#and gave him a little beret | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

helvegen-s · 23 days ago

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a flat white and a sharp tongue

an Oscar Piastri one-shot

Summary: he's a reserved F1 driver seeking peace. She's the lively heart of a bustling café. When their worlds collide, Oscar's carefully constructed routine is challenged by Elaine's infectious energy, leading to a connection that has the potential to change everything.

Word count: 14k (i am sorry i am so sorry but it is worth it)

Warnings: slow burn, teasing, banter, mild language

A/N: I've loved writing this. I've put a little bit of myself into Elaine—the sense of humor, the passion for history… I hope you enjoy it as much as I did! Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated. Thank you so much for your support, it makes me so happy! Kisses <3

have in mind that English is not my first nor my second language, excuse any mistakes that you might find

masterlist

Oscar had discovered the café by accident. Or rather, he had discovered it thanks to a friend who had insisted endlessly that he had to try it.

He hadn’t regretted it.

It was a hidden refuge nestled among steep alleyways, far from the bustling port and the constant rush of Monaco. A small café with a vintage aesthetic, renovated just enough to be cozy without losing its old-world charm. Exposed brick walls, shelves full of mismatched cups, polished wooden tables marked by time. And, most importantly, peace.

From the first time he had visited, he had known the place belonged to him. It had become an unbreakable routine: every time he returned from a race, he would take the stairs down from his apartment—the café was right below—and sit at the same table by the window. He ordered the same thing, read, reviewed data, or simply watched people pass by.

And then, there was the cat.

A large, speckled feline with the air of an undisputed king of the place. It would appear out of nowhere, climbing onto his lap or table uninvited. At first, Oscar had tried to ignore it. It hadn’t worked. The cat had adopted him without asking permission, and he, resigned, had eventually accepted it.

Everything had been perfect.

Until the calm had been shattered.

First, the door swung open abruptly, making the bell jingle with an overly enthusiastic chime. Then, the sound of hurried paws against the wooden floor.

The cat bolted from his lap.

Oscar blinked, surprised by the sudden abandonment, and then he heard her.

"Bon matin, mes amis! You missed me, didn’t you?"

Her voice filled the café—clear and energetic—as if it belonged as much to the place as the brick walls.

Oscar didn’t need to look up to know that everyone in the café knew her. He heard the sound of her scarf sliding off her neck, the tapping of her boots as she crossed the room without hesitation. She greeted the customers one by one, as naturally as if she had done it all her life.

"Marcel, are you still losing at dominoes, or did they finally let you win?"

"Today, I’m winning, chérie, I swear!"

"Liar." She laughed, giving him a pat on the shoulder before moving on. "André, that beret is new. Very stylish."

"My daughter gave it to me, but don’t think I’m going to buy you breakfast just for the compliment."

"So stingy."

Oscar heard more laughter. It was obvious that everyone knew her, that they welcomed her with familiarity, as if she were part of the café’s furniture.

The cat—the same one that ignored everyone except him—was now in her arms, purring like a satisfied engine.

"Finally! Someone greets me with enthusiasm!" she exclaimed, rubbing her nose against the cat’s head before gently setting it down.

By this point, Oscar had already returned his focus to his book. Or at least, he was trying to.

"I’ll have a hot chocolate," she said when she reached the counter, leaning over it shamelessly.

The barista—her brother, Oscar deduced from the patience in his expression—sighed.

"Aren’t you tired of so much sugar?"

"I never get tired of the good stuff."

He scoffed but started preparing the drink.

Oscar turned the page. Hopefully, the café would regain its usual silence.

Then, he felt it.

The imperceptible shift in the air when someone was staring at him.

Instinctively, he knew what was coming.

Footsteps approached.

"I haven’t seen you here before."

Oscar closed his eyes for a second, holding back a sigh.

"Hmm."

"That’s all you’re going to say?"

"I’m busy."

She let out a small laugh.

"Of course, you are."

And with that, she plopped down in the chair across from him.

Oscar shut his book with a snap.

She smiled.

"Now you’re looking at me."

She didn’t say it as a question but as a fact, as if she knew exactly what to do to pull someone out of their bubble.

Oscar looked at her for the first time, assessing. She was young, cheerful, with a mischievous glint in her eyes. She recognized him, sure, but there was no typical astonishment, no urge to mention it.

"Do you always insert yourself where you’re not wanted?" he asked, hoping she’d take the hint.

"Are you always this grumpy?" she shot back, unfazed.

Oscar felt a headache forming.

Something told him his peace had just ended.

He blinked, analyzing her tone, her expression. There was no mockery in her gaze, only amusement, as if finding him there was an entertaining discovery, but not particularly extraordinary.

"I recognize you, obviously," she said with a shrug. "But don’t worry, I’m not going to ask for a photo or an autograph. I’m sure your ego doesn’t need more inflating."

Oscar narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out whether that was an insult or just an observation.

He had no response.

She, on the other hand, laughed, as if his silence was the best part of the conversation. She leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs with an irritatingly carefree attitude, then glanced down at the book still in his hands.

"Are you seriously reading this?"

Oscar looked at the cover. It was a dense historical biography, written with an almost obsessive level of detail.

"What’s wrong with it?" he asked, his tone dry.

She tilted her head, as if evaluating him.

"Nothing, I guess. If you like books that feel like punishments."

Oscar snapped the book shut, again, a little harder than necessary.

She laughed again.

"You don’t have a comeback for that, do you?"

Oscar clenched his jaw.

He hated her. No, he hated her boldness, her persistence, the way she pulled him out of his bubble without permission.

And he hated even more that he didn’t know how to shut her down.

"Stop bothering the customers."

Her brother’s voice came from behind the counter, exasperated, like he had seen this scene too many times before.

She turned her head, pouting exaggeratedly.

"I’m not bothering him. We’re just having a conversation, right?"

Oscar stared at her, unblinking.

"No."

She let out a delighted laugh.

"See? He adores me."

Her brother sighed and nodded toward the counter.

"Your hot chocolate is ready. Leave him alone."

"Tss, such a killjoy," she muttered, standing up with obvious reluctance.

The cat, as if perfectly in sync with her, jumped off the table and trotted after her, sticking close to her heels. She scratched its head fondly, as if she didn’t even notice how naturally the feline followed her.

Just before walking away completely, she turned to look at Oscar one last time.

"By the way," she said, tilting her head slightly. "My name’s Elaine."

She didn’t wait for a response.

She simply smiled, spun on her heel, and left, leaving behind a trail of lighthearted energy that didn’t fit at all with the café’s usual tranquility.

Oscar watched her go for a moment, his book still closed on the table, the echo of her laughter ringing in his ears.

He exhaled slowly.

His peace was definitely over.

And yet, Oscar couldn’t stop coming to the café.

The drinks were too good, the atmosphere was perfect, and most of the time, he could focus without anyone bothering him.

Except on the days when he had the dubious pleasure of running into Elaine.

She appeared without warning, like a storm no one had predicted in the forecast.

And somehow, she always found a way to get under his skin.

Sometimes, she simply stopped by to chat with the regulars, exchanging jokes with the old men playing dominoes or greeting lost tourists as if they were old friends. Other times, she slipped behind the counter to help her brother, though it was obvious she did it more to annoy him than out of any real necessity. She also played with the cat, which followed her with unwavering devotion, or settled at the table closest to Oscar’s, surrounded by a mess of books and scattered notes.

He had no idea what she was studying, but if he had to guess, he would have said something chaotic. Something that matched her boundless energy and her ability to talk passionately about just about anything. It wasn’t until much later that he found out she was studying History.

And, of course, there were days when it seemed like her sole mission in life was to get on his nerves.

She sat at his table without asking, drummed her fingers against the surface just to see how long it would take for him to look at her, made offhanded comments about how serious he was or how he needed to learn to socialize.

Oscar tried to ignore her. He really did.

But Elaine wasn’t someone who could be ignored.

One day, she simply sat across from him uninvited and asked, “Do you have friends?”

Oscar blinked, his eyes still on his laptop screen. “What?”

“I mean, besides your teammates and the people you work with. Because you’re always alone.”

He huffed, trying to ignore her. “That’s none of your business.”

“So, that’s a no.”

Elaine grinned, satisfied with her own conclusion, and rested her chin on her hand, watching him.

“Have you realized you have the charisma of a rock?”

Oscar closed his eyes for a second, holding back the response he actually wanted to give her.

“I’m busy.”

“Yeah, yeah, reviewing data, looking at numbers… how thrilling.” She yawned dramatically. “It must be so much fun being you.”

By the time he finally looked up, she was already laughing, standing up to return to her brother.

Oscar let out a heavy sigh and turned back to his screen, but just when he thought the torment was over, he felt an extra weight on his jacket.

The cat.

The little traitor had sprawled out on it, curling up comfortably.

Great.

And then, another day.

Oscar was analyzing replays of his last race on his laptop when a shadow fell over the screen.

“Do you like watching yourself drive?”

He didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

“It’s not about liking it. I’m analyzing my performance.”

“Oh, of course. A deep analysis of ‘oh, look how fast I am’ and ‘oh, look how well I take that turn.’”

This time, he did look up, fixing her with a flat stare.

“Do you really have nothing better to do?”

Elaine smiled, clearly entertained. “Annoying you is more fun.”

And as if summoned, the cat appeared out of nowhere and flopped onto his laptop keyboard. The screen instantly went black as one of its paws landed squarely on the power button.

Elaine propped her chin on her hand. “Even he thinks you need a break.”

Oscar exhaled slowly.

This was becoming a damn habit.

Different day, same problem.

Oscar had spent the afternoon working, completely absorbed in his own bubble of concentration. But when he finally closed his laptop and reached for his jacket, he found a now-familiar obstacle: the cat, sleeping soundly on top of it.

He tried nudging it gently. Nothing. The stubborn little thing didn’t even stir.

From behind the counter, Elaine watched him with her arms crossed.

“You’re not going to win.”

“It’s a cat.”

“A cat with a lot of character.”

Oscar sighed, resigned, and dropped back into his chair. Ten minutes later, the cat was still snoring on his jacket, and he no longer felt in any rush to leave.

When Elaine returned with a steaming mug, she set it in front of him without a word.

Oscar glanced at her sideways. “I didn’t order another coffee.”

Elaine simply shrugged. “It’s my compensation for the hostage situation. Sir Reginald Fluffington III tends to take captives…”

At the absurd name, Oscar frowned. “Why ‘the third’?”

With complete nonchalance, Elaine gestured toward the framed photos behind the counter. They were black-and-white portraits of other cats, each with a small plaque beneath them: Sir Reginald Fluffington I and Sir Reginald Fluffington II.

“Line of succession,” she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “When one leaves, the next takes the throne.”

Oscar blinked. “Is this a café or a feline monarchy?”

Elaine shrugged. “House rules.”

Meanwhile, Sir Reginald Fluffington III kept snoring atop his jacket, as if it were his throne.

One evening, Elaine did something completely unexpected.

She sat down at his table—nothing new there—but instead of launching straight into her usual teasing, she rested her chin on her hand and asked,

“So, tell me about the car.”

Oscar barely looked up. “What?”

“The car. The one you drive. How does it actually work?”

That caught him off guard. Normally, if she mentioned Formula 1 at all, it was to make some sarcastic remark about how it was “just guys driving in circles really fast.” But now she was looking at him, genuinely curious, like she actually wanted to know.

He hesitated, wary of a potential joke at his expense, but when she didn’t say anything else, he found himself answering before he could stop himself.

“Well, it’s an open-wheel, single-seater with a hybrid turbocharged engine,” he started, setting his coffee aside. “It runs on a combination of internal combustion and electrical energy, and we have an ERS system that recovers energy under braking and redeploys it for extra power.”

Elaine nodded as if she understood, but then tilted her head. “And that energy recovery thing—how does that actually help you while driving?”

Oscar blinked. Most people didn’t ask that. They just nodded and moved on. But she was still looking at him, genuinely waiting for an answer.

So he gave her one.

Somewhere along the way, he found himself leaning forward, gesturing as he explained how ERS deployment could make the difference in overtakes, how managing tire degradation was crucial, how the aerodynamics of the car could dictate whether a driver fought for pole or got stuck in the midfield.

Elaine listened. Really listened.

She didn’t interrupt. Didn’t crack a joke. Just asked question after question, and every time she did, Oscar answered without thinking, because it wasn’t often that someone outside his world wanted to understand, to actually hear him talk about the thing he had dedicated his life to.

At some point, he realized he had been talking for nearly twenty minutes straight.

He sat back abruptly, fingers tightening around his cup.

Elaine didn’t laugh. Didn’t tease him for going on and on like he expected her to.

Instead, she simply smiled, stirring her hot chocolate absentmindedly.

“You really love it, don’t you?” she mused.

Oscar hesitated before nodding. “Yeah.”

Elaine exhaled through her nose, a soft laugh under her breath. “It’s nice, hearing you actually talk.”

He should have rolled his eyes. Should have given some dry remark about how she talks more than enough for both of them.

But instead, he just hummed, taking another sip of his coffee.

For once, Elaine let the silence linger. And, for once, Oscar didn’t mind.

Elaine didn’t change after that conversation.

She still sat at his table without asking. Still poked at his patience with teasing remarks. Still found a way to make herself present in his otherwise quiet café routine.

But something shifted in Oscar.

Before, he had dismissed her as just another overly social, overly energetic person who didn’t know how to leave people alone. But now… he noticed things.

Like how she greeted every regular in the café by name, asking about their families or their work as if she had known them for years (which, considering her family owned the place, she probably had). Or how she always made sure to slide an extra plate of biscuits toward the old men playing dominos in the corner, even though her brother claimed they ate too much and never actually ordered anything.

How her fingers were constantly moving—tapping, fidgeting, stirring her drink absentmindedly as if her body didn’t know how to stay still.

How she always, always smelled faintly of cinnamon and coffee beans.

And, somehow, how he started looking forward to the moments when she would wander over to his table, even if it was just to make some smart remark about his eternally serious expression.

One day, she leaned against his table, watching as he scrolled through data on his laptop. “Do you ever smile, or would that compromise your entire personality?”

Oscar exhaled sharply through his nose. It wasn’t quite a laugh, but it was close. “Depends on the day.”

Elaine squinted at him suspiciously. “Was that a joke?”

He merely shrugged, clicking through his data sheets.

“Unbelievable,” she muttered, but she was grinning.

Another day, he caught himself staring—not at her, but at the way she tucked her hair behind her ear while reading, the way her brows furrowed slightly when she was deep in thought.

He shook his head, taking a long sip of his coffee, as if the bitterness could pull him back into reality.

But reality had started to change.

The café didn’t feel the same anymore. It was no longer just a place to escape the noise of the world. It had a heartbeat now, a pulse that thumped along to the rhythm of Elaine’s laughter, to the lazy stretch of Sir Reginald Fluffington III as he curled up in the sun, to the quiet conversations and clinking of porcelain.

And Oscar found himself sinking into it, letting it wrap around him like a warmth he hadn’t realized he needed.

Elaine was still a menace. But maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t so bad after all.

Oscar entered the café at his usual time, the familiar chime of the doorbell ringing through the quiet space. He had his routine down to a science—order his coffee, sit at his table, ignore whatever nonsense Elaine threw at him, and get some actual work done.

Except today, he was the one throwing things off course.

He walked straight up to her table, where she was lazily flipping through a book, and without preamble, said, “Why history?”

Elaine blinked up at him, looking uncharacteristically confused. “What?”

“Why do you study history?”

Her lips parted slightly, as if her brain needed a second to reboot. Then, slowly, her expression shifted into something downright suspicious. She squinted at him, tapping her fingers against the table.

“Okay. Who are you, and what have you done with Oscar Piastri?”

Behind the counter, her brother snorted, shaking his head as he wiped down some cups.

Oscar exhaled sharply, already regretting this. “You asked me about Formula 1 the other day. I figured—” He gestured vaguely. “Returning the favor.”

Elaine leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. “You want me to believe that you—Mr. ‘I’d Rather Sit in Silence Than Engage with Human Beings’—are voluntarily making conversation?”

Oscar’s eye twitched.

“I’m rescinding the question.”

“No, no,” she said quickly, straightening up with a wide grin. “I’m just shocked. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

Sir Reginald Fluffington III chose that moment to make his grand entrance, leaping onto Elaine’s chair and then promptly squeezing himself between them like a self-appointed mediator. Elaine, as always, started scratching behind his ears without thinking.

Oscar tried not to acknowledge the cat but failed when a furry head nudged insistently against his arm. With a sigh, he gave in, resting a hand on its back.

From the counter, Elaine’s brother watched the exchange with a smirk. He stacked the last cup, shaking his head.

Huh. So that’s how it starts.

Elaine tilted her head, studying Oscar like he was some sort of rare specimen that had just done something completely out of character. Which, to be fair, he had.

“Alright,” she said finally, tapping a thoughtful rhythm against the table. “I’ll bite.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “You were going to answer anyway.”

“True,” she admitted, flashing him a grin. “But I like pretending I have a choice.”

She leaned forward slightly, resting her chin on one hand while the other continued idly scratching Sir Reginald Fluffington III behind the ears. The cat stretched lazily, his purring a soft vibration against the wooden surface of the table.

“History is just one big, messy story,” she began, her voice lighter now, as if she hadn’t just been caught off guard by the question. “And I like stories. But more than that, I like knowing why things happen. Why people make the choices they do, why entire civilizations rise and fall, why the world is the way it is.”

Oscar watched as her fingers absentmindedly traced the rim of her coffee cup, the light catching on the silver ring she always wore on her thumb. Her expression shifted as she spoke, as if she were seeing the past play out in real time, as if the weight of a thousand untold stories lived just behind her eyes.

She shrugged. “It’s like a puzzle, but all the pieces are scattered across centuries, and half of them are missing, and some historian a hundred years ago probably put the wrong ones together and convinced everyone they were right.”

Oscar found himself listening more intently than he expected, more than he ever did when people rambled about things he didn’t particularly care about.

Elaine smirked, noticing. “You’re taking this very seriously.”

“You’re actually answering seriously,” he pointed out.

“Because it’s important,” she said simply. “People always act like history is just a bunch of dates and names, but it’s not. It’s people. People being brilliant, and terrible, and reckless. And the best part?” Her eyes gleamed with amusement. “We never learn. We keep making the same mistakes over and over again. It’s both hilarious and deeply depressing.”

Oscar huffed out a quiet laugh before he could stop himself.

Elaine’s grin widened. “There it is. A real reaction.”

He rolled his eyes, but there wasn’t much heat behind it.

Sir Reginald, sensing the moment, shifted just enough to nudge Oscar’s arm again. Without thinking, he started absentmindedly running his fingers through the cat’s fur, feeling the softness beneath his fingertips. The café smelled like roasted coffee beans and vanilla, the warm scent wrapping around them like a quiet invitation to stay just a little longer.

At some point, Elaine’s brother must have come over because there were two fresh drinks sitting in front of them—his usual coffee and what looked like hot chocolate for Elaine. Oscar hadn’t even noticed when they arrived, too caught up in the conversation, too distracted by the way Elaine’s voice lilted with enthusiasm when she spoke about something she loved.

Elaine, oblivious or simply choosing to ignore her brother’s knowing expression from behind the counter, continued. “Anyway, history is fun. And frustrating. And completely ridiculous at times. But mostly, it’s fascinating.”

Oscar considered that. Considered her, for that matter.

She had a way of making everything sound interesting, even when she was being insufferable.

And somehow, without him realizing it, she was starting to feel less like a nuisance.

And more like a habit.

That day, the café felt… different.

Oscar couldn’t quite put his finger on it at first. He sat at his usual table, opened his laptop, and took a sip of his coffee. Everything was the same—same warm lighting, same familiar hum of conversation, same Sir Reginald Fluffington III eyeing his jacket like prime real estate for a nap.

And yet…

He realized it after about fifteen minutes of actual focus. No one had interrupted him. No one had made a single offhand comment about his posture or his facial expressions or his apparent lack of joy in life. No one had sat down uninvited, poked at his patience, or asked if he had friends.

Elaine wasn’t there.

Oscar exhaled, shaking off the thought. Good. That meant he could get work done without—

"You're frowning."

Oscar glanced up. Elaine’s brother stood behind the counter, drying a cup with a knowing smirk.

"I'm not frowning."

"You are. You look about two seconds away from being deeply annoyed by something," he said, setting the cup down. "Let me guess. The coffee’s not good today?"

Oscar rolled his eyes and took another sip. Perfect as always.

Casually—completely, totally casually—he asked, “Where’s Elaine?”

Her brother raised an eyebrow, clearly amused.

Oscar huffed. “Just wondering. It’s… quieter.”

“She’s in class. Probably annoying one of her professors instead.”

Oscar nodded, taking another drink to mask the way his jaw tightened. He told himself it wasn’t disappointment—he was just surprised. That’s all.

Her brother, however, had clearly caught something in his expression, because he grinned.

“I’ve got to say it, mate,” he mused, leaning against the counter. “For someone who complains about her so much, you sure seem bothered when she’s not around.”

Oscar’s eye twitched. “I’m not—”

“Fastidious,” he interrupted, eyes alight with amusement. “That’s the word you’re looking for, right? Bothered. Irritated. Peeved. Just… missing one specific source of those emotions.”

Oscar scowled, but it had no effect. Elaine’s brother just chuckled, shaking his head.

“Let me know if you need anything else,” he said, turning away. “Other than Elaine’s presence, of course.”

Oscar refused to dignify that with a response. Instead, he set his jaw, returned to his laptop, and pretended he wasn’t glancing toward the door every now and then.

Not because he wanted her to walk in. Obviously.

Just… if she did, he’d have a few words for her about being a menace. That was all.

Oscar was busy.

Too busy to think about insignificant things.

Training, meetings, simulator sessions—his schedule had been packed, every moment accounted for. He barely had time to breathe, let alone sit in a café waiting for some loud, insufferable presence to barge into his day.

And yet, the past couple of weeks had felt… off.

He hadn’t been at the café much, too caught up in work to indulge in his usual routine. On the rare occasions he did stop by, it was always a quick in-and-out, barely enough time to finish a coffee before he had to rush off. He didn’t even have the time to be annoyed by Elaine.

Not that he’d noticed her absence.

Not at all.

So when he caught sight of her at the local market on a rare free afternoon, it was almost too much—too jarring, too unexpected.

She was standing at one of the stalls, inspecting a bundle of fresh herbs with the same level of scrutiny he reserved for race telemetry. Her brows were furrowed, lips pursed in thought, and she hadn’t noticed him yet.

Which meant Oscar could—should—walk away.

Instead, his feet remained stubbornly in place.

It wasn’t just seeing her that got to him. It was the fact that, somehow, he’d felt her first. The way the market’s usual noise—vendors calling out deals, the chatter of locals—had blurred into the background the second he spotted her. The way a part of his brain had instantly clicked into place, like something missing had been restored.

That realization alone was enough to irritate him.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he took a step closer.

Elaine still hadn’t noticed him, too focused on haggling with the vendor.

"Come on, Monsieur Bernard," she cajoled, resting an elbow on the stall. "I’m practically family. Don’t you have a special discount for charming regulars?"

The older man behind the stall gave her an unimpressed look. "You tried this same trick last time."

"Yes, but I was less charming then."

Oscar let out a sharp exhale—not a laugh, definitely not—and that’s when she turned, eyes widening slightly in surprise.

For a moment, she just stared, as if confirming he was real. Then, slowly, her lips curled into a familiar smirk.

"Well, well, well," she drawled, turning fully to face him. "If it isn’t Mr. ‘I Have No Time for Social Interaction’ himself. Fancy meeting you here."

Oscar crossed his arms. "Fancy that."

She tilted her head, assessing him. "You look…" A pause, and then, teasingly, "…unmoored. Have you been lost without my constant interruptions?"

"Not remotely," he deadpanned.

Elaine gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest. "Lies. You missed me."

Oscar gave her a flat look. "I was busy."

She waved a dismissive hand. "So was I. Exams."

That caught his attention. "Oh."

She raised an eyebrow. "That’s it? Just ‘oh’?"

"Did you pass?"

Elaine scoffed. "Of course I passed. I’m a genius."

Oscar rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the small twitch at the corner of his mouth.

A beat passed, and then—

"So," Elaine said, leaning in slightly. "Are you going to admit it?"

"Admit what?"

"That you missed me."

