looked up, unimpressed. “You’re early. Trying to win points or just lost?”

“Maybe I just enjoy our morning chats,” Franco replied, grinning over the rim of his coffee cup. “Your warmth really sets the tone for the day.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but there was a flicker of amusement behind her usual sharpness. “If sarcasm counts as effort, you’re doing great.”

The morning routine started where the conversation with Paul had left off the previous day: telemetry analysis. Franco was seated in the simulator cockpit while Y/N pulled up detailed graphs of his Vegas laps, pointing out each mistake with the precision of a scalpel.

“See this spike here?” she said, her finger hovering over the screen. “That’s where you decided braking wasn’t necessary.”

“I didn’t decide that,” Franco countered, leaning forward to study the data. “The rear was loose, and I had to adjust—”

“You overcompensated,” Y/N interrupted, highlighting another section. “Instead of making a gradual adjustment, you panicked. A car doesn’t respond well to panic.”

Franco frowned, leaning back in the seat. “I didn’t panic.”

Y/N turned to face him, her gaze piercing. “You’re telling me plowing into the barrier was part of the plan?”

For a moment, Franco stared at her, at a complete loss for words. Then he laughed, the tension easing slightly. “You know, you’d make a great drill sergeant.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said dryly, though the faintest hint of a smirk played on her lips.

By lunchtime, Franco had decided to stop avoiding the canteen drama and instead followed Y/N to her usual table. She sat with a group of engineers, all engaged in animated conversation about the latest updates to the floor design. Franco tried to follow along, but the technical jargon quickly became overwhelming.

“You look lost,” Y/N said, leaning toward him. Her voice was low enough that only he could hear. “Too many big words?”

Franco smirked, stealing a chip from her tray. “Just biding my time. Waiting for you to talk about something interesting.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow but didn’t stop him from taking another chip. “Bold move.”

“I can be bold,” he said, popping the chip into his mouth.

Y/N rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched upward, betraying her amusement.

…

At four o’clock sharp Y/N stood by the sideline of the nearby paddle court, tapping her racket against her leg and scanning the group of engineers gathering for the weekly game. It was her favorite way to let off steam after a long week - competitive enough to keep her engaged but lighthearted enough to remind her that work wasn’t everything.

“Where’s Ethan?” someone asked, voicing the question on her mind.

Y/N’s usual partner was nowhere to be seen. A quick check of her phone confirmed it: Ethan had bailed last-minute with a text about a migraine and a sincere promise to make it up to her next week.

“Great,” Y/N muttered under her breath. Without a partner, she’d be sitting this one out.

“Problem?” Franco’s voice cut through the crowd, his grin as smug as ever as he leaned against the court’s railing.

Y/N turned to him, crossing her arms. “Ethan flaked. No partner, no game.”

“Shame,” Franco said, though he didn’t sound particularly sorry. “Guess you’ll just have to cheer from the sidelines.”

Y/N glared at him, but before she could retort, he held up his hands in mock surrender.

“Or,” he continued, “I could step in. You know, save the day.”

She snorted, looking him up and down. “You? Save my day?”

“Hey,” Franco said, grabbing a spare paddle from the bench. “I’m more coordinated than I look.”

“That’s a low bar,” Y/N shot back, but her lips twitched as if suppressing a smile.

“You need a partner,” Franco said, spinning the paddle in his hand. “I’m offering. Unless you’re too scared I’ll outplay you.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but the thought of sitting out was more annoying than the idea of teaming up with him. “Fine,” she said, pointing at him with her paddle. “But if you screw this up, I’m never letting you live it down.”

The first few minutes were rocky. Franco’s confidence far outstripped his paddle skills, and Y/N found herself darting across the court to cover his missed volleys.

“Are you actually trying?” she called after him when he completely whiffed a return.

“Relax,” Franco said, jogging back to his position. “I’m just warming up.”

“You better warm up fast, I have a competition ranking to keep up,” she snapped, returning a wicked shot from their opponents.

But to her surprise, Franco adjusted quickly. His natural athleticism took over, and soon he was diving for impossible shots and landing them with a flourish that almost made Y/N forget his rough start.

“Not bad,” she admitted after he scored their first point with a sharp return.

“Not bad?” Franco said, feigning offense. “That was textbook genius.”

“Let’s not get carried away,” Y/N said, though she couldn’t help the grin that tugged at her lips.

