#but is that actually going to ever happen

[quarterlifekitty]

first, im a bit new to cod but idk…

thinking about ghost’s spouse visiting him on base or some shit, and everyone else wondering how tf he was emotionally flexible enough to bag a bad bitch 🫶

note: this is just my personal little fantasy world headcanon lol so take it with a grain of salt!

Simon maintains a vaguely human lifestyle by adhering to one very strict rule: rigid compartmentalization. You don’t come up at work, and work doesn’t come up around you. Never the twain shall meet, he thinks. And he’s not exactly a watershed of information when he’s with his mates. And it’s not like anyone is asking “When was the last time you got fucked, Ghost?” and seriously expecting a response.

He tells you about the crew, but not about what he does with them. Killing, espionage, torture– that kind of thing stays off the dinner table.

Let it be known that you do not surprise him at work. You respect his boundaries too much, which is why he’s so fucking serious about you, honestly. He calls, asking if you can run something to him. This is maybe the greatest symbol of trust he can bestow, as a man who has only a fraction of an existence in the eyes of the government: he asks you to bring a document of his. He gives you the instructions on how to find it, and trusts that you won’t look at anything you don’t have to.

You know Johnny lets out a low whistle when he sees you coming up with a manilla folder in your hands.

“Who’s that bloody bombshell, then?”

You spy Simon and jog up to him with a smile. He’s the one who embraces you, short but strong. Cue the nigh audible gasping.

“LT, you absolute dog.”

Simon rolls his eyes as the two of you are crowded in short order. You make polite introductions, but have a previous engagement– you really did only have time to stop by.

Hate to see you go, but love to watch you leave.

Everyone is wondering how this could’ve happened. For the record– I think in this scenario, Johnny and Gaz go through a constant string of heartbreaks, and John is kinda married to his job. So in a cruel twist of fate, Simon is actually the only one currently with a partner, much less a spouse.

“How’d you manage to bag a right beauty like that, LT? C’mon, spill it–”

Simon doesn’t mean to diminish your value or anything, but his answer is not going to be satisfying, because he doesn’t find it that difficult to get women. And also, you’re his true love, so you’re perfect for each other and growing close to you was as easy as breathing. But he doesn’t say that.

“S’not that hard. Remember the stuff she says, don’t keep no secrets… dick ‘er down the way she likes.” He doesn’t mean to be crude about it, but from his perspective, is one of the main reasons why you tolerate him. Soap howls at the response.

He’s telling the truth, though! He has a scarily good memory. Remembers every friend you’ve ever told him about, every movie you’ve ever mentioned, every meal he’s cooked for you and how you liked it. He remembers dates, times, and lists with no issue whatsoever.

And he’s never kept anything from you. He tells you how the fuck he’s feeling, and you return the favor, even if it isn’t pleasant. The only thing he doesn’t mention to you are the gorey details of his work.

And you have never had more of a communicative partner, ironically. There were times in the beginning when he didn’t know all of the ins and outs of coaxing pleasure from your body, so he asked you to show him how you like it. And that scary memory is at work yet again– every sensitive spot, every offhand mention of a kink you’ve not yet explored together, every arch of your spine and clench of your cunt. He’s got it down to a science. Could write novels about making love to you specifically.

What I’m trying to say, at the end of the day, is that Ghost bagged a bad bitch by being autistic.

[immoral-stranger]

𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 // 𝐎𝐏𝟖𝟏

Summary: “Do guys from therapy usually hit on you?” – Or, the one where Oscar has to go to group counselling after a turbulent race incident and meets you, the quiet girl at the back of the hall.

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x fem! reader

Word count: 19k

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI ❀ Angst: they meet in therapy, it's all angst, lying, guilt, implied former drug addiction and fraudulent behaviour. Smut: penetrative sex, oral (f! receiving), Oscar is a boob guy, very soft and vanilla, maybe a size kink? Fluff: they cuddle? and the ending is happy-ish? Other: takes place during a fictional 2025 season, an atheistic conversation about religion, smoking cigarettes.

A/N: This might be the gloomiest thing I’ve ever written, but it also has 5k words of pure smut, so yeah, there's that. I’m weirdly proud of it. Please tell me what you think ♡

Abu Dhabi, 2024. Oscar could still smell the smoke sometimes, in nightmares or if he zoned out for too long. The scent clung to his mind—burning tires, scorched metal, and marshals running around in panic. In his dreams, he could hear the crackle of flames, feel the searing heat against his skin, as they carefully dragged him out and placed him in the medical car. He was sure that it was already in some compilation on youtube about the worst crashes of the season. Hell, maybe even in history. 

Verstappen had already claimed his title, but getting the last win of the season would be a dream for anyone. It was a matter of pride, ending the season on a high note. For Oscar, it ended with a crash instead, just as he was about to overtake for the win on the last stint of the race. 

And of course, it had to be with Charles. 

Everyone loved Charles. And everyone hated Oscar for being the reason their favourite driver lost out on a win. Hate was a strong word and he was used to people having varying opinions about him, but there was something about this that he couldn’t shake off. 

The worst part was the screaming—screaming that he had later been told never even happened. He'd made it up in his head. When he was being pulled from the wreckage, he could have sworn he’d heard Charles crying out in pain. He’d replayed it over and over, only to learn that Charles had gotten out first—before the fire even started to spread. Sore from the impact, but otherwise unharmed.

Oscar didn’t realise in the moment that the crash would affect him. It took months for it to catch up to him. It all cumulated into a breakdown during the pre-season testing for 2025, where he had locked himself in a room to drown out Charles’ screaming, getting the attention of his trainer and people on his team that something was wrong. 

He was supposed to be the calm one. This was the opposite of calm. 

He had Murphy’s Law on loop in his head. Everything that can go wrong will. It had never been like that for him before—analysing every possible mistake. It wasn’t even the mistakes he actually made, but the ones that never happened. It made him paralysed to get in the car every single time, but once he actually started driving, all those thoughts went away. 

It was the imaginative screaming that had led him to where he was today—the parking lot outside of St. Anne’s Church before a group therapy and support meeting. It wasn’t a grand building by any means. The stones of the church were worn, weathered with years of storms battering its exterior. It always seemed to rain in this fucking town. 

His therapist, trainer, and team had decided that this was best for him. Mandated meetings once a week until he could feel calm outside of the car and not just while driving it. This wasn’t about talking to some high-paid therapist; he already had one of those. No, this was about learning to cope with normal people, people who had been through real trauma, people who didn’t live their lives in the fast lane.

“You need support,” they’d said, as if these weekly gatherings at a worn-out church with other equally messed-up strangers would patch up whatever was broken inside him. 

He had talked on the phone with the man leading the group, explaining that it would most likely be best for Oscar to show up to his first meeting, take a seat, and just get a feel for how it worked. 

The meeting was held in a hall on the side of the church, an annex built sometime in the seventies while the church itself was centuries old. He was hit with the smell of old wood and damp air as soon as he entered. The group wasn’t small—maybe twenty people scattered around the room, sitting on mismatched chairs. It didn’t feel like one of those alcoholics anonymous meetings he’d seen in movies, which had been his first preconception. 

He found a spot on one of the middle rows, on the edge to not draw attention to him. The personalities he could see around the room were all different. There were the nervous ones, bouncing in their seats—maybe it was anxiety, maybe it was abstinence. The tired ones seemed to be the majority. He fitted into that group himself—tired of life. You also had the desperate ones, sitting in the front, almost leaning forward to better grasp whatever words of wisdom were being said. 

Guilt seemed to be a theme for everyone. 

One after one the facilitator let people go up and speak at a makeshift lectern. Some just gave little updates, giving Oscar the impression that they’d gone to meetings for a long time. Others were speaking up for the first time. One that stood out was a mother, maybe in her fifties, whose daughter had just passed away in a car accident. She cried as she spoke, searching for some way of dealing with the guilt she felt, having let her daughter borrow her car even though she knew it was old and unsafe. 

This was around the time when Oscar thought to himself that he should just take the money he had, find a way out of his contract, emigrate to Iceland, and change his name to Fabio. Never ever have to think about a race car again.

People were going on about their lives, their regrets, their struggles with addictions, or just their attempts to survive whatever the world had thrown at them. But none of it really resonated with him. Oscar didn’t feel like he belonged here. His problems felt different. And he wasn’t sure if that was because they actually were different or because he just couldn’t find the right words to describe them.

At some point, his gaze shifted toward the back of the room, and that was when he noticed you. 

A girl his own age. You were sitting there, apart from everyone else, half-hidden in the shadows near the exit. You looked like you didn’t want to be seen—shoulders hunched, sat far down in your seat. You stared at your hands, fidgeting with skin around your nails. Oscar could spot your chipped black nail polish from across the room. He had a hard time reading your face, mostly obscured by your hair and the collar of your jacket. 

He couldn’t help but wonder why you were here. He wondered it about everyone else too, but you stuck out since you were similar in age—young enough that people didn’t automatically assume that you’d gone through hardship. You looked… different. Troubled, maybe. Definitely out of place. 

Oscar forced himself to look away, trying to focus on the group facilitator, who was droning on about acceptance and healing. He felt restless, a creeping anxiety gnawing at the edges of his thoughts. Why had he even come? This place didn’t feel like it could fix anything. 

By the time the session ended, he hadn’t spoken a word.

As the last of the attendees dispersed, Oscar lingered under the arched entrance, watching the downpour. He pulled up the hood of his sweatshirt, offering him some warmth from the cold rain. A faint glow from distant streetlights illuminated the soaked pavement, creating an eerie atmosphere that somehow felt fitting. 

That’s when he saw you again, as the heavy church doors closed behind him with a slight thud. You were the last one out of the building. Out of the corner of his eye, Oscar saw you light a cigarette. His eyes met yours briefly, but you were quick to look away. 

You exhaled smoke, sitting down on the stone steps leading up to the entrance, letting single raindrops fall onto your leather jacket, while still being mostly covered by the awning. 

For a second, Oscar thought about walking away. He didn’t know you—he didn’t know anyone here—but something kept him rooted to the spot. Maybe it was because he knew he would need to talk to someone here, not easily getting away from the mandated meetings. Maybe it was because you looked so damned lost. 

Either way, he found himself speaking before he could stop himself.

“Uh,” he started awkwardly. “I like your stockings.” 

You blinked, glancing down at your legs. Through the rips in your jeans, a pair of sheer black stockings peeked out, the floral lace pattern barely visible. You didn’t say anything right away, just stared at him with a look that was half-surprised, half-annoyed. Then, you blew out smoke from between your lips. 

“Thanks,” you muttered. 

Oscar shifted uncomfortably, unsure if he should leave or try to salvage the moment. Why had he said that? He wasn’t good at small talk, never had been. He had no idea why he thought this was the time to start improving that skill.

You let out a low chuckle, almost like you were laughing at him. Wordlessly, you asked him if he wanted a cigarette, lifting the carton up in his direction. 

He shook his head. “I don’t smoke.” 

You took another drag, shrugging your shoulders, basically saying suit yourself to him. With your gaze turned back to the ground, the silence stretched on awkwardly, only broken by the sound of raindrops splattering against the asphalt.

“Aren’t white lighters supposed to be bad luck?” he asked suddenly, noticing the bright plastic you were flicking between your fingers. He’d heard that somewhere, an old superstition and coincidence—that a group of famous people who had died at a young age all had white lighters in their possession. It was a stupid thing to say, but it felt better than nothing.

You looked down at the lighter in your hand and then back at Oscar, a humourless smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Maybe that’s the fucking point.” 

Oscar didn’t know what to say to that. He wondered if you actually meant it—that bad luck didn’t matter to you, like you almost welcomed it. He wasn’t sure he believed in luck in that sense anyway. To him, life felt more like a balance of choices and chances, not fortune’s favour. But sometimes, maybe when the stars aligned and all that palaver, he believed in luck and he believed in doing the right thing to experience that luck. 

Call it superstition, if you must. 

The both of you continued to stand there in silence. Well, technically, you were still sitting.  Two strangers, clinging to the building that was supposedly about to fix them, all while not really knowing if they even wanted to be fixed. 

After a few long moments, you stood up, stubbing out the cigarette on the wet stone. You stuffed your hands into your pockets, casting him one last glance before heading out into the rain. The water immediately soaked your hair, but you didn’t seem to care. You hopped into a car that had pulled up at the end of the parking lot, an older woman in the driver seat. 

You left him without a word and a strange feeling inside of him—like this situation wasn’t already odd enough. 

_______________________________

You put out your cigarette as you reached the entrance of the church, again. Just another Tuesday in your life. You’d lost count on how long you had been going to these meetings. Two hours every Tuesday and one hour every Sunday. 

It was a bit of a lie, that you didn’t know how long it had been. You just didn’t want to know how long it had been and therefore told yourself to not think about it until you’d all but forgotten about it. 

However, Oscar was a new addition to the meetings, for a month or so. Seeing him, seemingly waiting for you before going inside, was odd? But not uncommon by now. 

You didn’t say anything as you walked up beside him on the church steps, only giving him a slight nod as a way of saying hello. You looked out over the parking lot, glistening wet from the rain that seemed to haunt this small town. You were practically lucky that it wasn’t raining at the moment. 

Something about the parking lot was different today, though. It stood out like a diamond in a drawer of costume jewellery. 

There, parked conspicuously at the curb, was a sleek McLaren. The kind of car that didn't belong in this part of town, especially not parked outside a church where people came to unload their emotional baggage.

As if reading your thoughts, Oscar caught you staring with raised brows. “What nobhead takes their McLaren to counselling?” you muttered under your breath, clearly not expecting him to hear. But he was close enough, and the corner of his mouth twitched up into a smile.

He chuckled, a low, surprised sound. “That would be me.�� 

You blinked, not expecting it to be him, let alone be so direct about it. “I’m sorry.” 

“No, you’re not,” Oscar chortled, shaking his head, like he found your frankness refreshing, if not amusing, as though he wasn’t often spoken to like that. 

“Yeah, it’s a dickish thing to do,” you admitted, giving him a half shrug. You couldn’t help but smile a little, though. He had a way of taking the sting out of your sharp words, as if he didn’t mind your snark. 

You’d quite frankly been rude to him at a few of the former meetings, yet he still didn’t mind sitting in silence next to you for two hours every Tuesday. You were both here, after all—both stuck, both dealing with whatever mess had brought you to therapy. 

The last few sessions had been the same—catching each other’s eye as you sat in the back of the room, listening to people’s stories. Neither of you said much during the meetings, but you always seemed to find each other afterward, just outside the church, where the air felt a little less suffocating. You smoked, and Oscar just stood there, pretending not to be bothered by the cold weather. 

It had become something of a routine. You weren’t friends, exactly, but there was a strange sort of understanding between you. Tonight was no different as the meeting started. 

You slipped into your usual spot near the back, watching as Oscar settled in a seat nearby. The room was filled with voices, people exchanging quick pleasantries before it started, just like every week, with people telling their stories. 

You’d gone to meetings for such a long time that you knew the backstories of most people. It had been so long that some regulars had even stopped going, claiming they were fixed. Or at least fixed enough. You guessed that was the real goal—to not completely overcome trauma but to learn how to live with it. Then there were the people who were mandated to be there, by their workplace or by a court order. They were more hesitant than the people who went by their own free will, but their stories were always better when they finally got to talking, more interesting to listen to. 

“Have you ever gone up there?” Oscar whispered at one point, curious. 

“Nope,” you replied without hesitation, not looking at him. “They can force me to be here, but they can’t force me to talk.” 

He looked at you for a moment, head tilted slightly, like he wanted to ask more but thought better of it. You could practically feel the question hanging in the air—who the fuck were they?—but he didn’t press. Instead, he glanced around the room again. 

You liked that he didn’t push. That meant you didn’t have to lie to him. 

There was an unspoken rule in these circles. Speak, or don’t, but never fake it. It couldn’t be about pretending, and for now, silence was as close as either of you seemed willing to come to honesty. 

When the session ended, you found yourselves once again standing on the church steps, the night air brisk and cutting. You fumbled with a cigarette, attempting to light it against the persistent wind. Oscar lingered nearby, hands in his pockets, as he watched your futile attempts, half amused. 

“Not getting picked up today?” he asked. 

You shook your head, giving up on the cigarette and putting the lighter and carton back into the pocket of your jacket. 

Oscar hesitated for a second, unsure whether to say anything. He was starting to feel that familiar awkwardness creep back in, the same feeling he’d had the first time he spoke to you. But before he could stop himself, he blurted out, “I could give you a lift.” 

You shot him a sidelong glance. “I’m not sleeping with you, Oscar,” you said flatly. 

Oscar’s eyes widened, and he spluttered, “W-what? No! That’s not—” He stumbled over his words, horrified.

You raised a brow, watching as he struggled to find his words. He was blushing, his ears practically glowing red under the streetlight. “You offered to drive me home without ulterior motives?” you asked, sceptical. 

“Yes, I was just trying to be nice,” he said firmly, but flustered. “Do guys from therapy usually hit on you?” 

You let out a dry laugh, almost feeling guilty for your wrong assumption about him. “You’d be surprised at how many men find head-cases attractive.” 

He only became more embarrassed, his mind flashing back to the first thing he’d ever said to you—a compliment on your stockings, of all things.

There was a vulnerability to him you hadn’t expected—something behind the stubborn façade and expensive car. He didn’t look like the kind of guy who was used to rejection. Or awkwardness. Or therapy, for that matter. But his loser personality made all of those things very possible. 

“Well… I just wanted to make sure you got home safely,” he said, shifting awkwardly.

You studied him for a moment, weighing his words. Then, with a sigh, you jerked your head toward the McLaren. “Fine. Start the fucking car.” 

Inside the car, the quiet was different, somehow more suffocating than outside on the church steps. Maybe it was the notion of having to actually talk to each other now that hadn’t felt as forced outside of the car. 

 “So, where to?” Oscar asked, his hands gripping the wheel a little tighter than necessary.

You glanced out the window, your fingers tapping idly on the door handle, almost scared to touch the absurdly shiny car. “Do you know the council houses behind the post office?” 

“By that one pub? With the—” 

“The Swan, yes that’s the one,” you interrupted. “My aunt lives right there.”

Oscar nodded, pulling away from the curb and heading in the direction you’d indicated. You kept your gaze fixated out the window as the car began to move. The streets passed by in a blur, the rain-slicked asphalt reflecting the dim glow of the town’s yellow lights.

“Aunt?” he asked after a beat of silence. “Parents not around?” 

You didn’t answer immediately. For a moment, Oscar thought he’d overstepped, thought you were going to turn to a rudeness that he couldn’t joke his way out of.  

Then, quietly, you muttered, “I think I am the one who’s not around.” 

He heard you clearly, but he didn’t press further. He didn’t try to fill the space with meaningless chatter, and for that, you were both grateful. For a moment, it was peaceful, almost as if you were just two people out for a casual drive instead of a pair of strangers bound by a not-so-positive common denominator. 

As the car approached the run-down council houses, you unbuckled your seatbelt but didn’t immediately move to get out. Instead, you turned to him, studying his profile in the low light, something unreadable in your expression. 

“Thanks,” you said after a moment. 

“For the ride?” he asked. 

“For not being a complete dick,” you replied as you pushed open the door and stepped out into the cold. You didn’t look back, but you knew that he was smiling behind you. 

_______________________________

The following week, you were late. Not late enough for it to actually be a problem, but late enough that Oscar felt the awkward tension of deciding whether to wait for you outside like he usually did or go inside. He definitely could have waited, but he was particular about time, so he went in. 

Oscar glanced around the room, sitting somewhere in the middle now that you hadn’t decided seats for the two of you. He noticed the faces that had become a strange sort of fixture in his life over the past months. 

The season had started and it was going fairly well. He had thoughts of disaster almost every weekend, but he didn’t hear Charles’ screaming as often. It was usually worst during qualifying, when the short amount of time made the anxiety build up quicker. But he was stable. Even his therapist had said that. He wasn’t a danger in any way, but he still just wished to get an answer as to why this crash had affected him in the way that it did. 

Your heavy footsteps interrupted his thoughts, your Doc Martens making a thumping sound against the old hardwood flooring. You looked like a drenched, unhappy cat, caught in one of the town’s relentless downpours. For a moment, Oscar smiled; he hadn’t thought he’d ever see you sit anywhere but the back row, yet here you were, sliding into the empty seat next to him with a huff.

You took off your wet leather jacket and threw your bag on the floor, almost curling into your seat on the uncomfortable chair, a paper cup of hot water warming your hands. There was a station outside of the room with tea and coffee and you would grab a cup of tea for yourself before every meeting. Oscar had learnt that by now—also knowing that you brought your own tea bags since they only offered black tea and you drank rooibos. Oscar had lived in England for a long time, but the science behind drinking tea was still something that confused him.

You rubbed your face dry with the sleeves of your oversized sweater, not caring that your mascara smudged around your eyes. Oscar thought about offering his own hoodie, or at least a tissue, but you didn’t seem the type to want help with something so small. Instead, he kept quiet, simply watching as you tried to shake off the rain.

A beat of silence passed between you both. Then, you spoke first.

“You never come to the Sunday meetings.”

You tried to sound casual, but the question was deliberate; it was thought through. He glanced at you, surprised. It wasn’t often that you were the one to initiate a conversation, and when you did, they were short and edged with sarcasm.

“Didn’t even know they had meetings during the weekend,” Oscar replied with a shrug. “I work most Sundays.”

“So do I, but I manage to show up here anyway.”

He noticed the way your eyes held his gaze, challenging but curious. You weren’t shy to look him straight in the eye, unlike himself. The light from the nearby windows cast a muted glow over you, softening the lines of your face, your smudged makeup giving you a look of tiredness that felt familiar to him.

It was like you were waiting, expecting him to talk again, and he felt that familiar twist of unease, a reminder that vulnerability wasn’t something he navigated easily. A hint of a smile crossed Oscar’s face as he looked away, not sure how much to say.