He held her gaze, his expression unreadable. Then, without breaking eye contact, he plucked the bundle of herbs straight out of her hand, examining them with faux interest.

"Hmm. Unremarkable. Much like your presence."

Elaine gaped at him. "You—you absolute—"

Behind the stall, Monsieur Bernard sighed, muttering something about young people before handing Elaine another bundle.

Oscar smirked. Maybe he had missed this. Just a little.

Without thinking about it, they started walking together.

It wasn’t intentional—at least, Oscar was fairly certain it wasn’t. He had no reason to follow Elaine anywhere. And yet, when she moved toward the next stall, he found himself falling into step beside her.

She didn’t comment on it, just gave him a brief, knowing glance before turning her attention to the produce in front of her.

“Tomatoes,” she muttered to herself, picking up a ripe one and turning it over in her hand. “Do I need tomatoes?”

Oscar arched an eyebrow. “You don’t even know what you’re buying?”

Elaine shrugged. “I improvise.”

He exhaled sharply, grabbing a small bag and tossing a few into it with actual purpose. Elaine mimicked his actions—except she kept adding more and more until Oscar gave her a flat look.

“You’re not feeding an army.”

“You don’t know that,” she said airily. “Maybe I’m part of a secret underground resistance.”

Oscar bit back a smirk, shaking his head as he handed his own bag to the vendor. Elaine did the same, and once they had their purchases, they moved on.

To another stall.

And another.

At some point, Elaine started following him—when he paused at a bakery stand, her interest was suddenly piqued.

“Buying bread?” she asked, peering at the selection.

He gave her a sideways glance. “What does it look like?”

“Huh.” She grabbed a small loaf for herself, then eyed the pastries. “You’re not getting anything sweet?”

“No.”

Elaine hummed. “Boring.”

Still, she grabbed two pain au chocolat instead of one.

When Oscar gave her a questioning look, she just waggled her eyebrows. “You never know.”

He didn’t respond, but later—when she wordlessly handed him the second pastry while they were walking—he took it.

It kept happening. A few more stalls, a few more purchases. Some things they needed, some they didn’t. They talked more than they probably should have, walked longer than they intended.

It wasn’t until Elaine tried shifting her bags to one arm—struggling slightly—that she finally paused and frowned.

“Hold on.” She glanced down. “Why do I have so much stuff?”

Oscar blinked at his own bags, as if only now realizing how full they were.

They stared at each other for a beat.

Elaine narrowed her eyes. “Did you just trick me into running errands with you?”

Oscar scoffed. “You tricked me.”

She gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. “Lies! This is sabotage!”

Oscar just shook his head, exhaling through his nose as he adjusted the bags in his hands.

And they parted ways—or at least, they tried to.

Elaine turned left. Oscar turned left.

Neither of them noticed at first, too occupied with adjusting their bags. But as they kept walking, side by side, it became… noticeable.

Elaine slowed her pace slightly, giving him a sidelong glance.

Oscar did the same.

They walked a few more meters in silence.

Then Elaine stopped abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk, brows furrowing in suspicion. “Are you following me?”

Oscar, who had also stopped, gave her a blank stare. “You’re the one going my way.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Or you’re going mine.”

Oscar sighed, adjusting the weight of his bags. “I live nearby.”

Elaine huffed. “I live nearby.”

They eyed each other for a moment, a realization beginning to dawn.

Then, with an unspoken agreement, they resumed walking.

Turned a corner.

Kept going.

Another turn.

When they both reached the café’s entrance, Elaine halted once again.

“Wait.” Her voice was laced with dawning horror. “You live here?”

Oscar blinked. “You live above the café?”

Elaine opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. “You’re kidding.”

He exhaled sharply, barely suppressing a smirk at her distress. “Why would I joke about this?”

Elaine let out something between a groan and a laugh, running a hand down her face. “You mean to tell me… we’ve been neighbors this whole time?”

Oscar simply shrugged. “Apparently.”

Elaine groaned again, then gave him a long look—one that was probably meant to be annoyed, but somehow, she just looked amused.

Oscar didn’t know why, but he felt it too—something light, something ridiculous.

And before he could stop himself, before he even knew what he was doing—

He smirked.

Just a little.

Elaine’s eyes widened, like she had just seen a unicorn.

Then, with unrestrained glee, she pointed at him.

“A-ha!”

Oscar blinked. “What?”

“You almost smiled!”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.”

Elaine practically vibrated with excitement. “This is it. This is a breakthrough. I knew you had a sense of humor somewhere in there.”

Oscar huffed, stepping past her toward the stairs. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Ohhh, but I do.” Elaine grinned, falling into step behind him as they both climbed toward their apartments. “I’ll get a full smile out of you someday. Just you wait.”

Oscar rolled his eyes.

But somehow… somehow, the thought didn’t sound so bad.

Either way, as they stepped onto the landing, an odd silence settled between them.

Elaine adjusted her grip on the paper bag in her arms, rocking back slightly on her heels. Oscar wasn’t sure what he was waiting for. He should just say goodbye, unlock his door, and go about his evening. But he hesitated.

Which was weird.

Even weirder was the fact that Elaine was hesitating, too.

She glanced at his bag, then up at him, eyes squinting slightly in thought.

“Tell me you’re planning to have a healthy and balanced dinner, and not just some bread and cheese.”

Oscar frowned. “It’s efficient.”

Elaine let out a sharp laugh, like she couldn’t believe what she’d just heard.

“You’re hopeless.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And?”

She sighed, then tilted her head toward her door. “Look, I accidentally bought enough food for an entire army, and you clearly need a proper meal. So… you in?”

Oscar hesitated. Not because he didn’t want to. That was the problem. He wanted to.

His routine was simple, predictable. There was comfort in that. And yet, here was Elaine, throwing a wrench into everything—like she always did. But instead of annoying him, it felt… different this time.

It felt warm.

Elaine watched him, waiting. A little too smug, as if she already knew his answer.

“Okay,” he said. “Sure.”

Her eyebrows lifted slightly, like she hadn’t expected him to agree so quickly. Then she grinned, turning to unlock her door.

“Hope you like chaos.”

Oscar stepped inside without thinking twice. And for the first time in a long time, breaking his routine didn’t seem like such a bad thing.

Elaine’s apartment was exactly what Oscar had expected—lived-in, cluttered in a way that felt intentional, full of books stacked in odd places and little trinkets on the shelves. There were post-it notes stuck to the fridge, reminders scrawled in messy handwriting, and an open notebook on the small dining table with half-finished notes scribbled in the margins.

It was the complete opposite of his own place, which was neat, sparsely decorated, and painfully impersonal.

She kicked the door shut behind them, dumping her groceries onto the counter before stretching her arms overhead. “Alright, let’s see what we’re working with.”

Oscar set his own bag beside hers and leaned against the counter, watching as she started unpacking.

“You actually cook?” he asked, skeptical.

Elaine shot him a look over her shoulder. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You just don’t seem like the type.”

She gasped, placing a hand over her heart in mock offense. “Excuse me, but I’ll have you know I make an excellent—” She paused, staring at the items in front of her. Then, slowly, she deflated. “Okay, I may have gone overboard.”

Oscar peered over at the spread of vegetables, cheese, pasta, some kind of fresh herbs, and an absurd amount of tomatoes.

“You had a plan when you bought all this, right?”

Elaine waved a hand dismissively. “Cooking isn’t about rigid planning. It’s about intuition, improvisation, going with the flow—”

Oscar picked up a tomato and raised an eyebrow. “So, no plan.”

She snatched the tomato from his hand and placed it back down, scowling. “Fine, Mr. Meal Prep, what would you have bought?”

He shrugged. “Something simple. Something that makes sense together.”

Elaine scoffed. “Boring.”

“You say that, but you still invited me to eat whatever mess you come up with.”

“Because I am a generous and forgiving person.”

Oscar let out a breath of amusement, shaking his head.

Despite her apparent lack of a plan, Elaine moved around the kitchen with ease, pulling out a cutting board, a pan, and a few spices. Oscar found himself watching, noting the way she hummed under her breath, how she scrunched her nose slightly when she was thinking, how she talked through each step even though she didn’t need to.

“Are you just going to stand there or are you going to help?” she asked without looking up.

Oscar blinked, caught off guard. “Help?”

“Yes, you know, participate in the process?” She pointed a knife at him. “Or do you only operate a steering wheel?”

He rolled his eyes but stepped closer, taking the knife from her. “Alright. Just don’t blame me if this goes wrong.”

“Oh, I fully intend to.”

She grinned as he started slicing, and for a while, they just… cooked.

It was strangely easy. They fell into a rhythm—Elaine throwing in too much of something, Oscar fixing it with something else, her laughing every time he muttered something under his breath about efficiency and proper ratios.

At some point, Sir Reginald Fluffington III appeared, hopping onto a chair and watching them like a tiny, judgmental supervisor. She then explained that when the café was closed, she took the cat upstairs with her, everyday.

Elaine, while talking and without thinking, reached down to scratch behind his ears. And Oscar, without thinking, did the same.

Neither of them acknowledged it.

By the time the food was ready, the apartment smelled warm and rich, and Oscar had to begrudgingly admit—it actually looked good.

Elaine beamed, sliding into her chair as she set down their plates. “See? Cooking with intuition.”

Oscar sat across from her, eyeing the dish. “This could still be a disaster.”

She took a bite, chewed thoughtfully, then grinned. “Nope. It’s amazing.”

Hesitant, Oscar finally tried his own. And—damn it. It was.

He kept his expression neutral, but Elaine saw right through him.

“You like it.”

“It’s edible.”

“You love it.”

Oscar sighed. “I tolerate it.”

Elaine laughed, kicking him lightly under the table.

And as they ate, talked, and bickered over who had done most of the work, Oscar realized something.

For the first time in weeks, he wasn’t thinking about the races ahead, the pressure, the expectations.

For the first time in a long time, he wasn’t in a rush to leave.

As the meal stretched on, the conversation drifted, weaving in and out of topics with an ease that Oscar wasn’t used to. Elaine had a way of making silence feel optional, of filling the space with whatever thought popped into her head—sometimes ridiculous, sometimes insightful, always entertaining.

She talked about the weirdest things: a documentary she’d watched about medieval bread laws, an argument she’d overheard on the bus about the best way to peel an orange, the time she accidentally joined a book club just for the free snacks and ended up stuck in it for six months.

Oscar, against all odds, found himself enjoying it.

It was so different from the world he was used to—where everything was structured, precise, driven by logic and efficiency. Elaine, on the other hand, lived in tangents, in spontaneous decisions, in a constant state of curiosity.

And somehow, he wasn’t annoyed by it.

If anything, he was listening. Actually listening.

At some point, Sir Reginald Fluffington III jumped onto the table, eyeing their plates with a level of entitlement only a cat could muster.

Elaine absentmindedly scratched his chin. “Don’t even think about it, Reg.”

The cat meowed, offended by the accusation.

Elaine smirked. “That’s what I thought.”

Oscar watched as she continued to pet him without really looking, fingers moving automatically through his fur. It was such a small, unconscious thing, but something about it made his chest feel… warm.

He cleared his throat, shaking the thought away.

Elaine, oblivious, leaned back in her chair, stretching. “Alright, I’ll admit it. You were actually useful in the kitchen.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “High praise.”

“You should feel honored.”

“I’ll try not to let it go to my head.”

She grinned. “Good. Because next time, I’m making dessert, and I expect you to assist.”

Next time.

Oscar didn’t know why those words stood out to him, why they lodged themselves in his brain like something solid and undeniable.

It wasn’t a question, wasn’t a suggestion.

It was just a fact.

As if this—whatever this was—wasn’t a one-time thing.

As Elaine stretched lazily in her chair, she watched Oscar stand and, to her utter shock, start gathering the plates. She blinked, then narrowed her eyes.

“Wait. Are you actually—”

“Helping,” he said flatly, carrying the dishes to the sink.

She let out a slow, exaggerated gasp. “Oh my God. You’re one of them.”

Oscar frowned. “One of what?”

“A man written by a woman.”

He gave her a blank stare. “What?”

“You know, like in books or movies. The kind of guy who—” She gestured at him, as if that explained everything. “Quiet but secretly sweet. Competent but unassuming. Willing to do the dishes without being asked. It’s rare.”

Oscar let out a short laugh, shaking his head as he turned on the tap. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

But he was smiling. And then, suddenly—he was laughing.

Not just a scoff, not a quiet huff of amusement, but actual, genuine laughter.

Elaine had never seen that before.

She went completely still, watching him as he stood there in her tiny kitchen, sleeves rolled up, hands in soapy water, head tilted slightly downward as he chuckled to himself.

And for the first time since she met him, she didn’t have anything to say.

Because, somehow, watching Oscar Piastri laugh—really laugh—was enough to leave her speechless.

It happened gradually, in a way neither of them fully acknowledged at first. One day, Elaine casually mentioned she was watching a documentary that Oscar "absolutely had to see," and before he knew it, he was sitting on her couch with a bowl of popcorn, being force-fed historical facts he never asked for.

“You’re not even watching,” Elaine accused, nudging his arm when she noticed his eyes drifting to his phone.

“I am,” Oscar protested, but she shot him a look.

“Fine. Pop quiz. What year did this take place?”

“…The past.”

Elaine gasped, scandalized, and smacked his shoulder. “Disrespectful.”

The next time, it was Oscar’s turn. “If I had to watch your documentaries, you have to watch this.”

Elaine frowned at his laptop screen as a highlight reel from the 2011 Formula 1 season played. “Let me guess,” she said flatly. “Someone overtakes someone else. And then someone else overtakes that someone. And then—oh, look—another overtake.”

Oscar sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You have the attention span of a squirrel.”

“And you have the hobbies of a dad.”

He turned to her, unimpressed. “It’s literally my job.”

Elaine hummed, clearly unbothered, as she stuffed a handful of chips into her mouth. “Then I’m just keeping you humble.”

Outside of their self-imposed cultural exchange nights, they started seeing each other more in ways that felt unplanned, unintentional—except that it kept happening. Oscar would be heading to the store for something quick, only to find Elaine standing in the same aisle, studying a jar of pasta sauce like it held the secrets of the universe.

“Oh, great,” he deadpanned. “You again.”

Elaine smirked. “Missed me, didn’t you?”

“Not in the slightest.”

And yet, somehow, they always ended up walking back home together.

Then there were the times he went out for a run along the coast, only to spot a familiar figure cruising past on a bike, feet lazily pedaling as she enjoyed the sea breeze. She never failed to call out to him, sometimes ringing a ridiculous little bike bell just to be annoying.

“Move it, slowpoke!”

Oscar, ever the competitive one, picked up his pace. “Race me, then!”

“Against a literal athlete?” she scoffed. “Pass.”

Yet, moments later, she’d kick off, trying to pass him, laughing breathlessly when he shot her an unimpressed look. She never won—he made sure of that—but that never seemed to bother her.

Sometimes, they just walked together. No reason, no plan. Just two people who somehow kept ending up in the same place, at the same time, as if the universe was nudging them closer. It wasn’t something either of them talked about, but they both felt it—the gradual shift from tolerating each other to seeking each other out.

And Oscar, despite himself, started to wonder when exactly that had happened.

When Oscar pushed open the door to the café that morning, he wasn’t alone.

Lando followed beside him, stretching his arms over his head as they stepped inside. “Mate, I’m telling you, I need real coffee,” he groaned. “Not that lukewarm excuse they serve at some places here.”

Oscar huffed a quiet laugh. “You literally live in Monaco.”

“Yeah, but you know Monaco.” Lando shot him a look. “I trust your judgment.”

That was how, without much thought, Oscar had ended up bringing Lando here—his café.

It wasn’t his café, obviously. It just… happened to be the place he always went to. The place that had somehow worked itself into his routine. The place where—

Elaine.

She was behind the counter, laughing at something her brother was saying as she wiped down the espresso machine. She hadn’t seen them yet, but when she did, Oscar caught the flicker of surprise in her expression. It was brief—quickly replaced by her usual smirk—but he still noticed it.

And for some reason, that did something weird to his chest.

“Well, well,” she drawled, placing her hands on her hips. “Didn’t know you were the ‘bring a date to your favorite spot’ type, Piastri.”

Oscar sighed. “Don’t start.”

Lando, clearly intrigued, leaned on the counter with an easy grin. “Oh, I like you.”

Elaine grinned back. “Flatterer.”

Oscar shot him a look. “Lando.”

“What?” Lando glanced between them, clearly enjoying himself. “You’ve been hiding this place—and her—from me. I feel betrayed.”

Oscar groaned. “I am never bringing you anywhere again.”

Elaine just chuckled, tapping her fingers against the counter as she looked at Oscar. “Usual for you?”

He nodded, and she got to work, moving with the practiced ease of someone who knew her way around a coffee machine.

Lando watched for a moment before nudging Oscar. “So,” he said under his breath. “Who is she?”

Oscar frowned. “Elaine.”

“Yes, I got that,” Lando muttered. “But, like. Who is she?”

Oscar took a slow breath. “She works here.”

Lando raised a brow. “And you two just happen to know each other well enough that she openly mocks you the second we walk in?”

Oscar didn’t answer.

Lando’s grin widened. “You like her.”

“I don’t.”

“Mmhmm.”

Before Oscar could tell him to shut up, Sir Reginald Fluffington III leaped onto the counter, settling himself between them like a self-appointed judge of character.

Lando’s eyes lit up. “Oh, hell yeah, a cat!”

He reached out to pet him, only for Sir Reginald to give him a slow, unimpressed blink before immediately turning toward Oscar instead, rubbing his face against his arm.

Lando’s jaw dropped. “Are you kidding me? I didn’t even do anything.”

Elaine grinned. “Congratulations, you’ve been deemed unworthy.”

Oscar, meanwhile, absently scratched behind the cat’s ears, looking far too smug for Lando’s liking.

Lando squinted at him. “Alright, you know what? Maybe you do belong here.”

Elaine slid their drinks onto the counter. “Alright, boys, let’s see if this place lives up to your ridiculous standards.”

Lando took a sip, then paused, eyes widening slightly. “Damn. Okay, I see why you come here.”

Elaine leaned on the counter, looking pleased. “Told you I take it seriously.”

Lando shot a pointed look at Oscar. “You didn’t tell me she was a coffee genius.”

Oscar took his own cup, murmuring a quiet, “It’s why I come here.”

Elaine blinked, momentarily caught off guard. She recovered quickly, but Oscar saw it—that tiny pause, the brief flicker of something softer in her expression before she smirked again.

“Well,” she said, crossing her arms. “Guess that means I’ll be seeing more of you, Norris.”

Lando grinned. “If it means more coffee like this? Absolutely.”

Oscar just shook his head, already regretting the chaos he had unleashed. But beneath all of that, there was something else—a barely-there flicker of something unnamed, something strange, something he wasn’t quite ready to think about.

Because Lando had flirted with Elaine just to get a reaction. And Oscar had reacted.

And, somehow, what started with just Lando, turned into all of them.

At first, it was just the occasional visit—Lando tagging along whenever he felt like it, grinning at Elaine over the counter like he was in on some great secret. But then Max showed up one day, apparently intrigued after Lando wouldn’t shut up about the place. And when Max came, Charles wasn’t far behind. And then George, who they bumped into on the way and who figured, why not?

Before Oscar really processed how it happened, the café had become a regular spot for them.

Elaine handled it well, effortlessly juggling orders while throwing in her usual snark, though there was a glint of amusement in her eyes whenever she met Oscar’s gaze—like she knew exactly what had happened, exactly how this little invasion had come to be.

He ignored it.

Some days, it was just him and Lando. Others, it was half the grid, sprawled across tables, talking about races, cars, travel schedules—just a mess of conversations overlapping.

Elaine saw Oscar from a distance sometimes, laughing at something Max had said, or gesturing animatedly as he explained some technical nuance to Charles. It was… different, seeing him like that. More open, more relaxed.

It was easy to forget, sometimes, that he wasn’t just Oscar, the guy who put up with her nonsense. He was Oscar Piastri, Formula 1 driver, future world champion if the world made any sense.

And yet, when he got up to grab another round of drinks, weaving his way to the counter, none of that seemed to matter.

Elaine smirked as he approached. “Back for more?”

“Apparently,” Oscar sighed, leaning on the counter.

“Is this your way of keeping me too busy to bother you?”

He gave a small, almost imperceptible smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Across the room, Lando nudged Charles. “Look at that.”

Charles followed his gaze, watching as Oscar—Oscar, who barely tolerated human interaction—stood at the counter, casually talking to Elaine, something close to amusement flickering in his expression.

“Mon dieu,” Charles murmured. “He has a favorite barista.”

Lando grinned. “And he doesn’t even deny it.”

Max snorted. “Poor guy doesn’t even realize.”

Back at the counter, Oscar rolled his eyes as Elaine flicked a sugar packet at him. “For energy,” she said, looking innocent.

Oscar shook his head, taking the drinks without further comment. But as he turned back toward the table, he caught the way his friends were looking at him.

And for some reason, it made something twist in his chest.

And the it started as a joke. At least, Elaine thought it was a joke.

They had all been lounging at the café, their usual spot now, when Lando—because of course it was Lando—offhandedly mentioned something about bringing Elaine to a Grand Prix.

“You should come to Zandvoort,” he said, stirring his coffee.

Elaine, standing nearby, scoffed. “Oh, sure. Let me just hop on a plane with the entire Formula 1 circus. That sounds completely normal.”

Charles, ever the agent of chaos, grinned. “Why not? Oscar can take you.”

Oscar, who had been mid-sip, nearly choked. He shot Charles a look, but before he could protest, Max—who had been scrolling through his phone, unbothered—added, “Yeah, good race to start with. Orange everywhere. Chaos. You’d like it.”

Elaine rolled her eyes. “You guys just want to see me suffer, don’t you?”

Lando smirked. “A little.”

She snorted. “Very funny.”

The conversation moved on.

But apparently, Oscar hadn’t.

Because the next day, when Elaine opened her apartment door, she found him standing there, a familiar expression of mild exasperation on his face, a small envelope in his hand.

Elaine wasn’t a morning person.

It took her brain a few extra seconds to register things before she could properly function—something Oscar had learned through unfortunate trial and error at the café.

So, when she opened her door that morning, her hair still a mess from sleep, wearing a hoodie that looked two sizes too big for her, she needed a solid moment to process what was happening.

Oscar. Standing there. On her doorstep. Holding an envelope. Looking as impassive as ever, but with a certain stiffness in his posture that meant he wasn’t here for something casual.

She blinked, still groggy. “Uh. Morning?”

“Morning,” he said, then immediately shoved the envelope into her hands like he wanted to be done with it.

Elaine squinted down at it. The paper was thick, expensive, like the kind you got for serious events. The kind of envelope that felt important. And Oscar was just standing there, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, watching her expectantly.

She glanced up at him. “You’re not serving me legal papers, are you?”

Oscar sighed. “Just open it.”

So she did.

At first, she didn’t understand what she was looking at. Plane tickets. A familiar three-letter airport code. And—

Her eyes landed on the brightly colored paddock passes, printed with the words Formula 1 Heineken Dutch Grand Prix 2025.

Elaine blinked. Then blinked again.

Slowly, she lifted her gaze back to Oscar, still not fully awake, still not fully grasping what was happening. “Did you—” Her mouth opened, then closed. She shook the envelope a little, as if that would change its contents. “Oscar. What the hell is this?”

“Tickets,” he said, like it was obvious.

“For Zandvoort.”

“Yep.”

She held them up, waving them slightly. “You actually did it?”

“You thought I wouldn’t?”

“Yes!” she said, exasperated. “You barely put effort into text messages. And yet you—” She stopped mid-sentence, rifling through the envelope, and then something else caught her eye.

Separate from the paddock passes were additional tickets. Printed reservations. Museum entries.

Elaine pulled them out, scanning the names. The Rijksmuseum. The Van Gogh Museum. Anne Frank House.

She looked back at Oscar, expression stunned.

He exhaled, shifting his weight slightly. “If you’re making me sit through an entire weekend of you mocking my job, I figured I should get something out of it.”

Elaine just… stared at him.

Then, slowly, a grin spread across her face.

“Did you just bribe me with museums?”

Oscar’s lips twitched, but he fought the smile. “Is it working?”