As the match progressed, Y/N found herself enjoying their unlikely partnership. Franco’s energy was infectious, and his relentless determination to win made her laugh more than once.

“Nice shot!” he shouted after one of her perfectly placed lobs.

“Thanks,” she replied, her voice tinged with mock sweetness. “Try not to ruin it.”

“I’m carrying this team,” Franco said, panting as he prepared for the next serve.

“Only thing you’re carrying is that big head of yours,” Y/N muttered, but the teasing tone softened her words.

At some point, a stray ball sailed out of the court, bouncing into the parking lot. Franco volunteered to fetch it, jogging off while Y/N leaned against the net to catch her breath.

James Vowles strolled over from the sidelines, hands in his pockets and a wide smile on his face.

“Not bad out there,” James said, nodding toward the court. “You’ve got Franco moving, at least.”

Y/N laughed, brushing a stray hair from her face. “He’s not as useless as I thought. Still reckless, though.”

James chuckled, his eyes twinkling. “You know, it’s good to see him having fun. It’s been a rough season—rookie pressure and all that. Moments like this are rare for him.”

Y/N glanced toward Franco, who was bent over retrieving the ball. His usual bravado seemed lighter today, less forced. She’d never thought about how intense the pressure must be for him.

“He hides it well,” Y/N said softly.

James nodded, still smiling. “He does. Sometimes I forget how young he still is.”

When Franco jogged back onto the court, tossing the ball into the air with a cocky grin, Y/N felt a twinge of sympathy she hadn’t expected.

“Ready?” Franco called, positioning himself for the next serve.

“Let’s see what you’ve got,” Y/N replied, her voice softer than before.

Franco’s serve caught her off guard. It was precise and powerful, skimming the net and clipping the edge of the line.

“Nice serve,” Y/N said, the words escaping before she could think better of them.

Franco froze mid-smile. “Did you just compliment me?”

“Don’t get used to it,” she said quickly, but there was a faint blush on her cheeks.

The rest of the match passed in a blur of fast volleys and laughter. Y/N found herself encouraging Franco more often, and he responded by playing even better, his confidence growing with every point.

By the time they won—21 to 17—they were both breathless and grinning.

“Good game,” Franco said, holding out his hand.

Y/N shook it, her grip firm. “Not terrible.”

“Coming from you, I’ll take that as glowing praise,” Franco said, his grin widening.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” she said, though her tone was more teasing than cutting.

As the match wrapped up and the court cleared, Y/N crouched down to zip her bag, her mind still buzzing with the game’s energy. She couldn’t help but replay the last few points in her head—the unexpected precision of Franco’s serve, the way he’d thrown himself into every volley, and, perhaps most surprising, how well they’d worked together. It wasn’t something she’d anticipated when she grudgingly let him join her earlier.

Franco, standing a few feet away, adjusted the strap of his bag and hesitated. He glanced at Y/N, his usual cocky grin nowhere in sight. Instead, his expression was softer, more sincere, as though he was wrestling with what to say.

“Thanks for letting me play,” he said finally, his voice quieter than usual. It wasn’t just a throwaway comment—it carried a weight Y/N hadn’t expected.

She paused, straightening up and meeting his gaze. For a moment, she wasn’t sure how to respond. Franco wasn’t looking at her with his usual smirk or playful glint. There was something vulnerable in his eyes, something she hadn’t seen before. Gratitude, maybe, or relief.

I should be thanking you,” she said simply, her tone gentler than usual.

Franco blinked, as though her words had surprised him, and for the first time since he’d arrived at the factory, he looked almost shy. He nodded, slinging his bag over his shoulder and stepping closer.

“Seriously,” he added, his voice a little firmer now. “I needed that. It’s been… a lot lately. You didn’t have to let me join, but you did. So, thanks.”

Y/N studied him, her sharp instincts catching the subtle way his shoulders relaxed, the way he shifted his weight like he wasn’t used to opening up. This wasn’t the brash rookie who crashed cars and cracked jokes at every opportunity. This was someone who carried more than he let on—someone who, despite his flaws, was trying.

Her reply came almost automatically, her voice softer than she expected. “Well, don’t let it go to your head.”

But there was no edge to her words this time, no undercurrent of sarcasm. It was the kind of teasing that felt less like a wall and more like an olive branch.

For the first time, she didn’t see him as just the reckless rookie who kept wrecking her hard work. He was something more—someone navigating a high-pressure world, someone trying to find his place just like everyone else. And, Y/N realized, he wasn’t half-bad at it when he let himself breathe.