Today’s meeting wasn’t much different from all the others. There was the mother who dealt with guilt after losing her daughter in a car crash. There was Anthony, a local restaurant owner, who was there as part of his probation plan after an assault charge. There was Jenny, a girl in her thirties who was mandated by her therapist to be there as exposure for her agoraphobia. It was definitely ironic that the girl with a social anxiety disorder did more talking than you and Oscar combined.

During a brief five-minute break, Oscar looked over at you again, seemingly lost in your thoughts.

“You think you’ll ever get up there?” he asked, nodding toward the lectern.

Oscar knew he had asked similar questions before, but this one was more to ask if you thought this group counselling thing would ever lead to you opening up—if you saw an end to these countless meetings by actually letting them help you, letting them make you feel better.

“No,” you answered flatly. “Opening up to strangers is weird.”

He smiled at that. “I think this is supposed to have the opposite effect,” he said, crossing his arms. “That it’s easier with strangers because we won’t feel judged in the same way.”

You looked up at him, amusement flickering in your eyes. “Keep talking Oscar, and we won’t be strangers by the end of this.”

He laughed, shaking his head. There was a subtle humour to your banter, like you both enjoyed pushing boundaries without really crossing them. Oscar settled on the idea that he didn’t want you two to be strangers after all.

As the meeting came to a close, people began to shuffle out, some lingering to chat with one another, others heading straight for the door. You, as usual, made your way outside without a word. Oscar followed, as he always did, keeping a respectful distance but close enough that it didn’t feel like a coincidence.

He never knew why he lingered. He wasn’t even sure if you wanted him to. But the silence you shared after group therapy felt easier than the forced vulnerability inside.

Outside, the air was crisp, the rain from earlier having tapered off, leaving the ground damp and slick, the sun breaking through the clouds. You leant against the stone wall of the church, lighting another cigarette with the same white lighter he’d seen you use before.

Oscar frowned slightly, feeling a strange sense of unease creep into his chest as he watched you. He wasn’t entirely sure why he cared, but before he could stop himself, he spoke up. “Can you stop buying white lighters, please?”

You raised your brows, almost mocking him. “Why? Are you superstitious?”

“No,” Oscar replied, shaking his head. “It just feels like a weird thing to jeopardise.”

“What do you know about the 27 club anyway?” you asked, taking another drag. You were mindful enough to turn your head in the opposite direction as you blew out the smoke.

The 27 Club—a bunch of musicians, mostly rockstars, who had died at the age of 27 due to rough lifestyles. Rumour had it that they all used white lighters for their cigarettes and other smokeable substances. Oscar didn’t know anything about their music or the club they were in. He just knew of the rumour.

“Literally nothing except that they died carrying white lighters,” Oscar admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “And that you deserve to live way past the age of 27.”

You blinked, taken aback, and for a moment, the armour you wore around yourself seemed to crack. You stared at him, cigarette halfway to your lips, processing what he’d just said.

“Who knew you could be so sweet?” you teased, trying to be your usual sarcastic self, but there was a warmth in your voice that hadn’t been there before. That tiny hint of warmth made his chest feel strangely tight.

A few moments passed in comfortable silence before you broke it; your voice quieter now. “Why do you keep coming here anyway? You don’t talk much either. So why show up?”

Oscar hesitated, unsure how much to say. He wasn’t a stranger to lying about his job to people, often times just because he couldn’t be arsed to explain or have people ask if he was rich and famous. It wasn’t like that with you, but he still decided to lie—or opt out of telling the entire truth. He wanted you to think he was normal.

“I’m mandated to be here by my workplace,” he began, choosing his words carefully. “I caused a car accident with a colleague of mine, and I kind of need to be able to drive to keep my job.”

You frowned in confusion. “But you drove me home? Are you scared of driving?”

“It’s… different,” he admitted. “Driving long distances for work or just around in this little hellhole.”

You studied him for a long moment, as if weighing his words. Then, in a surprisingly gentle tone, you asked, “Do you like… get flashbacks of the crash and blame yourself all over again?”

Oscar nodded, exhaling softly. “Yeah, I guess it’s like that. I keep replaying it, even though my colleague was fine. It’s like this… loop in my head, where I keep imagining every possible way it could have gone worse. Murphy’s Law, you know? Like, I can’t help but think of every possible mistake I could make.”

“Murphy’s Law is about engineering, though,” you pointed out. “You can’t just apply that to your everyday life. It’ll turn you into an impossible perfectionist, constantly waiting for everything to fall apart.”

Oscar smiled, appreciating the unexpected insight. It reminded him of how little you knew about him, since, y’know, he hadn’t told you the truth—that engineering actually was involved in his everyday life. And yet, somehow, you still seemed to understand. The irony wasn’t lost on him, and he found himself wondering what other surprises you might be hiding.

You stubbed out your cigarette, bending down and reaching into your bag for a piece of chewing gum. He watched as you unwrapped it, slipping it into your mouth, the familiar scent of artificial strawberry filling the air. It was a ritual he’d seen before, almost like you were trying to erase the smell of smoke as quickly as you’d created it. The action was so practiced, and he found himself charmed by the small, sort of endearing quirk.

“You’re not gonna ask me why I keep on showing up here?” you asked, looking wondering up at Oscar, mumbling slightly as you chewed to get the gum soft.

He glanced at you with a faint smile. “You’ll tell me when you feel comfortable enough. I know that.”

A soft, almost approving nod was your only response.

“There’s my ride,” you murmured as a car drove into the parking lot—the same car he’d seen many times before, the same old woman driving. He could now assume it was your aunt. “I guess I’ll see you next week, then.”

Oscar stumbled on his words as he tried to say goodbye to you, caught off guard by how you almost skipped down the church stairs, looking happier than ever. It was a weird juxtaposition, because you obviously weren’t—happier than ever, that is. You actually dared to look back at him, smiling as you walked over the parking lot. The mascara still sat heavy under your eyes as light shone down on you from the clouds breaking above, and in that moment, you looked like the saddest thing under the sun.

After the car had driven away, Oscar stood still with his thoughts outside the church for a second. He had to look into the weekend meetings. Even if he could never attend them himself, he needed to know why they were important enough for you to mention them to him.

With a last glance toward the parking lot, he went back inside, his eyes drifting toward the bulletin board in the hallway. Various flyers covered its surface. The community really tried its hardest, offering support groups for just about anything—newly becoming parents, cancer survival, dealing with grief and death.

Oscar looked at the schedules, most of them being on weekdays. However, anonymous groups for recovering alcoholics and narcotics were on Saturdays, respectively, Sundays.

It didn’t take long for Oscar to understand.

He also understood why you had asked him. You wanted to know if you had another thing in common other than the group meetings. You hadn’t known he was there because of a car crash, so in your mind he might as well have been there for other issues, like drugs or alcohol.

Oscar didn’t know your full story. He didn’t know why you were here, why you kept showing up week after week, or what had led you to seek out meetings. But he did know one thing: you weren’t as unreachable as you pretended to be, and he was willing to wait until you felt ready to show him the parts of yourself you’d kept hidden.

_______________________________

The soft clink of glasses and low murmur of voices filled the pub as you wiped down the counter for what felt like the hundredth time that day, your hands moving out of habit, eyes scanning the sparse crowd. Picking up an afternoon shift instead of the night shift wasn’t something you normally did, just for that reason. It was the same amount of hours, but it felt a lot longer since the customers were fewer. Thankfully, the evening crowd was starting to build up. 

A woman sat at the counter, maybe ten years older than you, her fingers tracing the rim of an empty glass, her gaze flitting between the door and her phone. She had a nervous look and was dressed too nicely for the pub. You knew the type—the first daters—planning nights to the last detail, hoping for it to go well but preparing for disaster.

“Waiting for someone?” you asked, offering to take her glass. 

“Yeah, a first date. I needed some liquid courage in advance,” she replied with a tight smile. 

“Well, you look gorgeous,” you assured, showing her a genuine smile. “If they turn out to be a wanker, just come up and order an angel shot and I’ll help you out of here.”

Her smile widened, a bit more relaxed now, as she thanked you. 

You made a point to watch over her as your shift went on. Her date arrived shortly after. You let yourself relax; at least he wasn’t a no-show, and he didn’t look like the type to catfish someone. In fact, he looked almost as nervous as she did, and you found yourself rooting for them.

Working in a gritty pub had never been your dream, but it was what your CV got you at this point in life. You had tried living in London, making ends meet by working at a cocktail bar, but you had crash-landed back in your hometown, like big time crashing.

Thankfully, the owner of The Swan hadn’t looked too closely into your past, or he at least didn’t care. You knew how to pour a pint, you knew how to clean up, and you knew how to deal with rowdy drunk people. That made you a top employee. 

You moved on autopilot around the familiar bar with its familiar patrons. Some old, who frequented the bar even on weekdays, and some young, who you mostly saw on weekends. 

You had learnt to listen to some and to eavesdrop on others. Like, you knew all about Denny’s divorce and custody battle because he sat by the bar and went on and on about it as he downed London Prides. But you had to eavesdrop to know that the group of girls who came in after work on Fridays had finally staged an intervention for their friend who put up with too much shit from her boyfriend. 

Little things like that made bartending enjoyable. 

Other things—like loud groups of lads your own age—almost always made it less enjoyable. That was why you felt a tiredness fall over you like an anvil in a slapstick comedy when you, even with your back turned to the door, could hear them enter. You let out a resigned sigh, knowing that the evening was about to take a livelier turn, and maybe not for the better. 

However, they weren’t the usual group that gave you and your colleagues trouble. This were customers you’d never seen before. Strange for being such a small town with only The Swan and two other pubs. Sure, the boys were loud as they came to the bar to order from your colleague, but they were patient and not overly rude. 

You froze in surprise. 

You felt your grip slip from the glass you were holding, almost dropping it. While his friends filed up to the bar with an eagerness for drinks, Oscar lingered, his eyes darting around the room before landing on you. The shocked look on his face was almost priceless. He looked as startled as you felt, his eyes widening briefly as they locked onto yours.

He seemed out of place in the gritty atmosphere of the pub—too put-together, too polished. You knew he wasn’t British from his strong accent, and you knew he wasn’t the most outgoing type from his well… personality. He didn’t belong in here, but for some reason his friends had waltzed right in to The Swan, never having done so before. 

You were scared to think about why, but deep down you knew. 

Before your colleague could ask him for his order, you stepped forward. You wiped your hands on a towel and raised an eyebrow. “You lost?” you teased lightly, leaning against the bar.

Oscar’s friends were still gathering their drinks, a couple of them glancing your way with open curiosity. Your colleague doing the same, knowing full well that you would have to explain this to them afterwards. 

Oscar smiled back, a bit shyly. “No, just… here with some friends.” He gestured vaguely behind him, looking mildly uncomfortable.

“So,” you said, folding your arms. “What can I get you?”

Oscar chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not drinking tonight. Just…moral support, I guess.”

“You know where to find me if you change your mind.” 

For a moment, you both stood there, the noise around you fading into the background.

His friends soon called after him to join them at their table and you had a job to do. As you moved around the bar, greeting regulars, wiping down counters, and handing out drinks, you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that Oscar was still there, his presence lingering even when he was out of view.

Each time you glanced over at their table, you caught him glancing back. The first few times he seemed nervous to be caught, but when he realised how often you looked at him, he really had nothing to be ashamed of if he stared back at you. 

After a while, the place grew livelier, and you lost sight of him in the ebb and flow of customers, the noise picking up as more people filled the seats. The usual rowdiness of a Saturday night began to take hold. 

Eventually, you saw his friends begin to gather their things, settling their tabs, pulling on jackets, and nudging each other as they headed out. You felt yourself get stuck in your steps behind the bar as you watched Oscar stand up from his seat. He exchanged a few words with his friends as they left, but he stayed, earning what you assumed were amused laughs and some crude comments. 

Oscar waited a moment, watching them go, before he turned his gaze toward the bar. You tried to make yourself seem busy, cleaning a counter that wasn’t even dirty. You felt a flicker of nerves as he approached, unsure if you should be the first to talk. He sat down on an empty bar stool next to Denny. He didn’t have to dare to look at you because you already had all of his attention. 

“I don’t think I’ve seen you this long without a cigarette before, y’know,” he said, breaking the silence.  

You rolled your eyes, smirking. “I only smoke when I’m stressed, which is less often than you’d think.”

Oscar’s smile lingered, a warm glint in his eyes that hinted that he understood that the only time he saw you was at the group meetings and that they were the thing that caused you stress to the point where you felt the need to smoke. You wouldn’t even consider yourself a nicotine addict. However, of all things, nicotine wouldn’t be the worst thing to admit that you were addicted to. 

Your conversation was briefly interrupted by your other patrons, like Denny, who flagged you down for another pint. You poured his drink wordlessly, and Oscar waited, his presence somehow calming amidst the usual chaos of the bar.

The couple you’d served earlier—the first-daters—approached to settle their tab.

“That looked successful,” you remarked with a friendly smile, referring to their date.  

“Yeah, honestly green flags all around,” she replied, throwing her date a soft smile as he took out his wallet. “Thanks for the angel shot advice, though.”

You smiled. “Glad you didn’t need to use it.”

The woman chuckled, her eyes twinkling as she looked from you to Oscar, as if piecing something together. She tilted her head toward you. “Do… you need an angel shot yourself?” 

“For this bloke?” you asked in surprise, pointing at Oscar. “Nah, I can handle him myself.” 

The woman nodded, smiling in amusement as she gave Oscar another once-over before heading out with her date, holding hands. Oscar, who had been listening to the entire exchange with a bemused expression, raised an eyebrow.

“What’s an angel shot?” he asked.

“It’s a code we use for people on bad dates,” you explained with a shrug. “If they order one, it means they need help, and I step in. It’s a subtle way for someone to signal they’re uncomfortable without making a scene.”

Oscar’s eyes widened slightly in understanding, and he nodded. “That’s pretty smart.”

“Yeah, it can be useful. When I worked at a cocktail bar in London we had to use it almost every night. This place is a lot calmer.”

You knew it, Oscar knew it too—that rich people drinking Negronis at a rooftop bar in London were more troublesome once they got drunk than what people like Denny did once they were in on their seventh pint of the evening in a small town pub. 

There was a brief lull in the conversation, the uncomfortable kind where you just waited for someone to break the silence. Oscar’s fingers tapped lightly on the bar, and he seemed lost in thought for a moment before, as if summoning courage, he spoke again, his voice a bit hesitant. 

“So… when are you off?” 

“In…” you stopped to check the clock on the wall behind you. “Three minutes.” 

Oscar shifted, clearly nervous. “Do you want to maybe hang out? Get dinner or something?” 

You blinked, taken off guard. He looked so uncomfortable. It was endearing in a way you hadn’t expected. He was as unsure of himself as anyone else was. 

Oscar, meanwhile, felt as though he was the world’s worst at this. It was no wonder he never had casual things like Lando seemed to have every other weekend, one night stand after one night stand. Not that Oscar necessarily wanted that, but to even feel like he had the possibility to ask someone out would’ve been nice. 

“I mean, if you’re up for it,” he added quickly, tripping over his words. “Like, we don’t have to or anything. I just thought—”

You cut him off with an uncharacteristic giggle, the sound breaking through the tension. “Only if I can use your shower. I smell like cheap beer and fryer oil,” you said, lifting your t-shirt with the pub’s swan logo on it to your nose, grimacing at the smell. 

“Oh,” he breathed, his face lighting up in relief. “Absolutely.” 

You tossed the towel onto the counter, giving him a playful smile as you stepped around the bar to join him. “But I’ll let you know,” you said, lowering your voice, “you shouldn’t hang out with someone like me. I’ll defile you.”

“I’m not as innocent as I act,” he said teasingly, but he wasn’t even sure if he believed his own words, let alone did he fool you. 

_______________________________

Oscar sat like a sociopath on the sofa waiting for you to finish showering. He was not sure his posture had even been this good. You’d made your way to his flat after your shift had ended. He’d offered you his shower and clothes while he said he’d fix the rest. However, every film he could think of watching seemed pathetic. Every type of food he could think of ordering seemed disgusting. He hadn’t exactly thought this through when he asked you to hang out. He hadn’t expected it to be so… casual? Or maybe easy? Like you actually wanted to be here, in his flat, spending the evening with him.

He was probably overthinking this—no, he was overthinking this. But how could he not? He tried so hard to not think of the fact that you were wet and naked just a wall away, but he was pretty sure his brain broke in the process. Every detail was suddenly monumental, as though he was a teenager again.

The faint sound of the shower stopped, and he quickly sat up straighter, mentally scolding himself to look less… tense. He wasn’t sure he was pulling it off. He could hear the bathroom door open, and then you were padding down the hall, and he practically whipped his head around to see you. 

You were wearing one of his favourite shirts, the maroon fabric hanging over your frame, the hem brushing the tops of your thighs. Your hair was still damp, small droplets darkening the shirt where they fell. The sweatpants you’d borrowed were too long, so you’d tucked them into your socks—baby pink, fuzzy socks with little red hearts on them. The socks were definitely not Oscar’s. He couldn’t believe that was what you were hiding under your Doc Martens. 

Oscar blinked, trying to reconcile the idea that this—this ridiculously adorable version of you—was the same person who’d honestly scared him during your first conversation. 

“Cute socks,” he chuckled, unable to stop himself. 

“Shut up,” you muttered, hiding a smile, before flopping down on the sofa next to him, already more casual than Oscar could ever be. “What are we watching?” 

He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He was acutely aware of how close you were, your leg brushing against his as you made yourself comfortable. You didn’t hesitate to grab a blanket that was thrown over the back of the sofa, cuddling into it as you wrapped it around yourself. 

“We could watch… uh, anything you want,” Oscar finally managed. 

You rolled your eyes, sinking into the sofa cushions. “If you let me pick, it’s going to be something dumb.”

“I’m okay with dumb.”

Your lips curled into a smile, but you didn’t say anything as you leant forward to grab the remote. Oscar sat there, watching as you navigated through streaming options. You were on the hunt for something specific, he noticed. Right in on Disney+ and quickly you searched for…Brother Bear? 

Oscar’s brow lifted in surprise, but he didn’t question it. In a way, it felt perfectly fitting. He let out a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding and settled into the cushions, letting himself ease into the film, into the quiet comfort of the moment.

You both ordered pizza that arrived sometime in the middle of the film. You liked pineapple on pizza, but he guessed he could overlook it. Especially if it meant you were here, sitting beside him, taking a bite with a content look on your face. 

You’d grown soft around the edges, for him. This was domestic, bordering on romantic. The girl he had first met—cigarette and white lighter in hand—would’ve never admitted to liking Disney films and to wearing pink fuzzy socks. 

When the pizza was finished and the movie neared its end, you laid down in the corner of his L-shaped sofa, blanket fully surrounding you. Oscar wanted to scoot over, closer to you, maybe put your feet in his lap, but he hesitated, scared to cross boundaries. He chewed the inside of his cheek, lost in thought, hoping that his nerves would miraculously disappear. 

And then you made a sound—a soft, involuntary awe that escaped your lips during the scene where Koda, the little bear cub, was reunited with his deceased mother through some sort of glowing spirits in the sky. Oscar had to admit that even though he’d seen this film as a kid, the plot was now completely lost on him because of you. 

It was cute. Like, painfully cute, and Oscar felt that weird mix of cute aggression, where something is so adorable you just want to squeeze it. Instead, he let himself simply watch you, taking in the way your eyes glistened and your mouth parted slightly, as if you’d forgotten everything around you, wrapped up in this world of animated magic. He mentally cursed himself when you caught him looking. 

“Why are you staring at me?” you muttered. 

“You look like you’re about to cry,” Oscar teased and smiled boyishly.

“Shut up, I do not,” you shot back, rubbing your eyes with your fingers. You were sharp enough to draw blood, and he was somehow always left unscathed.

He couldn’t help but smile wider, watching as you tried to hide your embarrassment. In a brave moment, he moved closer, daring to take a hold of your wrist so that you couldn’t hide from him. Your eyes were shining and a couple of your eyelashes had clumped together from the moisture. 

“It’s okay to cry to movies,” he said, nudging you gently. “Especially one’s about animated animals.” 

“I am not crying. Not even close,” you insisted, laughing, sinking further into the sofa, pulling the blanket up to your chin. 

You moved to the side and somehow, Oscar felt himself fitting naturally into the space behind you. He felt something shift inside him, a strange warmth settling in his chest. This was soft, quiet, almost painfully domestic. Yet it was real. You were here, cuddled up on his sofa, wrapped in his blanket, wearing his clothes, and laughing at something he’d said. 

Neither of you said another word as you moved to lay together like you’d done it a million times before. He found his arm moving to wrap around you, pulling you in closer until your back was touching his chest. You lifted the blanket to cover him partly too. The movie rolled through its final scenes, and Oscar found himself paying even less attention now that you were literally touching him. 

“You’re gonna stay there?” you whispered as the end credits rolled. 

“Yeah, we’re watching the sequel.”

But neither of you moved to get the remote. 

After a still moment, with a deep breath you moved to lay on your back. You glanced up at him, your gaze holding his for a long moment. Oscar didn’t dare look away, even if his confidence told him to do it. At least it was easier to look you in the eye than to take in the rest of you. 

His heart picked up when you adjusted yourself, the blanket slipping from your shoulders and the maroon fabric of his shirt shifted slightly, revealing the outline of your body beneath. Your breasts moved gently, and he couldn’t help but notice the lack of anything underneath the soft cotton. His throat felt tight, and suddenly, every molecule of air around him seemed saturated with the scent of you.

Then, he realised that the scent of you was actually the scent of his laundry detergent and the soap he kept in his shower mixed with something that was uniquely you. And oh, how Oscar hated being a man. Was he really pathetic enough to pop a boner because you smelled good? 

His body reacted before his brain could process it, betraying him in ways that were anything but subtle—warm and spreading, settling quickly. He shifted uncomfortably, moving his legs in a feeble attempt to hide the evidence of just how much you affected him. 

“Oscar…” Your voice was soft, questioning.

He shook his head, looking anywhere but at you as he managed to respond. “I know, I’m sorry,” he said, mortified. His face burned with embarrassment. He couldn’t believe this was happening—couldn’t believe he was that guy right now.