Elaine didn’t answer right away. Instead, she studied him—really studied him. The way he was standing there, a little too stiff, like he wasn’t sure if she was going to say yes. The way he had clearly thought about this, planned it out, even included things she would enjoy.

Her chest felt strangely warm.

“You know,” she said, stepping aside and gesturing for him to come in, “I was going to take it easy on you in Zandvoort.”

Oscar stepped inside, glancing at her skeptically. “Somehow, I doubt that.”

Elaine’s grin turned mischievous as she shut the door behind him. “Oh, I definitely won’t now. You’re doomed, Piastri.”

Oscar had never walked so much in his life.

He was used to long training sessions, hours in the gym, and races that pushed his endurance to the limit—but this? This was a different kind of exhaustion. The kind that came from spending an entire day trailing after Elaine as she took him through what she called "a proper introduction to Amsterdam."

It had started with the museums. First the Rijksmuseum, where she dragged him from painting to painting, rattling off facts with a kind of enthusiasm that almost made him interested. Almost.

“I get that these are masterpieces,” he admitted at one point, hands shoved into his pockets as he stared at The Night Watch, “but you’d think someone would’ve told them to use better lighting.”

Elaine gasped. “Blasphemy.”

“I’m just saying. Look at it.” He gestured vaguely. “It’s so dark. Maybe that’s why everyone’s standing around—it’s taking them a while to figure out what they’re looking at.”

She groaned, rubbing her temples. “I am this close to abandoning you in this museum.”

But she didn’t. Instead, she spent another three hours leading him through hallways lined with art, maps, and relics. She talked. He listened. And, to his own quiet surprise, he actually retained some of it.

Then came the canal walk.

Elaine insisted it was the only way to properly take in the city. Oscar wasn’t convinced, but he followed her anyway, hands in his pockets as she strolled beside him, pointing out historical buildings, telling him stories about Amsterdam’s past.

For a while, he just listened.

And then, after a particularly dramatic tale about the city’s trading history, he smirked.

“You know,” he mused, “I think I finally understand why you like history so much.”

Elaine raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“You like drama.”

She gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. “How dare you.”

Oscar chuckled, the sound low and warm, and bumped his shoulder against hers. “You do. All these betrayals, wars, political schemes—you eat it up.”

Elaine pouted. “I was going to say something profound about how history connects us to the past and helps us understand the present, but sure. Let’s go with ‘Elaine likes drama.’”

“Hey, I get it,” he said with a smirk. “It’s like racing. Strategy, risks, the occasional backstabbing—same thing, different century.”

She shot him a look. “Remind me never to let you explain history to children.”

Oscar grinned.

They continued walking, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows along the canals. The air smelled of fresh bread from a nearby bakery, mingling with the crispness of the water. A couple of cyclists zipped past, bells ringing, and somewhere in the distance, a street musician played something soft and familiar.

Elaine sighed, tucking her hands into her coat pockets. “Alright, I dragged you through museums all day. What do you want to do now?”

Oscar considered. Then—“Dinner.”

Elaine blinked. “That’s it? No ‘let’s find the nearest simulator’ or ‘let’s analyze tire degradation charts over drinks’?”

He rolled his eyes. “I do normal things too, you know.”

“Debatable,” she muttered.

He nudged her with his elbow. “Come on, historian. You picked everything today. I get to pick dinner.”

She gave him a mock-serious look. “Fine. But if you choose some sad hotel restaurant, I’m revoking your privileges.”

Oscar smirked. “Relax. I know a place.”

And so they walked. Through the streets of Amsterdam, through the easy conversation and quiet moments in between, through the slow, unspoken shift in the space between them.

Neither of them mentioned it.

Neither of them needed to.

Dinner had been good. Simple, but good.

Oscar had picked a restaurant close to the hotel, one that wasn’t too fancy but had just enough of a warm, cozy atmosphere that Elaine immediately launched into a monologue about how Dutch cafés were vastly superior to anywhere else in Europe.

Oscar had listened, half-distracted by his food, half-focused on her usual theatrics.

She talked about the charm of old Dutch architecture, the history behind certain dishes, and—somehow—ended up explaining how the country’s trade routes influenced the spread of different spices across Europe.

Oscar had tuned out a little by that point, but it wasn’t like he minded.

She liked to talk. He liked to listen.

It worked.

By the time they made it back to the hotel, Elaine was still going, her words slowing down only slightly as the day caught up with her.

“Did you know,” she began as they stepped out of the elevator, “that the Dutch—”

“Elaine,” Oscar said, dryly. “That’s the tenth time you’ve started a sentence like that today.”

She ignored him, pushing ahead as if he hadn’t spoken. “—had such a monopoly on certain trades that entire economies were built around their influence?”

Oscar hummed noncommittally as he swiped his keycard, opening his door.

It was supposed to be the end of the conversation. They both had separate rooms—he had made sure of that. The plan was simple: go to sleep, wake up, and start fresh the next day.

Instead, Elaine just… walked in after him.

He blinked. “What—?”

“Anyway,” she continued, dropping onto his bed like it was hers, “what was I saying?”

Oscar sighed, rubbing his temples. “Dutch monopoly. Trade. Some economic thing.”

Elaine snapped her fingers. “Right! So—”

And that was how he found himself standing in his own hotel room, watching her lie back against the pillows, one arm flung behind her head, completely at home in his space.

He considered kicking her out.

Then he considered how much energy that would take.

Then he considered that nothing short of physically dragging her out would probably work.

So, with a resigned sigh, he grabbed his toiletry bag and headed for the bathroom.

By the time he came back, freshly showered and in his usual sleepwear, Elaine had somehow fully settled in.

Not only was she still sprawled across his bed, but she had also stolen his hoodie at some point, pulling it on over her t-shirt like she belonged in it.

She was still talking—something about Dutch colonialism now—but her words were starting to slur slightly, her eyelids drooping as sleep crept in.

Oscar sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his face. “Elaine, you have your own room.”

“Mmhm,” she hummed, eyes half-closed.

“You should go.”

Silence.

Then: the softest sound of her breathing, slow and even.

Oscar let out a slow exhale, running a hand through his hair.

Right.

Well.

That settled that, then.

Shaking his head, he grabbed an extra blanket from the closet, draped it over her, and shut off the main light.

Then, instead of trying to wrestle for space, he took the armchair by the window, grabbed his phone, and settled in for the night.

It wasn’t the most comfortable setup. But somehow, he didn’t really mind.

That is, until Oscar woke up to the sound of someone shifting around. A second later, a hand lightly smacked his leg.

“What the hell are you doing?” Elaine’s voice was groggy, thick with sleep but still laced with amusement.

Oscar blinked, trying to reorient himself. The dim glow of the city lights seeped in through the curtains, casting the hotel room in soft shadows. His neck ached. His back felt horrible. His arm—folded awkwardly beneath him—was completely numb.

Right. The armchair.

Elaine smacked his leg again, gentler this time. “You look like a pretzel.”

Oscar let out a low grunt. “You’re in my bed.”

“And?” She propped herself up on one elbow, squinting at him through the darkness. “I would literally rather be arrested than sleep in one of those horrible hotel pull-out couches.”

“It’s not a pull-out couch.”

“Whatever, it looks uncomfortable.”

Oscar exhaled slowly, rubbing his face. He was too tired to argue.

Elaine, apparently, was not.

“I’m not gonna call the cops if you get in bed, you know,” she added, her voice teasing. “I could, just to be dramatic, but I won’t.”

Oscar dragged a hand down his face. “Generous.”

“I am,” she agreed. Then, after a moment, her voice softened—less playful, more… genuine. “Seriously, though. Stop being weird. Just get in.”

Oscar hesitated.

Then, because the dull ache in his spine was getting unbearable, he finally gave in.

Wordlessly, he pushed himself up from the chair, stretched his arms over his head, and shuffled toward the bed.

Elaine scooted over without needing to be asked, making space for him. The bed wasn’t huge, but it was big enough that they didn’t have to be in each other’s space.

Still, as he settled under the covers, he felt the warmth of her presence beside him, her steady breathing filling the silence.

Elaine let out a satisfied hum. “See? Way better than suffering in that stupid chair.”

Oscar didn’t answer, already too close to sleep to form a proper response.

Elaine chuckled under her breath. “Goodnight, roomie.”

Oscar barely had the energy to sigh. “Go to sleep, Elaine.”

For a moment, Oscar thought he would be able to sleep.

The bed was undeniably more comfortable than the chair, and exhaustion pulled at him in waves. But the problem—the real problem—was that he was suddenly too aware of Elaine.

He could feel the warmth of her body beside him, the subtle rise and fall of her breathing. Every time she shifted, the blankets moved, the mattress dipped, and his entire body went rigid with hyper-awareness.

It was ridiculous. She wasn’t even touching him. There was a good few inches of space between them, and yet, Oscar still felt like she was everywhere.

He exhaled slowly, staring at the ceiling.

Maybe if he just stayed perfectly still—

Elaine shifted again, turning onto her side to face him. He could feel her gaze on him before she even spoke.

“Oscar,” she murmured.

He closed his eyes, feigning sleep.

“I know you’re awake.”

Damn it.

Oscar sighed, cracking one eye open. “What?”

“You’re so tense it’s making me nervous.”

“I’m fine.”

Elaine huffed. “You’re about as ‘fine’ as a cat stuck in a bathtub.”

Oscar pressed his lips together. He didn’t want to acknowledge how stiff his body felt, how tightly wound he was just from lying here.

Elaine, ever perceptive, saw straight through him.

“Okay,” she murmured, shifting again. “Hang on.”

He barely had time to process her movements before she reached out, resting a hand lightly on his arm.

Oscar froze.

Her touch was gentle, barely there, the pads of her fingers tracing slow, soothing lines against his skin.

“Relax,” she mumbled, voice already thick with sleep. “It’s just me.”

That’s the problem, Oscar wanted to say.

His pulse jumped, his entire body locking up. His instinct was to pull away, to escape the unfamiliarity of it—but before he could, Elaine’s touch changed.

She wasn’t teasing him this time.

Her fingertips glided over his forearm in slow, repetitive motions, tracing thoughtless patterns, featherlight and warm. The kind of touch that required no thought, no effort.

Oscar swallowed.

It was nice.

That was the worst part.

Slowly, hesitantly, he let himself breathe.

His shoulders loosened, his body sinking slightly into the mattress.

Elaine didn’t say anything else. She just kept drawing soft, absentminded shapes against his skin, like it was second nature.

Eventually, her movements slowed.

Then, they stilled entirely.

Her breathing evened out, deep and steady, as she finally drifted off.

Oscar exhaled, staring up at the ceiling again.

He was still wide awake.

The next day felt… different.

Not outwardly, not in any way that would be obvious to an outsider. Oscar and Elaine still bickered, still teased, still moved through the city with their usual dynamic—him rolling his eyes at her dramatic historical retellings, her making increasingly absurd claims just to get a reaction out of him.

But something had shifted.

Maybe it was the way Elaine’s hand brushed his when she passed him a museum ticket—fingers grazing against his palm just a second too long.

Maybe it was the way she stood closer than usual, their arms occasionally bumping as they walked.

Maybe it was the way she leaned into him—actually leaned into him—when she pointed out some obscure detail in a centuries-old painting, her shoulder pressing into his, her voice low near his ear.

Or maybe—maybe—it was the way they both noticed all of it.

Because for the first time, Oscar wasn’t just aware of Elaine’s presence—he was hyperaware. Of every glance, every touch, every moment that felt like it should be nothing but wasn’t.

Like now.

They were sitting on the steps of a canal bridge, finishing off the last of their coffees. The city moved around them—bikes whizzing past, boats drifting lazily through the water—but all Oscar could focus on was the fact that Elaine had kicked off her shoes, stretching her legs out beside his.

And that, at some point, her knee had come to rest against his.

It wasn’t intentional. Probably.

She didn’t seem to notice, at least not at first.

But then, a few minutes later, she shifted slightly, adjusting the way she sat—and didn’t move away.

Oscar didn’t either.

He should have. It would’ve been easy—just a small shift to the side, just an inch of space.

But neither of them moved.

The warmth of her knee against his felt… casual. Natural. Like it belonged there.

And Oscar should not be thinking about it this much.

Elaine turned to him, eyes bright. “Okay,” she said, leaning back on her hands. “What’s next on the itinerary, tour guide?”

Oscar forced his brain to catch up, to focus on something other than the warmth of her skin against his.

He cleared his throat. “There’s still the Anne Frank House,” he said, glancing at her. “Unless you’d rather find a café and keep giving me unsolicited history lessons.”

Elaine grinned. “Bold of you to assume I need another coffee for that.”

He snorted, shaking his head, but when he stood, he instinctively reached down to offer her a hand.

And when she took it—her fingers slipping easily into his, her grip warm and steady—Oscar realized two things.

One: he liked the way her hand fit in his.

And two: he was completely, utterly screwed.

And when night came, Elaine was doing it again.

Following him to his room like it was the most natural thing in the world, as if she belonged there.

Except tonight, she wasn’t talking.

The television played quietly in the background, some Dutch news channel filling the room with a low hum of voices neither of them paid attention to. Oscar moved around, going through his usual nighttime routine—checking his phone, answering a quick call from a McLaren team member, confirming a schedule for media duties on Thursday.

Elaine sat cross-legged on the bed, absentmindedly flipping through a travel guide she’d picked up earlier. She wasn’t reading it, though. Not really.

Oscar didn’t say anything about it.

He grabbed some clothes from his suitcase, disappearing into the bathroom for a quick shower. When he emerged, towel drying his hair, Elaine was still there.

Still silent.

Still watching.

Something about the way her eyes followed him felt… different.

He ignored it, tossing the towel aside as he started organizing a few things in his suitcase. He folded a shirt, straightened out a pair of socks. He was fully aware of how unnecessary it was—he didn’t need to be tidying up right now—but keeping his hands busy felt safer than acknowledging the weight of Elaine’s gaze.

She was looking at him like she was seeing something new.

Something she hadn’t noticed before.

Something she liked.

And that was dangerous.

Oscar cleared his throat, not looking at her. “So,” he said, keeping his voice casual. “Are you just going to stay here again until you fall asleep mid-sentence?”

Elaine smirked, but it was softer than usual. “Tempting,” she admitted, stretching her legs out. “But I think I’ll actually leave before I make myself too comfortable this time.”

Oscar snorted. “Unlikely.”

But then she stood, padding toward the door in her socks.

For a second, he almost thought she’d just leave.

But she paused.

Turned back.

And before he could react, she reached out, running her fingers through his damp hair—just a quick, slow drag of her hand, like she was testing the texture.

Her touch sent something electric down his spine.

“You should do your hair like this more often,” she murmured, like it was just a passing comment.

But it wasn’t just a comment.

Not when her fingers lingered for a second too long. Not when her voice had that particular softness to it.

Not when Oscar was suddenly, acutely aware of how close she was.

His throat felt dry. “Yeah?”

Elaine’s lips twitched, her hand dropping back to her side. “Yeah.”

And then, just like that, she turned and slipped out of the room, leaving Oscar standing there, heart beating a little too fast, hair still wet, and very much aware that something had just shifted between them.

Elaine had seen bits of it on TV before, the sleek garages, the bustling pit lane, the media swarming around like bees. But experiencing it in person? That was something else entirely.

She had no idea where to go, who to talk to, or what to do with herself. She barely even recognized anyone—except for the handful of drivers who had started frequenting the café. Everyone else? Just a blur of branded team uniforms and important-looking people rushing past like they had somewhere critical to be.

And so, naturally, she stuck to Oscar like a lost puppy.

At first, she tried to play it cool—walking beside him at a respectable distance, pretending to know exactly where she was going. But then they entered the McLaren hospitality suite, where engineers, media personnel, and team executives moved with swift efficiency, talking strategy, making notes, exchanging glances that said we have five million things to do before the weekend even starts.

Elaine hesitated. Paused mid-step. And before she knew it, she was trailing behind Oscar, practically stepping on his heels.

Oscar, of course, noticed immediately.

He glanced back at her, amused. “What are you doing?”

Elaine huffed. “I don’t know where to go.”

“You have a paddock pass.”

“Yes, but what does that mean?” she said dramatically. “Do I just… exist? Lurk in corners? Am I supposed to talk to people? Do I get free food?”

Oscar smirked, handing his bag off to a team member before crossing his arms. “I mean, I assume you can talk to people, but you don’t have to.*”

“I don’t know anyone.”

“You know Lando.”

Elaine rolled her eyes. “Yeah, because you brought him to my café, not because I have a subscription to the ‘Who’s Who in F1’ club.” She looked around, frowning. “Where is he, anyway?”

Oscar checked his watch. “Media duties.”

“Ah. And you’re not doing that because?”

“Because I actually have things to do.”

“Rude.”

He smirked again, already turning towards the garage. Elaine made the mistake of hesitating, and suddenly he was ahead of her, navigating the chaos with practiced ease while she scrambled to keep up.

For the next twenty minutes, she followed him like a shadow—through the garage, past engineers, down the paddock lane. It didn’t go unnoticed. More than once, someone glanced at her, curious.

She felt ridiculous.

“I look like a stray dog,” she muttered under her breath.

Oscar snorted.

Elaine groaned, rubbing her temples. “Seriously, what am I supposed to do?”

Oscar finally stopped walking, turned to her, and let out a laugh. A real laugh. “You look so uncomfortable.”

“Because I am uncomfortable!” she whispered harshly. “I’m a history nerd at a motorsport event, Oscar! This is like throwing a fish into the desert!”

Oscar tilted his head. “That’s dramatic.”

Elaine narrowed her eyes. “You invited me. Fix it.”

He hummed, pretending to think. Then, with an infuriatingly casual shrug, he said, “Figure it out,” and kept walking.

Elaine groaned, dragging a hand down her face before jogging after him. Maybe being a stray dog wasn’t that bad.

She was learning.

By the time Friday’s practice sessions rolled around, she had figured out a few things:

Free food? Absolutely a thing. (Oscar had neglected to mention this, the menace.)

No one actually cared what she was doing as long as she wasn’t in the way.

Every time Oscar put his helmet on and got into the car, something in her stomach twisted—just a little.

That last part was not ideal.

She had spent the first free practice watching from the McLaren garage, trying not to look completely out of place as engineers muttered things about tire degradation and setup tweaks. Oscar had barely spared her a glance, too focused on whatever pre-session routine he had, and once he was in the car, she had expected him to be gone, mentally checked out.

Except—he had looked for her.

Just once. A brief flick of his eyes in her direction before the visor came down and he drove off.

And Elaine? She had no idea why her heart stuttered at that.

She spent the rest of the session in the garage, wearing a headset she barely understood, and when Oscar’s voice crackled through the radio—calm, measured, completely in his element—she felt something. Pride? Fascination? She wasn’t sure.

She distracted herself by making unnecessary notes in a small pocket journal she had brought, sketching out the circuit layout and writing down completely useless historical facts about the Netherlands. (Zandvoort was originally a fishing village. In 1955, the track had to be modified to reduce wind sensitivity.)

Oscar later found her curled up in the corner of the hospitality suite, scribbling away like an academic lost in a war zone.

He squinted at her notebook. “Are you taking—actual notes?”

Elaine didn’t look up. “Your tires suck.”

Oscar raised a brow. “Not my fault.”

“Isn’t it, though?” she teased.

He sighed, stealing a bite of whatever snack she had in front of her.

And just like that, the weekend blurred forward—brief exchanges, subtle touches, and something unspoken simmering beneath the surface.

By the time Saturday passed by, Elaine realized just how fast Oscar was.

She hadn’t fully understood how much until she watched qualifying from the McLaren pit wall. Seeing the cars live, watching him weave through corners with pinpoint precision—it was different from seeing it on a screen.

And then came that moment.

When Oscar set a lap quick enough to push into Q3, the McLaren garage erupted. Cheers, high-fives, engineers nodding in approval. Elaine, caught up in the energy, grinned and turned—just as Oscar walked in, removing his helmet, shaking out his damp hair.

Their eyes met.

Elaine barely registered that she had started moving until she was right there, standing closer than she had any reason to be.

His breath was still heavy from exertion, his racing suit clinging to his frame. There was sweat at his temple, and for some stupid reason, her gaze flickered to his lips before snapping back up.

Oscar smirked.

She immediately took a step back.

“Good job,” she muttered, arms crossing.

“Thanks.” His voice was lower, rougher.

Something flickered between them—charged, weighty. Elaine hated it. (She didn’t hate it at all.)

Before she could dig herself into a deeper hole, Lando appeared, clapping Oscar on the back and breaking the spell.

Elaine exhaled. Crisis averted.

That night, a group naturally formed at the hotel bar. It wasn’t planned—just a product of circumstance, of familiar faces gravitating toward one another after a long day.

Lando was there, of course, along with a few other drivers—Verstappen, Russell, Leclerc. A couple of engineers. A few partners who had tagged along for the weekend. It was casual, low-key, everyone nursing drinks and unwinding.

Elaine had somehow ended up next to Oscar, which wasn’t surprising. It was instinct at this point.

What was surprising was how everyone else seemed to notice.

It wasn’t like they were doing anything out of the ordinary. They weren’t even touching. But their dynamic was so them—full of quiet familiarity, an ease that stood out amidst the rest of the group.

Oscar would grab his drink, and without thinking, Elaine would shift his phone closer so he wouldn’t knock it over.

Elaine would huff about something Lando said, and Oscar would shoot her a subtle, knowing smirk, like he already knew the exact way she’d react before she even did.

At one point, Elaine reached for something on the table—a stray napkin, a drink menu, something unimportant—and Oscar, mid-conversation, simply handed it to her without missing a beat.

The others noticed.

They didn’t say anything. But glances were exchanged, smirks barely hidden behind glasses.

Russell leaned back, watching with an amused tilt of his head. Max, swirling his drink lazily, flicked his gaze between them before raising a brow at Lando. Charles, seated across from Oscar, let out a quiet huff of laughter, shaking his head to himself.

Then, as if to cement whatever silent conclusion they had all reached, Elaine accidentally knocked her phone off the table.

With a sigh, she slipped off her stool to grab it before it slid further away. As she ducked under the table, Oscar—without even looking—simply reached out and covered the sharp edge of the table with his hand, shielding it.

Elaine, entirely unaware, grabbed her phone and straightened, sliding back into her seat. She had no idea she had just avoided smacking her temple against the corner of the table.

But the others had definitely seen. Lando, Max, George, Charles. God, even the waiter passing by.

Lando exhaled sharply, shaking his head in disbelief. George took a slow sip of his drink, eyes gleaming with silent amusement. Max pressed his lips together, barely suppressing a knowing smirk. Charles let out a quiet chuckle, exchanging a look with Lando.

And no one said anything.

No teasing remark, no pointed comment. They didn’t need to.

Oscar, still half-listening to a conversation on his other side, finally turned his head, sensing the shift in the air.

His gaze swept over the group, eyes narrowing slightly. “What?”

Silence.

George took another sip of his drink, looking far too entertained. Lando just pressed his lips together, like he was physically holding back a laugh. Max and Charles shared a look, one that said no need to state the obvious.

Elaine, oblivious to the silent exchange happening around her, just frowned. "God, you’re all weird," she muttered, settling back into her seat.

Oscar, still confused but unbothered, just shook his head and turned back to his drink.

And yet, despite everything, the glances, the smirks, the knowing, didn’t fade.

Still, no one said anything.

No need.

It was only a matter of time.

Everything was a blur.

The moment Oscar crossed the finish line, the world erupted around him. The radio crackled with overlapping voices—his engineer shouting, Zak laughing, Lando’s excitement cutting through the chaos. The garage exploded on the broadcast screens, a wave of orange jumping and cheering, arms flung around shoulders. Champagne had already been cracked open before he had even stepped out of the car.

P2. A podium.

He should have been overwhelmed—the sheer scale of the moment, the deafening roar of the crowd, the weight of it pressing against his chest. But beneath the rush of adrenaline, something steadier, something quieter, was pulling at him.

Elaine.

Somewhere in that sea of orange, gripping the team radio headset like her own personal lifeline. Somewhere on the pit wall, tracking his every move. Watching him.

And for some inexplicable reason, that meant more than anything else.

The podium ceremony passed in a haze of flashing cameras and sticky-sweet champagne. His fireproofs clung to his skin, his pulse still thrummed from the race. Standing there on the second step, trophy in hand, he should have been drinking in the moment. He should have been lost in it.

But all he could think about was getting down. Getting to her.