Franco smiled—an easy, genuine smile that lit up his face in a way that was, dare she admit it, a little endearing. “Careful,” he said, his tone regaining its usual playfulness. “Keep this up, and I might start thinking you like me.”

“Let’s not get carried away,” she shot back, though her lips twitched into a faint smile of their own.

As they walked out of the court together, their banter trailing into the evening air, Y/N couldn’t help but feel like something had shifted. Maybe, just maybe, Franco Colapinto wasn’t as bad as she’d thought.

…

The hum of the factory felt louder than usual the next morning, or maybe it was just the lingering buzz from the paddle game. Y/N sat at her workstation, staring at the detailed telemetry graphs on her screen but not entirely focused on them. She couldn’t stop thinking about Franco—not in the way she was used to, with irritation bubbling under the surface, but something else. Something softer.

“Morning,” a familiar voice called, jolting her out of her thoughts.

Franco leaned against the edge of her desk, his trademark grin firmly in place. He was holding a cup of coffee—factory brew, by the looks of it—and looked annoyingly chipper for someone who had spent the previous day sprinting across a court.

“Don’t you have someone else to bother?” Y/N asked, raising an eyebrow but unable to keep the amusement out of her tone.

“Probably,” Franco replied, setting the coffee down on her desk. “But I figured I’d start with you.”

Y/N eyed the cup suspiciously. “What’s this?”

“Peace offering,” he said, sliding his hands into his pockets. “Figured I owed you for carrying me in paddle yesterday.”

Y/N snorted, picking up the cup. “You’re lucky I like caffeine.” She took a cautious sip, then looked up at him. “Still terrible coffee, though.”

“Hey, I tried,” Franco said, raising his hands in mock surrender.

The morning flew by in a blur of meetings and simulations. Franco had started shadowing her more closely, asking questions that, to her surprise, weren’t entirely stupid.

“So, this graph,” Franco said, leaning over her shoulder as she pulled up data from one of the wind tunnel tests. “What does this spike mean?”

“It means the airflow over the rear wing is separating,” Y/N explained, highlighting the section with my cursor. “See this spike? That’s where the turbulence is disrupting the downforce. Less downforce means less grip, especially through the high-speed corners.”

Franco leaned in, squinting at the data. “So that’s why we were losing time through Sector 2 at Interlagos—the Esses and that long left-hander?”

Y/N glanced at him, impressed despite herself. “Exactly. Nice to see you’ve been paying attention for once.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Franco said, grinning.

Their banter flowed more easily now, the sharp edges of their earlier exchanges softened into something almost friendly. Almost.

During their mid-morning coffee break, Y/N found herself sitting with Franco at one of the smaller tables near the canteen window. She usually avoided these moments, preferring to spend her breaks with other engineers or, more often, alone. But today, she didn’t mind the company.

“So,” Franco said, leaning back in his chair. “How’d you end up here, anyway?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Here, as in Williams? Or here, as in motorsport?”

“Motorsport,�� Franco clarified, taking a sip of his coffee. “You don’t exactly seem like the type to spend your weekends watching races.”

Y/N chuckled. “You’d be right about that. My dad was obsessed with cars, though. Used to take me to karting tracks when I was a kid. At first, I hated it—too loud, too smelly. But then I started paying attention to the mechanics, how everything fit together. It just… made sense.”

Franco tilted his head, his expression thoughtful. “And that led you here?”

“Eventually,” Y/N said, shrugging. “I studied engineering, did an internship with McLaren during uni. That’s when I realized this wasn’t just some childhood fascination. It was what I wanted to do.”

Franco nodded, his voice quieter now. “Well, you’re really good at it. I hope you know that.”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity. “Thanks, Franco,” she said softly, a small smile tugging at her lips.

The afternoon was hectic. With the car rebuild still behind schedule, the factory floor buzzed with a sense of urgency. Y/N was stationed at one of the workbenches, assembling a new rear suspension with a few other engineers, when Franco wandered over.

“Need a hand?” he asked, pulling up a stool beside her.

“Can you tell the difference between a torque wrench and a spanner?” Y/N asked without looking up.

“Not yet,” Franco admitted, resting his chin on his hand. “But I’m a fast learner.”

Y/N sighed but handed him a tool anyway. “Fine. Hold this. And don’t drop it.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Franco said, mimicking a salute.