“You don’t have to apologise,” you whispered, and you still weren’t scared to look him in the eye. Oscar for once wished you were. 

“Yes, I do. It kind of ruins the mood,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. 

Your expression softened and then you shifted to give him a bit of space. In the process, you nearly tipped off the edge of the sofa, and instinctively, Oscar reached out, his hand steadying you by your arm. The warmth of your skin under his touch sent a spark up through his palm, grounding him, but he couldn’t help feeling a pang of guilt if he’d made you uncomfortable.

“Ugh… it’s just…you just smell good, and you’re wearing my shirt, and your skin is the softest thing ever, and I can’t think straight—” he stopped himself abruptly. 

A laugh escaped your lips, soft but warm, and Oscar froze, unsure if he’d actually said all that aloud or if his brain had finally imploded.

“What are you doing?” you asked, tilting your head as you watched Oscar suddenly move away from you, sitting up in an awkward half-way position with the limited space he had behind you. It probably looked like he was about to bolt out of the flat out of sheer embarrassment. 

“What am I doing?” He frowned. “I just—I don’t want you… I mean, you shouldn’t have to, y’know, feel it.”

At that, your smile deepened, and you moved your legs, spreading them just enough to make space for him to settle between them, throwing the blanket off the sofa. 

“Oscar, can you… just calm down for a second?” you said gently, meeting his gaze with a reassuring look. “I’m not appalled by it, y’know? But you’re acting like I should be.”

His heartbeat thundered in his chest as he looked at you, processing your words. You didn’t seem bothered in the slightest. It was in this moment that Oscar also realised the position you were in, with him between your legs, fighting with his arm propped up to not fall flatly over your body. You weren’t scared to brush his sides by shutting your thighs just the slightest. 

“You’re okay with this?” he felt the need to ask. 

“I am.” 

Oscar let his eyes linger for the first time, deciding for once to let the awkwardness melt away. And just like always, your eyes were on him, almost shamelessly scanning his broad shoulders and the way the fabric of his grey sweatpants stretched.

The shirt you’d borrowed had ridden up slightly, revealing your soft stomach and the hem of your underwear—a black cotton thong, the thin material peeking out. What was the frontal version of a whale-tail called? When the elastics sank into the soft parts of your hips and showed on either side above the waistband of your sweatpants. 

Yeah, Oscar’s brain was definitely broken. 

His mind spun, grasping for words, but all he managed was a shaky breath as he leaned in, like he couldn’t believe that he was seeing it, that he was this close. The air brushed against your skin. His mouth was as dry as a desert. You inhaled so sharply that he could hear it and see your stomach rising. He was eye level with your belly button and he decided upon… kissing it. Or right next to it, on the softest part of your stomach, the world narrowing down to just that patch of skin. 

He looked up for reassurance, and you just smiled. A perfectly content smile where light sparkled in your eyes. Oscar’s hands found your waist as he kissed you again, his lips trailing gently across your stomach. Your skin was impossibly soft, practically melting into his hands.��

Oscar’s next step was unplanned—like this entire thing—and maybe a bit silly, but when he was down there, kissing your stomach, he couldn’t help but want to venture higher up. So, like any other unreasonable person with hormones clouding their judgement, he stuck his head under your shirt, starting by kissing your ribs. 

You let out something between a gasp and a giggle as your breathing picked up the higher up Oscar’s mouth wandered. Where your ribs connected in the middle of your chest, right where the skin was the thinnest, was where he started to gently suck and he earned his first moan. You could feel him start to smile as it escaped you. 

When you looked down at him, all you could see was how his head stretched the fabric, and it was simply just humorous. 

“I could just take my shirt off, y’know?” you teased, though you were out of breath.  

”No,” he mumbled, lips brushing against your skin, an audible mwah leaving his mouth as he moved higher, planting a soft kiss in the valley between your breasts. “It’s warm under here.” 

You let out a small laugh, your fingers resting on top of his head, the shirt still acting as a barrier as you felt his hair through it. “Wouldn’t have taken you for such a boob guy.” 

Oscar closed his eyes as he felt your quiet laugher vibrate through your chest against his lips. Your breasts were practically lodged against his cheeks and he was definitely flushed red all over so it was actually convenient for him to be hidden under your shirt. 

“Shut up,” was all he could manage to mutter. 

He couldn’t hide anymore when he felt you pull the shirt up by the hem, first over his head and then swiftly over your own, it landing somewhere on the floor. Oscar was left laying there, chin resting against your sternum, feeling totally exposed as your eyes met his again. He didn’t dare to take in the sight of you shirtless, even though he was literally on top of your breasts. 

And while he probably looked like a flustered mess, you looked totally unfazed. 

“You motorboated me,” you exclaimed, laughter in your voice, “and you haven’t even kissed me on the mouth! Feels a bit backwards, don’t you think?” 

Oscar chuckled, not having the time to think that he should be ashamed because of what you just insinuated. His hand moved to gently cup your cheek as he lifted himself to look at you.

“What I’m hearing is that you want to kiss me.”  

He hated to sound cocky. He promised he really did. But with your jaw slacked and disbelief plastered on your face, he felt like he had said the right thing. You weren’t pushing him away, weren’t closing off the moment like he half-expected.

Instead, you were pulling him in.

If he thought your chest had been soft, your lips were like fucking velvet. It was like he was scared to touch you with how delicate you felt; with how softly you met his own lips. The initial connection was quick before he pulled away an inch or two to gather your reaction. With pure lust in your eyes, you were back to kissing him again before he had the chance to overthink what had just happened. 

The kiss deepened slowly, a tender exploration of new territory, a silent acknowledgement that this—whatever this was—wasn’t just a one-off moment.

Oscar’s heart hammered in his chest as he shifted, his body now hovering over yours. His lips brushed against yours in a series of soft kisses. Then, before he knew it, your tongue was fighting his own. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him in closer, and he let himself be totally absorbed by you. 

And oh my god, you were shirtless beneath him. He struggled with where to place his hands, feeling strange holding your face for too long but scared to grip your bare waist with his wandering hands. But when he felt you push up towards him—your nipples rubbing his shirt, the soft flesh of your breast squished against his chest—Oscar felt like he could indulge fully. 

With his forehead pressed against yours, Oscar pulled away and asked, “Do you want this to go further?” 

You nodded first, swallowing your breath, before verbally saying a low and desperate yes too. 

He wasn’t sure if he answered anything coherent or just let out a loud huff when he leant back down to kiss you. As his hands travelled up your body, you could feel goosebumps form under his fingertips. He stoked the underside of your breasts, taking in the way you reacted, before fully cupping them in his palms. 

You tipped your head back between the sofa cushions as his lips moved down your jaw and neck, littering you with open-mouthed kisses. He towered over you, his lower body fitting perfectly with how your legs spread for him. 

Oscar smiled as he grazed his teeth against your nipple, hearing you gasp at how he purposely teased you. And while he hadn’t thought about it like that before, you were definitely right with calling him a boob guy. Because fuck, could he spend his time adoring and fondling your soft tits, malleable in his hands and stimulating on his tongue. The way they perked up and became more sensitive with his touch was about to make him delirious. 

And the sounds you were making—the gentle breathy groans—were better than any sound he’d ever heard before, practically deafening to his ears by how much he was concentrating on it. God, was he glad to have not turned on the sequel because having sex to Phil Collins wasn’t really on any bucket list. Especially not with how overwhelming he found your noises.  

He released your nipple with a smacking sound, gazing at the attacked skin of your chest and neck. It would leave bruises, which made him feel even more like a horny teenager. 

“Can you take your shirt off?” Your voice felt airy and small. 

While your hands had already crept under to rake down his back as you were kissing, Oscar hadn’t exactly thought about the imbalance. He’d do just about anything to make you comfortable, meaning that his t-shirt soon joined yours on the floor. 

He was an athlete, yet he hadn’t personally ever thought he looked like one. He’d never been one of those guys to confidently parade around without a shirt on in summer or post pictures of himself flexing in the gym. He just couldn’t do it.

But your eyes on him, the way you nestled your lower lip between your teeth, and how your hands immediately reached out to touch him… yeah, that was maybe the closest thing he’d felt to confidence in a long time.

“Do you feel okay?”

He wasn’t sure how his own voice would sound when he spoke again—dry and muffled, distracted by a million different things. 

“Mhm,” you sighed out. “You wanna take off the rest of my clothes or should I do it myself?” 

Oscar gulped at your forwardness, but he guessed he already knew that you wanted to take this further. So did he, like insanely. With fumbling fingers, he untied the drawstring on your sweatpants and worked them down your hips, until you laid there in front of him in just your thong and fuzzy socks. 

He had sat up to take off his shirt, but he now nestled down between your legs again. There was no way in hell that he would last long inside of you, so he would need to please you beforehand. A gentleman, after all. 

Oscar felt like he was about to die at the thought of going down on you, his blushing cheeks almost hurting from how warm they were. His hair was messy, his lips were kissed raw, and his pupils had dilated until all you could see in his eyes was darkness. 

“Y’know you don’t have to—” you tried to tell him. 

“What if I really want to?” he questioned, almost rhetorically. You didn’t fight him on it. 

He kissed down your stomach until he came to the hem of your panties, absentmindedly rubbing soft circles on your hips and then down your thighs. There, his thoughts were simply reduced to the need to have you, in whatever way you allowed him. 

You were impatient, while Oscar took his time to enjoy you. He tortuously dragged his lips across your thighs; the faint pattern of your skin looked like thin, pale lines spreading like lightning strikes. Once he dared to touch you over the fabric and feel the wetness that had soaked through, he could hear your breath hitch. 

Slowly, he hooked his fingers in the sides of your thong and dragged them down your legs, leaving them discarded on the floor with the other clothes. Fully naked, except the socks, but those were staying on, Oscar decided. 

“Have I told you that you’re gorgeous yet?” 

You were looking down at him with an expression akin to frustration—mouth slightly open and heavy breaths spilling out, almost scoffing at his cliché words. He couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride as his own breaths hit your skin, blowing against your exposed heat. He pecked the stretched skin on your inner thigh to soothe you, stopping your writhing.

At a loss for what to do with your hands, they found their way down to his hair, weaving through his soft curls, tugging gently to get his attention. 

“Osc…” you said with a simple breath. 

That was really all Oscar needed—to hear you want him. That stupid little nickname was also something special. He hummed against you, feeling your reassurance as he kissed gently over your clit. And before you were able to complain for more, he latched his lips around it, suckling in a way that made your vision momentarily blank. His movements were tentative at first, unexperienced and lacking confidence. 

“Oh, you’re so good,” you exhaled, praising him. 

And there was something about the way you say it that just drove Oscar mad. It wasn’t that it felt good—it was that he was good. He got off on your reaction. It was as simple as that. It made him determined, building something with precise dramatics. 

You felt his left hand grasp at the skin of your thigh, slowly inching upwards before he carefully sank a finger into you. Your hips twitched and you moan out loud as he played with you. He worked you open before adding another finger, his mouth never leaving your clit in the process. Even when your thighs fought to stay open, caging him between them, he didn’t falter. And every once in a while, when his eyes looked up to meet yours, you only felt yourself falling apart quicker. 

His voice was low, the tone soft, when he mumbled something against your swollen cunt; something about how you tasted good. His free hand gently pressed down on your stomach to make you focus on the sensation—to feel his fingers ripping you apart from the inside out. 

“God, fuckfuckfuck—” You were barely making sense of your own words as you bucked up against his mouth, completely buried over you, nose bumping your clit with his repeated motions. 

Automatically, your hands grasped your breasts, fingers toying with your already sensitive nipples. Moving from your stomach, Oscar’s right hand was placed on your tits too, clasping his fingers over your own as he squeezed. 

When you inevitably fell apart, he didn’t stop—not until you were a complete mess beneath him. Arching, white-hot, and expanding with intensity before his very eyes as he continued to softly lick. The way he was making out with your soaked core and babying your clit with the tip of his tongue would make one believe that this was a man who had never been shy or embarrassed over a single thing in his life. 

And he wasn’t going to stop until you begged him.

With a pleasured and defeated “Oscar, please…” you were letting him know that he had done his job—that he had won you over in more ways than was necessary, that you were spent by him. 

“I know,” he cooed, kissing your stomach. “I know.” 

He moved to lay beside you, gently sliding his fingers out of you before tap, tap, tapping at your puffy clit, keeping his eyes steady at how you reacted. A slight hiss left your mouth before a hoarse laugher slipped out too. Your legs were still trembling from how intense your orgasm had been. 

“You’re a mess,” you chuckled, raising a hand to brush his hair back then wiping his mouth with the back of your hand to clean him. “And a menace.” 

“Well, so are you,” he smiled, kissing you on the mouth, neither of you caring about said mess. 

You took a moment to breathe, and Oscar took a moment to think. While he couldn’t think straight, he could still come to the conclusion that this was such a good feeling—an overwhelmingly good feeling that he hadn’t felt in a long time, maybe never before. 

By now, his cock was painfully hard beneath his sweatpants, definitely having leaked pre-cum through his boxers. If it had been bad before, it was so many times worse now with you heaving next to him, naked and looking at him through your eyelashes. He was practically seeing stars, and you hadn’t even touched him where he ached the most.

It was almost unjustifiable the way he was feeling—someone should just tape a sign to his forehead that said practically a raging virgin and call it a day. He wasn’t one, just to clarify, but you made him feel like one.  

Your hand trailed gently down his chest, your nails painted black like always. Oscar wasn’t sure he was breathing anymore. He wished he could react normally to your touch, but instead it was like his skin raised like a mountain range wherever your hand wandered, his eyes following your movements with a pitiful desperation. 

And when your hand moved below the waistband of his sweatpants, resting gently over his boxers, and therefore his erection too, he wasn’t sure what exactly would happen to his body—something new, a biological error, or a supernatural phenomenon. 

You were so close to him, pulling his trousers down in such a fashion that your legs almost clashed together while it happened. Then he was naked, and you turned quiet. 

Abashedly, he tried to think about what he looked like from your perspective. He wondered if he was too thick or too thin, if he should’ve groomed better, or if his upper body was disproportionate to his legs, or if he smelled bad, if he was just plain weird, or—

“Holy shit,” you whispered. 

“W-what?” Oscar stuttered. 

While Oscar was busy analysing himself, you were gawking. Maybe people on TikTok would call it a ’sleeper-build’, but there was nothing subtle about it. His pale skin looked pretty in a flushed pink tone, easily scratching under your sharp nails. Broad shoulders, toned stomach, thick thighs. Your eyes couldn’t help but look lower and lower. The pure size of him sank in a second later. 

“You’re… big,” you said like a matter of fact. “It’s been a while, so you’ll have to go slow.” 

“W-what?” Oscar stuttered, again. 

His eyes widened to the point where it strained them. Of all the things you could’ve said, that was probably the one he expected the least. He tried to read your face, waiting for more of an explanation. 

With your brows furrowed, all you asked were, “You’re surprised that I haven’t had sex in a while?” 

“No!” he hurried to say, not thinking about other implications his reaction could’ve had. He’d curse himself for eternity if you thought he meant to slut-shame you. “I’m surprised about the other… thing. No one’s ever said that before,” he gesticulated with his hand, unsure what to call the thing that had just happened. 

You glanced up at his face to see that he was now sporting a smirk, letting you know that your words had gone completely to his ego. Motherfucker, was he pretty. 

“I’m not sure I believe that,” you mumbled, kissing him again. Laying side to side next to each other on the sofa, both of your hands had grown eager to touch. It was waists and chests, up bare backs to tangle fingers in hair.  

“I promise you that it’s the first time I hear that,” he mumbled back. 

Your hand sneaked down between your bodies, and any cockiness that Oscar gained from his newfound ’big dick energy’ was washed away in seconds. A whimper. A fucking whimper was ripped from his throat as soon as your fingers were wrapped around him. He couldn’t stop himself. Your movements were slow and languid, spreading the beads of pre-cum around his tip with your thumb. Oscar closed his eyes as he tried to not fall apart instantly. 

“How’s your pull-out game?” you asked between placing kisses on his neck and jaw. He had beautiful freckles and birthmarks all over his skin. 

And, fuck, how Oscar couldn’t think when dirty words left your mouth. 

“I—, Uhh… Not good?” 

He let out a moan mid-sentence. He felt both pathetic and tortured as your delicate fingers kept stroking him up and down. 

“I’m on birth control anyway.” 

“I could go and get a condom,” he fought himself to say. 

“Do you have one?” you questioned, and Oscar’s lack of an answer told you what you already knew. “I thought so.”  

And while Oscar knew that he came across loser-like, he didn’t also need it to be so transparent to you. Even though he sort of liked the dynamic built between you. He had always liked that you were quick-witted and a little mean. 

Oscar exhaled, concealing another moan with a breathy chuckle. “You need to stop making fun of me when I’m naked. It’s going to affect my self-esteem.” 

“Can’t help it, you’re an easy target.” You quickly pecked his lips, a little laugher slipping out. “You’re also a very pretty target.” 

He wasn’t used to being called pretty. His mum called him handsome. His instagram comments called him a polite cat. Pretty was entirely new territory. But he liked it, and impossibly, he blushed even harder. 

“Are we really doing this?” 

He just had to be sure, still in a bit of disbelief. 

“Please,” you said. “Fuck me.” 

Oscar propped himself on his elbow, placing it beside your head, caging you beneath him. He took himself in his hand, giving his cock a few slow stokes. He looked tortured, the tip pink and engorged as it curved up towards his stomach, a thatch of hair connecting to his faint happy trail. 

The head of his cock sat heavy against your entrance as he aligned himself, and you felt yourself desperately clenching around nothing. His free hand rubbed circles on your hip comfortingly. He was hesitant, and maybe that was your fault for asking him to take it slow, but the last thing he wanted was to cause you pain. With an eager nod, you gave him the green light. 

“God, you’re tight,” Oscar murmured, his voice breathless as he pushed forward. 

“No,” you gasped, gripping his bicep for something to hold onto. “You are massive.” 

A low, strained laugh escaped him. “You really wanna argue right now?” 

No, you didn’t. Not when you felt him slide inside you completely. 

“I’m okay,” you whispered, breathing heavily, unable to help the way you tightened around him. “F-fuck, you can move,” you told him, voice muffled against his neck. 

Oscar inhaled sharply, softening to the touch by your reassurance, as he pulled his hips from yours before slowly moving back, tentatively creating a steady rhythm, stretching your around him. 

It was intoxicating, and warm. While he knew that he liked you, he had never imagined it to feel like free falling. You still smelled like a mixture of him and yourself, and your soft skin was touching him in ways and places he couldn’t describe. It was gratifying that you were just as desperate as he was.  

He lifted your leg up by gripping under your knee, thrusting at a deeper angle. The sounds of your bodies crashing together filled the room as your moments only got quicker and needier. 

Looking down at you, he saw your eyes struggling to stay open and your jaw dropping loose with the whimpers and moans you were letting out. Your tits bounced in pace every time he came to the hilt inside you. 

“Holy f-fuck, you feel good,” he stuttered right in your ear. “You feel like you were fucking made for me.” 

He was being lewd and you giggled. God, you giggled—like Oscar didn’t have enough of a hard time keeping it together. You were teasing him, but it was gentle and honeyed, like a beautiful song to his ears. 

He forcefully dug his fingers into the soft fat of your thigh, spilling out between his fingers, doing just about anything to ground himself, but it was impossible. Admittedly, Oscar had never felt this good before in his life. 

His living room was ablaze with your movements—an incoherent mess between two bodies, all skin and bone, at each other’s disposal to use. 

“Fuck…” Oscar moaned, grinding his cock into you. “I’m already so fucking close.” 

“Me too,” you whined out, voice strangled. “Let it all go.” 

Oscar buried his face in your neck to try and hide his desperation, moaning and biting down into the soft skin. He was moving frantically, feeling it all approaching rapidly. 

With a soft cry, Oscar was cumming, stuttering and needy, groaning everything from your name to all the curse words he could think of. He twitched inside of you, coating your walls with his cum. You moved one of your hands to his cheek and you held his face, staring intensely into his eyes, as he rode out his high. 

Damn you and your damn eye contact. 

He continued to slowly thrust, doing whatever he could to get you off while being totally spent. The hand on your hip drifted to your pubic bone before delving between your folds, his pointer and ring finger running steady halos over your clit. Thankfully, you weren’t long after. He wasn’t sure he could take the embarrassment of not making you cum when it had been so easy for him. You arched your back as it hit you, throwing your head back in blind pleasure. 

And then it all slowed. The moans disappeared, and all that was left were heavy breaths in an eerily quiet living room. He felt warm air hit his neck as he laid down and you cuddled up against him. Mindlessly, you ran your fingertips along his skin, soothing the marks your nails had left. He’d gone soft inside you, his release mixed with your own leaking out the sides. 

“I’m gonna slide out, okay?” 

“Mhm, slowly,” you whimpered as he did it, going from feeling full to achingly empty. A single tear ran down your cheek out of exhaustion and pleasure, and Oscar stopped to kiss it away, tasting the saline on his lips. 

“Talk to me,” he whispered. 

You let out a deep breath, your body feeling heavy but sated. “I’m good,” you murmured, your cheek pressed against his chest. “Can feel you dripping down my thighs though.” 

“We should probably clean up.” 

He didn’t move, and neither did you. You were perfectly content with the mess if it meant that you would stay cradled in his arms. He wrapped his arms tighter around you, legs intertwining. His pec was soft against you, and you could hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, a soothing backdrop to the quiet intimacy of the moment.

“I was going to let you wait annoyingly long before sleeping with you. I can’t believe I caved in so easily,” you said suddenly, your voice soft but teasing. The words hung in the air for a moment, light and playful, but you could feel the way his chest rumbled as he chuckled.

Oscar raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. “Oh, really?”

You nodded, hiding your face in his chest. “Yeah. Like, painfully long. Months, at least.”

“What changed?” 

You hesitated for a moment, your face still pressed against him. But then you tilted your head slightly, sneaking a glance up at him through heavy lashes. “Can’t help the fact that I’m insanely attracted to you,” you admitted shyly. 