The second he was free from the cameras, his feet carried him forward before his mind had even fully caught up. Through the paddock, past the endless congratulations, through the crowd of McLaren mechanics still celebrating.

And then—

There she was.

Standing just inside the garage, shifting on her feet, eyes flickering across the room like she was searching for something. Searching for him.

His legs carried him faster. The next thing he knew, his arms were around her, pulling her in, holding her tightly against him.

She let out a startled yelp, hands pressing against his chest. “Oh my god, you’re drenched.” Her voice was half-groan, half-laugh, warm against his shoulder. “Oscar, this is disgusting.”

He only held her tighter, grinning against her hair. “Don’t care.”

She made a dramatic noise of protest but didn’t pull away. Her fingers curled slightly in the damp fabric of his fireproofs, and slowly—almost reluctantly—she melted into him.

He could feel her breath, quick and light, against his collarbone. The warmth of her body pressed into his, grounding him in a way nothing else could. For a moment, he forgot about the crowd, the noise, the cameras. There was only her—her voice, her laugh, her heartbeat against his ribs.

Her hand slid up to his shoulder, fingers brushing against his skin, gentle and unhurried. “You were incredible,” she murmured, so quietly that he barely caught it over the noise.

His chest tightened.

She pulled back just enough to look at him, eyes bright, expression raw with something too big to name. The way she was looking at him—it made his pulse stutter, made everything else feel small.

Her gaze flickered downward, just for a second.

Then she leaned in, tilting her head, clearly aiming for his cheek—

Someone called his name. Without thinking, he turned.

Their lips brushed.

The world stilled.

Elaine barely had time to react.

Her breath hitched, eyes widening as the realization of what had just happened crashed over her. Their lips had touched. It had been brief, accidental, nothing more than a brush—but the warmth of it lingered, tingling, refusing to fade.

She pulled back an inch, blinking fast. “Oh—shit, I—”

She never got to finish.

Oscar’s hand moved before he could think, fingers sliding up to cup the back of her neck, his grip firm but careful, like he was afraid she’d slip away if he didn’t hold on. His thumb brushed against her skin, just below her ear, and Elaine’s breath hitched again—just for a second—before he closed the distance.

This time, it wasn’t an accident.

The moment their lips met again, the rest of the world melted away.

Elaine let out a soft, surprised noise against his mouth, but she didn’t hesitate. Her hands found his shoulders, then his neck, fingers threading into his damp hair as she pulled him closer—like he wasn’t already pressed against her, like there was still space left between them that needed to be closed.

Oscar responded in kind. His other arm tightened around her back, his grip firm, almost desperate, as if he could somehow hold onto the moment forever. She was warm against him, grounding in a way nothing else was, her lips soft and sure against his own. And when she sighed quietly into the kiss, something in his chest turned over, twisting in a way he didn’t quite understand.

Then—

The garage erupted.

The cheers hit all at once, loud and gleeful, laughter and whistles and the unmistakable sound of someone slapping the nearest hard surface in excitement.

Elaine barely had time to process it before—

“FUCKING FINALLY!” Lando’s voice, unmistakable, rang out over the noise, dripping with exasperated glee. Someone else whooped. Someone else actually clapped.

Elaine broke the kiss with a sharp inhale, face burning, eyes wide.

Oscar barely pulled away—just enough to look at her, to take in the stunned expression, the way her breath came uneven, the way her fingers were still tangled in his hair like she had no intention of letting go.

He huffed a laugh, breathless, forehead still so close to hers that she could feel the warmth of it.

Elaine swallowed. “So, uh… does this mean you like me?”

His grip on her waist tightened, pulling her just a little closer, even though there was no space left between them to begin with.

“Jesus, Elaine.”

She grinned, dazed but teasing, her voice lighter than air. “I mean, you could’ve just told me. Would’ve saved us months of slow-burning bullshit.”

Oscar groaned, dropping his head slightly, and she could feel the soft huff of his laugh against her skin.

“Shut up.”

Then she smirked. “Make me.”

So he did.

@smoooothoperator @freyathehuntress @gold66loveblog @hadesnumber1daughter

If you want to get added to my permanent taglist, just let me know!

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arcadia-of-pluto · 6 months ago

Text

In High Cotton || Rafayel (m)

Paring(s); LADS Rafayel x reader

Word count; 3,626

Themes; swearing, smut, plushie turning human (??), I write the word plushie a lot (I'm sorry), porn with a smidgen of plot, alternative universe

Warnings; Cunnilingus, fingering, slight choking, smidge of hair pulling, some degrading (if you squint), unprotected sex (wrap it up), some boob play, (do not expect a masterpiece of a smut— I didn't realize how rusty I was at writing them until I actually started 😞)

Notes; woah, 700ish notes on my most recent drabble! That's insane tbh. It almost feels like I should only write drabbles, and it wasn't even a smutty drabble either 🤔 I thought people were usually into smut?

Either way, I'm glad yall are liking it while I readjust myself to writing smut once again! I used to write smut SO much when I was younger and then I just stopped– but when I do write it again, it might have too much detail and I do apologize beforehand for that...speaking of, it's happening now btw! I'm going to try to write good smut for this. I got this idea for a short, one-shot hentai-ish Manga (it's called…”my plushie turned into a human” or something like that)

Also, lowkey, cotton doesn't even feel like a real word anymore 😭

|| Main Masterlist ||

In High Cotton;

//this Southern idiom means “to be doing well or living a comfortable life”; in comparison, to be ‘in low cotton’ would mean you're having a bad day//

“What are you, a child? Stop carrying around that stupid plushie! It feels like you care more about that damn thing than our relationship.”

Your head whips around to stare at your partner through a glare.

Oh really now?

You care more about a stuffed piece of fabric in comparison to your almost five years of dating this person?? Yeah, right.

Your partner was just trying to deflect this situation away from the fact that you caught them cheating.

They were grasping at straws to throw the blame on you and your cherished plush was the only thing they could throw at you…pitiful.

You've had this little plushie since you were little and, honestly, you didn't even remember what show it was from– if it was on one. Your childhood friend gave it to you shortly before he moved away and you've since forgotten what he even looked like.

The only memory of him being the purple haired, humanoid plushie currently clasped between your hands as you fought the urge to throw it at your partner.

And, tired of your silence, your partner left your apartment shortly after.

Now, you were left alone with your plushie.

You slowly swipe your thumb back and forth over its pinkish-blue eyes as you ponder just why you cherished it so much. Why you cherished Raf so much.

Yeah, Raf. That's apparently the name of the plushie. That's what your mom claims you called it throughout the years, so you had no reason to change it.

But yeah. You were unsure why it never left your side.

You always kept it in your purse, in your shirt pocket– it almost felt like an emotional support doll, at this point.

Anyway, you stand up from the floor and go lock your door so your partner couldn't barge back inside the apartment, even if they wanted to. Then, you decide to go to bed. You were off work for the next few days, so you could finally get some well deserved rest.

You quickly get changed into your pajamas and curl up in the bed with Raf in your arms. Your hand resting against the red beret on its head, thumb gently brushing over the small black bead on top of the hat as you drift off to sleep.

You wake up feeling…warm? Too warm, in fact.

You know you fell asleep with the air conditioner on, so there's absolutely no reason for the room to feel as warm as it does.

You grumble under your breath, wanting to go back to sleep as quickly as possible, and keep your eyes shut as you try to kick out from under the covers. You soon realize you can't do this, because you feel an odd weight holding you down.

If your partner snuck back in, you swear to god—

But when you open your eyes, you're met with an unfamiliar sight.

It's…a stranger. In bed with you.

Their hair, however, was oddly familiar.

Purple hair…

Nah, no way. There's no way your plushie suddenly turned into a human, but that would definitely make you feel less anxious than assuming a stranger was in your home.

You take a deep breath and glance around for your plushie. If you can find it, then this man isn't your favourite stuffed animal and if you can't– well, it could've fallen into the floor. You won't sink into the delusion that this man was Raf, until that was your final option.

You couldn't find it with just your eyes, so you attempted to wiggle out of the man's grasp. However, this only causes him to hold you tighter, his arms squeezing around your waist as he pulls you further into his bare chest.

…bare chest?

You blink a few times. Your head is close enough to touch the man's chin.

Fuck it.

You put your hands on his chest and desperately try to pull away from him, full on struggling since you've decided to not care if you wake him up or not. He came into your house, why should you be accommodating toward him??

“Hmm?”

You hear his tired voice as he finally removes one arm from your waist to rub his eyes, and the moment he opens then, you have no choice but to accept that he was your plushie.

Seriously, like what normal human has pinkish-blue eyes?? No one. Unless he's wearing contacts, that is literally your comfort doll.

You know it sounds crazy, but how else would this random guy know what your plush looks like?? Especially enough to copy its looks perfectly.

“Oh. Good morning, Y/n.” He yawns, stretching his arms up and that's when you snap.

You quickly sit up and move away from him, holding a hand out in front of you. “What're you doing in my house? You're not…Raf, are you?”

“You recognize me!?” He almost blinds you with his innocently charming smile.

“You're…joking, right? I mean, seriously, how am I supposed to believe that?” You say, half asleep but clearly not buying this act. You run a hand through your hair, brows furrowed and you could feel a headache coming on.

“Oh…you don't believe me..” he frowns, sitting up against the pillows. “Hmm…what can I do to make you believe me?”

“Uh…say something that only someone who knows me would know?” You throw your hands up in the air, exasperatedly.

Come on, how the heck were you supposed to know?? Though, you'd probably believe him if he said something personal.

“Raf” brings his hand up to rest under his chin as he contemplates what to say. After a few moments of silence, you stand up from the bed.

“Alright, if you're not going to say anything, then–”

“When you were seven, you threw up and ran into your mom's room crying because you thought you were dying…uh, oh also, when you were ten, you were trying to ride a bike and busted your knee open when you fell– you have a scar from it. At eleven, you accidentally punched a kid in the face and got into your first fight– that you lost, by the way. And at sixteen, you were going to lose your virginity, but your ex said you had to get Raf off the bed and you said, and I quote, ‘the doll stays’.”

“Raf” looks at you after he finishes talking with an almost proud looking smile on his face and you tilt your head to the side.

You…

…what?

You had no other choice, but to believe him now.

The scar on your knee would've been the easiest to guess, but the others? But you don't want to seem too gullible…

You clear your throat, crossing your arms over your chest. “Tell me more before I make my decision.”

Surely he wouldn't say anything embarrassing, right?

“You've faked every orgasm with your current partner. You can only cum if—”

“Okay, okay!” You quickly place your hand over his mouth. Your face turns scarlet as you squeeze your eyes shut. “That's enough. I'll believe you for now.”

You feel something wet against your palm and jerk your hand back. “What the hell– did you just lick my hand??” You drag your hand against your pants to wipe it off, before shaking your head. “Look, go get dressed. I'm sure my ex has some clothes you can wear.”

You put an emphasis on ex, since you decided you weren't going to stay with that cheater the moment they left your apartment last night.

Then, you leave the room.

Honestly….Raf was a pretty decent roommate. Sure, he didn’t work, but you'd come back to a home-cooked meal after work every day. He'd do the laundry, the dishes, and he even painted on the side.

You weren't sure if he'd ever turn back into a plush, but you preferred him this way. With him as a human, you could talk about your day with someone, eat with someone…there's only one problem.

Personal space and…personal time.

You haven't been able to get off in almost a month– that's how long Raf has been human by now– and it has started to get to you. You usually aren't a very sexual person, but sometimes you just need to rub one out every now and again…and you can't with him constantly snuggled in the bed next to you.

Tonight was another night where you wouldn't be able to do what you wanted.

You let out a small sigh as you get settled in bed. The TV played a random show in the background as it illuminated the otherwise dark room. Raf laid next to you, one arm curled under the pillow so he could still watch the TV. He was shirtless too, so that made your conundrum even better.

“What's wrong?” He asks, not looking away from the TV and you quickly shake your head.

“It's nothing. Nothing at all.”

Raf shifts over to his side to look at your face, raising one of his eyebrows ever so slightly. “You haven't…Well, I mean, you usually do it once a week and it's been a month now–”

“Raf–” you sigh, covering his head with a pillow. “Shut up.”

He pulls the pillow down, so only his eyes are visible. “Do you still not see me as a man?”

“I don't want to talk about this right now.” You try to pull the pillow back over his face and he catches you by the wrist.

“I could make you feel way better than your ex did…” he trails off as he guides your hand to the front of his pajama pants.

You could visibly see a bump from over the covers and you choke on your spit as you felt something warm under your palm.

Something big.

“Raf…” you trail off, but you can't find the will to tell him to let it go.

His words made you curious…you wanted to know if sex could actually feel good or if he was just talking a big game.

What could he really know about sex, anyways?

He's only been human for a month now, so there's no way he could actually be good at it, right?

As you're lost in thoughts, your hand subconsciously squeezes his election and Raf tilts his head back, teeth sinking into his bottom lip to hold back a groan.

“Earth to Y/n.” He hums, snapping his fingers in front of your face. “Yes or no, cutie? I want explicit consent.”

You were battling with your thoughts, but you ultimately nodded your head.

“Use your words now. Your pretty lips aren't just there for show, are they?” The man taps his finger against your bottom lip and you let out an impatient sigh, “Yes, now can you please–”

Your words were silenced by Raf's lips crashing down against yours.

One of his hands ghosts down your body, fingers resting under the waistband of your pajama shorts, just a few inches from where you really wanted his touch. His other hand slides up your shirt, cupping a breast.

You feel the bed dip underneath you as Raf swings a leg over your body, fully pinning you to the bed as he continues his assault against your lips.

His tongue swipes across your bottom lip, but you playfully refuse to let him in. In retaliation, Raf’s fingers pinch around your nipple and harshly tug at it. A gasp escapes you and he takes this opportunity to slip his tongue past your open lips.

The only time your lips part is when Raf leans back to tug his shirt off and takes off yours as well.

Now shirtless in front of the man, you can't help but feel a little self conscious.

Though Raf quickly dissuades your self doubt by dipping his head down to latch onto your nipple. His hand finally moved further into your pants. His index finger resting on your clit and you arch your hips up, trying to force him to move.

Your thigh stings in pain as you feel Raf's palm collide with your skin.

“Patience.” He murmurs against your chest.

His fingers draw lazy circles against your clit and, while it is pleasurable, you want more.

You dip your hand past his waistband and grab onto his dick. Your hand could barely wrap fully around it and you could only imagine how it would feel. It felt like it would hurt…a little. But what's a little pain?

Your hand lazily strokes Raf's dick, thumb dragging over his tip to collect a few drops of precum and that's when the man finally snaps.

His fingers move lower. His middle finger slowly glides inside of you and he gives you a few thrusts with his singular finger, before adding a second one. With both fingers sheathed inside, he makes a ‘come-hither’ motion with every thrust of his digits.

“R-Raf– wa—ah— wait..” Your nails dig into the skin of his shoulder while your other hand pauses its movements. You try to hide your face in your shoulder, but Raf seizes your chin with a hand.

“Don't look away now, princess. I wanna see your face. Wanna see just how good I'm making you feel.” He tsks and pulls away for a moment.

He strips you of your bottoms, tossing them to the side as his big hands grip your thighs. His palm slaps the newly exposed skin before he taps your hands.

“Hold your legs up for me and don't drop them.”

You want to question his words, but don't. Instead, you wrap your arms under your knees and pull them as close to your chest as you can. It was, honestly, a really embarrassing position, but you couldn't help but get even more wet.

Your juices were tacky against your thighs and even dripping down onto the sheets below you.

“Raf…” you whine, wondering what's taking him so long since you expected him to fuck you already. But instead of his cock, you feel something else.

You feel something warm and wet against your clit, and a strangled noise comes up from your throat as Raf flicks his tongue against your pussy. His fingers going back to your entrance to slip inside as he wraps his lips around your clit.

Your head tilts back as moans spill from your lips. Raf's skilled fingers working at your center while he tongue draws figure-eights on your clit.

“R-Raf, inside. ‘Wanna cum with you inside, please?” You finally manage to say, your nails digging into your legs.

Your heart stutters in your chest as Raf makes eye contact as he eats you out. Only pausing to respond to you, his fingers still moving.

“You gotta be more specific, princess. I am inside you right now.” He teases.

As you open your mouth to answer, he curls his fingers and they just barely brush your g-spot.

“I want your di– ah, Raf, right there!” Your hips jerk with every thrust of his fingers and you can feel yourself growing closer to your first orgasm, but Raf has other plans.

As you squeeze your eyes shut, preparing for your climax, suddenly you feel empty.

When you open your eyes, you notice that Raf is licking his fingers clean.

A lazy smirk tugs at the man's lips and his hand disappears into his pants, freeing his dick from its confines.

Your eyes are immediately drawn to his angry, red tip. The glistening precum. The way his hand drug against the length of it.

“Hey, my eyes are up here!”” Raf snaps his fingers with a pout. “Geez, you really know how to make a man feel like a pack of meat.” He taps the tip of his dick against your clit and your hips jump.

“Ah, what's the magic word, cutie?” His hand pushes down on your hips, effectively pinning them to the bed as he smears his precum across your clit.

“I…” You grit your teeth, squeezing your thighs before you finally let them go and hold your arms out. “Please fuck me.”

Raf's arms wrap around you as he finally pushes his tip inside and his voice of reason finally snaps. He was originally going to take it slow, to give you time to adjust, but the feeling of your tight, warm walls around his cock makes him unable to think straight.

Your legs wrap around his waist as he thrusts into you with reckless abandon. Though there is a bit of skill to his thrusts, there's also a smidgen of inexperience mixed within it.

“You're so tight, cutie. Do you like my cock that much?” He hums, his lips dragging against the skin of your neck. He firmly presses his lips down, parting them slightly to suck a painful bruise on your neck.

His hips continue to snap forward. His cock languidly pumps in and out of your pussy. The obscene noise of skin slapping against skin, the sound of your bodies coming together, fills the otherwise silent room.

His thumb dips down to make quick circles against your lip as his cock brushes against your g-spot and he claims your lips once more.

Your nails dig into his shoulders, dragging up his skin to leave deep red marks in their wake. Your moans are swallowed by Raf's lips. His tongue collides with yours and you briefly fight for dominance. You ultimately lose, though you didn't put up much of a fight.

The man pulls out and you're about to complain, but suddenly you're flipped onto your knees. Raf presses his palm into the small of your back and your face slams into your pillows.

His cock re-enters as he thrusts, his palm cracks down across your ass. You can't hide the moan that slips from your parted lips and Raf raises a brow.

“Oohh, someone's a bit of a pain slut?”

With this new knowledge, Raf pulls you up by your hair. Your back against his chest and his other hand glides over your body. His two fingers make quick circular motions against your clit and he releases your hair, instead wrapping his hand around your throat.

“R–Raf, please. ‘M so close.” Another noise slips from your lips as his cock just barely kisses your g-spot and you can feel his breath against your ear. “You gonna cum for me?” He presses a small kiss on your shoulder, his hand squeezing around your neck as he quickens his thrusts.

“Uh-huh…” you nod your head, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you try to hold back your moans. You could feel your juices soaking your thighs, could hear the evidence of your arousal with every thrust.

With one last precise thrust that brushes your g-spot, you cum.

You tilt your head back with a choked cry, your hips jerking as your walls spasm around his cock.

“Princess…” Raf groans, his hands tightly gripping your hips as he surges forward. Your body falls forward and your hands go out to steady yourself as he continues to harshly thrust. “Inside or out?”

You take a moment to think before you turn your head to the side, meeting his eyes. “Out, please.”

Raf flips you over onto your back once more and after a few more pumps, he pulls out. His hand quickly strokes his cock before his head tilts back and he moans. His tip shoots out strings of cum, painting your stomach and chest with white ropes.

“Fuck…” he takes a few breathes before you meet each other's eyes.

Then, you both laugh giddily and he dips his head down to gently kiss you.

“I'll go grab a washcloth to clean you up.” He smiles against your lips before he gets off the bed to head into the bathroom.

You sit up and stretch out your sore limbs while you look around for your phone to check the time. “Huh…I could've sworn it was on the bed..” You click your tongue and sigh, sliding off the bed to check if it fell into the floor.

Your hand pats around under your bed and you let out a small squeak of surprise as your hand brushes against something soft. You jerk your hand back, but notice your phone was on the floor. You press a hand against your chest to try and still your fast beating heart. Then, you turn on your phone's flashlight to look under your bed.

“Wait…” you squint, noticing something that looks oddly familiar and once you fish it out, your eyes widen.

It…was Raf.

Slightly dusty since it had been under your bed for a few months, but…this was most certainly Raf, your beloved plushie.

Your head slowly turns in the direction of your bathroom with wide eyes. If your plush Raf was in your hands then…who was in your bathroom?

The door swings open and Raf– no, the stranger walks out from your bathroom with a washcloth in hand.

“I think I'm going to need to do the laundry soon. This is the last clean on– oh, you found it.” The purple-haired man leans against the doorway, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I– who…” you look from your cherished plushie to him. “You're not even…”

Then, he chuckles.

“You ever noticed the little black ball on his beret?” He taps a finger against his temple. “I gave you that when we were little…been watching you ever since.” He has a smile on his lips as if this was a normal thing to admit.

“You're—”

“Highly intelligent? Devilishly handsome?”

“—insane.”

“No, silly girl. My name is Rafayel. Don't worry, I'll fuck you a few more times so you can remember it.”

I tried my best and that's all that matters tbh 😭 I think it seems so bad because it's in second person and I'm used to writing smut in first. But I'm hoping I'll get better at it with practice!

Either way, I'm sure this isn't the worst smut you've read so I hope you enjoyed it!

Also, sorry there isn't a drabble this week! I might write one soon since I've got two days off 🤔 I'm not sure yet tbh

#lads #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #lads x reader #lads rafayel #love and deepspace rafayel #rafayel x reader #lnds smut #lnds x reader #lnds rafayel #lnds rafayel x reader #lads rafayel x reader #lads smut #love and deepspace smut #l&ds #l&ds rafayel #l&ds smut #l&ds rafayel x reader

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hellokittykookies · 1 month ago

Text

Pose for me - ONE

──── sypnosis ✮⋆˙ After years of running from the life you never wanted, you thought you had finally succeeded. erasing y/n, becoming ji-ha, and leaving your past behind. But then came him. A model you accidentally brought to a cotillion, a man effortlessly loved by the woman who had become family to you. And it just so happens He was connected to the one person you abandoned nine years ago. You were supposed to avoid him. To walk away. So why did you keep finding yourself right next to him?

──── pairings ✮⋆˙ Model! jk x Photographer! reader (y/n also ji ah)

──── genre ✮⋆˙ slow burn, fake dating, forced proximity, angst, romance, mutual pining, emotional hurt/comfort, smut, hidden identity, jealousy, Fashion industry au.

──── WC ✮⋆˙ 2k

You walk the streets of New York, heels clicking against the pavement, your Birkin slung on your arm

Your white double-breasted wool coat from Balmain wrapped around you like armor, the black turtleneck from Ralph Lauren hugging your frame beneath it. A sleek leather pencil skirt, black tights, Valentino heels. every detail perfect, deliberate. The soft leather gloves from Hermès warmed your hands, and atop your head sat your favorite beret from Maison Michel. You never held back when it came to dressing. Luxury was no longer a fantasy. it was your reality.

You worked for this life hard, and you were gonna enjoy every single minute of it.

But of course, you weren't Y/N anymore. In New York, you were Ji Ha. Or Jiji, as people called you. It had been nine years since you left everything behind at seventeen. Your home, your family, your past. You ran to New York, chasing something that once felt impossible. Fashion was your world, your love, your escape. Designing, creating, capturing beauty through a lens. every part of it set your soul on fire. But to your family? It was nothing. A waste of time. A foolish little dream you'd never achieve.

Yet here you were.

You had Jane to thank for that. You met her on a beach back home. a british girl visiting for a month. Somehow, in that short time, she became everything to you. Your best friend. The person who helped you run away, who gave you a place to stay, who made sure you could study, work, survive. Jane had a family who supported her. You didn't. That was the difference.

So you changed your name. Not because you were hiding. Y/N was still there, on paper, in documents, in a missing person's report no one cared to follow up on. But you became Ji Ha because Y/N was the girl who sacrificed everything for this life.