Despite her initial reservations, Y/N found herself enjoying his presence. He asked questions, paid attention to her answers, and even managed to make her laugh a few times. By the end of the day, she was surprised at how much they’d gotten done—and how much lighter the workload had felt with him around.

As the factory began to wind down for the evening, Y/N was packing up her tools when Franco appeared beside her, hands in his pockets and a lopsided smile on his face.

“Busy tomorrow?” he asked.

“Probably,” Y/N replied, zipping up her bag. “Why?”

“Just wondering,” Franco said, his tone casual. “Figured I should plan my day around annoying you as much as possible.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the smile that crept onto her face. “Good luck with that.”

As they walked out of the factory together, the air between them felt lighter, less charged with the tension that had defined their earlier interactions. For the first time, Y/N found herself looking forward to the next day—not just for the work, but for the company.

…

The pub was crowded, buzzing with the energy of Williams team members finally letting loose after a grueling week. Laughter echoed off the wooden beams, glasses clinked, and the occasional burst of cheering from the engineers at the dartboard carried through the room. Franco sat at a high table with James Vowles and a handful of other engineers, a pint of beer in front of him, untouched.

“So there I was,” one of the engineers was saying, his hands gesturing wildly, “under the car, trying to weld the damn thing back together while the rear wing’s hanging on by duct tape—”

James chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Sounds like just another Tuesday.”

Franco forced a smile, but his mind was elsewhere. He could still hear the faint hum of the factory in his head, see the way Y/N’s brow furrowed as she focused on her work. He had no doubt she was still there, surrounded by telemetry data and spreadsheets, hunched over some impossible task to get the car ready for Qatar.

“Franco!” James called, snapping him out of his thoughts. “You’re quiet tonight. That’s not like you.”

Franco shrugged, lifting his pint and taking a sip just to appease him. “Just tired.”

James tilted his head, studying him with a faint smile. “You’ve been spending too much time in the factory. It’ll do that to you.”

“It’s not so bad,” Franco said, setting his glass down. “The coffee is shit though.”

James’s smile grew, but he didn’t press further. Another round of laughter from the group filled the silence, but Franco found himself restless. He glanced at the time on his phone and then at the door.

“Back in a bit,” he said abruptly, grabbing his jacket.

“Running off already?” James teased, but Franco didn’t answer. He was already weaving his way through the crowd, his mind made up.

The factory was eerily quiet when Franco returned, the once-bustling floor now deserted save for the faint hum of machinery. The lights were dimmed, casting long shadows across the empty workstations. He made his way to the telemetry department, navigating the maze of desks and monitors like he belonged there - which, after the past few days, he almost did.

He found her exactly where he expected: sitting at her workstation, her face illuminated by the glow of her screen. Her hair was slightly mussed, one hand absently running through it as she scrolled through what looked like another mountain of data. There was an empty coffee cup on her desk, and a faint crease on her forehead betrayed her exhaustion.

Franco paused, watching her for a moment. She looked so focused, so determined, and it struck him how much effort she poured into her work. Not just effort – her whole heart.

He cleared his throat softly, not wanting to startle her too much. She glanced up, her eyes widening in surprise when she saw him standing there.

“Franco?” she said, setting her stylus down. “What are you doing here? I thought you were at the pub.”

“I was,” he admitted, holding up two brown takeout bags. “But it was boring without someone yelling at me every five minutes.”

Y/N blinked, clearly caught off guard. “And you brought… food?”

“Figured you’d still be here,” he said, stepping closer and setting the bags down on the edge of her desk. “You’ve probably been here all night, haven’t you?”

“I’ve got work to do,” she replied, as though that explained everything.

“Yeah, and you’ve also got to eat,” Franco said, pulling up a chair and sitting down beside her. “So I’m here to make sure you don’t keel over from starvation. You’re welcome, by the way.”

She stared at him for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then, to his surprise, she let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously thoughtful,” Franco corrected, grinning.

They unpacked the food, and Y/N couldn’t help but appreciate the gesture despite herself. The noodles were still warm, the comforting aroma filling the small space around them. She took a bite, her stomach growling in approval.

“This is surprisingly good,” she admitted, glancing at him.

“You’re welcome,” Franco said, digging into his own container.

For a while, they ate in comfortable silence, the tension between them replaced by an unexpected ease. Franco leaned back in his chair, watching her with a curious expression.