Oscar took in your smile before embarrassment made you hide it into his chest again. You were so… soft, like he couldn’t actually believe it.  

“Glad we’re on the same page,” he exhaled, sinking down further into the sofa cushions. He ran a hand through his hair, trying and failing to contain the pleased grin that spread across his face.

You kissed his chest gently, the steady rise and fall of his breathing lulling you into a sense of peace. For a while, neither of you spoke, the comfortable silence stretching between you. You were glad this hadn’t turned awkward. 

Then, his voice broke the quiet, low and soft. “Are you staying the night?”

You didn’t look up at him, sort of scared to say a right-out yes to his question. 

“If you want me to.”

His arms tightened around you slightly, and you could feel the smile on his lips as he pressed a soft kiss to the crown of your head. “I’d love that.”

_______________________________

Oscar wasn’t sure how long he spent starring at himself in the bathroom mirror afterward. He moved through his routine on autopilot—brushing his teeth, rinsing his mouth—only for his movements to slow as his reflection pulled him back in. His messy hair was still tousled. The love bites on his neck, faint but unmistakable, stood out against his pale skin. His fingertips grazed over the scratches on his shoulders, his cheeks warming as he recalled how they got there. He didn’t think he would ever stop blushing tonight. 

When he finally mustered the courage to step back into his bedroom, he found you there: bare feet on the hardwood floor, wearing only his maroon t-shirt. You stood in front of his dresser, looking intensely at something placed on it. 

The trophies.

You had fucked his brains out so good that he had forgotten about the intricate web of omissions and half-truths he had woven around you. And now, his lies were staring back at him, literally and metaphorically. 

This was about to be awful. 

“So, this is where you keep them?” Your voice was calm, deceptively so, as you turned to face him.

Oscar stood frozen in the doorway. He opened his mouth but no words left it, his body rigid as he grappled with the realisation: you already knew.  

He hadn’t wanted to keep these things out in the open. Unlike some drivers whose homes were practically shrines to their achievements, Oscar preferred subtlety. Most of his trophies were tucked away, gathering dust in storage. But these— mostly medals and pictures from his childhood, tokens of his early racing days—remained on his dresser. 

“I’ve known for a while,” you admitted, as if offering him a way out of the confession he hadn’t yet made. “Since I questioned you driving a McLaren to counselling.”

Oscar blinked, the pieces of the puzzle clicking into place with an awful, grinding clarity. It wasn’t like he had tried to be undercover or specifically careful about concealing his identity. 

“I thought you just worked for McLaren at first,” you continued, gesturing vaguely to the trophies. “But then I googled your name and the brand… My brother used to be a big Hamilton fan, so I made the connection.”

He exhaled slowly, his shoulders slumping slightly as the tension drained out of him. “Why didn’t you say something?” He didn’t mean for his voice to sound defeated, but it did. 

“Figured there was a reason as to why you didn’t tell me,” you shrugged, taking a seat on his bed. “I won’t force you to talk about things you don’t want to. We met in an unconventional way and I fully understand that you don’t want a stranger to know everything about you.” 

“Don’t say that,” Oscar interrupted, his voice sharper than he intended. He stepped further into the room, his hands flexing at his sides. “We’re not strangers, we know each other.” 

You tilted your head, your expression softening as you studied him. His sudden reaction surprised even himself, but he couldn’t let the word “strangers” hang in the air between you. Oscar guessed he was more emotionally involved than he had let himself believe, but that he now couldn’t deny it. He sat down beside you, the bed shifting under his weight, and your eyes searched his for something—an explanation, perhaps

“I know you,” he argued. “I know that you only smoke after counselling since it stresses you out and you think that because you smoke Marlboro Silvers, it won’t affect you as badly. know that immediately after, you chew strawberry gum to get rid of the taste, because you don’t actually like it.” 

He started at you intensely as he kept talking, finally not scared of your eye contact. But he could see that you were crumbling. 

“You only drink rooibos tea because it’s naturally sweeter than black tea. You carry white lighters to appear fearless, but in reality it’s because you’re sad and you don’t care if something bad happens to you.” 

“Oh, and you cry to Disney movies,” he lastly added, “because you are in fact not fearless. You’re scared shitless of the emotions you harbour inside and never tell anyone about. So, yeah, I know you. ” 

You blinked, his words hanging in the air between. “That doesn’t sound like you know me,” you said after a long pause. “That sounds like you’ve observed me.”

“We also quite literally just had sex,” he reminded you, a shy smile tugging at his lips. “And I think we’re alike in that sense—that we don’t casually do that with random people.” 

“Fair point,” you conceded, unable to suppress your own smile. 

And there it was again—the strange, undeniable truth between you. There was truth in what you had shared with each other, always. Even if he had skipped the specifics, his feelings had never been false. 

You exhaled loudly, your back hitting the mattress. It was like a balloon had popped, the tension in the taut latex having exploded into nothing. You were so tired. You always were. 

Oscar knew not to push further. Not right now at least. He fell back on the mattress too, hiking further up to rest his head on his pillow. He lifted the covers to invite you underneath, cuddling you closer as your arms and legs were now slightly cold to the touch. 

He also came back to the realisation that you knew him too. That you knew why he went to the group meetings. That you knew what he did all those weekends he spent working. That the car crash he blamed himself for wasn’t exactly average. 

“Did you see the crash?” he asked quietly after a moment, his voice murmuring between the sheets. 

He felt you shake your head. “No, I haven’t seen a race since Hamilton last won the championship.” 

“Right, because of your brother,” Oscar remembered. “Is he no longer a fan?” 

“I don’t know if he is. Haven’t talked to him in over a year.” 

Oscar nodded slowly, taking in the weight of your words. You hesitated for a moment, your fingers tracing the edge of the covers. “Do you want me to see the crash?” 

“No,” he answered quickly. “Not really.” 

“My first impression of you racing probably shouldn’t be a crash anyway.” 

The corners of his mouth lifted in a small, grateful smile, and he reached for your hand, lacing his fingers with yours. The weight of that topic seemed to drift away, and you found yourself sinking into the comfort of his embrace again, your head resting on his bare chest. He could feel your warmth tucked against his side, your breathing steady like a rhythm. You traced little patterns along his palm and fingers. 

For a moment, it felt easy again. Soporific, even.

He could’ve easily fallen asleep, for once without thinking about nightmares. Oscar also didn’t want this to end, for the night to be over and for him to have to say goodbye to you in the morning. Not that he imagined it to be a dramatic goodbye, you’d see each other soon enough again, but still, he didn’t want to. 

“You should come with me to a race,” he said softly, breaking the peaceful silence, looking at you almost succumbing to slumber. 

“I can’t—” you began and Oscar could immediately sense your hesitation. 

“I’d pay for everything. I just want to have you there,” he added quickly, tilting his head to gaze down at you. It wasn’t about the money. It wasn’t about showing off. He just needed you near him, in whatever way he could. 

Your body tensed up against him. “I can’t leave the country Oscar.” 

The words didn’t make sense at first. He frowned, confused. “I’m sure you can get time off from work,” he said, worrying that was the reason. 

You turned your gaze away, your cheek no longer resting against him, and the absence of your touch sent a quiet ache through him. You couldn’t meet his eyes, and the pause that followed felt agonisingly long. The words felt stuck in your throat, your chest tightening. 

“I mean—,” you paused, swallowing hard. “I’m not allowed to leave the country.” 

The room fell silent, save for your faint whisper. 

“I’m on probation.” 

Oscar’s mind went blank. Probation. That was for criminal offences. You’d done something deserving of a court sentence. Silence stretched between you, and Oscar pulled away slightly, just enough to look at you more closely. His brow furrowed, but he didn’t speak.

“So, I’m sorry for calling us strangers,” you said finally, “but you don’t know the half of what I’ve done.” 

You sat up fully now, a cold weight settling in the bed. “What are you doing?” he asked, his voice steady, watching as you untangled yourself from the sheets, kicking the comforter off your legs.

“I’m leaving.” 

“No. You’re not.” 

His voice was firm, almost commanding, as he reached out and grasped your arm before you could move further. His grip wasn’t harsh, but it was resolute. He wasn’t going to let you walk away—not like this.

“You’re going to stay and tell me about this. I feel like you owe me that after what we just did.” 

You froze, whole body going rigid, but Oscar didn’t let go. 

“I need to know if I’m falling for a serial killer or not,” he added with a half-smile, trying to lighten the mood, “because then I’ll seriously need to reconsider my life choices.”

Your heart ached at his attempt to make you laugh, but the knot in your chest didn’t loosen. The humour didn’t land, not fully, and the weight of what you were about to confess pressed down on you like a heavy stone.

 You bit your lip, your voice trembling as you said, “I c-can’t tell you.” 

“Why?” 

Your body trembled beneath his touch and he loosed his grip, thumb rubbing soft circles on your arm. 

“Because you’re a good person,” you whispered. “You’re going to find me repulsive and never want to see me again.” 

Oscar could see it in your eyes—the battle raging within you, the fear that once the words left your lips, he would be gone. But he wasn’t going anywhere. You cared about seeing him again. That alone gave him something to hold on to.

“Unless you’ve actually murdered someone—I don’t think that’s possible.” His voice was soft, almost coaxing.

“I don’t think you get probation for murder. I promise no one got hurt physically.” 

And even in this state, you still kept that sarcastic edge that he’d grown to adore. 

“Okay,” Oscar said softly. “Then tell me.”

You sighed, your hands trembling as you ran your fingers through your hair. Your eyes squeezed shut, as though blocking out his gaze would somehow make it easier to speak.

“When I was 19 I got into a relationship with a guy who was a lot older than me,” you began, your voice uneven. “He had a very… destructive lifestyle that I became a part of. I let him use me.” 

Oscar’s stomach twisted, but he stayed quiet, letting you continue. He could see how much it was costing you to admit this, and the last thing he wanted was to make it harder for you.

You slowly opened your eyes, not to look at him, but to look at the ceiling, blinking to fight tears from running down your cheeks. 

“The reason as to why I haven’t spoken to my brother in such a long time… ” Your voice broke, and you paused, taking a shaky breath. “…is because I committed fraud with his identity. I took out a loan using his name because I was desperate for money.” 

Oscar couldn’t hide his shock, but he didn’t pull away. You were laying it all out, raw and exposed, and he wasn’t going to judge you. He couldn’t. He stayed rooted in place, his hand still on your arm, grounding you.

“When he found out, he turned me in. I confessed to doing it and agreed on accepting help which is the only reason I’m not currently in prison.” 

“And the boyfriend?” Oscar managed to ask.

You laughed bitterly, shaking your head. “He took the money and fled the country. Haven’t seen him since. But I paid my brother back. Every penny.”  

Oscar nodded slowly. “What did you need the money for?” 

Your lips trembled as you looked down at your hands. “Don’t make me say it. I feel like you already know.” 

And he did. He’d known since he realised what those Sunday meetings were for. 

“Are you clean now?” 

“14 months,” you quickly said. “Ever since he turned me in. I have a badge on my keys if you—” 

“I’m proud of you,” Oscar said, cutting you off gently.

Your breath hitched as he said it. It had surprised you. “See?” he whispered. “You didn’t scare me away.” Oscar gathered his courage to hold you in his embrace again, laying you gently down on the mattress, letting your body relax on top of his. 

“Besides,” he added with a wry grin, “I’m in an industry where if you haven’t committed tax fraud, you’re probably the odd one out.”

You blinked in surprise, a startled laugh escaping your lips despite yourself. “What?” 

Oscar chuckled, the tension between you easing ever so slightly. “I know drivers who’ve had people go to prison on their behalf because of embezzlement,” he said, clearly exaggerating, but the humour in his voice was infectious. “You’re practically a saint compared to some of them.” 

“Fucking corrupt rich people,” you muttered. 

“Well,” Oscar said, his hand moving down to hold yours, “the point is… you can’t scare me away.”

He heard you exhale loudly. He even felt it against his shirtless skin. Your arms tightened around him, clutching both yours and his chest. It was adding pressure to stop you from panicking. 

And then you started crying. For real this time. It wasn’t you fighting the tears from falling or shyly getting watery eyes from Brother Bear. You were sobbing. He hadn’t thought he would ever see you cry. 

Oscar’s heart broke a little as he watched you finally let go, your body shaking with the weight of everything you’d been holding in. He immediately pulled you closer into his arms, holding you close, his hand gently stroking your hair as you cried against his chest.

“I’ve got you,” Oscar whispered softly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You clung to him, your tears soaking into his skin, but he didn’t mind. You were essentially a stranger—even though he hated the word—crying in his arms, and he’d do anything in his power to never see you like this again. He had fallen for your softness, not the jagged edges you put up around yourself in protection. He’d accept you unconditionally if it meant you didn’t see him as something you needed to protect yourself from. 

As your sobs quieted and your breathing got steady, you remained tucked against Oscar’s chest, resting over his heartbeat. You could feel his hand tracing soothing circles on your back. He almost thought you had fallen asleep. 

“Thank you,” you whispered after a long silence, your voice hoarse from crying.

Oscar pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “For what?” 

“For making me stay.” 

_______________________________

A couple of weeks later, on a Tuesday at St. Anne’s Church, you did something you’d never expected yourself to do. You found yourself standing at the lectern in front of the room of strangers that you had spent the past year of your life with. And Oscar, but he had never really been a stranger. 

It felt stupid at first, when you walked up there and said your name, the people in the room saying it back to you like a choir. Some clichés from movies really were true. 

You started off by giving a brief background as to why you went to meetings. It was supposed to be a guilt-free environment, one where you wouldn’t be judged for anything. But opening up about betraying your own brother and getting probation because of it wasn’t guilt-free no matter how you twisted it. 

“Some of you might recognise me from NA meetings as well, but the drugs were never my main issue. I mean, I was— or am an addict, that’s how they want you to say it in NA at least. There is really no denying that, but the real problem was how it made me treat the people around me.” 

You didn’t like how your voice sounded in the echoing room, but it didn’t stop you from trying. You knew that the people listening had their own issues so present that yours wouldn’t bother them.

“I understand that my brother never wants to speak to me again,” you continued, your gaze falling to your hands, a cuticle bleeding from unconsciously picking at it. “I think I almost feel the same way. But then… I’ll go to Sainsbury’s and buy green apples, even though I hate them, but he loves them, and I used to buy them for him.” 

It was true. You’d have vivid flashbacks about apples every time you saw them. You’d get them from the store as if you were moving on autopilot and hate yourself for it when you got home and unpacked the groceries. Your aunt would always question why you bought them but never ate them, and you couldn’t put that into words. 

“I’ll have a mental breakdown over some stupid apples and realise that… we are connected in a way that can never be erased. That’s my fault, my guilt to carry—that I ruined it, that I get to argue with apples instead of arguing with him,” you said with an almost laugher. 

You fixed your gaze on Oscar, whose eyes had never left yours for as long as you spoke. He held a tight smile, like understanding the humour in how trauma tended to materialise. 

The facilitator asked you a question, like he normally did when he saw people trying to find the right words but struggling to get them into actual sentences. He asked you how time had changed the guilt you felt and if your probation still felt fair to you. 

“It’s just so… fucked up that you can convince yourself that you’re evil and unfixable,” you answered, your voice growing steadier. “But it turns out you’re just young. And you’ll make mistakes because of it. I’m paying for those mistakes, but I can’t let them define me.” 

You decided that you were done there. You could say more, and you could’ve said less, but you’d done it now. That was the important part. And even though you’d never admit it, it really did feel better to have said it out loud. 

As you stepped down and walked back to your seat, a small wave of applause followed you. You felt Oscar’s hand slip into yours as you sat down, his fingers squeezing gently, a wordless assurance.

It took a bit longer for Oscar to finally walk up to the front of the room, a month or so. But he did it in the end. You understood that he felt like his problems weren’t like everybody else’s, because no normal person could really understand his job. And feeling guilt over a car crash where no one was hurt wasn’t easily explainable either. 

Oscar’s movements were deliberate, almost stiff, as though he was trying to keep himself together with every step. He stood at the lectern, his hands gripping the edges tightly, and you could see the tension in his knuckles.

He talked about the crash in broad terms, but most of his focus was on Charles, and Oscar’s messed-up idea about how he had hurt Charles. When the facilitator asked him to base his guilt around something real, something factual, you saw the struggle in his expression.

“It’s just… guilt,” he said finally, his voice low. He paused, searching for the right words, but they didn’t come. “I’m not sure I can explain it or give it a likeness. Not everything feels like something else.”

Not everything felt like something else. Issues were allowed to be unique and entangled. It wasn’t about understanding them as much as it was about accepting them. You watched him closely, and you raised your arm to ask him a question, waiting for him to acknowledge you with a silent nod. 

“If Charles felt like he never needed to forgive you because he knew all along that this was an accident and no one was actually hurt—why can’t you forgive yourself?” 

Oscar’s gaze dropped, his shoulders slumping slightly. He stood there for a long moment, the words sinking in. 

He realised then and there that his main issue wasn’t the crash or the possibility of it happening again. It was that he blamed himself for hurting someone else—a hurt that granted hadn’t even happened, Charles was fine—but his mind hadn’t cared about that. He had the lives of others at risk with the turn of a wheel, and the crash had made him mentally unprepared for that risk. He guessed he knew now what to bring up the next time he met up with his therapist.  

After that meeting, Oscar talked for a moment with the facilitator, before he walked out to find you standing by the big doorway into the actual church, looking down the isle to the altar. He stood quietly behind you, placing his arm around your waist. The quiet of the church was profound, almost unsettling. The rows of pews stretched out before you, bathed in a soft glow of candlelight. 

“I don’t think I ever understood religion,” you said, whispering in the stillness. “Or God, for that matter. It’s too quiet. Too much about self-reflection and not enough about the old men in the Bible for me to grasp it.”

Oscar didn’t respond right away, his chin resting lightly on your shoulder as he followed your gaze to the altar.

“I see it as a last ditch effort for when you have no one else to talk to, but all you end up doing is talking to yourself,” he explained. 

“Sounds a lot like self-reflection to me,” you huffed a little. 

Maybe that was the thing people needed most—to get to know themselves. Bad people don’t wonder if they’re bad people. A truly evil person wouldn’t feel guilty for something bad they’ve done. You were both paralysed by guilt, but standing there with Oscar, it felt just a little less heavy.

“Oscar…” you began again, turning to meet his gaze. “Please don’t tell my secrets to anyone else.” 

“We literally had to sign an NDA to join the group, babe.” 

“You know what I mean,” you said, rolling your eyes but unable to suppress a small laugh.

“I promise.” 

When you left the church that evening, it was abnormally sunny. Early summer, colouring the nature around you green. You walked across the parking lot hand in hand, that silent show of affection a normal occurrence between you now. 

“Oh,” he said suddenly, stopping by his car. “I got you something.”

From his pocket, he pulled out a lighter, its surface bright orange. He held it out to you, his expression almost shy. You blinked, caught off guard. You hadn’t expected anything like this, the small, unspoken care behind the gesture. No more conscious bad luck. 

“It’s a myth, y’know?” you said, taking the lighter and looking at him softly. “Most of the 27 club died before Bic started making the white version.” 

Did Oscar feel a little stupid for not thinking to google the superstition before buying you—granted, a very cheap gift—but also something so laced with thoughtfulness? Maybe. Did he also deeply want you to stop being reliant on nicotine to feel calm? Definitely. But that was too late to say right now when you already had the lighter in your hand and he was blushing from how exposed he felt. 

“Well, I think orange suits you better anyway.” 

_______________________________

Oscar had insisted, of course—gently but persistently—until you’d finally agreed to come to a race. Silverstone wasn’t out of the country, which meant it didn’t violate any of your probation rules. A technical loophole, but a loophole nonetheless. Your 18 months were nearly over, but Oscar hadn’t been able to wait.

Now, standing among the sea of spectators in the garage, the weight of his world began to settle. The sheer scale of it all was overwhelming. You couldn’t deny it was exhilarating, but it also made you feel small, like an intruder. It was fucking Silverstone, after all—on a Sunday afternoon just minutes before the lights would go out. 

You glanced down at your phone, trying to distract yourself from the growing tension in your stomach. That’s when a message appeared.

Eli: “Are you at Silverstone?? I swear I just saw you on TV.”

Your breath caught in your throat and your fingers tightened around your phone. Eli. What happened to hello? What happened to how are you? You stared at the message for a long moment. Before you could even process how to respond, another message appeared.

Eli: “Are you with Piastri?? What the hell?” 

A startled laugh escaped your lips, nerves bubbling beneath the surface. You glanced around, as if half-expecting Eli to appear out of thin air. Of course, he wasn’t here. He’d gone once to Silverstone with your father when he was young, but nowadays it was cheaper to try and go to Hungary or another European race. 

So, right now you knew exactly where your brother was—in the living room at your parents’ place because even though he’d moved out a long time ago, he still went home every Sunday to watch F1 because he leached off of their streaming services. 

You took a deep breath and typed back.

You: “Yeah, I’m here with Oscar.”

For a moment, you stared at the screen, your thumb hovering over the send button. Then, with a rush of courage, you pressed it. The three dots indicating Eli was typing appeared, disappeared, and reappeared again.

Eli: “Why didn’t you tell me? You’re at an F1 race with a driver, and I have to find out on TV?” 

He definitely didn’t mean to guilt-trip you—you knew that. It was his way of breaking through the awkwardness. In a way, you supposed it was better to feel guilty about not telling him about Oscar than about the bigger things. The real things.

Before you could reply, you felt a tap on your shoulder. Turning around, you saw Oscar in his race suit, his face flushed from the adrenaline of pre-race preparations. He looked out of breath, but his smile was unmistakable, the sight of you clearly easing some of the tension in his own chest.

“Hey,” he said, leaning down to kiss your cheek. “You good?”

You nodded. “Yeah. My brother just texted me.”

Oscar’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. You bit your lip, holding up your phone so he could see the messages. Oscar leant in, glancing at the screen, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“He recognised you on TV?”

“Apparently,” you said with a soft laugh. “He’s freaking out.”

Oscar’s expression softened, his hand squeezing yours reassuringly. “That has to be good, right? That he’s talking to you?” 