And if they ever found you? you'd be fucked. But as far as the world was concerned, Y/N would already be dead by now.. but she wasn't. she was alive, well, pretty, and expensive.

You sighed, sipping your coffee as you stood at the crosswalk, city lights glowing around you. This was the life you built, the life you won.

The ringing of your phone pulled you out of your thoughts. You glanced at the screen—Jane's mom.

"Dear, are you going to Mini's cotillion?" she asked, her voice as warm as ever.

At this point, Jane's parents had become as much your family as they were hers. You two were like long-lost sisters, inseparable. Unlike your past family. who only cared about money, bragging rights, and belittling people with dreams that weren't doctors or lawyers. Jane's family actually loved you. And for the first time in your life, you had people who believed in you.

"Of course, Mum, I wouldn't miss her debutante ball," you said with a smile, continuing your walk. "Who's escorting her?"

"Charles, of course," she chuckled.

"Oh, I thought- never mind." You shook your head, dismissing your own thoughts. "Alright, Mum, I have a photoshoot today, so I'll catch up with you and Jane later?"

"I still remember when you and Jane had your cotillion," she mused fondly. "Now look at you two- adults."

You chuckled softly. "Oh, Mum, I'm sorry, I really have to go. Bye!"

Hanging up, you stepped into the building, heading straight for the elevator. The exhaustion was already creeping in. Being both a creative designer and a photographer was your side quest. when you're in the mood to make yourself struggle and suffer. especially when you were fully booked.

Your assistant had already taken your materials up to the studio. All that was left was for you to do what you did best.

Settling onto a chair, you waited for the model to arrive.

And then he walked in.

Dressed in Calvin Klein, obviously. Curly dark hair, strong gaze. His jeans hung low purposely to expose the branded boxers beneath, a denim jacket draped over his frame.

The shoot began. You directed, he followed, but you didn't have to do much. he was good.

Next, a black shirt. He kneeled on the floor, lifting the hem just enough.

"That's great," you murmured, more to yourself than anyone else.

Hours passed, and finally, it was break time.

You sat in front of the monitor, quietly eating a small sandwich as you scanned through the photos. But then, you felt it. his eyes on you.

He was watching you. As if he was trying to read you.

"Hey."

His voice was smooth, close. You looked up. He extended a hand toward you. You took it.

"Hello," you said, raising a brow as he let out a small chuckle, almost awkward.

"What's your name?"

You blinked, still smiling. "Ji Ha. You?"

"Jungkook."

He studied your expression, his lips curling slightly.

"Was I posing alright earlier?"

"It's okay," you said simply. Before he could respond, the director clapped his hands, signaling the end of the break.

Jungkook flashed you a small smile before heading back to his spot. And every now and then—he kept looking at you. More than at the camera.

────୨ৎ────

The shoot wrapped up at almost 6:00 PM.

"Shit." Your eyes widened as you rushed to grab your things, suddenly remembering Mini's cotillion.

"Seems like you're in a rush."

Jungkook's voice crept up behind you, making you jump.

"God, Junho- Jung- Jung- whatever! You can't just sneak up on people like that," you huffed, rolling your eyes as you checked your phone notifications.

Jane: Bring a date today, maybe? You wouldn't wanna be the only one lonely ;)

You had no time.

Without thinking, the words left your mouth. "Can you come with me?"

Jungkook tilted his head, amused.

"...Sure," he said, too casually. "And it's Jungkook, by the way."

You almost choked on air. Did I just invite a random guy to escort me?

────୨ৎ────

The car ride was.... something

"Hey, Mum? I'm on my way. I'm so sorry, I'll be late- shooting took longer than expected."

Jane's mom reassured you. "It's fine, dear. Come straight to the penthouse—your dress is here. Jane said she's bringing her boyfriend. Are you bringing yours?"

"Uh- uhm- boyfriend?" you stammered.

Jungkook, who had been watching you, bit his lip to suppress a laugh.

"Yeah, yeah, I will," you chuckled nervously.

"Oh, wonderful! I'll have Patty set up a tux to match you. Can I get his measurements?"

"He'll tell you when we get there. Gotta go- we're almost there!" You hung up quickly, looking at Jungkook, not knowing what to say.

"...Pretend to be my boyfriend," you deadpanned.

"Alright."

You blinked. "That's it? Just 'alright'?"

"No why? No questions?" You let out a small, incredulous laugh.

"Why not? A pretty girl asked me."

Your cheeks burned. You bit your inner cheek to stop it.

"I can see you blushing," he teased.

"No- I just put on a lot of blush today," you muttered.

"Whatever you say, pretty."

────୨ৎ────

"What's your full name?" you asked quietly.

"Jeon Jungkook."

Your breath hitched. Your eyes widened. Oh... a Jeon.

He raised a brow. "What? You gonna call me a nepo baby too?"

"No... just shocked."

Jungkook was that Jeon. The son of Jeon Ha Neul and Oh Yu Mi. They were one of most famous and influential Korean models who had moved to New York after getting married.

"...How about you?" he asked.

"Kim Ji Ha."

The lie was second nature now, but it still felt strange.

────୨ৎ────

Arriving at the penthouse, Patty was already setting up a matching dress and tux.

"Go get sized up. I'll go change." You pushed Jungkook toward the living room before rushing to your room.

You slipped into your custom made Dior black off the shoulder satin gown, adorning yourself with Swarovski earrings and Jimmy Choo strappy heels. A deep purple Bottega Veneta velvet clutch in your hand, you checked yourself in the mirror one last time before stepping out.

The moment you descended the stairs, you felt Jungkook's eyes on you.

He was already in a tux, a deep purple bowtie matching your clutch. But his gaze? It held something else entirely. Like he was looking at the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

"You're beautiful," he murmured.

His hands landed on your waist, pulling you slightly closer. Your breath hitched.

"What are you doing?" you whisper-yelled.

"Acting like your boyfriend," he smirked.

That smirk made your blood boil.

"Come on. We're late," you huffed, dragging him toward the door.

Something told you that tonight was about to get very interesting.

────୨ৎ────

The ballroom shimmered under the grand chandeliers, the soft hum of classical music filling the air as elegantly dressed guests sipped on champagne, engaged in lighthearted conversation. You kept your posture poised, fingers lightly resting on Jungkook's arm as you guided him through the crowd.

"Better behave nicely," you murmured, your smile sweet but your tone sharp.

Jungkook chuckled under his breath. "No promises."

You greeted Jane and her mother, flashing your best polite smile.

"Uh, this is Jungkook-"

Before you could even finish, Jungkook smoothly cut in, "Her boyfriend."

Your eyes darted to him, barely masking your surprise, but you played along, smiling as if the words didn't catch you off guard.

"Oh dear, you picked a handsome one," Jane's mom chuckled, winking at you.

"Oh, please," you laughed, waving it off before grabbing two glasses of champagne from a passing server. You handed one to Jungkook, who accepted it with an amused smirk.

"So," Jane started, eyeing the two of you with suspicion, "how'd you two meet?"

You sipped your drink casually. "Oh, he was a model I was photographing at work."

Jane's jaw dropped dramatically. "I knew you had a thing for Calvin Klein men!" She pierced you with a playful look, making your eyes widen as you frantically shook your head.

"No, no, I don't," you laughed awkwardly.

Jungkook, of course, took that moment to smirk at you, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

"I'll go see Mini," you said quickly, still gripping Jungkook's arm.

As you led him through the ballroom, he leaned in, his voice low and teasing. "So... you don't have a thing for them?"

"No, of course not," you huffed, rolling your eyes.

Jungkook just chuckled, clearly enjoying this far too much.

But before you could fire back, the music softened, and the host's voice echoed through the ballroom speakers.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to this evening's debutante cotillion. Tonight, we celebrate Mini's grand entrance into society, and of course. her escort, Charles Montgomery."

The applause erupted, guests turning toward the grand staircase. The double doors at the top of the steps opened, revealing Mini in a breathtaking gown, glowing under the golden chandeliers. Beside her, Charles stood tall, offering his hand for her to take as they gracefully descended the stairs.

But you weren't looking at them.

Because beyond them, in the sea of guests, stood him.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Kim Taehyung.

Your brother.

The boy you left behind nine years ago.

He wasn't near the staircase, wasn't standing in the spotlight. But he didn't have to be. He was there, on the far side of the ballroom, lingering in the shadows, a glass of whiskey in hand. His tuxedo fit him perfectly, sharp and effortless, like he had stepped straight out of a fashion editorial. His expression was unreadable, calm, indifferent even. But his eyes. his eyes were on you.

Your stomach twisted painfully.

He looked different. Older, sharper. The boy you once knew had vanished, replaced by a man whose gaze felt like a quiet storm. There was no anger, no relief, no sadness. just a steady, unreadable stare that sent a chill down your spine.

Your fingers tightened around your champagne glass.

He wasn't supposed to be here.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

Your heart pounded violently against your ribs, but you refused to react. You refused to give anything away. You had spent years perfecting the art of control, of keeping your emotions locked away where no one could reach them.

So, you did what you knew best.

You pretended.

Taking a slow sip of champagne, you forced yourself to look away, as if he was just another guest. As if you hadn't just come face to face with the ghost of your past.

But you could feel it.

His gaze. Heavy. Unrelenting.

Jungkook shifted beside you, sensing something was off. His voice dropped lower. "You okay?"

You blinked, snapping back into reality before forcing an easy smile. "Yeah. Just... zoned out."

Jungkook followed your gaze briefly, scanning the crowd, but when he turned back to you, he didn't ask any more questions. He just nodded and took another sip of his drink.

You swallowed hard and turned back to Jane, forcing yourself to focus on the conversation, the music, the soft glow of the chandeliers—anything but the weight of your brother's stare.

This was just another night.

Another event.

Another performance.

But somehow, you already knew this was only the beginning

────୨ৎ────

You could still feel Taehyung's stare from across the ballroom, but you refused to look back. Instead, you downed another glass of champagne and focused on the role you were playing. the graceful, untouchable Ji Ha. The woman who had everything. The woman who had moved on.

Jungkook, on the other hand, was as relaxed as ever, hands tucked in his pockets, watching you like he was thoroughly entertained.

"You sure you're okay?" he murmured, amusement laced in his voice as he leaned in, close enough that his breath fanned against your ear.

You scoffed, tossing him a side glance. "I don't remember hiring you to be my babysitter."

Jungkook grinned. "You did ask me to be your date."

"Out of panic," you reminded, taking another sip of champagne.

His smirk only grew. "Still counts."

Before you could retort, the music slowed, and couples began gathering at the center of the ballroom.

Jane and her boyfriend swayed together, Mini and Charles joining them as the first waltz of the evening began. You took a deep breath, silently praying you could slip away unnoticed.

But, of course, Jungkook had other plans.

A warm hand wrapped around your wrist, pulling you in before you could protest.

Your body nearly crashed into his as he led you to the dance floor, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips.

"Jungkook- "

"Come on, sweetheart," he murmured, voice dripping with amusement. "Wouldn't want to make a scene, right?"

You clenched your jaw, but you forced a smile, letting him guide you into the slow rhythm of the waltz.

His hand rested lightly on your waist, fingers pressing just enough to remind you he was there. His other hand held yours, warm, firm. too steady for a man who was doing this just for fun.

Your body moved naturally with his, each step effortless, precise.

"You're a good dancer," you muttered begrudgingly.

Jungkook chuckled. "You sound surprised."

"I am surprised. You don't exactly scream ballroom trained."

"I'm full of surprises, Ji Ha." His voice dropped, his grip tightening just slightly. "You should know that by now."

There was something dangerous in the way he said it.

The way his dark eyes flickered down to your lips for just a second

And then, before you could react, before you could even think

Jungkook leaned in and kissed you.

It was slow, unhurried, yet deliberate. A kiss meant to test you. To see if you would pull away or melt into it.

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

For a split second.

you almost kissed him back.

But reality hit you like a freight train.

You tore yourself away, breathless, eyes narrowing as you stepped back. The music still played, couples still danced, the world still spun as if nothing had happened

But something had happened.

And you needed to put an end to it.

You straightened your dress, tilting your chin up as you met his gaze. His expression was unreadable at first, but then- then that damn smirk returned, slow and teasing, as if he knew he had just cracked something inside you.

You refused to let him win.

"This is nothing," you said, your voice even, sharp. "We are nothing. You're just a crappy Calvin Klein model I accidentally invited out of panic."

His smirk didn't waver.

"After this, let's not meet again, Jungkook."

You turned on your heel, ready to walk away, ready to erase whatever just happened.

"You're lying," Jungkook murmured, amusement clear in his tone.

Your steps faltered, but you didn't look back.

"You don't mean that," he continued, as if enjoying this.

You exhaled sharply, already irritated beyond belief. "And what makes you so sure?"

His voice was lower this time. Darker.

"Because you wouldn't be running if you didn't feel something."

Your stomach twisted.

He was enjoying this. Too much.

Jungkook liked the chase. He liked that you weren't easy, that you weren't fawning over him like every other woman did. He liked that you fought him, resisted him. because it only made him more determined to prove himself.

To get what he wanted.

And right now?

What he wanted was you.

──── end of the chapter ────

──── taglist ✮⋆˙ @lovingkoalaface @mar-lo-pap @wintaemoonjen @bgfdcvbnjk @whothefuckisthishoe @honeybloomyyyy @snow-strawberry

Go to my masterlist for the next chapter!

#rispwr #bts #bts x reader #jungkook ff #jungkook #jungkook smut #bts smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook x reader #hellokittykookies #hellokittykookie fics

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sweetbillwriting · 13 days ago

Text

Way Out of Line

TWELVE

Character: Keith Toshko from Barbarian (2022) played by Bill Skarsgård.

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, heavy themes.

It was liberating to be with Keith in Paris. We could finally act like a couple, and the Frenchmen didn't even react twice at our age difference. We could just be. Maybe me and Ludwig had looked like the perfect couple, but Keith and I were the perfect couple. Everything he did made my cheeks warm and my heart jump like a fluffy bunny among daisy flowers. He played around with me like a kid, made out with me like a teenager, but also gave me romantic moments like the perfect gentleman. That he could afford to give me everything wasn't so bad either. When I told him I had missed the tour of Notre Dame, he fixed us a private one. When I was tired of all the taxi rides, he rented a motorcycle (why hadn't he told me he had a license? Just knowing he had a license made him sexier, and seeing him on it made my loins burn like in a 1970s erotic novel). When I admired a girl’s Chanel beret, he got me the same one. He himself seemed to have the same t-shirt, just in different colors, and a pair of sunglasses with a lightly scoffed corner. He didn't look rich, but he spent his money on me like he was.

I wore a short yellow gingham-patterned dress our last Thursday in Paris and jumped out of our taxi with a giggle. Keith ran after me, giving my bum a light spank for trying to run away from him. My class stood by the entrance door to their hotel, and I had come to join them to go to Claude Monet’s gardens and hoped Keith could come with us, or at least buy himself a seat on the bus that would take us there. I felt how they all looked at us curiously. Keith had his hand on my waist while I stood in front of the professors and guide, asking them with a big smile if my boyfriend could come along on the bus and that he would pay for everything by himself. I said it with a big smile and turned to him with a giggle. He gave me a little smirk and then looked at the professors that looked up at him.

“Boyfriend?” Asked the female professor. I had always thought of her as a woman in her early fifties but wondered now if she was younger and she could feel that Keith was around her own age.

“Boyfriend. Keith Toshko,” said Keith and put his big hand out for her to shake. She shook it doubtfully and gave her male colleague a look. He was probably Keith's age. He had always joked with me, but I had always seen him as just a silly older man, until now when I realized he and Keith could have gone to school together.

“Sure… It shouldn't be a problem,” he said while shaking Keith's hand. I giggled again and hugged Keith around his waist. I interrupted him in the middle of his thank you to say my own loud, girly thank you.

I jumped around like a schoolgirl while we walked up to Farah. I didn't think about who was watching us or what others were thinking. I just thought about having Keith close and spending time with him in the French sun.

“Hey,” said Farah, who gave us a little nod. She had gone to the hotel earlier to see some of our other friends that now stood by her side and looked curiously at Keith.

“Hey!” I said brightly and took Keith's hand in mine. With the same bright smile on my lips, I introduced him to my friends. Their facial expressions were mixed, but most of them seemed amused by my behavior, especially when Keith and I talked softly to each other and I did that sweet girly voice he liked and looked at him with childish pouting lips every time he said something I didn't like. We were probably quite amusing to look at because others had also turned their heads to where we stood and more or less baby talked to each other. Our hands were on each other constantly, even when the professors talked, and for a moment I could see the male professor’s disapproving look. When he talked, I stood on my toes playing with the hair in the nap of Keith's neck while his long fingers played with my shiny locks. I had that little pout on my lips because he had told me to listen to the professor instead of just watching him. We were that annoying couple, but that sexy annoying couple.

“You're so fucking extra…” teased Farah in the line to the bus. Keith walked a bit behind me, checking his phone so he wasn't a part of the conversation.

“What?” I said with a giggle and fixed my white headband.

“Do you do it to provoke?” She smirked at me and looked down at our feet while we walked slow steps to the bus door.

“What do you mean?” I smiled as broad as before. I knew she was talking about me and Keith, and to be honest, I wanted to provoke people a little. Even if Keith looked really good for his age, he looked quite a bit older than me. It was fun to play around with and make people wonder where this boyfriend came from.

“Ludwig stared his eyes out on you. He really likes you!” She whispered so no one else would hear.

“Ludwig? Come on! We made out a couple of times; that's it!” I whispered back. We were finally by the door, and I could feel Keith's hand on my waist. It was obvious we would sit together, I took his hands so he could follow me and we could make that happen. It started well with him hitting his head on the bus roof and both of us giggling while he rubbed his head, a bit embarrassed.

“Are you okay, Daddy?” I said in a hushed tone. The nickname had just slipped out, but Keith didn't seem to react to it; he just gave me a kiss and steered me to continue to walk.

“Yes, my little bunny. It's okay…” he said low and deep at the same time I met Ludwig's eyes. He wouldn't have been able to have heard what I said, but it didn't seem like that mattered because he looked pissed anyway. I rolled my eyes, hoping he would see and let Keith steer me to a seat. I giggled again when I looked at how cramped he sat in the seat, but he just smirked and pulled me closer so he could kiss my forehead.

“Daddy's little girl…” he whispered and let his hand massage my thigh, up under my short dress.

×××

We walked together with the others under the guided tour and tried to behave the best we could. We were extra because I talked like a little girl the whole time while Keith messed around with me all the time to make me laugh. He bit my cheek loosely and dug his nose in behind my ear until it tickled. The others ignored us after a while, even Ludwig and his friends. When the guided tour was over, Keith left Farah and me to look around by ourselves while he sat down on a bench to look out over the pond.

“I don't know what to think really… It's obvious you're in love and that he's here for you, but… I can't just start trusting him because of that. What if what your mom said is true?” Said Farah, lowly, while we walked side by side. I smiled a little to myself because Keith's honest words had calmed me down. They weren't perfect words where he denied and proved everything was untrue, but it was a believable version, a version unflattering enough to be true.

“We talked about it, and, yeah, some of it is true.”

“It is?” Farah gave me a worried look, but I gave her a calming smile.

“He's older than us. He has been through things, and yeah, he's not perfect. And he's a dirty man.”

My cheek blossomed up to a rose red color, but I smiled a bit secretly.

“Jaqueline…” Farah sighed. “Don't let yourself get used. You shouldn't put up with his weird fetishes because he—”

“I like it, Farah. I like all of it. I don't care if he likes younger women and being a daddy because…” I laid my hand over my cheeks and laughed, embarrassed. “I like it just as much.”

I had thought a lot about what he had said and knew it didn't matter because I liked his dirty side. It was a lot, especially for a girl as inexperienced as me, but inexperienced didn't mean I couldn't like it, and I did. That he had watched a bit too much porn when he was in an unhappy marriage didn't feel like something weird at all. He was a man craving dirty sex, so why would he just accept a life of celibacy?

Keith was a dirty man, but maybe I was just as much of a dirty girl behind my good girl persona.

Farah had stopped at one of the bridges and looked out over the beautiful view. Among all the people, it was also easy to see Keith when he stood up. Even if he was so tall, he did look like the least threatening guy in the whole place. His demeanor was soft and kind, and he moved politely out of the way for people. I smiled and giggled just by seeing him like that. Farah looked at me, then at Keith, but didn't say anything. I looked at her and got a small smile back. I interpreted it like she gave us her blessing, and I gave her a brief side hug.

“I really need people on our side. Everyone is so judgemental.”

Farah nodded a little and looked towards Keith again, who stood and talked with an older lady. I could see from his expression he wasn't really comfortable, and I guessed the woman tried to speak French with him.

“Okay, okay… But I don't think my blessing means much when your parents probably will kill him if he comes close to you.”

I gave her a sad smile but took her hand.

“It means everything. You're my best friend and because of that, also my family. I need you.”

She smiled at me, but it was in the same sad way as I smiled, and then she hugged me hard, like a true friend should.

×××

The last days in Paris were beautiful, romantic, and cozy even if it rained some, but there was a bittersweet scent in that air wherever we walked. It was the final days we could openly act like a couple, and it was obvious it pained us both. We tried to use the time well with romantic dinners, walks, and cozy nights in the big hotel bed. We also had sex. A lot of it. Keith's honesty had also made him a bit more relaxed in what he liked, and instead of me guessing what lingerie he liked, how he wanted my hair, or how to act, he told me. I came to understand he didn't like lingerie that much; a cute pair of panties he could like, but otherwise there were things he liked better. He liked me in his clothes. He liked when I took the same t-shirt he had used that day and paired it with my French braids and no panties underneath. He liked when I walked around like that so he could peek at my bum and pussy while he did other things. He liked when I acted oblivious to how horny he was; he hoped I would never stop blushing by seeing his hard cock. He liked when I called him Daddy even if we weren't in the act.

He asked me what I liked, and to my surprise, I knew what I liked. I liked him as comfortable as he could get. If I decided, he would dress in sweats every day and skip all hair products. I liked him soft and sweet but with that intense, sexy gaze always near. I liked when he jerked off in front of me without warning me. I liked it when he tried me and did something I wasn't expecting, by ourselves but also among people.

It was our final night together in Paris, and I walked around in the hotel room, pulling the curtains even if there was a remote for it. Every time I did, his gray t-shirt I wore lifted and he could see my bare bottom. He sat with his laptop over his thighs, doing work he couldn't ignore, but he lifted his gaze a bit too often just to see me struggle.

“Why don't you use the remote?” He asked and laid a hand over his crotch.

“I can't find it, Daddy,” I said with a shoulder shrug and turned to him, playing with the t-shirt in my hands.

“Let go of the shirt; you will stretch it out,” said he authoritatively, which made me blush.

“I'm sorry…” I let the t-shirt go that still covered me because of its size.

“Have you looked? I haven't even seen you try to find it.” He sighed and leaned back in the white armchair he sat in.

“I did earlier! I did!” I protested, but Keith just sighed again and put the laptop on the coffee table in front of him.

“I know how sloppy you are. Try again and stop disturbing Daddy.”

Keith laid the laptop in his lap again. Even if it was a game, it could surprise me how real emotions could take over and settle in me, and in that moment I got really irritated at him, so instead of looking for the remote silently, I tried to be as loud as possible, even making annoyed, silly sounds while standing with my bum in the air. I didn't know if he was watching me, but I was almost sure of it. So while searching the bed, I stood on all fours with my bum towards him, leaning forward so much he could also see my pussy. I didn't get a reaction though, so I let my irritated sounds start to sound more like moans, small pathetic moans just to get his attention.

“I can see it,” I could hear him say with annoyance, and I peeked behind me just to see what he was doing.

“I can see the remote.” He sat leaning back in the chair with spread legs. The hand over his crotch had bundled up the dark gray thin sweats so I could see a thick line lay up against his hip, but his face was as collected as before.

“It's under the pillow,” he said and nodded towards the pillow that usually was mine. I looked at it and could see the remote lying there, thin and in sleek steel. I looked at it for a few seconds and a stupid idea took over. It felt like Keith would take a long time to really get my attention, and I didn't have his patience, so I took the remote, and instead of using it for the curtains, I placed it between my legs and slowly started to drag it between my folds.