“You really don’t stop, do you?” he asked, nodding toward her screen.

Y/N shrugged, setting her chopsticks down for a moment. “Deadlines don’t stop. Someone has to keep the car running.”

He tilted his head, studying her. “Why do you do it?”

The question caught her off guard. She hesitated, then sighed. “Because it matters. It’s not just about the car—it’s about the people. Everyone here gives their all to make sure we succeed, and I don’t want to let them down.”

Franco nodded slowly, his gaze steady. “You’re really one of a kind, you know.”

Y/N blinked, startled by the sincerity in his voice. “Thanks,” she said softly.

“Seriously,” he added, his voice quieter now. “It’s incredible what you do here.”

She smiled, a faint blush creeping into her cheeks. “It’s not glamorous, but it’s worth it.”

As the meal wound down, Y/N turned back to her screen, scrolling through the data she’d been working on before Franco arrived. Her fingers danced across the keyboard, but her mind wasn’t entirely on the numbers. She could feel him beside her, his presence surprisingly steady and not as intrusive as she would’ve thought a few days ago.

Franco, meanwhile, hadn’t moved. Instead, he pulled his chair closer, resting his elbows on the edge of the desk as he watched her work. The soft glow of the monitor lit her face, highlighting the faint creases on her forehead and the small, almost invisible smudge of grease on her temple.

“You really don’t stop,” he said, breaking the silence.

“Not when there’s this much to do,” she replied without looking at him.

“Still,” he said, his tone quieter now. “You’re doing all of this, late into the night, and you’re not even asking for help.”

Y/N glanced at him, her brows furrowing. “Because there’s no point. If I want it done right, I might as well do it myself.”

Franco tilted his head, his gaze unwavering. “That’s not true. You just don’t let people try.”

Her hands stilled over the keyboard, his words striking deeper than she expected. She turned to him fully, her lips parting as if to argue, but the look in his eyes stopped her. There was no teasing, no arrogance - just genuine concern.

“You don’t have to carry all of it alone,” he said softly.

Her breath hitched, the words lodging themselves in her chest. For a moment, all she could do was stare at him, her mind racing. He was so close now, close enough that she could see the faint stubble on his jaw, the tiredness in his green eyes, and the way his shoulders seemed more relaxed than usual.

“Do you need help?” he asked suddenly, his voice breaking the silence.

She blinked, his question pulling her back into the moment. “You? Help with this?”

“I’m serious,” Franco said, his grin reappearing, though it was softer now. “I’m good at following orders. Well, sometimes.”

She smiled faintly, shaking her head. “I appreciate ­­­­it but highly doubt you’d be any use here.”

“Try me,” he said, leaning forward slightly, his tone playful but laced with something deeper.

Y/N opened her mouth to reply, but before she could, his hand moved toward her. He reached out tentatively, his fingers brushing against her temple as he gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. The touch was light, barely there, but it sent a jolt through her all the same.

Her breath caught, and for a moment, time seemed to slow. His hand lingered near her face, his eyes locked on hers with an intensity that made her pulse quicken. The usual sharp retorts and witty comebacks she relied on were suddenly out of reach, replaced by a charged silence that felt heavier with each passing second.

“Franco…” she began, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Just tell me what you need,” he murmured, his tone steady but impossibly soft.

Her heart pounded, her chest tight with a mix of emotions she couldn’t quite name. The walls she’d kept firmly in place all week seemed to crack, piece by piece, under the weight of his gaze.

And then, before she could second-guess herself, she leaned in.

The kiss was slow at first, almost hesitant, her lips brushing against his in a way that felt more like a question than a statement. But the moment his hand came up to cup her jaw, his fingers warm against her skin, the hesitation melted away. She tilted her head, her hands instinctively gripping the front of his jacket to pull him closer.

Franco responded in kind, his lips moving against hers with a surprising gentleness that caught her off guard. There was no urgency, no rush - just a quiet intensity that left her breathless. The air between them crackled with the kind of tension that had been building for days, unspoken and simmering just beneath the surface.

When they finally pulled apart, Y/N’s eyes fluttered open, her breath coming in uneven bursts. Franco was staring at her, his expression a mix of awe and disbelief, as if he couldn’t quite process what had just happened.

“Well,” he said after a moment, his voice huskier than usual. “If I knew takeout was all it took—”

“Don’t,” she interrupted, her voice firm but laced with amusement.