“I hope so,” you whispered. 

Before either of you could say more, someone called Oscar’s name from across the paddock. He sighed, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. “I have to go. National anthem and all that.”

You nodded, your fingers reluctantly slipping from his grasp as he stepped back. “Good luck,” you called after him.

He grinned over his shoulder, his confidence infectious. “Thought you didn’t believe in luck.” 

And while in the past you hadn’t minded your own bad luck and superstitions, you definitely didn’t want to spread that mindset to Oscar. You would start carrying wishbones, four-leaf clovers, and horseshoes if it meant that just a smidge of luck would be transferred to his life. 

As he disappeared into the crowd, the nervous energy around you seemed to intensify. The minutes ticked by, stretching into what felt like hours. Your phone buzzed again, pulling your attention back.

Eli: “I’ve missed you. We should talk whenever you can.”

Your breath caught, and for a moment, the chaos around you seemed to fade. You read the message twice, three times, the words sinking in slowly. For so long, you’d been afraid that you’d lost him for good, that the damage you’d done was irreparable—that you were irreparable. But here he was, reaching out.

You: “I’ve missed you too. I’m back in town tomorrow.” 

You hit send just as the formation lap started. You were not sure for how long you held your breath after that. 

Oscar was good—so good—and as you watched him race, you couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride. He was in his element, completely focused, completely in control. You were glad to not have seen the crash that still haunted him at times, because this proved that it was just a fluke, a temporary stumble rather than a career-defining event. 

As the checkered flag waved, you felt a sense of relief wash over you, knowing he had made it through safely. By the time the race was over, Oscar had finished in fourth place—a strong result considering weak qualifying. Most positions gained by anyone in the race. As the crowd erupted in cheers, you found yourself smiling, the tension in your chest finally easing.

Afterward, you found yourself standing in Oscar’s drivers room, waiting for him to return. Your phone buzzed in your hand, and you glanced down to see another message from your brother.

Eli: “That was an insane race. Piastri is a beast. Proud of you for being there.”

You smiled, feeling lighter than you had in months.

Moments later, Oscar appeared, his hair slightly damp from the helmet, his face flushed. He spotted you immediately, his eyes lighting up as he walked over, his smile wide despite exhaustion. 

“How’d I do?” he asked, his voice breathless. 

“You were amazing,” you grinned, stepping closer to him. “How are you so calm? That was nerve-wracking as hell.” 

“I’ve done this a couple of times before,” he teased. Oscar laughed, pulling you into a hug, his arms wrapping around you tightly. “I’m glad you’re here,” he whispered into your ear. 

You buried your face in his shoulder, holding him close, and felt the last remnants of tension melt away. “Me too.”

Pulling back slightly, he looked down at you, his smile soft. “You haven’t been sarcastic with me all day, y’know? Is there something wrong?” 

You smirked, tilting your head. “I can always start—” 

Before you could finish, he leant down and kissed you, cutting off your words. Smack dab on the mouth, messy and rushed. When he pulled back, his eyes were bright and his grin was infectious. You guessed you didn’t need to resort to sarcasm and snarky comments when you were happy. Simply happy. 

I'd like to thank Strangers by Ethel Cain, Strangers by Sarah Klang, and Stranger by Blanks for all inspiring this fic. Apparently, I really like songs about being strangers.

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Tags: @alexxavicry

[fastandcarlos]

First Newborn Moments : ̗̀➛ Charles LeClerc

summary: the first moments for you both after the emotional arrival of your daughter

No words could describe how you felt as your eyes glanced down to the little girl in your arms, everything that you had ever wanted. Charles was sat by your side, leaning across with wide eyes, studying the features of your daughter in awe. 

“Can you believe it?” You whispered across to Charles, unable to hide the smile on your face. “She’s just so perfect, so small, and beautiful, more than I could’ve ever imagined.” 

Charles nodded in agreement with you, brushing his hand over the top of her head. He didn’t know where to look as he took it all in, her brown eyes, the little dimple in her cheek, the way her mouth was slightly parted as she slept, it was all too much like a dream. 

“I feel like someone’s going to come in soon and wake me up,” Charles spoke, “tell me this is all some sort of dream, I feel so lucky right now to have all of this.” 

“I promise you that it’s all real,” you whispered, resting your head down against Charles’ shoulder. 

It was the moment the two of you had talked about for so long during your pregnancy, wondering how it would be and how overwhelmed you’d feel. Neither of you had prepared yourselves for quite how incredible it would feel though to finally have your daughter with you. 

“Can we swap for a moment?” Charles asked, desperate to have a hold of your daughter too. You nodded, watching as he nervously stretched his arms out to take her. “What do I do?” He grinned as you placed her down, scared for you to let go and let him hold her alone. 

“Just make sure you support her, body and head,” you told him, placing his hands exactly where they needed to be before letting go. “See, you’re a natural.” 

As you moved away, Charles’ eyes were still full of worry, slowly bringing her in towards his chest. “She looks so frail and tiny, like she could break at any moment. I can’t believe I’m actually trusted to take care of such a little human being.” 

Charles had made no secret of the fact that he was scared, terrified of messing up or doing the wrong thing. You’d spent many late nights wide awake talking about his worries together, with you constantly being on hand to reassure him, reminding Charles that you both would be learning for some time, after all, no parent was perfect. 

Your smile was wide as your eyes stayed with Charles, admiring how fondly he looked down at her. “She’s already relaxed in her daddy’s arms; you must be doing something right.” 

“Beginner’s luck,” Charles sniggered, momentarily looking up and across at you. “I can’t wait for everyone to get here later, my brothers are going to crazy when they see how beautiful she is, they’re already slightly obsessed.” 

“She has no idea how lucky she is, does she?” You chuckled, watching as your daughter’s eyes fluttered shut. “She’s got the most loving family in the world, and yet she’s got absolutely no idea who any of us actually are yet.” 

Charles leant across and pressed a kiss against the side of your head. “I’m going to make sure that she grows up knowing exactly how incredible you are and how hard your body just worked to bring her into this world,” he proudly told you. 

To say things didn’t quite go as well as you expected was an understatement, labour had been nothing short of a nightmare for you both. It had left Charles terrified, constantly wondering what was going to happen as midwives ran around you until your daughter arrived. 

“I wish I could sleep like this,” Charles chuckled, “without a single care in the world.” 

“I feel like I could sleep as well as she is right now, I’m absolutely exhausted.” 

Charles’ concerned eyes immediately looked across at you, weakly smiling as he met your eyes. He could tell how sore you were, even if you weren’t going to admit it, wanting to savour every moment that you could of having your daughter there with you. 

A sigh came from Charles as you let go of a yawn, trying your best to disguise it behind your hand. “Why don’t you rest? I’ll wake you if anything happens,” Charles suggested, nodding in the direction of the pillow behind you. “You need to be looking after yourself right now, you’re just as important as this one is.” 

“I’ll get some rest soon, I promise. I mean, we should probably get used to the lack of sleep now, right?” 

A quiet chuckle came from Charles, not wanting to disturb your daughter. His worried eyes still watched you, only relaxing when you propped yourself up and rested in the bed again, stretching your legs out to try and wake your body back up again. 

“I can’t wait to take this one to the paddock, show her all the cool things that her daddy gets up to.” 

Your smile was wide as Charles’ eyes lit up, excited for all the things he had to look forward to with her. “She’s going to be absolutely spoilt by everyone at that paddock, I think you’ll be a forgotten man when we take her, no one will want to pay any attention to you, just to her.” 

“I wouldn’t mind,” Charles proudly shrugged. “Just as long as she knows that no matter how much anyone in that paddock tells her they love her, they don’t love her anywhere near as much as we do.” 

“Trust me, with the way I know you’re going to spoil her, she’s definitely going to be a daddy’s girl,” you teased, resting your hand against Charles’ shoulder. “I can already tell from the look in your eye that our little girl is going to have you absolutely wrapped around her little finger.” 

Charles nodded, there was no doubt about it that your little girl was his new weakness, knowing that he would never be able to say no to her. 

He couldn’t believe what he did to get so lucky, not just to have his daughter, but you as well. It was the sort of thing Charles always dreamt about, but knew would probably never come true. Only for him, it did, and it was better than he could have ever imagined. 

As your daughter settled, Charles leant over once again and pressed a kiss against your shoulder. “Thank you,” he whispered, taking you by surprise. “Thank you for everything, for loving me, taking care of me, and giving me the greatest gift in the world. Nothing will ever be good enough to show you how appreciative I am that you’ve just made me a dad.” 

Your smile was wide as you glanced back across at Charles, “you don’t need to thank me Charles. I should be thanking you for being here, right by my side, and getting me through the last nine months. I love you.” 

“I love you too, more than you’ll ever know.” 

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[worrywrite]

This is why I keep telling people I'm not interested in the show. More than half the cast of the game exists to be porn or marketing fodder. No thought beyond aesthetics was put into essentially every character in the game. Any depth was added in post, and it's so slapshod it makes it worse.

The problem with Arcane is the general problem with prequels:

No matter how good the prequel is, if the thing that happens after is an unmitigated cash grab dumpster fire where everyone gets reduced down to a two paragraph "I'm in the death arena because..." statement that never even actually answers the question of why they're in the death arena--well, why bother.

(I'm a bit more bitter below, so continue at your own risk. I'm not adding much to my point.)

I'll be honest, Vi and Jinx were better characters on release because they meant nothing. Vi was a butch lesbian ex-con with a heart of gold that punched things and got blackmailed into worked for the police. Jinx was off brand Harley Quinn, if the joker didn't exist (yet) and she got to be him instead. The lack of detail beyond that didn't matter. Even Viktor and Jayce were better off as cyborg Hitler and off brand Tony Stark.

I'm honestly very surprised that Riot ever pushed for a wider narrative and world for the LoL IP. They'd been flattening it down for years so they could sell skins and rework characters whenever they wanted (to sell more skins) and then release more characters that made the old ones narratives not matter at all (so they could rework things again and sell more skins). They started out with a decent amount of lore and world building. They actually had lore based in-game events that mattered. But then they had decided for a long time to not do those things, they pushed for eSports and flat narrative for basically a decade. And now, now that their IP basically sucks and their player numbers are down and their skin sales are down and most of their team from when the game was good have left or been fired (for good reason) and eSports as a genre are in massive decline post nft grift--now they choose to try and have a story. And that story is still not going to affect their game at all.

At a business level, it's a good decision for them. Sure. But on a consumer level it does nothing to draw me back towards the game at all. Though I guess that is just me being aged out of their target demographic. They don't want the nostalgia money. They want the money out of kids demanding premium currency for Christmas.

Arcane is an advanced form of doomed by the narrative/doomed from the beginning because the show is trying so hard to create this serious, intricate story but the endgame of this story is everyone ending up in League of Legends

[jadedbirch]

Gather around, my young friends and fellow dinosaurs, let me tell you about some BULLSHIT no one ever tells you about. I'm talking about menopause and perimenopause. Now, menopause has a very stringent medical definition. You have to not have had a period for exactly 12 months and a day to be considered in menopause. All the bullshit before that day once you start going through The Change is considered perimenopause. Here's some bullshit you might experience that people actually talk about when you're in perimenopause:

- shorter time between periods

- irregular periods

- hot flashes and/or cold flashes

- fucked up sleep

- OMG NIGHT SWEATS

- Vagina as dry as the Sahara desert

- lighter periods and/or endless bleeding like it's The Flood but it's in your pants

- lack of interest in Adult Fun Times

This time of joy can last anywhere from a couple of years to a god damn decade and there's no medical way right now to predict it.

Here's some of the REAL bullshit they don't tell you about but your dinosaur aunt is here to let you know:

- You can start perimenopause in your 30s, don't listen to idiot doctors who tell you you're "too young" because they don't know your body like you do.

- Perimenopause will make you HELLA DUMB. Seriously, I'm talking Bigly broken brain. Brain fog? Check. Short term memory? Wave goodbye to it. Ability to make words form out of thoughts? Yeah, good luck to you.

- Perimenopause can cause horrible fatigue because in addition to losing estrogen, you're also losing testosterone. Oh and that also leads to muscle wasting, cool cool.

- Things might suddenly hurt more because estrogen is known to be neuroprotective.

- If you're super lucky like I am, and like to collect rare illnesses, you might even get Burning Mouth Syndrome 💀

- And meanwhile, while you're going through this bullshit, you'll be getting gaslit by doctors who are operating based on 30 year old debunked data about how HRT causes breast cancer (not really) and that they shouldn't put you on it until you're in actual menopause. (Data shows starting HRT early can potentially prevent Alzheimer's in later years.)

- There are entire online clinics right now (I use Midi Health) focused on providing care for peri and menopausal patients and they will happily prescribe you HRT even if your regular PCP or OBGYN do not (if you meet the criteria). I've been pretty impressed with how holistically they view the patient. For full disclosure, I learned about them from my integrative health doctor and they do not accept Medicare (yet).

I'm 46 years old right now and I've been symptomatic for perimenopause for the last 8 years, although it's gotten the most dramatic in the past 2 years or so, which I hope means I'm almost done, holy hell. Yeah I was on the early side, but if it can happen to me, it can happen to you, so it's never too early to think about these things. And I hope to at least spare some of you the mind-fuckery I've been through because no one told me about most of this stuff, including my own mother who just DOESN'T REMEMBER what happened to her and now I completely understand why. And because I also have a connective tissue disease, I used to just dismiss my pain and fatigue as being caused by that illness rather than the loss of hormones.

Anyways, this is why we need Elders in our lives, so they can do Grandma Story Hour like I just did and validate you when the entire medical field tries to gaslight you. I hope you've found some or all of this educational/useful. Please share with your friends because we really do NOT talk about this stuff enough. (Ewwww Moon Blood!)

Stay well, and don't let the bastards grind you down!

[deliciousangelfestival]

You're the One - 2

Summary: A daughter uncovers the wild, untold story of how her parents’ marriage began—and it’s way better than any romance movie she’s ever watched.

Character: Husband!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Genre: Romance, Comedy

Words Count : 1,654

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , -

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Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

“So, that’s it,” Bucky finished, leaning back in his chair.

Jade sat frozen, her mouth slightly open, her hand hovering over the popcorn bowl she’d forgotten about entirely. Her eyes were wide with disbelief. “Hold on, Dad!” she blurted out, breaking the silence. “You can’t just end the story like that!”

Bucky shifted uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck. The way she said it—the tone, the determination—it reminded him so much of you that it gave him chills.

“Clark Jordan?” Jade said, her voice rising. “That Jordan? Oh my God, Mom was actually going to marry a conglomerate heir?” She gasped dramatically, throwing her hands in the air.

Bucky groaned and rolled his eyes. “Excuse me! Your father also owns a successful business, you know.”

Jade couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s just a joke. Don’t get all defensive.” She rested her chin in her palm, tilting her head as she studied him. Her expression softened. “But seriously… if you loved Mom so much, why did you two break up?”

Bucky’s jaw tightened, and he looked down at his hands, which were fidgeting with the label of the water bottle he’d grabbed earlier. He let out a slow sigh before answering. “I can’t explain it,” he said quietly. “We were young and stupid… Well, I was the stupid one for letting her go.”

Jade nodded slowly, her face thoughtful. “Yeah, I can see that,” she said, her tone teasing but not cruel.

Bucky shot her a pointed look, but his lips twitched in a reluctant smile. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, kid.”

Jade shrugged, grinning now. “Anytime.”

“What happened next?” Jade leaned forward, her curiosity growing. “Did anyone chase after you two?”

Bucky sighed, rubbing his temples. “That’s a lot to unpack,” he muttered.

🔔💍🔔💍

Flashback

The church erupted into chaos. Gasps echoed through the hall, bridesmaids huddled together whispering in disbelief, and the Jordans were already barking orders at security. The bride was gone—snatched right out of her own wedding.

You were still reeling. Sitting stiffly in the passenger seat of a moving car, your hands gripped your bouquet so tightly that the petals were beginning to wilt. Your heart pounded against your ribcage as you stared out of the window, the landscape blurring past.

In the driver’s seat, Bucky’s grip on the wheel was steady. His expression was calm, almost infuriatingly so, as though he hadn’t just crashed your wedding and whisked you away in front of hundreds of people.

Your voice finally found its way out. “Why are you doing this?”

Bucky didn’t answer, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.

“Turn this car around, Bucky. You don’t understand the trouble you’re in.”

He ignored you, his jaw tight, and your frustration bubbled over. You knew exactly what kind of chaos this would cause. Your parents, already controlling, would unleash their full fury, and the Jordans—especially Clark—wouldn't take this humiliation lying down.

Suddenly, the car jerked to a stop. Your body pitched forward slightly, and you braced yourself against the dashboard.

Bucky turned to you, his movements deliberate. His gaze locked with yours, intense and unwavering. Leaning closer, his presence filled the space between you, and instinctively, you leaned back.

“I’ve made a lot of mistakes,” he said, his voice steady, his words slicing through the charged silence. “But the biggest mistake I ever made was letting you go.”

You froze, the weight of his confession catching you off guard.

The breakup had been mutual—or at least, that’s what you had told yourself back then. The truth was, Bucky had been the one to pull away. It had hurt, but you’d respected his decision, thinking he had his reasons. You never imagined he’d regret it.

“Then why did you suggest it?” The question slipped out before you could stop it.

For a moment, he didn’t answer. His gaze flicked away, focusing on the distant horizon outside the windshield. When he finally spoke, his voice was lower, tinged with something raw.

“When we were together, I felt like I wasn’t enough for you. You deserved more—better than the life I could give you at the time. So I thought… if I let you go, you’d find that ‘better.’”

The weight in your chest grew heavier as you listened. His words didn’t erase the pain of the past, but they unraveled pieces of the mystery that had lingered for so long.

He continued, his voice steady but quieter. “And then I saw that article… the one with you and Clark. That photo of him holding your hand. I knew I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t try one last time.”

You turned to look at him, his profile outlined in the faint light of the dashboard. His hand on the wheel was steady, but there was a tension in his shoulders, like he was bracing for rejection.

“One week,” he said, breaking the silence. He held up a finger. “Give me one week to prove to you that this”—he gestured between the two of you—“is worth fighting for.”

You blinked, the audacity of his demand rendering you momentarily speechless.

“Are you out of your mind?”

“Maybe,” he said, his lips twitching into the faintest hint of a smirk. “But I’m not going to spend the rest of my life wondering what could’ve been. If I can’t change your mind in a week, I’ll take you back. No drama. No excuses. I’ll even apologize to both families.”

His words hung in the air, daring you to respond. The car was quiet, save for the hum of the engine and the sound of your shallow breathing.

"You can't just barge in and demand a second chance, Bucky," you snapped, your voice sharp as you yanked the veil from your head. The delicate lace caught briefly on your hair, but you didn’t care. “If we’d never broken up, none of this would’ve happened.”

Bucky’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. His jaw clenched as he glanced at you, his voice calm but with an edge of frustration. “Both of us agreed, remember? You kept walking that day.”

Your mind flashed back to that day—the one that had changed everything. The apartment you’d shared was nearly empty, save for a few boxes. You had been standing in the doorway, one hand on the knob, the other clutching a bag.

“I didn’t want to walk away!” you shot back, your eyes blazing as you turned to him. “I was hoping you’d stop me. That you’d chase after me.” Your voice cracked slightly, but you pushed through. “But you didn’t. You just… kept walking.”

His breath hitched at your words, his body stiffening as though they’d hit him like a punch to the gut. The realization sank in slowly, and he sat there in silence for a moment, staring at you with wide, almost vulnerable eyes.

“Wait… are you saying there was still a chance back then?” His voice was quieter now, almost disbelieving.

You crossed your arms and looked away, unwilling to give him an easy answer. The memory of that day was too raw, the hurt too deep.

Bucky’s lips pressed into a thin line as he absorbed your words. Slowly, a flicker of hope sparked in his expression, something unspoken but undeniable.

Without another word, he started the car again, the engine humming to life.

“You said once that you wanted to try skydiving,” he said suddenly, his voice breaking the tension. “Let’s do that together.”

Your head whipped around to face him, your eyes narrowing. “Excuse me?"

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, the playful glint in his eyes unmistakable. “Oh, it won’t just be skydiving. We’ll do everything on your bucket list. Every. Single. Thing.”

Your bucket list? You blinked, caught off guard. “You remembered that?”

“Of course I did,” he said, glancing at you briefly before returning his focus to the road. “I’ve always remembered.”

His tone was softer now, almost wistful, and you hated how much it made your heart ache. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, unsure of how to respond.

“You’re not saying no,” he added after a beat, his smirk returning. “Does that mean you’re having second thoughts about this wedding?”

Your glare snapped back to him, but you didn’t have the words to argue. Instead, you crossed your arms and said firmly, “Be quiet and drive.”

Bucky’s grin widened as he looked ahead. “Yes, ma’am.”

Present Time

"I never knew Mom had that side of her," Jade said, her voice full of surprise. "It’s pretty obvious she was having second thoughts about marrying Clark."

Bucky leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, looking a little smug. "I did the right thing."

Jade nodded, then her expression shifted. "But what about grandpa? Was he mad at you? Because right now you and grandpa were pretty close."

Bucky chuckled, running a hand through his hair. "Well, if I could change your mom’s mind, I figured I could convince him too." He laughed again, but it was a little forced as he rubbed his back, probably remembering that time. "Let’s just say, he wasn’t thrilled about me stealing his daughter."

"You already know how this ends," Bucky said with a chuckle. "Your mom and I ended up together."

Jade leaned in, her eyes full of curiosity. "But I want to know the full story! How did she end up giving you a second chance? Please..." She gave him her best puppy eyes, the kind she knew always worked on him.

"Come on, Dad, you’re holding back! Did you two really go skydiving? What happened next?"

Bucky leaned forward, a sly grin on his face. He paused for a second, clearly enjoying the suspense. "I’m not spilling all the details just yet."

Jade groaned in frustration. "Dad!"

Bucky just winked at her. "You’ll find out eventually. But trust me, that was just the beginning of the adventure."

Author Note: What do you want to see next between the reader and Bucky?