“No, no, no,” said Keith behind me, and just a few seconds after, I could feel the mattress dip and him crawling up to take the remote from me. He looked at me with big eyes and then down to the remote. After the shock had left his face, he smirked evilly at me, and I realized what I had done. It was the hotel's remote and definitely not something to masturbate with.

“Are you so desperate for attention you will fuck yourself with a remote?” Keith mocked me and laid a heavy hand on my bum that still was in the air. I thought about changing position but knew Keith would react to that. I had chosen my degrading position myself; now I would stay like that.

“Daddy…” I whined because I didn't know what else to say. Instead of getting comforting words back, he slapped my ass hard, so hard I almost fell from my position on my knees. He did it a few times more but then dragged his hands soothingly over the blossoming color he had created.

“Fuck, honey, there can be all kinds of bacteria and shit on that shit.”

He turned me around and looked at me seriously.

“Time to scrub that pussy clean, dirty girl.”

I didn't say anything because it was still embarrassing what I had done, and I continued to be silent while he pulled the t-shirt off of me and put me in the luxury bathtub. On his knees next to me, he started to wash my pussy softly. He hadn't done anything like that since the first time we had sex, but I spread my legs and let him drag his wet, curious fingers over me. I could feel my pulse creep down there, and I couldn't stop myself from moving against his hand a bit.

“Never get such stupid ideas again, okay? You must take care of yourself. Take care of Daddy's pussy.”

He smiled fatherly at me, and I smiled back even if I still felt ashamed.

“Must I wash your sweet little ass too?” He mocked me with an evil gaze. I knew I hadn't dragged the remote that low but pretended differently and nodded like I was ashamed. Keith smirked knowingly but washed and lotioned every part of me up with long, skillful fingers. His longest finger sank down my asshole while he lotioned me up, but I didn't say anything; I just smiled a little while looking at him pulling on his cock in the inside of his sweats. Finished, I stood naked in front of him, and looked at him tenting his sweatpants. Looking up at him, my eyes asked for permission to touch him, and Keith answered by pulling off his t-shirt and then pushing down his sweatpants. His cock was so hard and already wet with its own pre-cum. His balls were tight like he was already close to coming.

“Now, girly, lean forward so Daddy can punish you for your really filthy behavior.”

I leaned up against the bassinet and lifted a leg up to make it easier with his height. He gave both my ass and pussy a spank, but then he pushed into me roughly and held my hips so hard I could feel bruises form under his fingers.

×××

I pretended to be that good girl again as soon as I was home, but I kept the joy. Even if Keith and I needed to be a secret again, I still had him in my life again, and that was enough of a reason to continue to have a big smile on my lips; it was also the best way to fool my mom that everything was okay, and she would let me be without lurking in my life.

I tried to come up with a way for me and Keith to be a couple, to not need to keep hiding, and I suspected he did too because he could be a little distant when we met at his place during the night. I went into some sort of made-up safeness and forgot that still everything could be smashed into pieces again.

“Dismissed? What, for having a boyfriend?”

I sat in front of the sorority committee in our common room. We sat by the long table, but I was placed on one side alone while the other girls sat on the other side, looking at me with furrowed brows.

“I'm sorry, Jaqueline, but your behavior breaks our rules. We have heard about your behavior on the Paris trip, and it goes against our statutes.”

I looked at them one by one and then scoffed loudly.

“I was just having fun with my boyfriend!”

“Yes. But in a way that we don't tolerate,” said our leader as she crossed her arms. It was clear she started to get annoyed with me. I looked at them with big eyes. They looked at me like I was street trash someone had dragged in and put on their floor. In their eyes I was a whore now because I had an older boyfriend who I made out with in public.

“I really think you should think about if this is what you want to be. I thought you wanted a good husband and a safe home. I also think you should think about your parents; this can be embarrassing for them.”

I scoffed again and stood up annoyed. First I had been hurt that they dismissed me, but now I was just annoyed that preppy, virgin girls thought they had the right to look down at me.

“Think about your father—”

“Oh, just shut up; you don't care about that! You don't care about what my parents feel or think!”

I commented loudly and put my bag on my shoulder. I looked straight at the leader that looked back at me with fake pity.

“Yes, yes we do. That's why we called your mother before you came here.”

×××

I looked at my ringing phone in my lap while the tears streamed down my face. Even if my mom had a pink heart behind her name, the text looked aggressive on the screen. Everything with my mom was a bit aggressive, and I would always be a bit scared of her. Sometimes it felt like others were too, but not Keith, not at all.

We sat together in his car. He had met me up by the sorority, and he had driven us to the nearest place I could get a hot chocolate in the middle of May. Together with it in a takeaway cup, he had bought himself a flat white, and in the parking lot we drank our drinks while the weather started to look more and more like summer. I continued to cry, and my mom continued to call.

“Shouldn't we just go there?” Keith sighed and looked at me with big, tired eyes.

“And say what? She will tell your wife, and then it's over for the both of us!” I cried loudly and dried my cheeks of glittery blue eyeshadow with my fingers.

“I don't think so, if I'm being honest. I don't think she will tell her.”

“Of course she will! Not to be vulgar or anything, but my mom is a real B-word!”

Keith smirked and looked at me amused.

“Really? The B-word?”

“Yes! She is!” I said without really registering that he was making fun of my prude way of talking. Keith took my hand in his and leaned close to me. He kissed my nose and made me calm down just by putting his own nose tip against mine.

“Let me talk to her, babe… I think I could talk to her,” he whispered, and I looked at him with big eyes, fascinated by his confidence. I nodded because I knew I shouldn't talk back to him too much; he was my Daddy after all.

While he drove to my parents house, he held my hand the whole way there. I breathed deeply, trying to stay calm. What calmed me down the most was looking at Keith; he was completely calm and looked like he didn't have a problem in the world. I smiled a little when he did because his confidence made me believe him—that he could speak to my mom and make her keep it a secret until his divorce was final. It was so close. Keith had a way with people, and maybe he even could calm my mom down.

He parked just outside of the house, not caring to park it in the right place or hide it. He walked around to open my door and helped me out so my short skirt wouldn't slip up. He gave me a light peck and then one more on the back of my hand before we walked up the driveway to the house hand in hand. It was he that opened the door, and it was also he that called out a hello when we stood in the hallway. I gave him a worried look and then looked down at our hands that still were linked together. He looked at me, pulling down the corners of his mouth and shrugging his shoulders, believing no one was home, but soon my mom came around the corner with an icy stare.

“Leave our house at once, or I will call the police!” She said aggressively, but I could hear her voice break in fear. Both Keith and I looked at her in shock; neither of us were prepared for her to stand with her phone against her chest, ready to call the authorities.

“Can we just—” started Keith, but she raised her voice and shouted at him to leave.

“Mom,” I said weakly. I didn't want them to fight because I loved both of them, and I knew Keith just wanted to talk in peace.

“Go to your room!”

I looked between her and Keith, but he didn't let my hand go.

“Giselle,” he started again, but she just waved with her phone in a pointed way. I could see Keith getting annoyed because this was not how he wanted to solve things, so after a few seconds of her trying to wave me to my room and threatening him with the phone, he took a deep breath and said with masculine power:

“Giselle, I just want to talk. Just the two of us. Now.”

She looked at him in shock but swallowed hard and gave in. Instead of her leading him in her home, he was the one leading her to the dining room without giving me a look. It really felt like the grown-ups would talk while I should stay to play by myself.

I tried to keep myself busy by fixing my makeup and braiding my hair, but my mom's loud voice and the deep vibration of Keith's voice made me sometimes just sit and stare towards the dining room. I couldn't hear much, just that my mom was screaming that I was just a child and that he was an awful human being. I couldn't hear if they resolved anything, but after twenty minutes they came out to me in the living room. I stood up awkwardly, like they would give me an important message. Even if they didn't say it out loud, I got a message when Keith laid his arms around me and kissed my lips. It wasn't even that dry little peck we could do in public but the more intimate kind he often gave me as a hello.

“I’ll wait in the car…” he whispered, and I looked at him with big, confused eyes. He dragged his hand over my waist and walked out without giving my mom a look, who stood just in front of us. When I looked at her, she stood with her cheek towards us, and I guessed she hadn't wanted to look at mine and Keith's intimacy.

“Mom…” I said as weakly as before, still scared she would scream at me, but instead she just gave me a cold look.

“I will ignore your relationship, but your father can't know a thing, okay? This is sick, Jaqueline. He's old enough to be your father. He's one of your father's oldest friends, but—”

“I love him, Mom,” I whined, afraid she would take him away from me even if it had just sounded like she would accept it.

She shook her head in disappointment but then dragged her hands over her face in anxiety.

“You can never tell your father this. I just hope you will realize what a mistake you're making.”

She gave me a sincere look, and I looked back at her insecurely. I didn't understand what she meant, and I couldn't really believe she would let me be with Keith.

Mom looked out the window where Keith stood waiting against the hood of his car. I looked at him too; he was looking dreamy in a crisp white t-shirt and messy, slicked-back hair in the sun.

“Go now; don't let him wait…” said my mom to me with a sigh and turned her back to me. I looked at her petite stature for a while before walking to her side and giving her a fast hug.

“Thank you, Mom, thank you. I really do love him!” I said with a beating heart and took my little handbag from the floor.

“I actually believe he loves you too… I just hope that will be enough…”

She had turned her eyes away from me again, but I was too excited to really take in what she said. Instead I giggled to myself and ran out to my boyfriend, who smiled brightly when I came out the door.

#bill skarsgård #bill skarsgard #fan fiction #writing #story #bill skarsgård writing #bill skarsgård fanfiction #fiction #barbarian #keith #keith toshko

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sleepyconfusedpotato · 1 year ago

Text

Run Free

art by me!

Price, Gaz, and Ghost visits the MacTavish Estate baring the news.

Word Count: 2.1k words Warning: Major character death, angst and comfort. Note : I wrote this fic a few days after I finished the campaign. I've always thought it weird why the 141 boys had Soap's ashes when I've always seen Soap as someone with a family and a had good relationship with them, especially since it's canon that Soap's cousin brought him to the SAS base several times as a kid. Here's my interpretation of that fact, on how Soap's urn ended up with the boys.

Price, Gaz, and Ghost wore their dress uniforms from head to toe, finding themselves in front of the MacTavish Estate in Glasgow. It was… big, to say the least. Soap’s family was known not only because a number of people from the family are serving in the British Royal Armed Forces, but also the fact that they are 7th generation furniture company - MacTavish Furnitures. Lots of members of the family are veterans turned businessmen, carpenters, or woodworkers. It is a common cycle of life for them.

As Ghost and Gaz stood, Price climbed the stairs and wore his beige beret, breathing deeply through his nose before letting the air out to prepare himself, lifting his hand to knock on the wooden door. The captain heard faint noises of multiple footsteps from multiple people and some voices of heavy Scottish accent from inside the house. He waited for a moment, until the door finally opened, but he found no one in front of him.

“Who are ya?”

A little voice spoke from under him, prompting Price to look down. He found a little girl with blonde hair no taller than his knees. She’s absolutely drenched from head to toe in a blue swimming attire and had to bend her neck so high to see him. He bent down to his knees to match her height, before saying,

“Hello. I’m… My name is John.”

“John? Like Uncle Johnny?” Her little voice said, face gleaming with happiness at the name.

“Yes. Like Uncle Johnny.” Price smiled, chuckling lightly. The girl grinned at his smiling face. “May I see your dad? Or mum?”

“Phoebe MacTavish! Get your wee feet here before I pick your legs off of that floo–! Oh, Hello there.” A new voice came from in front of him, revealing herself to be an old woman with dark brown hair, though with white strands and the same quizzical brow that reminded Price of Soap. She looked strong, nonetheless, wearing a green shirt and knitted vest with a towel hanging from one of her shoulders, obviously to dry the little girl after a session of swimming in their estate’s pool.

Price stood back up, greeting the lady. “Mrs. MacTavish.”

The old woman looked at his attire up and down, and Price swore that he saw the gears rotating inside her mind. She looked down at the girl and gave her the white towel, “Phoebe. Go inside and dry yourself. Find your Da, Aunt Rachel, and Uncle Hugh, too. Tell them to meet me at the front door, yeah?” The little girl nodded and ran inside, disappearing into the house as Price heard a faint yelling from the same child, calling for the stated family members.

Now, the lady in front of him walked closer to the doorway, face to face with him. She’s undoubtedly no taller than 5’7”, a height that might have been receding as time went by, but you could spot a proud MacTavish wherever you see one. Price offered his hand for a handshake as she accepted. “Captain John Price from the 22 SAS Regiment.”

“Joan MacTavish.” She replied. Price noticed the name as the name on Soap’s file as his guardian, with the relation being marked with ‘Aunt’. “What brings you here, Captain?” Her face looked neutral like it wasn’t the first time a soldier with a full dress uniform knocked on this wooden door.

Just before Price could say what he wanted to say, a deep voice called to her. “Mum?” One woman and two men with a frame similar to him showed up from inside the house. One man was around Ghost’s age, one was around his age, while the woman in a bun looked older than him, though looking very vibrant and professional. All of them had the same thick eyebrows – Family traits, he supposed – and clearly looked like honourable but firm Scottish people. Upon seeing Price, though, their faces changed from confusion to realization.

Price remembered that Soap was not the first MacTavish in the SAS. In fact, there was another member of the family, Oliver MacTavish, who died in the line of duty a decade ago. Price remembered the way Soap had told the story of Ollie, his cousin, bringing his little arse to the SAS base - however unpermitted it was – and how Price had busted Soap multiple times for applying with a fake age.

“Rachel MacTavish.” The eldest one spoke.

“Hugh MacTavish.” The elder man said, followed by the younger.

“Scott MacTavish. That was my daughter, Phobe.” They all shook hands with Price.

He repeated his greeting, before Rachel started,

“I've seen the likes of you before. I recognize that beret even from a mile away." She said firmly. "Out with it."

The captain's breath hitched as he cleared his throat, preparing himself to deliver the news. And so, he began.

"On November 21st, our target had placed an active bomb inside the underwater tunnel that connects the UK and France. During our attempt to defuse the bomb, the target sneaked from behind our line of sight…"

The whole family's face changed, Joan's eyes looked glassy with tears seeming like she knew of the incoming words.

"And I regret to inform you… that Sergeant John MacTavish has died in the line of duty."

Ghost, without his mask and black face paint around his eyes, and Gaz with their dress uniforms and beret could only stand from the base of the stairs, watching and hearing as Joan's cry of anguish tear through the morning sky.

"Oh Lord. Johnny. Johnny. My baby, Johnny." Joan repeated his name like a chanting to the sky. "Why must You take him so soon? Why must he join Ollie so soon?"

The whole family hugged their mother as she wailed, her knees looked like it was giving up. Gaz gritted his teeth to strengthen himself, not wanting to break down to cry himself.

As the family cried, Price could only stand still, letting the news sink in for the family. His job as the leader of the team was done, at that point. He delivered the news to his family.

"The bomb…Did he defuse it?" Hugh questioned in the middle of his sobs.

"He–" Price swallowed, remembering the way Makarov had killed him. "We were both defusing the bomb, John guiding me along the way as he was the demolition expert."

"He protected me, Sir. Our target was about to shoot me, before John stopped him - and got killed instead. The target ran away, but me and Sergeant Garrick managed to defuse the bomb thanks to his prior guidance, saving thousands of lives underneath the 30-mile underwater tunnel." Price answered as Rachel looked up at his face, anger and denial filling her in an instant.

She raised her hand in such a way that Price knew that she was about to slap him. Price still opened his eyes, fully welcoming the slap before her hand stopped.

Rachel bit her lips so hard that it might bleed, lowering her arm.

"...Why does it have to be Johnny? Why do you get to live and he doesn't?" She barely whispered in a shaky voice, going back to wiping her face again. “Why Johnny…?”

And Price asked that question every single hour ever since his death.

Why Soap, and not him?

—

The MacTavishes requested for Soap's body to be sent to Scotland, where they held a memorial at the MacTavish estate to which they promptly honoured. The number of family members participating was not that many, considering only the immediate family attended. Price, Soap, and Ghost joined them, and even escorted the family as they travelled to the crematorium.

After the whole procession finished – that took the entire day – the family finally had possession of the urn containing Soap's ashes, and they invited the three back to the estate, where they now sit inside the guest room and tea in front of them with Joan and Rachel, his urn placed on a table beside Joan.

That was the day they learned that Soap was actually the son of Joan's late husband's younger sister. Soap's mother – her sister-in-law, died when she birthed Soap, while Soap's father died during an accident in a factory before his own birth.

Soap had been raised by his uncle's family since his infancy, growing up in the MacTavish house as a strong and firm Scott under the wing of the eldest brother, Oliver.

"He's always wanted to be like Ollie, that wee kid," Rachel told them after holding a photo album containing photos of Soap when he was a baby in his late uncle's arms, a photo of him and his older cousins playing with mud, photos of his graduations from school, and photos of him passing the test to be a part of SAS along with his cousin, Oliver. "Said he didn't want to go to school. Just visit the army base every day. It's what he dreamed of."

Ghost, still in his dress uniform, felt the most vulnerable in that room - Without his mask, in front of Johnny's family. He also had been in agony for the past day, because he'd failed to cover Johnny's back. He had one job at that time, and he failed, catastrophically. He only sat there with his hands joined in his lap, not daring to look at the family in the eyes.

"We're very thankful for John's service with us. He was the best there is." Gaz spoke, "John's memory will live with us."

"Thank you, Sergeant Garrick." Joan smiled as she looked up. "I heard you share the same quarters with him in the barracks. I hope he wasn't too much of a naughty boy."

The sergeant chuckled lightly at that, "Well. Soap wasn't someone who could stay away from mischief too long, but I assure you that he's an absolute joy and inspiration to be around." Hearing Joan's laughter cured a little part in Gaz, as the only thing he'd heard from her was the sound of her cry. He could at least pride himself in knowing that he could share Soap's merry nature.

As they share memories, Price finished his tea before he stood up from the sofa, followed by the other two. "Well. We must take our leave, Ma'am. Thank you for the tea."

"Anytime." Joan spoke as the soldiers started to leave the sofa, heading towards the main room and front door.

"Which one of ya’s is ‘LT’?"

Rachel’s voice stopped the men in their tracks, particularly Ghost’s. All three men turned around, finding the woman holding Soap’s urn in her hands. Price saw how Ghost's face turned to that of a deer in a spotlight, so he put his hand behind Ghost’s back to lightly push him towards Rachel, but Ghost’s hesitancy was apparent in the way he slowly walked.

“...That would be me, Ma’am.” Ghost’s deep voice rumbled softly as he looked down to Rachel’s height. The lady herself observed him up and down with a negative face that she could convince him that he was standing there naked.

“Yer tryin’ so hard to make yourself look small for such a big man. It’s almost dreading.” She started, her hips shifting. “I’ve been the CEO of MacTavish Furnitures since my da’ passed away and Ollie decided to go to the army, and I read people like a book. For someone whom Johnny admired the most – and repeatedly spoke about – you don’t look like the LT I heard from him.” Ghost was starstruck at the statement. Soap, talking about him to his family? “I expected you to be cocky and exude pride in your steps, but all I’m seein’ is just a pathetic, sad bloke.”

Ghost stood still at those comments. No one practically had ever roasted him this badly in front of his teammates. He wondered if he showed up in his other attire, she’d dare to say all this. But then again, if someone got to do it, he was glad that it came from an honourable woman of the MacTavish bloodline.

What caught him off guard was her hands stretching towards him, holding Soap’s urn in front of his chest. Ghost looked down at the metal container, looking confused as he looked up again to face Rachel. He thought the MacTavishes were going to hold on to Soap’s urn, and they get to keep Soap’s dog tags. However, clearly, the current head of the family had other wishes.

“Take Johnny with ya. Being trapped inside this urn for eternity in this old house would be the last thing he wanted.” The woman started with a shaky voice, her eyes starting to brim with tears again. Seeing Soap’s character, Ghost could understand that completely.

“He’s… the proudest he could ever be when he’s with ya’s." Rachel continued.

"So I ask you, as our brother’s comrades, to hold on to Johnny – and free him.”

Ghost’s eyes opened wide in surprise, still couldn’t fathom how fondly Soap must've talked about his teammates, especially him, to his family that they’d give him his ashes. Ghost lifted his hands to carefully receive the urn.

After breathing deeply, Ghost stood straight, holding Soap firmly.

“We will, Ma’am.”

—

The three of them walked towards the car parked just outside the MacTavish estate with Ghost holding Soap’s urn in his hands. They all took off their berets and entered the car, Price the designated driver, Gaz riding shotgun, while Ghost sat in the backseat.

“So what do we do with him, Sir?” Gaz rotated his body to look at Soap’s urn on Ghost’s hands, same as Price.

Ghost contemplated in his mind, staring at the metal urn, before speaking, “Where’s Johnny’s place of birth?”

Price answered immediately as he’s the one who took care of Soap’s documents. “Isle of Skye.”

“Soap said there’s a beautiful cliff where he and his cousins used to go to play. Endless sea where the eyes could see.” Gaz added.

“Then that’s where we’re goin’.” Ghost spoke with finality. “And then we’ll let Johnny go.”

Price and Gaz nodded to each other. "Alright, Soap. Let's get you home." The captain started the car and stepped on the gas, beginning their journey towards the Isle of Skye.

---

I'm not okay. Thank you for reading! (T_T) reblogs and comments of your thoughts are much appreciated!

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alextydaisuda123 · 6 months ago

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Pizza Tower AU- Cloud Tower

"WARNING!": A LOT OF TEXT

A new AU that didn't take long to wait. To be honest, this idea came up spontaneously and additionally for several reasons, one of which is my childhood dream of having wings (and over the years my dream hasn't faded, which is surprising, usually my dreams fade after 5 years or a little more). Before I start talking about this world, a couple of additional words. A huge thank you to Emily (@creat0rstudi0) for helping me with this AU: she helped with the design of Peppino and Gustavo, from whom I pushed off and created images for others, painting everyone choosing a good palette for them (don't worry, I also painted the characters myself, Emily just gave a clearer palette than me, so I will show you 2 versions of painted characters), and also helped a little with information about the bosses. Well, now let's go.

Cloud Tower is an AU where instead of the earth there are small floating islands, platforms, and the space around is an endless sky, which is both a home and a grave. If you break your wings and fall, there is only a small chance that your body will fall on some island or platform, or if someone notices you falling, and if this is not the case, then consider that you will fall endlessly for the rest of your life (or until your corpse is cut by the air). And also (almost) everyone has wings. There are those who were born without them, or with them, but because of their problems (they grew together incorrectly or broke unsuccessfully) are disabled, roughly speaking. Also, someone may have additional plumage (in their hair, on their body, etc.) in addition to their wings. And yes, since the climate in their world is not so simple, many fly in warm clothes. There is also magic here, but it is hidden either in artifacts or in some creatures, since the world itself is also magical in its own way (after all, the food here is alive, lol). A few words about the tower. There is a certain atmosphere there similar to the Rainbow Factory from MLP Creepypasta.

Peppino and Gustavo are both cooks, but in their own separate directions. Peppino is an Italian cook, while Gustavo works as a baker of bakery sweets. One day, Pizzaface arrives on a flying platform and reports that Peppino's pizzeria will be destroyed by a cloud tower, but if he does not want this, then let him fly to the tower, and flew away, leaving behind an evil laugh. What actually did not like this, and they both decided to fly there and destroy the tower with its "owner".

Additional facts: Peppino, despite the fact that he does not particularly like to fly, although he has to, his flight speed is clearly faster than Gustavo's, while he flies slower; Gustavo has his own separate bakery, where he makes pastries, he would like to work with Peppino, but he cannot leave the place where his family once baked their first bread; Peppino participated in the heavenly war, from which he still has an injury, but thanks to work and his faithful friend Gustavo, he tries to live an ordinary life and not think about it.

Pepperman and Vigilante are two of the main bosses of the cloud tower who clearly didn't get there of their own free will. They were kidnapped a long time ago and forced to work for Pizzahead, having been threatened in a special way. Pepperman is a restorer (like in steampunk, yes) and a decorator. Vigilante is an ordinary security guard, and also watches the precipitation.

Additional facts: Pepperman has really white pupils, which is why his eyesight is worse than usual (he is not completely blind), and the reason for his poor eyesight is that he refuses to wear glasses for flying (but be that as it may, for work he still wears them under his beret along with additional tools); before getting into the tower, these two were ALREADY a couple; Vigilante's grandfather, who has long been retired, is still alive; as PH himself "promised", so that the bosses would be freed from their tower duties, they need to "rip off Peppino's wings" at any cost, even if they weren't aimed at fighting him.