A grin spread across his face, the kind that made his green eyes crinkle at the corners. “Noted.”

Y/N shook her head, but there was no hiding the smile tugging at her lips. She turned back to her screen, though the work in front of her suddenly felt far less urgent. The weight of the week wasn’t gone, but it had shifted, lightened in a way she hadn’t thought possible just hours ago.

Beside her, Franco leaned back in his chair, his presence steady and unassuming. For the first time, Y/N didn’t mind him being there—not in the slightest.

…

The Williams garage in Qatar buzzed with the familiar energy of a race weekend. Mechanics hurried from here to there, engineers huddled around monitors, and the drivers moved through their routines with laser focus. But amidst the usual chaos, Y/N felt strangely at ease - a rare calm she hadn’t experienced in years of working in motorsport.

She stood near the garage entrance, tablet in hand, scrolling through last-minute setup notes for the car. It was a crisp, clear evening, and the desert air carried a cool breeze that contrasted with the heat of the track.

“Looking for me?”

Y/N didn’t even have to turn around. Franco’s voice, smug but undeniably warm, was unmistakable.

“You wish,” she replied without missing a beat, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

Franco stepped into her peripheral vision, his race suit unzipped and hanging around his waist. His green eyes sparkled under the fluorescent paddock lights. “Well, if you weren’t, I’m a little disappointed.”

She finally looked up, tilting her head. “Shouldn’t you be focusing on the race? You know, doing the thing we all worked so hard to make possible?”

“I am focused,” he said, leaning casually against the wall. “Just… multitasking. Driver prep and talking with my favorite engineer - it’s all about balance.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, though her smile didn’t fade. “If you’re trying to charm me, it’s not working.”

“Who says I’m trying?” Franco countered, his grin widening.

Y/N shook her head, turning back to her tablet. “You’re insufferable.”

“Yeah,” Franco said, his voice softer now, “but you kind of like that about me.”

Y/N snorted softly, pretending to focus on the setup notes. “Delusional as ever.”

Franco leaned in closer, his voice dropping slightly. “Call it what you want, but I think I’m growing on you.”

She tilted her head, arching a brow. “More like you’re wearing me down.”

“Same thing,” he said with a grin, stepping back slightly but not leaving.

“You ready for this?” she asked, breaking the silence.

Franco shrugged, his grin softening into something more earnest. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

She studied him for a beat, noting the slight tension in his posture and the way his fingers tapped lightly against his thigh. Beneath the bravado, there was a trace of nerves—small, but there.

“Hey,” she said, lowering her tablet and meeting his gaze. “You’ll be fine. You’ve got this.”

Franco’s eyes softened, and for a moment, his usual smirk faded. “Coming from you, that actually means a lot.”

“Good,” Y/N said simply, her lips curving into a small smile.

The sound of an engine roaring to life in the garage snapped them both back to reality. Franco straightened, tugging at the collar of his race suit and exhaling deeply.

“Guess that’s my cue,” he said, his voice softer this time, though there was still a faint smile playing on his lips.

Y/N didn’t look up from her tablet, her fingers flying over the screen as she reviewed another set of setup notes. “Good. Try to avoid the barriers, would you?”

Franco chuckled quietly, stepping closer until he was just beside her. “You always know how to motivate me, don’t you?”

She finally glanced up, tilting her head. “Do you really need a speech? The car’s ready, the data’s solid, and you’re…” She paused, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “You’re as ready as you’ll ever be.”

“That almost sounded supportive,” Franco said, his grin warming.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” Y/N replied, shaking her head lightly before looking back at her screen.

Franco lingered, his hands resting lightly on the edge of her desk. “You know, you could just wish me good luck. It’d be nice to hear.”

Y/N sighed theatrically but set her tablet down, looking up at him again. “Fine. Good luck, Franco. Now go make it count.”

His smile softened, and for a moment, he seemed to hesitate. Then, with a quick glance toward the bustling garage behind them, he leaned down and kissed her—a quick, warm kiss that caught her completely off guard.

From across the garage, a few engineers burst into laughter and cheers. “Woo, Colapinto!” someone shouted, and another voice chimed in, “About time!”

Y/N’s face flushed instantly as she pulled back, her eyes wide. “Franco—”

“Hey, they said it, not me,” Franco said with a small laugh, holding his hands up as if to plead innocence. But his voice had softened even more now, his gaze lingering on her with something closer to gratitude. “You look cute with those red cheeks.”