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[r0-boat]

That time of the month guys, You know what I must do...

Whb Kings on your Period

All Kings x AFAB! reader NSFW No sex just extremely suggestive... Blame three individuals

....Wait a minute... If Lilith makes the kids does that mean demon women don't have periods? Probably looking too much into it...

Edit: This is supposed to be a fun post, But at the end of this, I went down several rabbit holes... Please don't be like me don't think 😭

Cw: mentions of pussy eating (You probably know who it is already lol), no . Suggestive,(alluding to sex on. But never happens because demons are fucking weird)

Satan

You're different somehow every month, and he can't put his finger on it. But your short-tempered rage makes him giggle like a teenager and kick his feet. You have such a low tolerance, super BS, and he loves that. And he wants to know why he never smelled this off Solomon before, so it must be you that's different. When Satan asks you, you sigh and put your hands to your mouth before giving him a 20-minute explanation.

...Holy shit? You're what now??? He thought humans creating little people it was crazy now what you're telling him is that humans have the power to shed their skin from the inside and shit it out??? Can he see it?!

... The mental image, He had and the real thing was not what he expected are you okay Oh my God there's so much again. He never wants to see that much blood come out of you ever again. The way you made this man fear more than any angel by that explanation alone. The way you have this man scampering to a human store to get whatever you ask to help ease the pain even if it's just for a little.

When he tells you that demon women don't have periods He swore your rage was emanating off you and Leviathan could probably feel you're jealousy from all the way in Hades.

Hi I think Satan using a period cramp simulator would be very funny and very entertaining...

Bonus non-cannon:

Fem!Satan: Would have the worst periods known to woman. The streets of Gehanna are deserted because the moment something slightly inconveniences her a whole building is collapsing. I wouldn't blame her, her period cramps will hurt worse than Gabriel stabbing a sword through her uterus before punching her in the gut.

Mammon

He'll buy you literally everything. It doesn't matter if you use tampons pads or cups because he's already bought everything. He's either got it from Lucifer or you made an offhand comment about it and he did his own research. He's very proud that he's prepared for his master.

Like he'll already get you everything But when you're on your period you actually have a reason to accept all his things especially if it's junk food. This is awesome! You're letting him pamper you!!! He wishes you can have periods all the time!

(one explanation later) What the fuck? Never mind. Aren't you scared of running out of blood?

He wish he could grant you something that take the way the pain and discomfort easily but Tartaros never really had that problem so they don't really have any solutions. Instead he'll just stick to spoiling you with food.

Watching Mamon's eyes go wide when he sees how much a tampon soaks up water is pretty funny.

Bonus non-cannon:

Fem!Mammon: She hates it. She hates it so much that she spends the money and resources to immediately either go to the human world or recreate a Depo shot or an implant to get rid of it. And she regularly changes it when she has to.

Leviathan

He smelled blood and he thought you were going to get killed. He was literally ready to die protecting you. He was so angry that he got worked up over nothing at first until he saw how much pain you were in.

Beelzebub

Why does your body insist on doing something that harms itself Is it stupid or is your body hating you. If you insist on being useless then you can just lay in bed!

After the initial Levi snark is gone he comes back to check on you. He actually looks really worried and thinks you might die. Freaking out frantic calls tulucifer after initial back and forth Lucifer insists that what they're feeling is normal.

All of the novels will be looking after you He doesn't want you leaving the bed just in case you might trip and die or accidentally get yourself hurt. He genuinely thinks you might die.

He will silently open your door stare at you and see if you're doing all right and then close the door, Rinse and repeat until you either yell at him ask him what he's doing. He will either respond with arguing back.

Bonus non-canon:

Fem!Leviathan: when she's on her period you literally will never see her. She's so glad She connected her bathroom too her bedroom. It's because she sheds her scales she's not joking. She actually does shed her scales on her period Will she show you fuck no. The moment she starts bleeding you're never seeing her again until she stops.

Honestly he was zoning out through half of your explanation until you mention the actual 'bleeding' process. Then you just see him lean inward putting his chin on his hands. So you're telling him... There is a way to consume you without hurting you?

This fucker has to stay away from you 10 ft away. He is SOOOO on board with eating you out. Keep Guy 10 ft away from you He would be absolutely no help except for maybe eating junk food and bringing you snacks.

He will laugh at your horrid, disgusted face because he just loves your cute little reactions. He raises his hand during the lecture on human anatomy to the Kings, and you told him to put his hand back down because you're not answering any of his batshit questions because you know it's going to be the second worst thing you've ever heard.

Bonus non-cannon:

It's okay though he'll never remember you period though he will always know because he could smell it (insert that one meme) he'll deadass forget that humans can bleed like that and occasionally get scared to smell blood on you before remembering.

He's still this day wonders about us question "if He sucks it all out Would the period be over?"

Fem! Beel: she's lost so much of her cute underwear from being forgetful. I could definitely see her getting an implant or Depo so she doesn't have to remember, but she kind of already forgets her appointments, too.

Lucifer

Human menstrual cycle...He's not stupid He was part of the creation when God made humans to breed with one another. He not only sees it as a normal thing but something special that human women have that sets them apart from demons and angels.

He doesn't understand your disgust and hatred by something explicitly given to you and all human women by God.

He offers to change your mind as he gets on his knees and you start adamantly declining and screaming. Now he really is confused....

About half of the other devils are defending your case when Lucifer brings it up at the next meeting. Though it's so split down the middle they end up discussing that topic another time.

As an 'apology' he gives you a basket with a bouquet of white lilies, painkillers and some cut fruits with card telling you to not eat unhealthy foods since it tends to make the cramps worse. And he hopes you get better.

Bonus non-cannon:

Fem!Lucifer: human female menstrual cycle yeah don't they also molt their feathers? No that's just an angel thing?? So demons also don't molt their feathers molting feathers is just an angel thing??? Other she would be super chill on her cramps, she doesn't even care.

Belphegor

The most normal, You want somewhere to rest? Lucky for you his bed is the softest in all of hell he'll make sure to take good care of you and by taking care of you he means sleeping and cuddling with you while his subordinates do all the work.

Periods actually sound like a pain in the ass He hopes he never has one You're absolutely welcome too crash at his place He understands completely about how things might be more irritating when you're constantly in pain.

Belphegor Actually really likes You're listlessness as much as he likes hard work He doesn't mind when you succumb to his sin a little bit. Especially when you're looking so cute laying on top of him. His phone screen is a picture of you smooshed against his chest with a hand on your head.

Another excuse to binge anime that he doesn't want to watch alone is a win in his book. He'll let you watch some of your favorites as well. He's not picky.

Beleth is in heaven taking care of and pampering you and his majesty. He just wish he could have you to himself for 'private' time.... menstruation? Lol a little blood isn't going to scare him.

Bonus non-cannon:

Fem!Belphegor: Nope... The last time they had their first period was when they first woke up, never again... A thousand years of menstrual pain almost put her back to sleep. Ever since she'd been dying trying to get rid of this thing causing her pain as soon as she heard Lucifer can do implants and depots She was the first one who got it. If she ever gets off at again she'll experience the same exact piercing pain she felt.... but That sounds like a problem for her future self.

Asmodeus

He completely compliance but doesn't really understand He still doesn't. After having a wife who had to deal with periods. It's a complete natural thing for the human reproductive system. And oh boy you bet he knows all about that

"You know if you really don't like it I used to have a cure that can take it away for 9 months, Would you like one? Hahah just kidding dear!"

Asmodeus 🤝Lucifer🤝Beelzebub(I think you can fill in the blank)

In all seriousness he really doesn't understand why humans don't like something that's completely natural He understands devils because devils are just naive beings in general and only certain high level angels Who worked with God don't care...

Another Tally on the board that what Asmodeus has that human men lack. Apparently basic women anatomy knowledge.

As much as he would love to take care of you again since he hasn't done that since his last wife. He doesn't think the Kings fully trust him yet so presents it is. He can tell what phase in your cycle by just scent alone, and that's scary.

Bonus non-canon:

Fem!Asmodeus: She doesn't give a fuck You better be on top of her or else she's going to have a problem. She always feels so horny her period.She's horny all the time

"It's going to be a bloodbath >:)!"

"please stop saying that..."-MC

[i-prefer-fiction-over-friends]

See, I love this but I also wanna just .... Angst

Dick leaves Jason with Bruce and Alfred while he's on that Titans mission in space. He isn't going to bring his son ward into a space battle. He promises to bring back something cool as a souvenir, he promises that it won't even feel that long because Robin will be busy with Gotham and Grandpa Batman (Jason likes the face Bruce makes when he says that).

Jason gets nervous a couple days in. What if Dick dies on this mission? He doesn't want to lose anybody else and he can't do anything to help from Gotham. Jason goes to his old apartment because he misses his mom. He finds the box, originally he plans to tell Bruce and then Dick when he gets back, because Dick told him if he ever found any living family it didn't mean he was any less adopted and they always had room for more family.

Then the mission lasts longer than planned.

Bruce thinks he killed a man and Dick would believe him but he might actually be dead right now and maybe it would be safer if he finds his birth mom now and then he can come back if when Dick gets back.

Canon happens.

Dick gets back and he's annoyed his calls aren't going through to the manor or Jason's phone. He's stressed he was gone longer than expected, his leg is aching in the cast and it took an extra 3 hours to actually complete the reports and get through medical and decontamination which made him even later. but his son ward Brother can probably be bribed to forgive him with a trip to the cool bookstore with a spiral staircase and some ice cream.

...

Bruce isn't the one who throws the punch in the cave this time.

There is no uniform case, he destroys it and burns the costume on a pyre in a private funeral because Robin never belonged to Batman ( neither did Jason.)

Tim showing up probably looked similar, Dick leaves and Bruce tears through Gotham in his grief. Dick refused to come be Robin again, Tim ends up taking the cape to save Batman and Nightwing. Dick is very present for his training, maybe he brings him along on any Titans away missions, even just leaving him to be watched and train at the tower (by people he can trust).

maybe that's how Tim meets his friends this time, or at least Bart and Cassie until they find Kon.

(Jason so upset Tim gets to be a Titan when he wasn't. He doesn't realize it's because the tower used to be plan B to the Manor and now it's plans A-G)

Maybe Tim didn't take his training tour? Maybe he went even though Dick hated it and half his training is just avoiding being dragged home. (Maybe he tells Dick he's traveling with his parents for a change and his regular check in messages are enough for a while.)

Just, Dick trying to protect this kid while he's thinking of how he failed, wondering if Jason would have still run off for his 'real' family if Bruce has adopted him instead of Dick.

Imagine Dick actually adopted Jason. Like that's so chaotic— especially when Jason comes back from the dead.

12 year old Jason: Hey, Dick? Since I'm adopted by you, does that mean you're my father?

18 year old Dick: ...I'm still too young to called dad so no, I'm just your legal guardian.

Jason: Okay, dad.

Dick, tearing up: Please no.

——————

Jason after resurrection as Red Hood: I am your son.

Dick dating Wally: Tf?????? How would I— JASON?

——————

Bruce: All of you are my sons.

Jason: Technically, I'm your grandson.

Damian and Tim: ?????? What.

Dick: Technically he's right. You've been a grandpa since I was 18.

Bruce: ...Fuck, I forgot about that.

Damian and Tim: WHAT THE FUCK?????

——————

Bruce and Jason arguing:

Bruce: You're grounded!

Jason: TF? You're not my dad, Dick is!

Dick: Please, for the last time, I'm not really your dad.

Jason's dramatic ass: GASPS?! I'M ADOPTED?!

[mlyscha]

↳ DO YOU FEEL... BONITA? ⭑

𝓼ynopsis. in which you replace their chap-stick for a red lipstick. the question is: do they feel bonita? 𝓹airing. enha!member x female!reader. 𝓰enre. fluff, crack, kind of suggestive at jay's part, trendy. 𝔀arnings. curse words, mention of having a period, mentions of food, riki's kind of mean? , not proofread, english is not my 1st language. 𝔀𝓬. 2k+ 𝓶asterlist.

♡ 𝓪melie's 𝓷ote: this scenario ended up being super basic, i feel bad for you guys (๑-﹏-๑) i haven't been really active, so i wanted to post something decent, but... i don't know, you guys tell me if this one wasn't the greatest lol also, i wanted to share a new word i learned a few days ago: therefore! now you might even see this word being casually used on my writings ><

― 𝓱eeseung: suspects... a lot.

"babe, are you leaving already?" you pouted, watching him picking up his wallet and checking his phone; expecting a text from enha's group-chat. "yeah, i'm actually running late," he chuckled. "they arrived?! 'kay, a kiss for you miss, before i'm gone." he kisses your lips and heeseung notices your nose scrunched. "what?" seeing him frown, you decide it was the perfect chance for you to hand him your special chap-stick. "your lips are kind of crusty, here," you notice an even more confused face expression coming from him. "what do you mean... crusty?" "just apply it! it'll surely make it better!" you explain, making him sigh and finally apply the red lipstick all over his lips - making him look like a clown. "okay, can i go now, princess?" you nod and he smiles, giving you a small peck before finally leaving.

an hour later you heard the door being snapped open, and that's when you knew: heeseung learned about the lipstick. "y/n! why would you do this?!" a sudden shout echoed through the walls of your shared home. "heeseung? baby?" you appeared, coming out of the kitchen with a mischievous grin. "what happened?" you asked, holding a innocent voice. "what have you done to my lips, y/n?!" his face expression was a mix of embarrassment and worry. "what do you mean? you look-" you let out a stifled laugh. "fine! you look fine!" "baby, no way this" he points to his red stained lips. "looks fine! the boys started to laugh at me and i didn't know why! even riki made fun of me!" your boyfriend whined with embarrassment. "now i know why the waiter started to look at me with a funny face..." "i still think you look handsome with your red lips." "IT'S RED LIPSTICK?!"

long story short: heeseung couldn't trust when you gave him a chap-stick EVER. he always makes sure to check the colour of it and even learned a trick to double check it: by pulling you for a kiss. and what can i say... you may have been caught a few many times.

― 𝓳ongseong: couldn't care less.

you were brave enough to make your boyfriend apply chap-stick while going out on a date night with him. in the car you told him his lips were looking kind of dry, and knowing where and how this night could turn out, he immediately took the chap-stick you handed him, applying all over his lips ― with abundance, highlighting even more the red lipstick you purposely replaced. arriving at the front, jongseong handed the valet parking his car keys, entering the restaurant with you. when both of you walked into the place, the waitress who works at the front door couldn't stop staring at your boyfriend; and you swear that if he wasn't wearing such an scandalous colour of lipstick you would assume she was flirting with jongseong.

anyway, after some good wine and a delicious meal course, you were sat beside jongseong, half of your back was falling to his side ― close to his chest. meanwhile, his arm was hugging your shoulder while holding your right hand, a romantic and intimate position to stay. your boyfriend would place kisses onto your forehead. during this whole intimate moment, you decided to make him apply more lipstick since it was fading. however, after a few minutes, you realised he won't notice it, so you took matters to your own hands, pulling your phone from your purse and asking for a picture. agreeing, you opened the camera app, revealing his subtle red lips.

"what is this on my lips?" he gently touched his lips. "what do you mean?" you turned your head to look at him, pretending to be curious. "sweetheart, what have you done?" jongseong asks you with a small grin, dropping his head to the side, shooting you heart eyes. you chuckle, amused. "i didn't do anything," you shrug. "you may have kissed the waitress, she is wearing red lipstick." he laughs out loud, leading to a few confused sights laying on both of you. "this red lipstick might stain your lips soon..." he whispers against your lips. "i can't take you seriously right now!" you giggle and he smirks, amused.

― 𝓳aeyun: "your daddy feels bonita, layla"

jaeyun enjoys going out for a walk with his daughter: layla. and usually, both of you go out together, and this time couldn't be different. however, the only difference this time was your boyfriend's red stained lips. you told him, while walking, that you've been using this new chap-stick and commenting on how much your lips have looked and felt more hydrated ― even jaeyun agreed. therefore, you pulled the famous chap-stick out of your jean's pocket and handed him, making him a bit startle from the way you casually pulled it out of your pocket right after finishing talking about it. you noticed he pondered a bit before applying it all over his lips. you smiled while he was doing so, finding this situation amusingly cute. he smacked his lips together, commenting after a surprised hum: "it's actually good, i can already feel my lips hydrated!"

layla began to feel tired, so did you and jaeyun, so, spotting a bench nearby, you sat beside your boyfriend while layla sat on the floor. and if this couldn't get better, your little family stopped at a crowded park, so as people passed by, jaeyun couldn't be ignored. "babe, why's there so many people staring at me? even girls! don't they see i am taken?!" he complained while pouting, hugging your arm. "right baby?- why are you laughing?" he frowned, even more confused when he saw you taking a sneaky picture of him. suddenly, a kid shouts: "look, mum! a clown!" the mum stares at you, at your daughter and then at your boyfriend, and she were clearly holding herself and not burst out of laughter. layla begins to woof at the kid, and you say: "calm down, baby, your daddy feels bonita, layla." "what does this even means-"

minutes later he discovered what that meant. ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ )

― 𝓼unghoon: he has a convenience store phobia now.

you were craving something sweet in the middle of the night since your period has started, so you asked you gently asked your boyfriend to go to the convenience store for you and buy you a sweet treat. sunghoon, feeling a bit upset, agreed, since he felt afraid you wouldn't be able to feel better soon. with that, he covered himself with warm coats as you told him so. however, before he left you told your boyfriend to apply some chap-stick ― telling him the cold weather could break his lips. he simply nodded, asking you to apply it for him and you did it perfectly ― since he were sweet for going to the convenience store for you under the cold weather and at night. you stole a kiss from him before he was gone, trying your best to quickly turn your face away from him because your lips might have been stained by the colour of his.

"i am never coming back to that convenience store ever again." "oh, hey, baby," "y/n, why does my lips look red?!" sunghoon questioned with terror. "what do you mean?" you dropped your head to the side, faking a confused feeling. "y/n, the cashier was looking at me funny and even an old lady was staring at me like i was crazy!" your boyfriend explained, holding two plastic bags full of your sweet treats. "and then, i could not notice them staring at me, so the moment i stepped out of that place i pulled my phone and checked myself and i saw this... i mean, there were many reasons why they could be staring at me, and usually is because i am handsome, not this!" he points to his face entirely. you giggled as you felt his desperation. "you are so cute, i love you, even with your red lipstick." you kiss him on the cheek. "i am killing myself." he says with the most serious face ever, plopping on the sofa. "well... more chocolates for me." you shrug.

― 𝓼unoo: silly lovers hehe.

you watched this trend of replacing chap-stick for lipstick go viral everywhere, so you decided to try it out with your boyfriend. so, when both of you were sat on the sofa, you asked him for a kiss, and when he gave you one, you scrunched your nose and commented: "your lips are dry, let me get you a chap-stick!" he frowned, knowing that his lip care routine is amazing. but anyway, he couldn't reply it to you since you were already gone picking up that chap-stick. you came back holding it in your hand and sitting back on the sofa. "okay, mind if i apply it?" you asked him that because the lipstick's stick is bright red and it was way too obvious. also! you knew about sunoo's lip care routine and knew he was already suspecting something. "okay, go ahead..."

after you applied it, you quickly closed the chap-stick's cap, however, sunoo saw the bright red colour peaking out for a few seconds, frowning before bursting out of laughter. "what was that?!" he asked between cute giggles and a big cheeky grin. "what?" you tried to hold a smile from spreading across your face, but a small giggle came out of you. "why was the chap-stick red?" "i-it's because it is cherry flavoured, dummy!" you explained, but sunoo side eyed you, not believing in it. therefore, he rubs his index finger over his bottom lip and confirms: it was indeed red lipstick. "y/n!" he amusingly screams your name, making you run across the whole living room, before he caught you and forces you to apply it too. sunoo might even take a picture of both of you just sharing his funny moment >_<.

― 𝓳ungwon: finds out alone because his qi is 200+

it was saturday and usually, when jungwon has some free time, he enjoys going out with you and spoil you ― since he could spend time with you, gifting you things and making you happy. however, you wanted to play with your boyfriend before leaving, so, you handed him your special chap-stick and told him that it was a brand you really liked ― and he made sure to note that. jungwon applied it innocently, not waiting for anything special. smacking his lips together, he held your hand and took his car keys, driving you to the mall. entering the air-conditioned surroundings, you told your boyfriend you wanted to go get some ice cream before visiting the stores ― just to see how the cashier would react; and their reaction couldn't be more accurate: discreet giggles and a smirk were noticeable.

"babe, why was that guy laughing at us? do i have something on my face?" poor baby, you wanted to tell him YES! straight ahead, but you knew this was way too good to give up. so you just shook your head, leaving the kitten with a question mark sat on his head. while walking past the mall stores, you remembered you were running out of skin care products. therefore, you went to sephora to buy them. but, during your search, jungwon was looking around the store when he came across an isle with lipsticks displayed. he frowned when the same chap-stick packaging he saw earlier was saying it was a red lipstick. suddenly, he felt someone nudging him, so he turned to see he was it. "looking at our red lipstick collections?" a lady who looked like she worked there asked, and jungwon's frown just deepened. "um... red?" "yes! looks like you are wearing it on your lips at the moment, isn't it great?"

"babe, do you think i should get this vanilla one or this- ... oh, you found out... heh..." "y/n!"