Noise and Noisette are another couple who ended up in the tower in the same way as Pepperman and Vigilante. Noise hosts the news and weather forecast, and a small show similar to "Truth or Dare". Meanwhile, Noisette is still the same cafe owner.

Additional facts: Noise has a broken right wing, it was broken by Pizzahead when he tried to fly out of the tower for the first time, he broke it so much that now Noise can't fly at all, the wing has grown together crookedly and he is unable to straighten it and move it, so he flies with the help of a backpack on his back, which he can change to either a jet or a simple propeller; Noisette sometimes helps Noise with flying and how Noise injured his wing, she does not know to this day; I lied to you a little, Pizzahead kidnapped only Noise, and Noisette herself flew to PH when she was looking for him, and when she found him, so that PH would not harm her, he lies to her and offers to join Pizzahead, as he himself wanted.

Bruno is an unsuccessful clone, mixed with a regular bird and Peppino's DNA, created by PH. He can fly, but very ineptly because his arms replace his wings, which is why he falls and crashes into all sorts of possible objects, which is why he flaps his wings hard and pieces fly off from them, he can of course grow them, but this whole process takes a lot of his strength.

Additional facts: in addition to his speech, he makes a distorted bird sound; despite his inability to fly, the bosses (Pepperman, Vigilante and Noisette) still teach him to fly normally, they also additionally look after Bruno himself, feed him and teach him to speak, since PH himself does not do this; because of such care, Bruno accepts his friends more as parents, calling them accordingly (in the future, he will also call Peppino this way 😂)

Pizzahead is the main boss, a sadist and a psycho. He built a tower, around which a barrier in the form of clouds with a powerful lightning discharge is built, and in order to turn it off, you need to turn off the generators.

Additional facts: Pizzahead and Pizzaface in this AU are brothers, Pizzahead is younger; after one incident, his psyche was shaken, he was inspired to recreate the tower for his whims and "fun"; he cut off Pizzaface's wings and as a great and first trophy keeps them in his office along with John's wings and one wing of Jerome; those wings that Pizzahead himself is wearing are also "trophies", cut off from other creatures, but he tells everyone that they are fake and it's just a cape, he also participated in the war, but in secret from his brother, so that he "wouldn't worry" about him.

Pizzaface is Pizzahead's brother and ... a good guy? Yes! In this AU, he is not a bad character, but rather a good one. So in that encounter with Peppino, he just played the role of a bad guy. He is quiet (but he tries to be sociable) and traumatized. He does not often show himself to the other inhabitants of the tower, which is why few people know about him. Most of the time, he spends either in the secret room where Pizzahead keeps him, or with Jerome, helping him clean the tower.

Additional facts: because of the cut off wings, he feels weak and exhausted; he still does not know why Pizzahead acted so cruelly and what happened to his psyche, but he blames himself for this, that he was not caring enough and simply did not keep an eye on him; Pizzahead watches almost his every move so that he does not do stupid things and does not ruin his plans, and for the sake of PH he has to play the same role of a bad guy.

Jerome is a small pillar with one wing and memory loss due to a strong blow from Pizzahead. He is a simple cleaner. He does not remember anything about his brother or his past, although memories still pop up in his head. In the past, he had magic, but due to the loss of a wing and memory, he does not remember and cannot use it normally, over time, the skills were simply lost.

Additional facts: he is Pizzaface's best friend, and he sometimes helps him remember things, but he cannot (PF hopes that he will remember something); he has seen John many times as an ordinary part of the tower, but he cannot remember him or at least his name; initially, he was not supposed to be in the tower and Pizzahead wanted to throw him on a long flight, but Pizzaface somehow convinced him to leave him and just make him an ordinary cleaner.

Well, I hope you like this AU. Enjoy and have a nice flight!

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rosiesatombomb · 3 months ago

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Craig Boone relationship hcs

Gn reader, sfw

A/N: this is in fact pretty angsty so be warned. I rlly like Boone and I have so many thoughts about him ughhhh

Requests still open!!

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Boone loves to listen to literally anything. He doesn’t have a lot to say but he thinks about a lot of different thing’s

He doesn’t communicate a lot of what he thinks. He wants to keep a lot of it to himself unless it concerns the courier

Boone truly hates himself, often depriving himself of basic needs because he feels like he doesn’t need it. He only really eats old pre-war canned food which tastes bad. But he eats it anyway, it’s more fuel rather than something he enjoys

It takes him a while to learn to at least like himself again. And it takes alot of work on the couriers part as well. It takes a lot of reassurance and patience

Not a big fan of sleep. He says it leaves him open, especially when camping out in the wastes. But he also does this in the casinos and motels

He also has frequent nightmares. Mainly about bitter springs but some about Carla. Both make his skin crawl and he feels like he can’t talk about either

I think the only way Boone could truly be at peace in a way is if the legion is wiped out and Caesar is dead. Preferably by his hand

If this does happen he doesn’t even come to terms with it until years later. He is still constantly on edge when traveling the Mojave because he’s used to the fear

It would take YEARS for Boone to be able to even think of getting into a relationship again. Of course he still wants a family but he can’t help but think of what he could have had with Carla

Boone feels as if he doesn’t deserve his partner. In his mind he can’t love normally and he wouldn’t want to put someone through that

He was insecure about himself in his relationship with Carla. She was everything he wasn’t, he didn’t think he was deserving of her, and after her passing he thinks he’s even less worthy

It’s why he’s surprised the courier had confessed to him. They know more about him than anyone. They know things he was to scared to tell Carla and yet they still love him

He does not understand it at all

He needs a patient partner. He can be incredibly closed off if something is eating at him. He would appreciate being checked up on but he’s not going to talk about it in the moment

Boone is incredibly perceptive and able to read his partner like a book. Great listener, he can tell always what’s bothering his partner

He usually pulls them aside, and lets them process it for a minute and ask if they want to talk about it

Not a big gift giver unless it has meaning. Like the beret he gave them on their first meeting

As I said before he’s incredibly perceptive, he takes notice of the little things his partner does like stocking up on his favorite foods or buying him more ammo. He really appreciates that, he does the same when he has the chance

Not a huge PDA person. He won’t ever initiate it in public but won’t complain if his partner does (he really likes it but he won’t tell them that)

Needs a partner who is willing to take control, he can take the lead but he’s anxious about romance in general. It will take him a while before finding his proper footing

#fallout #fallout new vegas #fnv #fallout x reader #craig boone fnv #craig boone x courier #boone fnv #fnv boone #craig boone #fnv craig Boone #boone x courier #boone x reader #Craig Boone x reader #fnv x reader #gn reader #sfw headcanons

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ouratelier-re · 3 months ago

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∘✩ pink is simply a softened echo of red .ᐟ ₊˚ ꒱

ʚ kite x pink-haired!fem!reader ɞ

canvas: did you know that today is international day of kissing a redhead? cuz i dont think your perfect lover, kite, would know that either.

palette: romance.

noir strokes: in blank.

stroke count: 2.1 words.

signature: yeah, i know it was yesterday, and yes, i did not, in fact, know it either — not until i found out yesterday morning, at least. lolol.

. ⊹˚✿ varnish room. ཻུ۪۪⸙͎۪۫

the sun was beginning to set on the horizon, casting a soft orange glow over the peaceful landscape. the evening light filtered through the dense tree cover and cast dark shadows resembling a dark verdigris pigment over the ever-dense forest floor. as the light, cool breeze stirred the leafy trees, a faint trace of moisture could be noticed in the air, product of a light morning drizzle, nothing unnatural to the already routine of you and kite, your perfect lover.

the two of you had a mission: find an almost forgotten species of wild boar. it wasn't dangerous at all, if anything, it was annoying, due to the multiple small insects that occasionally landed on your soft skin. you had been walking through the forest for what seemed like ages now, making your way through the thick undergrowth and following a trail of clues that the small boar had left behind.

passing through an area where the undergrowth seemed too tall to be able to walk through without care, you decided to break the comfortable silence that had formed between the two of you. knowing each other as well as you did, and spending so much time together on a daily basis, it was only natural for small silences to form. they weren't awkward, but instead, quiet and gentle.

after taking a few more steps, you decided to finally speak up, your voice filling the peace of the forest. "hey, kite," you called out with a soft smile, your soft pink curls bouncing slightly as you walked alongside your dear. "did you know that today is international kiss a ginger day?"

your lover, kite, who had been focused on the path ahead as usual, glanced over his shoulder at you with a slight tilt of his head, his light blue beret moving with him. his expression was neutral, but there was a hint of curiosity in his hazel irises.

"really?" he said, the corner of his mouth twitching. “i didn’t know there were days for that kind of thing.” he said simply as he continued to make his way through the grass.

you laughed softly, —the kind of sound that made kite’s heart race. you brushed a strand of your pink hair behind your ear. “yeah, me neither. i saw it earlier and thought it sounded fun, you know? you’d think there’d be some redhead out there waiting for a kiss, maybe even a little peck.”

kite didn’t answer right away, his brown shoes crunching on the wet leaves beneath him as he continued to walk. his piercing eyes landed on you again and he couldn’t help but smile, one of those rare genuine smiles that always managed to make you fall for him even more, if that’s physically possible.

“well, you’re a bit off,” he said, completely getting your hint. after all, he was your other half. how could he not take your clue? his voice was light but thoughtful, almost like a soft tease. “your hair’s not exactly red. you know that, right?”

you raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile tugging at your vermillion lips. “i know, i know… but it’s close enough, don’t you think? i mean, pink, red… it’s practically the same thing, right? after all, the two are colors, they both fulfill their function.”

kite gently stopped his wide steps, letting his mind linger at your comment, wondering in what world red and pink would be the same pigment. after a few seconds, he gave you a sidelong glance, his tone still playful but with an edge of affection, something you had grown used to. “…if you say so.” he paused for a short moment before turning his gaze back to the path ahead, admiring some small shades that had formed in front of him, resembling clouds. “either way, i’d rather not risk it, i’m following the rules on that one.”

you laughed softly at his comment, smiling afterwards. you quickened your steps to walk beside him, your gaze focusing for a few moments on the path ahead; it looked beautiful. wet trees reflecting the morning dew, the fauna of the region beginning to come out to explore the damage the rain had caused, while other small animals took advantage of the opportunity to drink water.

“well, maybe we could bend the rules a little? i think a kiss should be given to someone special, even if they don’t… match the ‘official’ tone of hair.”

kite fell silent. it was obvious that your comment had caught him off guard, his footsteps stopped completely in an abrupt movement. he turned to look at you, with a gaze that reflected the same thing as his feet: he hadn’t quite expected that. you felt your heart race as he paused, his usual calm demeanor suddenly turning more intense, like the same breeze that enveloped you both in the morning.

“(y/n),” he said softly, your name rolling out his tongue like a warm breath, his voice quieter now. “you know it doesn't matter what color your hair is.”

your smile softened, your earlier teasing fading into something more sincere as you looked up at him. there was something in his voice—something deeper—that made you feel like you were the only one who mattered to him right now and it was true. it was always you, after all. the world around both seemed to fade, the forest sounds quieting as you took a step closer to him.

“i know,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, your gaze lingering on his. “but i couldn't help but joke about it. it’s just one of those silly things.”

kite gently rolled his eyes, from his action you assumed that he was annoyed, however, the small, mischievous smile that was present on his lips completely shattered that thought. without another word, kite moved towards you with almost superhuman speed, completely invading your personal space.

his large, slender hand gently rested on your pink cheek as he tilted his head. for a brief moment, you felt your breath catch in your chest, your heart racing like a wave of fireworks at the soft, protective caress of kite. his fingers roamed gently over your cheek as if exploring it, even though he had done so thousands of times before and would continue to do so millions of times more.

at that precise moment, when it felt as if eternity stopped in his gaze, kite approached you gently, with the faintest smile in the world, almost as if he didn't want you to see it. and so, he gave you a soft kiss on the forehead—nothing too intense, just a quiet, tender moment shared between the two of you.

you closed your eyes softly, feeling the warmth of your heart begin to spread through your chest and finally reaching your cheeks. it was a warm feeling, a way of feeling that only kite could give you, no matter if you tried to look for it elsewhere, in another person. kite would be the only one who could make you feel this way, in this and a thousand other realities.

after a few moments of silence, you expected your lover to brush it off with humor, or to continue walking like you had been doing for a long time now. however, contrary to what you thought, that didn’t happen.

kite moved smoothly, still gently holding your cheek, his fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary before pulling away. his gaze was soft, his expression was calm, but you both could notice the small sign of affection in his touch—something only you could receive from him.

“i don’t care about your hair color. i wouldn’t care if it was blonde, orange or even black” he spoke in a low voice, almost as if it were a soft whisper, one that only you and the moon—your accomplice, could hear. “it’s you, (y/n). and that’s what matters to me.”

you couldn’t help but smile, your cheeks flushing at his soft, tender comment. you raised your beautiful gaze, which, in kite’s eyes, reflected the universe itself; in its infinite expanse. both of you remained silent, you, for your part, couldn’t think of what to say to your beloved. his voice lingered in your mind, recorded there like one of the bugs that had been bothering you a few hours ago. the words he’d spoken—the simplicity and sincerity of them—made you feel so seen, so understood. it was the kind of reassurance you hadn’t even known you needed, but kite always seemed to know just what to say.

to break the soft silence that had formed between you two, kite gently bit his lip, his voice becoming teasing once again “but you know? if you wanted a kiss, you could have just told me that, no beating around the bush.” kite spoke with a small grin that made it clear that he wanted to bother you, his beloved, and nothing more than that.

deep in your thoughts, kite’s soft voice brought you out of there, bringing you back to reality—with him. you let out a soft, amused breath, the closest you could get to a soft chuckle. your eyes turned to meet kite’s, and, for a moment, he swore he was lost in the infinity of your beautiful orbs. you walked towards him, his large frame towering over you. “okay then, that’s what i want. kiss me, kite.” you murmured softly, standing on your tiptoes so you could reach the soft lips of the love of your life.

his hand instinctively sought out your waist, drawing you closer to him, his fingers beginning to dance in small circles around you, touching you with a softness worthy of velvet. and then, he kissed you. the kiss was soft and gentle, a moment of mutual calm and complicit silence, of feelings exposed and many others found.

you had never believed in eternal connections, but, oh heavens, with kite everything was different, your connection felt simply… right, as if the universe itself had painted you for each other, as if you two had only existed to meet and love each other, and so on, for the rest of the lives that followed this one. there was no rush, no urgency—just a quiet connection between you both, right there in the heart of the forest. with only the moon and the bright stars as spectators, illuminating the sky and keeping you company.

when you finally separated, kite placed his forehead in front of yours, gently, as if he were afraid that he might break you at any moment. his warm breath along with the sound of the cicadas were the only thing that could be heard in the lush forest, although to be honest, you hadn’t paid attention to that. the only thing that mattered to you at that very moment was the softness of the moment, the beauty of kite’s act, the love that surrounded you.

“soooo,” you stretched out the “o” too much, emphasizing your teasing attitude. “does this mean i’m officially your redhead, even if i’m pink?” you asked with a small, mischievous smile, hoping that kite would take the bait.

your lover just smiled, his calloused, long hand still gently hugging your waist; a grip that showed how much you meant to him and how much he wanted to stay here—with you. his almond-shaped eyes turned to look at yours, and you felt a nervous smile escape your lips when you caught a small sparkle in your beloved’s hazy gaze, resembling the moon itself.

“you’re more than just a ginger to me, my beloved. you’re everything.” he paused for a few seconds, his gaze resting intently on yours. “you are my perfect lover.” he corrected himself softly.

kite came closer to kiss you again, feeling like his heart was about to overflow with affection and love. you didn’t need words, you both had never needed them; the way you fit together, as if your bodies were made for each other, as if your eyes were destined to meet, as if your hearts were painted by the same destiny to fall in love, said it all.

and, as the two of you stood deep in the forest, it didn’t matter what your hair color was, whether pink, red or even blue. what mattered was that you were together at this moment and would continue to be, for the rest of eternity and for all the lives that followed. because you would always meet and fall in love—in each of the universe’s realities.

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leiawritesstories · 4 months ago

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snowy nights without you

snowy nights with you, part 2

word count: 891

warnings: PAINNNNNNN @highqueenofelfhame im sorry in advance

A/N: idk what anyone expected after the end of the first part (and i probably won't apologize...), but Noah Kahan is teasing beautifully angsty new music and it's woken the angst monster back up. enjoy...?

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Rowan Whitethorn had been missing in action for two months, three weeks, and six days. But he was a Green Beret, so the only people who knew were his unit commander, his superior officers, and Aelin.

As his not-yet-declared widow, she had a right to know.

They had been married for six beautiful, too-short months when he received new orders, and that night, he came home from his base with tears gleaming unshed in his eyes. Wordlessly, he fell into her arms, unable to tell her anything other than his departure date. She held him close to her heart that night, breathed him into her soul, knowing--as she had when she fell in love with him--that there could be a day when he left and never returned.

Aelin had been able to drive Rowan to the airfield early on that late-January morning, and she drove with tears clogging her eyes and one hand tucked into his. At the airfield, he tugged her into a small room, knelt down in front of her like he had a year and a half ago when he'd proposed, and slipped his wedding band from his finger onto her thumb.

"Hold onto this for me, Fireheart, yeah?"

She twisted that same gold band around her thumb, her reply echoing faintly in the back of her sleep-clouded mind. "Come back home to me, love."

"Always."

She had nothing left of him besides the clothes in his half of the closet.

Four weeks ago, his unit commander had shown up at her door, and her heart dropped to her toes. While Rowan was only officially declared missing in action, his commander had been painfully honest: they did not know if he was alive. If. Every time she heard that one word, her heart cracked a little wider.

She started writing him letters, pages and pages filled with words she would never get to say to him. Her therapist had recommended it, and Aelin had found that writing gave her enough strength to cling to a fine, tenuous thread of hope. Missing. Not gone forever.

My love,

It's been two months and three weeks. I've known for a month now, but the fact that you've been gone almost three times as long breaks me more than I could ever say.

I wake up every morning and reach for you--the way I always do when you're on deployment--but now, the emptiness on your pillows hurts more than it does when I know you're coming back. I know you'd grumble about it if you were here, but I sleep in your clothes all the time. Hell, I wear your clothes half the time. When I come home after work, after another long day of pretending that everything is fine and that my husband isn't missing in action and I can't tell anyone because it's classified, I wrap myself in the clothes that still smell like you and I let myself break down.

When you left, you made me a promise, Rowan. You promised to always come back. I can't say that you broke that promise, because somewhere deep in my heart, I tell myself you're alive, but you're stretching that promise awfully thin, my love.

Come back to me, Ro. I don't care how long it takes. I don't care what kind of powers I have to plead with.

Just come home.

To whatever end,

Aelin

Somewhere in the remote reaches of the Oakwald Forest, a man with prematurely silver hair groaned faintly as he cracked open his heavy eyes. He felt as if he'd been asleep for weeks, and his body protested as he tried to sit up and found one leg immobilized in a cast and elevated off the bed with a crude sling.

"Wh-wh-what..." His voice was a faint, parched rasp.

"Here." A woman's soft murmur sounded by his right ear, and he slowly rotated his head until his bleary vision picked up the sight of a cup of water in the woman's hands. "Drink."

"S-safe?" he rasped.

She nodded and took a sip from the cup herself. "It's okay, soldier. It's just water." She tipped the cup to his lips, helping him swallow a few mouthfuls.

His head cleared the longer he kept his eyes open. Ever alert, his emerald gaze shifted around the single-room cottage, its furnishings plain and well-worn, cataloguing the sprawl of the forest through the front window, and finally landing back on the woman sitting in a low chair at his side.

"Who are you?" he croaked. His head felt fuzzy, like it had been stuffed full of cotton. The last thing he remembered was a sterile white underground room that smelled strongly of bleach to mask the coppery pang of blood. Flashes of that room blurred through his memory--the man strapped to the operating table, the doctors at his side curiously observing the way he convulsed, the gunshot-loud snap of bone, the way everything went black as Rowan shut off the facility's power and made a run for it with everything he'd discovered hidden on a...something.

He was missing so many pieces of the story.

The woman hadn't answered, so he cleared his throat and tried again. "Who are you? Where am I?"