She blinked, her blush deepening, but she managed to recover quickly enough. “You’re lucky I have work to do, or I’d make you regret that.”

“You’ll miss me out there,” he teased gently, stepping back toward the car. He turned just before climbing in, his grin more genuine now. “I’ll make sure your hard work shines.”

Y/N shook her head, picking up her tablet again to distract herself from the lingering warmth on her cheeks. As the car rolled out of the garage, she caught herself smiling - just for a moment - before diving back into her work.

“Unbelievable,” she muttered under her breath, though there was no mistaking the fondness in her tone.

[81pastrys]

The Other Verstappen

Part 6 / 10

Summary— She finds herself crying in Lando’s arms before everything changes in the racing world

Warnings— Jos Verstappen mentioned ; angst ; caring Lando ; Fred being a bad team principal

A/N— this one heats up the story

Series List

Divider @bernardsbendystraws

The race day came and my nerves were through the roof, my engineer commenting on it every few minutes. “Verstappen breathing check?” He’d ask.

“I’m fucking breathing leave me alone.” I’d shoot at him. I got a decent position, 3rd. Max got 5th, I bet Jos is happy about that. “Last podium you’ll get out of me if Jos ends up in my driver room again.” I mumble on the radio.

“He snuck in.” Fred lied, stuttering through the words like I wouldn’t catch it. I do the media and the podiums. Dry responses and silence were my best friend. “You can’t just go to media and fuck off!” Fred reprimanded me.

“You can’t just blatantly ignore my one and only fucking request.” I throw back pissed he even said something. “Listen I get he’s a fucking people pleaser, but I told you explicitly I did not want him anywhere near my garage side let alone my driver room.” I was calm but still got my point across. I return to my hotel room, thankful as all hell RedBull resides in a different town.

Lando calls me and I ignore the call, silencing the ring. Then a knock is on my door. I groan and look through the peephole. “Answer my call or answer the door.” Lando said monotoned, but I could tell he was pissed at me.

“I’m not in the mood to fucking scream at you.” I respond walking from the door. He doesn’t leave that easily, knocking and calling my phone. I open the door with as much force as I can. “What?!”

He crosses his arms and stares at me. The kind of stare you get when you’re in trouble with your parents. He knew it would work on my broken childhood ass. I shy away and look guilty. “Can I come in?” He asked.

I move out of the way and he walks in. The door shuts and I look at him. “Fred let Jos into my driver room.” I say, upset now. My only ask and promise was broken. By my team principal of all people.

“That gives you the right to just shut yourself off from everything and anyone?” He asked. I walk around the room, picking up the clothes scattered or unorganized things I unpacked. “Are you listening to me?” He asked.

“Yes I’m listening!” I yell. He sighs and breaks his stance for a minute. He walks up to me and holds my face in his hands. “I am listening Lando.” I say quieter now.

“He’s doing this to get under your skin, don’t let it haunt you like this.” Lando’s raw emotion got me and I started crying. “Come see.” He pulled me in for a hug and whispered sweet nothings in my ear. “You’re an amazing person, driver, friend.” He said.

I sob harder at the thought he sees us as just friends. We’ve always wanted more than that, but with how broken I am, we couldn’t. “I want more than that.” I mumble. He rubs my hair and hold my head in his chest.

“I know, I know.” He cooed. “One day my love, one day we can make it work.” We talked about ‘one day’ for months, hell almost a year. “Until that day comes, I need you to be here, psychically and emotionally for me okay?” I nod my head, his shirt damp from my tears.

We fell asleep in my bed that night. Nearly everything was flipped upside down the next race weekend, all hell breaking loose as drivers swap teams and some left without a team for the next season. Fred pulls me and Charles aside to offer multi year contracts and I decline the offer.

“I’ll finish this year, but I don’t think I can do another.” I admit. To be honest the redbull seat is open and I want it. “I might reconsider but for now I say look for another candidate.”

The news gets out I won’t stay at Ferrari for the next season and everyone says it’s a ticking time bomb and that I should’ve taken it. In the media pen after it all got out I answered a question that headlined every. Single. Article. “If I don’t get another contract offer for next season, I’ll consider retirement.” Frame it and I’ll sign it, because I meant it.

Where will she go?!

@il0vereadingstuff @angelluv16 @pandabiiissh @kallanfiona @itznotsophia @charlesgirl16 @widow-cevans