― 𝓻iki: when they go low, i go lower.

since riki was messing up with you regularly, you decided to have your sweet revenge by making him wear a beautiful red lipstick! so you replaced the chap-stick for a lipstick and before he went to practice, you told him it was cold outside and his lips might dry a little bit faster. even though you were the one applying it, riki was insisting it was fine before giving in and letting you do whatever. you made sure to make it pretty much uneven and smudged to mess up with him even more. you gave his cheek a little kiss before waving him goodbye. the last thing you know was that your boyfriend arrived home pissed off, saying that the boys were making fun of him during practice. and you might wonder: how he didn't notice since a practice room has a literal mirror wall?! because, you know how much riki likes his hoodies? so, his hoodie's hood was covering his face almost completely! however, he noticed a few minutes into practice after one of the members point out and he finally realises.

after that day, riki's mind have been trying to come out with a worse prank for weeks. he knew that you were going to hang out with your friends the next day, so he decided to, after you were fast asleep, he would sneakily draw and write ridiculous things on your face and somehow try to convince you that he could do your make-up. surprisingly, you woke up the next day in a good mood and already forgetting about that prank you did with your boyfriend, you accepted it ― and of course he pretended to do it. when you left to hang out with your friends, not even five minutes passed by and you were already texting riki, saying that you were going to kill him ― and even sending a picture of your face, texting a hundred question marks.

riki were only forgiven because he got your favourite food that day, otherwise... ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

© 𝓪𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐢𝓮, 𝗺𝗹𝘆𝘀𝗰𝗵𝗮 𝗌𝓽𝓾𝖽𝗂𝗈𝓼. ⋆

[tthoroughfare]

kerosene // ellie williams

*･゜ﾟ･* summary: the setup of a slow burn between you and ellie.

*･゜ﾟ･* pairing: jackson!ellie x reader

*･゜ﾟ･* content: sfw

*･゜ﾟ･* length: 1.7k

so... this actually started out as NOTHING. i planned for it to be nothing. just me, my pages app and my love for jackson!ellie & that fuck ass hoodie against the world. howeverrrr i may or may not have written almost 10k so far that i'm planning to split up (and continue) into an ongoing series just focusing on you and ellie living in jackson, spending time with your friends, slowly falling in love. real piners rise

god i just love jackson ellie so much. her little nerdy cocky self

the idea of being friends and pining over each other for literal years because you’re both too scared to say anything… catching the other staring, having a few little moments here and there but chalking it up to nothing because you both don’t believe the other would see you like that.

and then she starts dating cat and you’re just like welp. guess this is really never ever gonna happen after all. you let yourself mope for a while, not wanting to go out as much for fear of seeing them together and feeling that strange pang in your chest — just overall being weird and avoiding ellie. you feel silly, really, locking yourself away and listening to sad music over someone you were never even with.

you selfishly hope it doesn’t last long, that it’s just a fling, but when months go by and they’re still together, you come to some sort of acceptance. you even date someone else for a short while to try and take your mind off of her, but quickly realize you’re just searching for scattered parts of her in someone else. and something in your gut tells you that while nothing’s wrong within the relationship, it just doesn’t feel right. doesn’t feel like it’s supposed to.

meanwhile, ellie’s mindset was that she never really saw you as attainable in the first place. and she did genuinely really like cat, so when she initiated the relationship, she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t excited to see where it went. you were always at the back of her mind, though. she didn’t like the way you’d distanced yourself. you were never best friends, but definitely fairly close. she felt the switch almost overnight, the way you stopped going out of your way to talk to her, stopped asking her to tag along when you'd hang out with jesse and dina. she didn’t know what your deal was. the thought that you might be jealous did cross her mind, but she quickly swatted it away. why would you be jealous? it’s only her.

when you started seeing someone yourself, it was like confirmation. nothing was ever gonna happen, you weren’t jealous; how could any of that be the case when you were right there, with someone else? she cursed herself for even thinking about any of it, guilty conscience thick when her mind would then turn to cat. she knew she shouldn’t be deliberating whether you were jealous, whether you liked her, whether anything could ever happen between you, when she had a girlfriend.

she tried her hardest to push you out of her mind whenever you’d arise. she still saw you around, sometimes alone, sometimes with your girlfriend. you’d talk pleasantly, share a few laughs, but it wasn’t like it used to be.

and then one day, when she’s on her way home, she sees you by yourself. you’re sitting under a tree reading, headphones in. she can’t help but notice you look a little melancholy, like you don’t want to be bothered. she deliberates on whether to disturb you or not, stopping, then going to walk away, then stopping again. against her better judgement, she wanders over to you and nudges you gently with the side of her foot.

you look up, offering a small smile and tugging your headphones out. “hey.”

“hey.” ellie mirrors you, shooting back a soft smile of her own. a beat of slightly awkward silence passes as she tries to think of the reason she actually came over. she doesn’t even have one.

“what’s up?” you ask after a few seconds.

“uh… not much. just… uh… wanted to say hi.”

the corner of your mouth quirks into a slight smirk. “well… you just did.”

ellie breathes out a quiet chuckle, bringing her hands together to mess with her fingers. “very funny.” she pauses, then hesitantly crouches and sits beside you. “whatcha reading?”

you turn the cover so that she can see it. “mystery book,” you say, eyes flitting between ellie and the novel, before you rest it back in your lap, starting to lightly read again.

“you want me to tell you who the killer is?”

you chuckle, looking back up at ellie. “sure, take a stab at it.”

ellie’s eyebrows raise slightly. “pun intended?”

you tilt your head, raising an eyebrow as you realize what you just said. “nope. guess i’m just too witty.”

she looks down and smiles lightly, before looking up at the sky in feigned thought. she clicks her fingers. “it’s the priest.”

you let out a laugh. “there isn’t even a priest in it.”

“that’s what you think,” she quips back, feigning seriousness. “he will be introduced in… 43 pages.”

you roll your eyes, unable to hold back a smile. “shut up.”

“nope. wanna hear some more of my predictions? 100% accuracy guaranteed.”

“sure.”

“… you’re in a shitty mood,” ellie says matter-of-factly, before her voice softens. “seriously, you good? you look all…”

she trails off, gesturing at you slightly.

you chew at the inside of your cheek. truth be told, you are in a shitty mood, but you didn’t realize it was visible. plus, you don’t really want to talk about it. especially not to ellie, of all people. “yeah, nah, i’m fine.”

she just gives you a look in reply — one to say, ‘i’m not stupid’. to which, you let out a small sigh and shake your head. you’re not good at lying to ellie. “okay, i guess i may be in a… tiny bit of a slump.”

she shuffles a bit, leaning back on her hands. “why? what’s wrong?”

you pick at your nail, pausing. “i don’t know, man. just… yeah. stuff.”

“what kinda stuff?”

you curse her in your head for pushing, but simultaneously feel a pulse in your chest that she cares. you don’t particularly want to talk to ellie about your relationship. or lack thereof. it feels embarrassing, for some reason. in the end, you let out a small, defeated sigh. “ugh. just… so… i’m not with you-know-who anymore.”

ellie raises her eyebrows, trying to ignore the way she feels selfish relief. “damn. that sucks.”

you shrug. “i suppose so.”

another awkward pause occurs as ellie tries to think of what to say. comforting people has never really been her forte, but she wants to try for you. plus, she’s curious. “…wh-what happened?”

you look up, eyes flitting around the scenery, pulling a small face as you think. “nothing, really. just… wasn’t working. like… didn’t really feel right, y’know?”

she quirks an eyebrow, looking sideways at you. “so it was you, huh?”

you let out something between a breathed out chuckle and a groan. “…yeah. i felt really mean.”

“damn. you’re ruthless. heartbreaker,” she teases deadpan in response, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

to which, you roll your eyes and snicker, the smile lingering on your face. even in the worst mood, you’d noticed, ellie could always make you laugh somehow. “shut up. it wasn’t like that.”

“then what was it like?”

you shrug lightly, toying with the cover of your book. “i don’t know. went as best as it could, i suppose. i have nothing against her, nothing happened, it just… yeah. like i said. wasn’t right.”

ellie hums in acknowledgment, looking away in thought. her silence feels a little uncomfortable, driving you to babble on. “i don’t know, she’s nice and everything, but it just felt like we were kind of… wasting each other’s time. i didn’t see it actually going anywhere. i know we’re still young, and… y’know, it’s hardly like we have to marry each other or whatever. but something just felt missing. i don’t know.”

you glance at ellie briefly, then back down at your book, tracing the cover art with your fingertip. “like… you and cat. you guys seem happy. what does that feel like?”

she feels a little taken off guard. she’s not used to talking about this with anyone; anyway, nobody’s ever really asked. she shifts, sitting cross legged and leaning her forearms on her thighs, messing with her hands. “uh… i don’t know. i haven’t really thought about it.”

you furrow your eyebrows slightly. not really the reaction you were expecting. “oof. what does that mean?”

ellie lets out a drawn out hum, wrinkling her chin. “… i don’t know. i suppose it just feels… hm. it’s just… what it is. i guess.”

you pull a face, blowing air through your nose. “wow. don’t get too sappy on me, now. you’re gushing.”

her eyes roll in response to your sarcasm, a lopsided smirk on her face. “shut up.”

you mirror her smile, meeting her eyes for a few seconds, trying to shove down the way it burns a hole through you, makes your chest feel like it’s constricting.

the moment is broken by a call of ellie’s name. you both automatically look up, spotting cat strolling over with a bright smile on her face. 

“speak of the devil,” you murmur jokingly, turning to look back at ellie briefly.

she scoffs in response, moving to stand up. when cat presses a small kiss to her lips in greeting, resting a hand on her arm, you avert your eyes.

cat looks down at you, offering a soft smile and a wave. “hey.”

“hey,” you reply, looking back up. you did really like cat. you weren’t necessarily friends, but she was cool, and funny, and always nice to you. you flit your eyes between her and ellie as she turns back, addressing her girlfriend.

“i was on my way to yours. we still watching a movie tonight?”

ellie looks down at you, then back at cat, an unreadable expression on her face. “uh… yeah, yeah. for sure.”

cat smiles at ellie, taking her hand and lightly swinging it between them. “… well, we’ll leave you to it,” she says to you.

you nod slowly. “yup. catch you two later.”

you wave half-heartedly at them both as they walk away hand-in-hand, free hands returning the gesture. you busy yourself with putting your headphones back in and choosing a new song, but if you were looking up, you’d have seen ellie look back at you. twice.

[leona-hawthorne]

1k celebration navigation

based on this request from @lov3notts — enjoy bb 💋 it got pretty long but… what can i say? the request was too good!

disclaimer: not all works for my 1k celebration request will be this long, this one was just special <3

18+ warnings ; angst , smut , oral (f receiving) , unprotected piv , fingering

FAULT LINE… book browsing

THEODORE NOTT. LORENZO BERKSHIRE.

You didn’t know how you got here. One moment, you’d been exchanging sharp words with Theodore Nott, and the next, your back hit the sheets of his bed, his hands grasping your hips with a quiet desperation he’d never admit aloud.

All you could focus on was the heady pull of his mouth, the damp trail of sloppy, bruising kisses he was leaving along the sensitive skin of your thighs. He’d barely given you a second to think, to breathe, before he’d dipped down, fingers splaying possessively against your skin, his face between your legs like it was the only place he wanted to be. The world shrank down to the muffled sound of your own moans, of Theo’s name falling from your lips in a mess of breaths you couldn’t seem to steady. It felt dangerous, maybe because this was already the fifth time this month.

“God, you’re loud today,” he mumbled against you, though the way he held you in place made it clear he wouldn’t have it any other way. There was an edge of something heated in his voice, a spark of unspoken emotion that made you wonder if you were losing your mind, or if he felt it too.

And yet, Theo would never admit anything. To him, this was casual, a dangerous game you both pretended to play out of boredom or maybe lust, like it was just one of those strange things that happened between people who didn’t like each other. And it wasn’t supposed to mean anything, right?

You weren’t supposed to find yourself wishing he’d keep his hands on you just a moment longer. But as he glanced up with that familiar cocky smirk and an unreadable glint in his eyes, you couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if you asked for more.

Only, you already knew the answer—he’d laugh, probably say something mocking, and pull away.

Or worse, he wouldn’t.

"Shut up," you hissed back, your voice strained with pleasure as his tongue swirled around your clit. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging roughly. "You love it when I'm loud."

It was true, and you both knew it. Every time you did this, every filthy word and wanton moan, it only seemed to fuel his hunger. You could see it in the way he devoured you, like he was starving and you were the only thing that could satiate him.

But that was impossible. This was just sex, nothing more. A way to pass the time, to blow off steam. You fucking hated each other, after all. Or at least, that's what you kept telling yourselves.

When the haze faded and reality settled in, you felt that familiar pang of regret creeping in. This arrangement with Theo always left you feeling raw, shaky. And while you tried to ignore it, the constant sneaking around and the secrecy wore on you more than you’d ever let him know.

“Alright, I should go,” you muttered, barely meeting his gaze as you pushed yourself up, gathering your scattered clothes from around the room.

“Leaving already?” Theo’s voice had that casual, mocking lilt, but there was something colder beneath it. He propped himself up on one elbow, watching you with a look that felt a little too intent. “Got somewhere more important to be?”

“Yes,” you replied, fastening your shirt with sharp, decisive movements. “Actually, I do.” The answer was a little too defensive, a little too true, and you knew he’d pick up on it.

Theo’s eyes narrowed slightly, and he leaned back with a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. “Oh, I see. Out to meet your precious Enzo, I’m guessing?”

The way he said Lorenzo’s name—Enzo, like it was laced with poison—made you bristle. You finished buttoning up your shirt, feeling your stomach twist with anger you didn’t want to admit to. “Not that it’s any of your business,” you replied, keeping your tone cool and detached. “But yes, actually. He’s my best friend, Theo. Not that you’d know what that’s like.”

Theo’s face darkened, though he hid it behind a lazy laugh. “Of course. How convenient for him. Guess he’ll never know how often you come running here before you run to him, will he?”

The accusation in his voice cut deep, and before you could stop yourself, you snapped, “Believe me, you’re the last person I’d brag about.”

Theo’s jaw clenched, his eyes flashing with something dangerously close to hurt. For a moment, he looked like he might argue, but then he just shrugged, the motion stiff and forced. “Right. Well, thanks for reminding me of my place.”

His voice was cold, bitter, and it stung more than you wanted to admit. Theo stood, grabbing his own clothes and starting to dress without looking at you. “Don’t let me keep you, then.”

He turned away from you, reaching for his cigarettes on the nightstand. You watched him light one up, taking a long drag before he spoke again, his voice carefully neutral. “See you around.”

The tension was thick enough to choke on, and for a moment, you thought about staying, about explaining something even you didn’t fully understand. But you forced yourself to look away, heading toward the door before he could see the uncertainty in your expression.

Out in the corridor, the cool air stung, clearing the last remnants of Theo’s touch from your skin. But you hadn’t taken more than a few steps before you froze, your heart stuttering in your chest.

Standing a few feet away, arms crossed and brows raised, was Lorenzo.

“Hey,” he greeted, his voice low, his usual warmth replaced with confusion. “What the hell were you doing in there?”

Panic flared in your chest as you struggled to keep your face calm, fumbling for something—anything—to explain. “Oh, um…” You forced a laugh, hoping it sounded more natural than it felt. “Just, uh, tutoring Theo.”

Lorenzo’s eyes narrowed, and he tilted his head, unconvinced. “At eleven o’clock at night?” His tone was skeptical, and he studied your face with a concern that only deepened when he noticed you wouldn’t meet his gaze. “You were tutoring the guy you say you can’t stand?”

Heat crept up your neck as you tried to keep your voice even. “It’s just… well, he needed some help with Charms,” you stammered, giving a weak shrug. “You know how he struggles with it.”

“Since when do you care about his grades?” Lorenzo pressed, eyes narrowing. “Or about anything Nott needs?”

A wave of guilt crashed over you, and you forced yourself to meet his gaze, giving him what you hoped was an exasperated eye-roll. “Lorenzo, it’s not that deep,” you lied, pushing your hands into your pockets to keep them from fidgeting. “He asked for help, and I’m just trying to be… nice.”

Lorenzo stepped closer, his brow furrowed with suspicion. "Come on, don't play dumb with me," he said softly, his tone less accusatory now, but still stern. "I'm not an idiot, Y/N. I know you too well. There's clearly something going on."

He reached out, gently grasping your chin and tilting your face up to force eye contact. "Tell me the truth," he urged, his brown eyes searching yours intensely. "Is there... something between you and him?"

Your heart skipped a beat at the question, and for a moment, you simply stared at him, mouth agape. "What? No!" you finally managed to splutter out, pulling away from his touch. "Absolutely not! I still hate him, alright? I was just doing him a favor. That's all."

But the denial rang hollow, even to your own ears.

Lorenzo held your gaze for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he nodded, but there was a tightness around his eyes that betrayed his skepticism. "Right. Of course. I won't make you talk about it if you don't want to, Y/N," he said quietly. "But I'm not stupid, and I know you better than anyone. So if there's something going on..." He trailed off, shaking his head slightly. "Just... remember who your real friends are, okay?"

You let out a frustrated sigh, tossing your hands up in exasperation. "Look, Enzo, nothing's going on with Theo, alright? It really was just tutoring." You crossed your arms tightly, your jaw set stubbornly. "Can we please just drop it and go to your dorm?”

Without waiting for a response, you turned on your heel and started walking down the corridor, your shoes snapping sharply against the stone floor. You could feel Lorenzo's eyes boring into your back, could practically hear the gears turning in his head as he tried to puzzle out the truth.

Lorenzo watched you walk away for a long moment, conflict evident on his features. Finally, he sighed heavily and fell into step beside you, his longer strides easily matching your pace. "Fine," he muttered, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket. "We'll drop it. For now."

The following day passed in a blur, your thoughts clouded with the tension from the night before. Lorenzo’s suspicion lingered in the back of your mind, a constant, nagging weight. You’d brushed it off as best you could, but you knew him too well to think he’d let it go for good.

The party was already in full swing by the time you and Lorenzo arrived, the Slytherin common room buzzing with energy. Music pulsed through the air, mingling with laughter and the faint scent of firewhiskey.

You and Lorenzo found yourselves in a corner of the room, tucked away from the loudest part of the crowd. He had stuck close to your side all evening, his arm brushing against yours occasionally as you moved through the crowd together. 

You were leaning in, listening intently as Lorenzo spun a tale of all the things that went wrong during his Quidditch practice the other day, when it suddenly hit you—the way his breath warmed your ear, the subtle scent of his cologne, the solid warmth of his body pressed against yours. He was so fucking close.

A shiver ran down your spine, and for a moment, you forgot about everything else—the music, the noise, the presence of others nearby.

Lorenzo smiled, his warm brown eyes crinkling at the corners. He took a sip from his cup before he set it down on the edge of the table.

“You know, you’ve been different lately,” he said suddenly, his tone softer, quieter, cutting through the noise around you. His words made you freeze, the playful grin slipping from your face.

“What do you mean?” 

His hand reached up, fingers brushing against your temple as he gently tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear.  “I mean… you’ve seemed distant,” he murmured, his eyes searching yours, his voice barely above the hum of the music. “Like there’s something you’re not telling me. But I don’t care, Y/N. Whatever it is… I don’t care. I just want you to know I’m here.”

The weight of his words settled heavily in the pit of your stomach, and you blinked up at him, completely caught off guard. Your brain scrambled for something to say, anything to break the tension that had suddenly thickened between you. “Uh, Lorenzo, what—”

But before you could finish, his hands cupped your face, his touch firm but gentle as he leaned in. His lips captured yours in a kiss so sudden and so passionate, it stole the breath from your lungs. His fingers threaded into your hair, pulling you closer as his other hand slipped to your waist, holding you against him like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

You froze for a moment, your mind racing, unable to comprehend what was happening. Lorenzo. Your best friend. Kissing you.

His lips moved against yours with a fervor that made your knees weak, and you felt yourself melting into the heat of him despite the alarm bells ringing in your head.

But the way he kissed you—the way his thumb brushed against your cheek, the heat in his touch—it was impossible to think about anything else. For a split second, you leaned into him, your hands clutching at the fabric of his shirt as if to steady yourself.

Lorenzo broke the kiss abruptly, his chest heaving as he stared at you, his eyes wide and vulnerable. For a long, tense moment, neither of you spoke, the silence heavy with unspoken emotions. Then, he whispered, his voice rough with barely contained need, "God, I’ve wanted to do that for so long.” He rested his forehead against yours. “Tell me you don't feel this too, Y/N."

His gaze burned into yours, pleading and desperate, and you could see the fear lurking beneath the surface—that you might reject him, that he'd lose you forever. In that instant, you understood the depth of his feelings for you, the years of pent-up longing that had finally spilled over the edge. 

You stared at him, wide-eyed and utterly speechless, your thoughts a tangled mess of confusion and guilt and something else you didn’t dare name. 

What the hell was happening?

Lorenzo's expression faltered, a flicker of doubt crossing his features as he read your stunned silence. "Fuck," he muttered under his breath, taking a step back as if physically recoiling from the rejection.

Before you could even open your mouth to respond, a low, mocking voice cut through the charged silence like a blade.

“Well, Y/N,” Theo drawled, stepping between you and Lorenzo with an expression that could only be described as murderous. “You moved on pretty fucking quick, considering my head was between your legs just last night.”

The words hit like a slap, shattering the fragile bubble that had formed between you and Lorenzo.

Lorenzo stiffened beside you, his gaze snapping to Theo with a mix of disbelief and dawning realization. “What?” he said, his voice low and dangerous. Then, softer, almost to himself, “I knew it. You weren’t just tutoring him.”

“Enzo—” you started, but Theo cut you off, his lips curling into a cruel smirk as he stepped closer, his sharp jawline tight with barely concealed fury.

“Tutoring?” Theo echoed mockingly, raising an eyebrow at you. “Is that what you told him, sweetheart? That’s cute. Really cute.”

You felt like the ground was falling away beneath you. “Theo, stop—”

“No,” Theo snapped, taking another step forward as his eyes flickered to Lorenzo. “No, I’ll tell him the truth since you seem so set on lying. I’ve been fucking her. That’s what we’ve been doing. Not tutoring. Not studying. Fucking.”

Lorenzo’s jaw clenched so tightly you thought it might snap. His hands balled into fists at his sides as he turned to you. “Is that true?” he demanded. “Is he telling the truth, Y/N?”

Your mouth opened, but no sound came out. The words lodged in your throat, choking you.

“Don’t bother answering,” Theo sneered. “She’s not going to deny it. She can’t.”

And that was it. The dam broke. Lorenzo lunged forward, grabbing Theo by the collar of his shirt and yanking him close. “You’re a fucking bastard, you know that?” he snarled, his voice low and venomous.