She smiled gently, reaching over him to adjust the blankets. "My name is Lyria, soldier. I saved your life."

~~~

TAGS:

@live-the-fangirl-life

@superspiritfestival

@thegreyj

@wordsafterhours

@elentiyawhitethorn

@mariaofdoranelle

@rowanaelinn

@house-of-galathynius

@tomtenadia

@julemmaes

@swankii-art-teacher

@charlizeed

@booknerdproblems

@earthtolinds

@goddess-aelin

@sweet-but-stormy

@clea-nightingale

@autumnbabylon

@llyncooljones

@silentquartz

@renxzs

@anarchiii

@fauna-flora11

@cynthiesjmxazrielslover

@mysterylilycheeta

@highqueenofelfhame

#my writing #rowaelin #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #rowan x aelin #rowaelin fanfic #rowaelin fanfiction #throne of glass #throne of glass au #throne of glass fanfic #throne of glass fanfiction #rowaelin angst oopsies #dropping this and RUNNING hehe #back to the finals grind!!!

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beautification-tales · 8 months ago

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The Scarf

A caption tale

Sierra tied the green scarf around her neck. She smiled in the mirror as she pulled the ends through her decorative slide. Sierra was so proud of her accomplishments as a Girl Scout. Now she was a leader for the organization and worked tirelessly for it.

Jack her husband was not as enthusiastic about her career as she spent long hours at the office. Sierra was determined to increase enrollment to the Girl Scouts. The cookies did well but it seemed this next generation was not interested in learning camping skills. So when Jack offered her a new scarf to wear to the office she was overjoyed at the gesture.

“Looking good!” Jack said as she walked down the stairs. “You really think so? It’s not too much?” she asked, giving a little twirl. Jack shook his head. “Nah, it’s perfect. In fact maybe do even more! Maybe put on your sash! Show them all your badges!” Sierra smiled at the suggestion. “I really don’t think I need to do all that but I’m glad you’re being supportive.”

“You should get your beret too. You know that green one? I want you to put it on for me.” Sierra’s smile faded as she realized that Jack was being serious. “Ok Jack …. Haha you got me.” she chuckled nervously. “I think I’ll just stick to the scarf today.”

Jack’s smile faded. “No, I want you to put on the beret for me.”

Her heart racing, she reached into her closet and pulled out the green beret. She put it on her head, the fabric feeling oddly tight around her forehead. She looked at herself in the mirror, feeling ridiculous. But Jack’s expression was not one of amusement. It was intense and serious.

“Aww yes, that’s it! That’s what Daddy likes! Now shake it for daddy.” Jack leaned back in his chair as he looked at his wife with a sinister glare. “Why are you talking to me like this Daddy?” Sierra asked but quickly gave a look of horror as she began to twerk. “What did you do to me?”

Jack smiled “looking good but stop asking questions.” His voice was commanding, and it sent a shiver down her spine. Sierra frowned as she felt compelled to reply “yes daddy.” Jack nodded in approval as he unzipped his pants. Sierra had a look of disgust as she wasn’t able to ask the question on her mind. “What are you doing Jack?” she thought.

“Ugh I’m sick of that condescending look from you! Don’t you get it? I want a horny slut that knows how to please her man.” Jack pulled out his hard member. Sierra’s look of disgust disappeared quickly as her mouth began to water. She couldn’t stop herself from feeling aroused as she felt herself kneel before her devious husband.

“Yeah suck my cock. I want you to love it too!” Jack’s voice grew gruffer as he watched his wife, who was now fully under his control, kneel before him. Sierra felt a strange mix of humiliation and arousal as she took his erect member into her mouth, her eyes locked onto his. Sierra moaned and increased her efforts to Jack’s enjoyment.

“Yes! This is so much more fun than you going to that stupid job of yours. I was so skeptical when the lady gave me that scarf but I was too curious to try. I want you to transform into my personal stripper.” Sierra felt a tingle throughout her body as she felt it shift and change.

Her slacks tightened around her waist, turning into a green bikini bottom that barely covered her ass. Her shirt ripped away to reveal a smaller white top, and her shoes morphed into black stilettos. She looked up at Jack, feeling both terrified and incredibly turned on. She continued to suck his cock, her eyes wide with shock and excitement.

Sierra’s body filled out to make the outfit look even more scandalous. She moaned and sucked harder as her breasts grew and her ass swelled. She stroked and sucked as her hands became more delicate. Red feminine nails formed on her fingers. The scarf receded into a texas tie giving a better view of her breasts. She could feel the white fishnets on her legs as a tiny sash appeared on her tighter abdomen. “Aww fuck! Now that’s the kind of Girl Scout I appreciate!” Jack groaned as he came.

Sierra shook with an orgasm as she swallowed all of her man’s seed. She felt her lips plump up as her cheekbones rose. She felt her hair grow down the length of her back. She smiled, feeling so much better as she licked her lips.

“Daddy, did I earn my cocksucking badge?”

#beautification #transformation #f2f transformation #bimboification #breast expansion #ass expansion #beauty is power #slutification

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jane-asmo · 5 months ago

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Gavroche Isha

So, considering that the part of the opening with Jinx represents Les Misérables, and we can conclude that Isha is Gavroche, I find it quite touching that the painting that inspired Victor Hugo for the character of Gavroche is Liberty Leading the People, where we see a street kid with a beret next to the central figure.

'He is a resourceful and spirited street kid. Gavroche joins the insurgents on the barricades. Despite his young age, he plays a crucial role and shows exceptional courage. At a critical moment, when the insurgents run out of ammunition, Gavroche ventures out from the barricade to collect cartridges from the bodies of fallen soldiers.

While gathering ammunition, he sings a song, carefree and brave, but he is exposed to enemy fire. Unfortunately, he is struck by bullets and dies in the street, tragically shot down while trying to help his comrades.'

The parallel between Gavroche gathering bullets and Isha picking up Jinx's weapon from the ground because she has the Hextech gems to place in it, which can be considered as 'bullets,' is quite significant. Here is the passage from the book :

"It was a charming and terrible sight. Gavroche, though shot at, was teasing the fusillade. He had the air of being greatly diverted. It was the sparrow pecking at the sportsmen. To each discharge he retorted with a couplet. They aimed at him constantly, and always missed him. (...) He lay down, sprang to his feet, hid in the corner of a doorway, then made a bound, disappeared, re-appeared, scampered away, returned, replied to the grape-shot with his thumb at his nose, and, all the while, went on pillaging the cartouches, emptying the cartridge-boxes, and filling his basket. The insurgents, panting with anxiety, followed him with their eyes. The barricade trembled; he sang. He was not a child, he was not a man; he was a strange gamin-fairy. He might have been called the invulnerable dwarf of the fray. The bullets flew after him, he was more nimble than they. He played a fearful game of hide and seek with death; every time that the flat-nosed face of the spectre approached, the urchin administered to it a fillip.

One bullet, however, better aimed or more treacherous than the rest, finally struck the will-o'-the-wisp of a child. Gavroche was seen to stagger, then he sank to the earth. The whole barricade gave vent to a cry; but there was something of Antaeus in that pygmy; for the gamin to touch the pavement is the same as for the giant to touch the earth; Gavroche had fallen only to rise again; he remained in a sitting posture, a long thread of blood streaked his face, he raised both arms in the air, glanced in the direction whence the shot had come, and began to sing: "I have fallen to the earth, 'Tis the fault of Voltaire; With my nose in the gutter, " 'Tis the fault of . . . "

He did not finish. A second bullet from the same marksman stopped him short. This time he fell face downward on the pavement, and moved no more. This grand little soul had taken its flight."

#arcane #arcane spoilers #arcane s2 spoilers #arcane s2 #arcane season 2 #jinx and isha #isha and jinx #isha arcane #jinx #arcane thoughts

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spidermans-l-o-v-e-r · 11 months ago

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Orange Blossoms

Pairing: Buck x Y/N

Word Count: mmmmm I forgot to check and I’m lazy

Notes: Lets see if I actually write this!! I’m literally in the middle of Strawberries and Cream rn, it’s 5/15/24 (now) and I’m just…. Testing the waters with releasing the first chapter P.S I DID NOT EDIT THIS BEFORE POSTING I HATE MYSELF IM DOING IT RN

Chapter 1: Eddie is a Traitor

It was just supposed to be a normal Thursday. Go to work, fight some fires, harass Eddie, go home. Do it all over again the next day. That’s how it was every day and he liked it. Especially the people he worked with, that was his family.

He’s putting on a different work shirt when he looks up, a girl is standing there with her back to him holding a helmet in her hands. It’s sleek and pink. It’s got the most adorable cat ears on it too. He’s gotta take another look at it. As he walks she turns around, her hair flying over her shoulder.

It’s like he can hear wedding bells going off in his brain. He shortcircuits immediately as she starts walking towards him. He can hear the soft thud of her shoes, he’s surprised he thought angels had wings. She smiles pleasantly at him, the California sun creating a little halo behind her. Or he’s having a stroke he can’t tell.

“Hi I’m-” He sticks his hand out and Bobby suddenly steps in front of him

“No, you aren’t”

He knew that look. “Come on honey, I’ll introduce you to the others” you waved shyly at Buck as Bobby turned you around by your shoulders and steered you upstairs

Buck stood there, his hand still out as he watched Bobby march you up to Hen and Chimney. You giggled a little at the top of the stairs when you saw him still staring, a dumb look on his face

“You good?” Eddie gave him a high five as he walked by and Buck blinked slowly

“I think I’m in love”

Eddie snorted and bumped his side, pushing him out of the way so he could get to his locker

“Isn’t that like the fourth time this month you’ve said that? Who was it this time”

He melted on the spot, sighing dreamily and tilting his head to the side

“It’s…”

Eddie looked at him expectantly

“It’s uh…”

Eddie put his head against his locker, snickering into the metal

“You don’t remember?”

“I don’t think she said. I don’t think she had the chance”

“Why wouldn’t she have had the chance?”

“Bobby took her upstairs”

Eddie turned to look at him again. “Are you talking about a girl, about this tall” he holds his hand up midway to his chest “curly pink hair? Skin tanned to the gods”

“That’s my angel”

“Dude. That’s Athena’s niece”

It’s like he gets hit by a train and his entire world comes crashing down and really what even was the point in living anymore if he couldn’t have you? He might as well do a sweet flip off a cliff. At least he could go out in a cool way

“You do know how to backflip,” Eddie says as he shuts his locker

“Huh?” Buck looks at him now, a little dazed. A weird look on his face

“You were spiraling right? Because you think your life is over now”

“My life is over now!”

“No, it’s not.” He takes him by the arm and jogs upstairs, tapping the railing when they get up there. It catches your attention and you turn your head, your hands clasped sweetly in front of you.

Honestly, everything about you was sweet. From your soft pink hair, down to the white platform boots you had on. He liked the purple plaid skirt you had on. With a little purple beret and the matching purple cardigan. You looked like a doll, a very sweet, very cute, doll. God, you were too sweet for him

“Oh my god. Evan!” His name is shouted at him and he flinches back. Your hand is out towards him, and Eddie is standing behind you with his hands on your shoulders. Bobby has his arms crossed over his chest and Hen and Chim are looking at each other

“I said this is Y/N” Eddie sounds stressed and that makes Buck blush. He’d gotten lost in you all over again.

“Oh-oh. Uh Hi I’m, Bevan- no shit Barkley no-no god. Buck. I’m- my name is Evan I- I go by Buck. Hi.”

You’re giggling as he stumbles over his words and god he wishes you wouldn’t do that, it just sounds so cute and you’re making him flustered. Fuck usually he’s so smooth and flirty, what the hell gives??

“Hi Evan” You smile up at him and he swears he’s never seen anything or anyone so pretty

“You have pretty teeth,” He says dreamily as he’s shaking your hand. Eddie curses under his breath and you laugh, still shaking his hand

“T-thank you? Um. I brush twice a day!”

“Oh it shows!! it- it shows. You know that you uh-you take care of yourself and I mean- I could have said I liked your nail polish cause I do!!…it matches your clothes but no! No… I had to- I had to say your teeth”

You cover your mouth, trying to keep from laughing any harder. He’s so flustered and his cheeks are so pink and you feel a little bad. And he’s literally still shaking your hand. Eddie pulls your hand from his and slaps Buck’s down, giving him a “wtf” look over your head. Buck clears his throat and shoves his hands in his pockets

“Well! I gotta go fill the truck! You know gotta make it all nice and full of stuff that we need I’m just. I’m gonna go” He points down the stairs and goes running, you wave awkwardly at his retreating figure with a little smile on your face

“Uh bye! It was nice meeting you!!”

Buck walks out of the station, dumping the bucket of water out onto the pavement. He hadn’t seen you for most of the day and he was glad.

Okay not that glad, he wanted to stare at you all day, but at least he wasn’t acting like a dumbass anymore

“Sabrina Carpenter was right. I cannot find my chill. God her teeth?! Seriously??” He mutters to himself as he watches the water soak into the ground.

“Talking to yourself?”

You ask as you walk towards him, he spins around watching you walk over. God, even the way you walked, with all the confidence in the world was sexy as hell.

“Yeah” his voice cracks and you giggle when he lets his head fall back in embarrassment. Fuck was he actually 15 again

“Whatcha talkin' about?” He notices you’ve got a white mini backpack. It’s cute. God of course it matches your outfit

“Oh you know, your teeth” He visibly cringes and you slap your hand over your mouth trying to control your laughter

“Oh come on it wasn’t that bad”

“Yes. Yes, it was. You’re just being nice”

“I think it was a genuine compliment!” you protest as you stop in front of him. You’re so much shorter than he is, he just wants to put his hand on your head and ruffle your hair. He bets you’d hate that, but god it would be cute

“It was. A stupid one, but you know, you do have pretty teeth…and nails!” He smiles at you, his cheeks are pink and he’s flustered again but he’s outside and the sun is shining down on you and you’re glowing

“You have pretty teeth too,” You tell him, smiling and giving him a little wink “and a cute butt!”

His mouth drops as you walk past him with a smug little smirk “There! Now we both said something embarrassing!”

He watches you walk over to a pink motorcycle. It’s sexy and sleek and clearly customized. He watches you climb on and start to put on your helmet

“That’s yours?!” He asks as he jogs over. It’s a little big for you, but you obviously know what you’re doing

“Of course it is, what do you think?”

“Uh I think I want to be a passenger Princess one day that’s for damn sure” He gives your helmet a little tap with his knuckles

“Hope you have two of those”

You giggle and pick a couple pieces of fuzz from the inside of it and toss them aside

“Actually my white one is coming in today! Maybe I can come pick you up from work sometime and we can mess around”

“Really? That sounds so cool! He says, he’s forgotten a lot of his nerves now. Now you’re just a pretty girl on a pretty bike

“Yeah here, gimme your phone!”

He takes his phone from his pocket and you add your number, you hand it back and flip your hair over your shoulder

“Here, take a contact photo of me while I look cool”

He laughs and takes a few steps back while you put your helmet on and do a cute little pose, your head tilted with peace signs

He snaps the photo and sets it, and then he secretly sets it as his wallpaper too. He gives you a thumbs up and you make a call me sign. He fumbles his phone for a second before calling you

“You look so freaking cool” He says as soon as you answer, his cheeks flushing again.

“Why thank you”you giggle “Send me a picture of you later so I can have a contact photo for you!”

“Oh yeah okay sure! Uh-yeah”

“Can you do me one more favor?”

“Anything” He says it way too fast

“I forgot to get Eddie’s number, he invited me for drinks tonight but Uncle Bobby pulled me away too fast to get his number” you’re rolling your eyes at Bobby as Buck’s heart is shattering

“Uh. Yeah. Yeah sure I can do that. I’ll send it now…I gotta go finish mopping, I’ll see you whenever I suppose. Uh- Bye”

He hangs up before you can say anything and he awkwardly waves bye before running back into the station. He can hear your bike start up, he doesn’t stop hiding behind the doors until he hears you leave.

He’s not sending that number.

Ever.

Okay yes he is because he said he’d do anything but he’s gonna kill Eddie first so you two can’t go out.

He mopes all the way upstairs, stomping his feet until he gets over to the comfy chairs and flops down in it. He sinks down far into the seat and crossing his arms over his chest. He’s not talking to Eddie for as long as he lives

“Hey man you got a second”

“No”

He turns away and curls up his legs. He barely fits in the chair anymore and Eddie chuckles

“You poutin’?” Eddie pokes at his thigh

“No”

“Okay. Anyway have you seen Y/N I need to talk to her”

“No”

Eddie raises an eyebrow, walking over to stand in front of Buck

“Hey what’s goin on buddy?” His voice is softer this time, worried that something happened to him.

“Nothing”

Buck tries to curl up even tighter but this chair was not built for a man his size throwing a tantrum

“Buck come on just tell me what’s going on, please?”

“Leave me alone, Judas”

Eddie’s mouth pops open and he whacks his legs “What did I do?!”

“I said I didn’t wanna talk about it!” He snaps and Eddie rolls his eyes, he pulls Bucks legs and they fall easily. Now he’s just weirdly slumped and still not moving

“Buck. Just talk to me, you big fat baby”

“Why? So you can call your girlfriend?!” He gives him double middle fingers

“What girlfriend?!” Eddie asks, his eyes squinting

“Y/N! She wanted me to send her your number!”

“And have you?”

“No,, I hate you”

“Can you just do it?”

“Can your mom just do it”

“Okay you know what-“ Eddie attacks Buck, tickling his sides and Buck shrieks, falling off the chair and laughing as he and Eddie tumble to the floor, Eddie rips his phone from his pocket and opens it

“Oh my god does she know you made her your screensaver?”

He pins Buck and sends you his number, Buck fights his way from Eddie’s hold and punches him in the side, it’s not hard at all but knocks him off

“How dare you tickle attack me Edmundo Diaz! I thought we were friends”

“You called me Judas!”

“Because you are!!”

“No I'm not! Asshat! You didn’t even let me talk you just hated me!”

“Yeah because you asked my girl on a date!”

“She’s literally not your girl?? And also it’s not a date dumbass! I was going to ask you if you could come and if not reschedule with her! So you could have some time with her, and I could cover for you sounding like an idiot”

Buck gasps and slaps his cheeks, his eyes huge

“Eddieee” he whines and Eddie rolls his eyes, getting off the floor, Buck stands up with him and jumps on him, wrapping his arms and legs around him like a koala. He nearly knocks them over again

“You did that for meee?”

“I will drop your ass over the railing”

Buck isn’t sure what to wear so he brings a small mountain of clothes over to Eddie’s house in the form of a large suitcase. He heaves it onto Eddie’s bed and it pops open easily when he unzips it

“Do you know what she’s wearing?” Buck asks as he watches Eddie go through the suitcase

“No…” he mumbles distractedly as he sets aside a couple of shirts “But I can call her”

“Does she know I’m coming?” He twiddles his thumbs nervously, chewing his bottom lip. Eddie flicks his cheek and he stops, frowning at him

“Yeah she knows. But if you call her it’ll seem like you want to match”

“But if you call her it’ll seem like I asked you to ask for me”

“Damn you’ve got a point” Eddie sighs, holding the edge of the suitcase

“Is it just the three of us tonight?”

“Yeah…but I’ve got an idea” Eddie grabs his phone and texts Hen. He and Buck spend a few minutes going through the suitcase and organizing it before she calls

“Let me get this straight,” She says on speaker “You want me to pretend like I’m coming for drinks tonight, to find out what color Y/N is wearing so Buck can match her? And then I say oh Karen wanted to go on a date instead whoops can’t make it”

“Yes,” They say in unison

“...I’ll call you back”

Buck fist pumps and Eddie chuckles at him

“You really wanna impress her huh?”

“You know she said I could ride on her motorcycle?” Buck falls back on the bed, holding a pillow tightly to his chest

“Oh god she was so sexy when she got on that bike Eddie, I swear to god I nearly creamed my pants”

“Ew”

“She looked so, so badass. Which is crazy considering what she was wearing because at first I thought she looked like a doll you know-“

“Buck?” Eddie stares at his phone

“-And she still looked like a doll even on the bike but she went from a super cute doll to a-

“Buck” he looks up at him, waving his phone in front of his face

“-Super sexy doll. You know what I mean? God, she’s so versatile”

His phone pings and he picks it up “I wonder what she’s gonna-” He stares at the picture Eddie just sent him. You’re standing in front of a mirror with your little peace sign. You’ve got a black mini skirt on with a high slit on the thigh, a black strappy tank top with a corset front and a set of black platform boots. There’s a leather jacket hanging over your arm and a black heart shaped purse.

“Hen says she said she’s just gotta accessorize and then she’s done” Eddie’s voice is quiet, his jaw would still be on the floor if Buck’s wasn’t already. He starts going through the suitcase, trying to find something. Buck has good options. It’s just hard to be on your level. But they’re both gonna damn well try.

“I- I think I-“

“Buck I swear to god if you creamed your pants I’m gonna throw up”

They show up “fashionably late” to the bar. But really it’s just because after Buck finally recovered he changed at least seven times before they finally decided on the right outfit. He’s wearing a tight fitting black button down with a few of the buttons undone, because Eddie says it showcases his muscles the best and because having the sleeves quartered drives the ladies crazy. He’s got dark black jeans on and his work shoes, which are shined to the gods because in his rush to grab clothes he did not grab shoes.

They walk in together, with Eddie purposely wearing a little bit of a loser fitting and more relaxed kind of outfit, nice blue jeans, and a flannel. He wore his work shoes so it looks like they rushed but also didn’t rush. Effortlessly putting together a flawless outfit.

Nailed it.

“You think she’ll be mad we’re late” Buck’s voice cracks again and Eddie snorts

“No, she seemed perfectly fine. She’s over there” He points to the booth where you’re sitting, sipping on a fruity-looking drink.

He leads Buck over, they practiced this so Buck could sort of be revealed. It made sense when they did it at home

“Hey Y/N! Sorry we’re late” Eddie slides in on the opposite side of the booth and takes off his coat, putting it next to him so Buck is forced to sit by you…oh yeah it’s all going to plan

“Oh it’s okay! I was a little late myself so it all worked out!” You scoot over a little, patting the bench next to you. He doesn’t miss the way your eyes roll over his body, you bite your lip a little and look away, feeling your cheeks get hot

“You guys picked a cool place” you clear your throat as Buck sits next to you, putting his arm on the back of the booth to get comfy. He smells good, like the ocean and summer and a little smokey and god does he look good too.

“Actually it was Bucks's idea. You know what I’ll be right back, I’m just gonna order our drinks at the bar and bring them over” Eddie excuses himself, and the two of you are left alone. You turn your body to face Buck’s, and now it’s his turn for his eyes to roam over your body. You looked stunning in the picture but in person? That was a whole other ball game.

“You uh- you look pretty Y/N. It’s a really different style from earlier”

Your cheeks flush and you smile at him a bit shyly “Thanks, I like to wear a lot of different styles actually! It’s fun!” You scoot a little closer to him now, your knees touching

“You look super good to you know, you um-you clean up pretty well”

His heart is practically beating out of his chest as he watches you reach for your drink, taking a long slow sip. He notices your hands trembling and frowns

“Hey, are you okay?” He takes your hands, holding them gently “You’re shaking”

“Uh- I’m, I’m good I’m- I’m so” you pull your hands away quickly and reach for your drink again, he pushes it away a little and hooks your chin with his finger, making you look up at him. He’s staring into your eyes, but he looks worried as his firefighter's brain turns on

“Have you eaten anything? Your drink seems a little strong for an empty stomach, maybe I should go order you something”

You put your hands on his chest to make him sit back down “No! No that’s okay I’m fine! Uh- I’m- okay” you take a deep breath “Can I be honest with you?”

“You can tell me anything Y/N. I’m here for you” he turns your palms and kisses them before holding them to his chest to warm them up.

“Y-you’re making me nervous” you gulp and his eyes widen, his cheeks flush and he lets go of your hands

“Oh”

You cringe and he chuckles, scooting closer to you and putting his arm over your shoulders. His scent is intoxicating as it washes over you, the close proximity not helping the tiny buzz you’re getting.

“So what you’re saying is…I have pretty teeth”

You laugh loudly, your head falling back against his arm and you smack your hand over your mouth. He leans into your neck laughing with you and giving you a sweet kiss on your cheek

“Maybe I’ll make you flustered now” He winks and you roll your eyes, the light blush on your cheeks giving you away.

“You made me flustered when I met you this afternoon. You were just too in your head to notice. I could barely talk to you”

“I wish you’d made me shy like you were. But instead, you just make me stupid”

You giggle and lean into him “Sorry about that”

“S’okay doll, we ended up here together anyway right?”

Eddie comes back over with a tray, he’s got two drinks and a basket of cheese curds

“Hope you’re not lactose intolerant” he jokes and hands Buck his drink

“No actually, couldn’t keep me away from cheese even if I was though. Especially fried cheese”

Buck takes one from the basket and holds it up to your lips

“Let’s soak up some of that alcohol” he watches the way your lips part and your tongue comes out to accept the bite…he can just imagine it wrapped around something else other than a delicious cheese curd. He grunts and turns his head away when he feels Eddie kick him under the table for staring. He knows Eddie knows exactly what he was thinking

The rest of the night carries on wonderfully, you get to know both men as they tell stories about each other, trying to one up the other and it’s funny as hell. You’re hanging off of Buck by the end of the night just trying to keep yourself from getting kicked from the bar for how loudly you’re laughing. Eddie is laid on the seat, snorting into his coat and Buck is holding onto you tightly as he makes no sounds, trying to start breathing again.

Eventually you all catch your breath, and just lay there for a bit, still giggling. It’s amazing you’re the only one that’s slightly tipsy, the other two are just idiots and that makes you giggle more. Especially Eddie who was the designated driver. Buck gets up from the booth, helping you up. He catches you as you stumble into his chest, his cheeks burn red when you look up at him, a playful little look in your eyes. He can practically see the little devil horns on your head

Actually. He can.

“Have you been wearing these all night??” He pats the little headband and Eddie falls back in his seat laughing again. You crash into Bucks's chest, your face smooshed against the soft material of his shirt as you laugh

“Buck that’s the 6th time you’ve asked that. They came with her drink, the specialty of the month. Devil MAY care?? Remember the one the bartender came up with”

Buck and Eddie drop you off at Athena’s house and Buck walks you up to the door with his arm around you. He takes the keys from your hand and unlocks it for you before dropping them back in your open palm. He takes a few steps back and puts his hands in his pockets, you turn to look up at him, your hands clasped behind your back

“I had so much fun tonight. Maybe we can do something else this week? If you’re not busy”

“With just me?” He teases “I’ll see if Eddie is free! Maybe we can go bowling or something”

“If he’s not that’s okay- I mean. I wouldn’t mind being alone with you,”

Oh Eddie is definitely not coming.

“Alright Doll, sounds fun to me. I’ll call you and we can plan something with or without him” he wiggles his eyebrows as you giggle, and the way you giggle makes him want to kiss you. But he knows for a fact Athena’s got cameras.

“Well, I uh- I should go…Eddie is probably gettin' tired. You know him, big ole sleepy guy”

You shake your head, smiling at him “Yeah okay… I’ll see you soon?”

“Yup…soon” He walks backward carefully, watching you stand there “Go on, get inside cutie”

Hopefully, the cameras didn’t have sound.

You blush and give him that little wave of yours before turning around and going in

“Night Buck..”

“Night Doll”

He’s about to turn around when the door opens and you come running back out again, you pull him down to your height and kiss him on the cheek.

He was stunned, to say the least. He melts for you, his body going all jellied and limp. He hurries down the walkway as soon as you’re in the house safe and sound. He’s definitely got a skip in his step as he dances his way back to the car.

The next morning he’s just as happy as he was when he went to bed, he’s humming as he pours everyone a cup of coffee. Setting them all out on the table with the breakfast Eddie is setting out too. He’s just putting the silverware down when Bobby comes up the stairs, narrowing his eyes at him.

“Did you call my niece “cutie”

Okay, so the cameras did have sound.

#words by rhys #Rhys writes #buck x reader #evan buckley x reader #evan buck buckely #evan buckley #911 x reader #911 fanfic #9 1 1 abc #911 fox #eddie diaz #bobby nash #chimney han #hen wilson #Orange Blossoms

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