Theo didn’t flinch. If anything, his smirk widened, infuriatingly smug. “Takes one to know one,” he shot back, his tone almost taunting.

“Stop!” you yelled, stepping forward and trying to wedge yourself between them, but neither boy paid you any mind.

“You’re such a goddamn prick,” Enzo spat, stepping closer until the two boys were nearly nose to nose. “You think this is a joke? You think her feelings are something you can just fuck with?”

“Oh, spare me the self-righteous act,” Theo shot back, his voice venomous. “You’re not exactly subtle, Berkshire. You’ve been panting after her for years, but guess what? She came to me. Not you.”

“She’s not yours,” Lorenzo barked, his voice rising as his grip on Theo’s collar twisted tighter.

“And she’s not yours either,” Theo snapped back, his voice equally loud and filled with venom. “But that didn’t stop you from shoving your tongue down her throat just now, did it?”

“Nott, you should fuckin’ shut your mouth before I make you,” Lorenzo snapped, shoving Theo backward.

Theo stumbled but recovered quickly, his eyes flashing with rage as he stepped closer, his hands curling into fists. “You want to hit me? Go ahead,” he taunted, his voice deadly calm. “But it won’t change the fact that I’ve had her in ways you never will.”

“That’s enough!” you shouted, stepping between them, your hands pressed against Lorenzo’s chest to keep him from lunging at Theo again. “Both of you, stop it! You’re both being ridiculous!”

Lorenzo’s eyes softened slightly as they flickered to you, but his jaw remained clenched, his breathing heavy. “Y/N,” he said, his voice low and strained, “tell me the truth. Is he lying?”

You hesitated, your throat tightening as the weight of their gazes bore down on you.

“Y/N,” Theo said, his voice quieter now, almost pleading. “Just tell him. Stop hiding it.”

Your chest tightened, and for a moment, the room seemed to tilt around you. Everything was spiraling out of control, the tension between the three of you threatening to snap like a frayed rope.

“I…” you began, but the words stuck in your throat.

Lorenzo shook his head, his expression twisting with hurt. “I knew it,” he whispered, stepping back. “I fucking knew it.”

“Enzo, wait! I—It’s complicated," you called out, reaching for his arm as he turned to walk away, but he shrugged off your touch.

“Don't," he bit out, his voice tight with pain and anger. "Just...don't."

Lorenzo didn’t look back. His broad shoulders were tense as he stormed away, leaving you rooted to the spot. Your hand fell limply to your side, the sting of his departure cutting deeper than you expected. The noise of the party seemed muted now, distorted, like you were hearing it underwater. The laughter, the music, the chatter—it all felt too far away, irrelevant against the confusion swirling around your head.

In the span of five fucking minutes, your best friend had kissed you, confessed feelings you never saw coming, and then walked away shattered by a truth you hadn’t been ready to admit. The guilt churned in your stomach, thick and nauseating. 

You barely had time to process when Theo’s low, sarcastic voice broke the suffocating silence. “Well, that went well.”

You stood frozen, staring at the floor, your chest heaving as you struggled to process what had just happened—the way Lorenzo’s lips had felt on yours, the raw confession in his eyes, and then the brutal crash as Theo ripped it all apart.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

“Y/N?” Theo’s voice broke the haze again, low and gravelly, laced with something that almost sounded like regret.

Your head snapped up, and without thinking, you turned to him, your emotions boiling over. You shoved at his chest with both hands, hard enough to make him take a step back. “Why?” you hissed, your voice trembling with anger and something dangerously close to tears. “Why do you always have to ruin everything?” You shoved him again, harder this time, though it still felt useless against his solid frame. 

Theo caught your wrist as you went to push him again, his grip firm but not harsh. His gray eyes locked onto yours, glinting with something unreadable in the dim light of the room. “Ruin?” he repeated, his voice incredulous. “You think I ruined this? Don’t pin this on me, Y/N. You’re the one playing two sides.”

“I wasn’t playing anything!” you snapped, yanking your arm free and stepping back. The distance felt safer, less suffocating. “I didn’t ask for this—any of it. But you—” You pointed at him, your chest heaving as you fought to steady your voice. “You always have to push and push until everything falls apart!”

His jaw tightened, and something flickered in his eyes—anger, maybe, or hurt. “Falls apart?” he echoed, his voice rising. “You’re the one who came to me, sweetheart. Remember that? You’re the one who wanted this.”

“I wanted simple!” you shot back, your voice cracking under the weight of your frustration. “I wanted no strings, no feelings, no drama! And now look at us! Look at this mess!”

He scoffed, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he stepped closer. “Don’t act like you’re innocent in all this,” he bit out, his voice sharp. “You wanted no strings, but you kept coming back. Over and over. You wanted me, Y/N. Don’t pretend otherwise.”

You shook your head, turning on your heel and pushing your way out of the crowded party. The air in the corridor was cooler, quieter, but your thoughts were anything but calm. Theo’s footsteps followed close behind, the sound of his shoes echoing against the stone walls.

“I’m not letting you walk away like this,” he said, grabbing your arm just gently enough to stop you without forcing you.

You wrenched your arm free, spinning around to face him, your eyes blazing. “Why not? That’s all we’ve ever been good at—walking away from each other.”

His face twisted, a mix of frustration and something deeper, something raw. “That’s not true and you know it,” he said, his voice quieter now. “You’re just angry.”

“Of course I’m angry!” you shouted, throwing your hands up. “I just watched my best friend walk away, probably forever, because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut! And for what, Theo? For what?”

His lips parted like he wanted to say something, but no words came. Instead, he stared at you, his usually sharp eyes clouded with something uncharacteristically vulnerable.

“You know what?” you continued, your voice trembling as tears pricked your eyes. “I’m done. I’m done with this. With you.”

His eyes widened slightly. “What?” he asked, his voice cracking.

“I’m done, Theo,” you said again. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep pretending this doesn’t mean something when it clearly does. And I can’t keep lying to Lorenzo—to myself. So, congratulations, you win. You’ve ruined everything. I hope it was worth it.”

His face fell, the usual sharpness in his expression softening into something almost childlike. “Y/N,” he said, stepping closer, his hands twitching at his sides like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t dare. “You can’t mean that.”

“I do,” you insisted, your voice firmer this time. “I can’t do this anymore. You and me—it’s toxic, Theo. It’s ruining everything.”

You turned to leave, but his hand shot out, grabbing yours. The desperation in his touch made you freeze. For a moment, he just stared at you, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. Then, he spoke, his voice raw and aching. “Please.” The word came out so quiet it was almost drowned out by the distant hum of the party. “Hate me, hurt me,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “Just… don’t leave me.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, you couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. His words hung heavy in the air, raw and pleading. This wasn’t the Theo you were used to—the cocky, self-assured boy who always had a cutting remark at the ready. This was someone stripped bare, vulnerable in a way that made your heart ache.

“Theo…” you started, but your voice faltered.

“I know we said no strings,” he interrupted, his grip on your hand tightening slightly, like he was afraid you’d slip away. “I know that. But I can’t do it. I can’t watch you walk away and choose him—not when I…” He trailed off, his jaw clenching as he fought to find the words.

You turned fully to face him, your heart pounding painfully in your chest. “Not when you what?” you whispered.

His eyes burned into yours, and for a moment, he looked like he might bolt. But then, with a shaky breath, he stepped closer, his hands trembling slightly as they cupped your face. “Not when I feel like this,” he admitted, his voice barely audible.

You stared at him, your mind reeling. And then he kissed you.

But it wasn’t like the other times—the hurried, rough kisses that left you breathless and wanting more. This kiss was soft, tentative, like he was afraid you might break. His lips moved against yours with a gentleness that made your heart ache, and before you knew it, you were kissing him back, hand shaking like they didn’t know what to do.

The world fell away, the distant music and voices fading until there was nothing but the warmth of him, the way his thumb brushed against your cheek, the quiet, desperate sound he made as he pulled you closer.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breathing ragged. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “For everything.”

You didn’t know what to say—didn’t know how to untangle the knot of feelings in your chest. So you just stood there, letting his touch ground you, wondering how the hell you’d gotten here.

But as you stood there, pressed against Theo's warm, solid body, one thought crystallized above the rest: you needed him.

Now.

"Theo," you murmured. Your eyes locked onto his, searching, pleading. There were no words for what you felt, but you hoped he could read it in your gaze—the hunger, the need, the desperate craving for him.

Theo’s breath hitched, his eyes darkening as they flicked down to your lips and back up again. He could see it—you knew he could. The unspoken need that lingered in the space between you, a silent plea written in the way your fingers trembled against his chest, in the way your breath mingled with his as you leaned closer.  

“Y/N,” he murmured, his voice rough, uncertain. It wasn’t a question, not quite, but there was hesitation there, as though he was afraid this would break you both even further.  

You shook your head, barely, just enough to quiet whatever doubt he was wrestling with. “Please,” you whispered, the single word carrying all the weight of everything you couldn’t say. “I need you, Theo.”  

His hands slid down from your face to your waist, his fingers brushing over the curve of your hips as though committing the moment to memory. “Are you sure?” he asked.  

In answer, you tugged at his shirt, your hands fisting the fabric as you leaned up to kiss him again. This time, it wasn’t soft—it was deliberate, intentional, your lips pressing firmly against his as you tried to pour everything you felt into that single moment.  

The kiss deepened slowly, Theo’s hands tightening on your waist as he guided you backward, pressing you against the cool stone wall of the corridor. You broke the kiss, your forehead falling against his as you tried to catch your breath. “Not here,” you whispered, your voice shaky but firm.  

Theo nodded, his chest rising and falling with yours as he tried to calm himself. Without a word, he took your hand, his grip steady and warm as he led you through the dim corridor and up the winding staircase to your dorm.  

The room was quiet, lit only by the soft glow of moonlight streaming through the window. The moment the door closed behind you, the atmosphere shifted. It wasn’t rushed this time, wasn’t driven by the usual frenzied passion that had defined so much of your time together. It was slower, heavier, as though you were both unearthing something you hadn’t realized was buried.  

Theo turned to face you, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation. But you stepped closer, your hands sliding up his chest and around his neck as you kissed him again, softer this time, but no less urgent.  

He kissed you back with a quiet intensity, his hands settling on your hips as he walked you backward toward the bed. When the backs of your knees hit the edge, he paused, pulling back just enough to look at you.  

“You’re sure?” he asked again, his voice a rasp of barely contained emotion.  

You nodded, your fingers threading through his hair as you pulled him down to you on the bed. “I’m sure,” you said, your voice steady now, laced with a conviction that left no room for doubt.  

Theo followed you down, his weight pressing into you as he kissed you again, and for the first time, it wasn’t about dominance or control. It wasn’t about proving a point or drowning in the fire of your so-called hatred.  

It was about feeling—truly feeling.  

You let out a soft gasp as his hands explored your skin, his touch sending sparks of pleasure racing under your flesh. Your own hands roamed over his back, tracing the contours of his muscles beneath his clothes. You wanted to peel away every layer until you were bare against him, skin to skin, hearts beating as one.

As if reading your mind, Theo reached for the hem of your shirt, his fingers grazing the sensitive skin of your stomach as he lifted it over your head. You arched into his touch, a moan escaping your lips as he tossed the garment aside and leaned in to nuzzle the swell of your tits, his hot breath sending tingles across your nipples.

Theo's mouth hovered over your nipple, his tongue darting out to tease the hardened peak before he closed his lips around it, suckling gently. A low groan rumbled in his throat, vibrating against your skin and making your toes curl.

His hands continued their exploration, sliding down to unfasten your jeans, his fingers brushing against the heat of your core as he pushed the denim and lace down your thighs. You kicked off the pooled fabric, leaving you naked and vulnerable beneath him.

He leaned in to press a tender kiss to your collarbone, then trailed his lips down your sternum, pausing to worship each breast with the same reverence he'd shown earlier.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured against your skin, his voice thick with emotion.

Your breath caught in your throat at the words, at the raw sincerity in his tone. No one had ever looked at you like that before—like you were a work of art, precious and coveted.

"Theo..." you breathed, your voice trembling with need. "Please..."

He understood without further prompting, his fingers tracing a path down your stomach and dipping lower to find the slick heat of your arousal. He groaned softly at the feel of you, his thumb circling your clit as his middle finger delved inside, seeking out that sweet spot that made you quiver.

"God, you're soaked," he whispered, his breath hot against your skin as he pumped his finger slowly, deliberately, his gaze locked on yours. "Tell me how much you want it."

His other hand cupped your breast, rolling the pebbled nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

Your hips bucked involuntarily as his finger found that perfect spot inside you, stroking along the sensitive wall in a way that made stars burst behind your eyelids. "Oh god, yes," you whimpered, your nails digging into his shoulders as you ground against his hand.

"I want it so badly," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "I've never wanted anything more," you begged, your breath coming in short gasps. "I need you inside me."

With a low growl, Theo added a second finger, scissoring them inside you to loosen your tightness. He watched your face intently, drinking in every expression of pleasure, every gasp and moan that fell from your lips.

"Not yet," he said, his voice rough with restraint. "I want to make sure you're ready for me."

He curled his fingers just right, rubbing that magic spot within you, and you came undone, your orgasm hitting you like a tidal wave. You cried out, your body shaking with the force of it, your inner walls clenching around his fingers.

Through it all, Theo held you close, his lips pressed to your temple, his breath hot against your skin. "That's it," he cooed, "let go for me, baby. I've got you."

Shudders wracked your body as the aftershocks of your climax rippled through you, leaving you limp and spent. But Theo wasn't done with you yet. He withdrew his fingers, leaving you empty and aching for more.

Before you could even catch your breath, he was moving, shrugging off his shirt to reveal the toned expanse of his chest. Your gaze drifted over the defined muscles, feeling a wave of desire surge through you.

Not waiting for permission, he quickly shed his pants, kicking them aside carelessly. And then he was looming over you, his eyes blazing with hunger. “Wrap those pretty legs around me.”

Without hesitation, you complied, hooking your ankles together and lifting your hips to meet him. The head of his cock nudged against your entrance, teasingly slow, as if savoring the moment before finally sinking home in one smooth thrust.

A guttural moan tore from his throat at the feeling of your tight heat enveloping him, and he stilled for a moment, reveling in the sensation. Then, with a roll of his hips, he began to move, setting a sweet pace that had your eyes rolling back.

It was a slow, unhurried rhythm, unlike all the times before. This time, it wasn’t about the heat or the hunger—it was about the connection, the way his name fell from your lips like a prayer, the way he whispered yours back like a promise.  

Time seemed to blur, the lines between where you ended and he began dissolving until there was nothing left but the two of you, tangled together in the quiet of the night as he devoured  your mouth in a bruising kiss, his tongue claiming you as thoroughly as his cock did your pussy.

Theo broke the kiss to gaze down at you, his eyes burning with an intensity that seared right through to your soul. "Look at me," he commanded, his voice thick with emotion. "I want to look you in the eyes when I make you cum. You know why? Because this means you’re fucking choosing me.”

Your fingers tightened in his hair as you met his stare, the connection between you electrifying. With a final, powerful thrust, he pushed you over the edge, and you shattered, crying out his name as waves of ecstasy crashed over you.

When it was over, Theo stayed close, his forehead resting against yours as he caught his breath. He didn’t say anything—neither of you did. Words felt unnecessary, almost intrusive in the fragile intimacy that had settled over you both.  

But as his hand brushed over your cheek, his thumb tracing lazy circles against your skin, you felt the truth of it in the way he looked at you. Whatever this was between you, it wasn’t hatred. It never had been.  

And that realization scared you more than anything.  

But a loud, abrupt knock at the door shattered the stillness.  

You shot up, your heart pounding as reality came crashing back in. “Shit,” you whispered, scrambling to pull on your clothes. Theo sat up too, his brow furrowed in confusion, but he didn’t move to stop you. Instead, he leaned back on his elbows, watching silently as you tugged a large sweater over your head, your hair still a mess from his hands.  

The knock came again, more insistent this time. “Y/N?” Lorenzo’s voice called through the door, muffled but unmistakable.  

Your stomach dropped.  

Theo’s gaze darkened, his jaw tightening as he realized who it was. “You don’t have to answer,” he said quietly, his voice calm but firm.  

But you did. You had to.  

Without another word, you crossed the room, your heart racing as you opened the door just enough to step out, closing it quickly behind you. Lorenzo stood there, his face a storm of emotions—regret, frustration, and something achingly close to hope.  

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out before you could speak, his words tumbling over themselves in his rush to get them out. “I shouldn’t have walked away like that. I should’ve let you explain, I should’ve stayed.”  

“Enzo—” you started, but he cut you off.  

“No, let me finish,” he said, taking a step closer. “I blamed you, and I shouldn’t have. I was just... I don’t know. I was hurt, okay? And I know that’s not fair to you. You’ve always been honest with me, and I—I just...” He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration with himself evident.  

You stood frozen, your back pressed against the door, every word he said digging deeper into your chest.  

“And I shouldn’t have waited this long to tell you how I feel. Merlin, Y/N, I love you. I’ve loved you for longer than I can even admit to myself. And I know it’s a mess now, but I could’ve… should’ve told you sooner.” His voice cracked, his usual smooth confidence faltering as his eyes searched yours.

Your throat tightened as you opened your mouth to try and speak, but he kept going, his words spilling out faster now, desperate to fill the silence.

“I should be the one you’re with. I should’ve been braver, I should’ve fought for you. But I didn’t, and I—I just... I want to be with you,” he continued, his eyes searching yours desperately. “I know we’re friends, but we could be so much more, Y/N. I know we could.”  

The silence that followed felt deafening.  

It was only then that Lorenzo seemed to really see you—the disheveled sweater pulled hastily over your bare skin, your hair still tangled, your lips swollen. His eyes widened, the realization crashing over him like a wave.  

“Y/N...” he said slowly, his voice filled with dawning heartbreak. “Is someone... Are you...?” He didn’t finish the question, but he didn’t have to.  

You couldn’t bring yourself to lie. You couldn’t bring yourself to answer, either.  

His face crumpled, and he let out a bitter, hollow laugh. “It’s him, isn’t it? Theo.”  

“Enzo, I’m—”  

“No,” he interrupted, holding up a hand. “Just don’t say anything.” His voice cracked, and for a moment, he looked like he might break completely. But then he straightened, his jaw tightening as he forced himself to meet your eyes. “It was never going to be me, was it?”  

“Lorenzo—” You tried to reach for him but he just flinched, shaking his head.

“Stop,” he said sharply, though the crack in his voice betrayed him. He looked away, blinking rapidly, as though trying to compose himself. “I get it now. I was always the safe option. The one who’d never hurt you. But I was never the one you wanted.”

“That’s not fair,” you said, your voice trembling. “You’re my best friend, Enzo. I love you, I do, but…”

“Not like that,” he finished for you, his tone sharp with bitter acceptance. “You don’t love me like that.”  

You reached for him again, but he stepped back, out of reach. “Stop,” he said again, his voice soft now, almost broken. “I’ll just... I’ll see you around, Y/N.”  

The silence that followed was unbearable, the weight of his words pressing down on you like a physical force. You wanted to say something, anything, to fix the fissure cracking between you, but no words came.

He nodded, his jaw tightening as he forced a bitter smile. “I hope he’s worth it,” he said quietly, turning on his heel before you could stop him.

You watched him go, your chest aching as his figure disappeared down the hall. The sting of his words lingered, cutting deeper than you’d anticipated. 

Closing the door behind you, you leaned against it, your heart pounding as you tried to steady your breathing.

“Y/N?”

Theo’s voice, soft and uncertain, pulled you from your thoughts. He was sitting up now, the sheet draped low over his waist as he watched you with an intensity that made your knees weak.

You crossed the room, collapsing onto the bed beside him. His hand found yours, his fingers lacing through yours, grounding you.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

You shook your head, resting your forehead against his shoulder. “Don’t be. I chose this. I chose you.”

And despite the heartbreak, the guilt, the mess of emotions swirling inside you, you knew it was true. Lorenzo had your friendship, your loyalty, your love in ways you couldn’t deny—but Theo? Theo had your heart.

And no matter how much it hurt, you couldn’t bring yourself to regret it.

(apologies to my enzo lovers <3)

[layla99999999]

with a professional help i will get worse anyway - probably much faster than without it, as it always used to be

not even with stigmatised ones, trying to get help literally for depression got me much worse

i don't know who decides if people can be doctors, psychologists and therapists but i would really want to speak to them because what the hell is happening, why doesn't anyone check if a person is fit for these professions

i very much prefer to deal with a bunch of mental disorders all by myself than ever talk to these people again

and for many years i was very much like "you got any problem? go to therapy", "maybe you should go see a psychologist or something?" etc

but i have seen with my own eyes how it actually looks

my anhedonia is eating me alive so i’m making these mental illness memes to cope

[loverafey]

first !   bsf!rafe x virgin f!reader

          ꕀ warnings - smut, lots of kissing, fingering, rafe's a softie and just so gentle with his best friend :( wc -  2.5k.

sitting beside rafe cozily while he was sprawled on his bed, scrolling away on his phone, your eyes read over the words printed on the book you were holding, a peaceful silence lingering in the air.

he had invited you over to spend the night, just a simple innocuous sleepover even, not admitting that he’d gotten a little bit too lonely in this house that was too big for a single person. sarah usually spent time with john b now, wheezie was away for a few weeks to spend time with their grandma while he was here handling all the work — maybe he should also buy a nice apartment for himself. maybe that’d be less lonely.

you were a bit too invested into the plot, some cheesy romance novel that you were somehow enjoying. cliches were not that bad sometimes, after all. you found yourself unconsciously smiling at all these events happening to the protagonist, a foreign ache blooming in your chest. envy? or perhaps just mere curiousity, you’ve never had a decent experience with dating, after all.

not even a first kiss, and it embarrassed you greatly.

almost everyone you knew was either already dating or experienced in this field, and no matter how much you tried to hide your lack of knowledge, it was clearly obvious. you weren’t innocent by all means, the book in your hands was evidence enough, the scenes already accelerating to something more heated. though reading such things sometimes felt like a self sabotaging method because it always left you craving something similar.

your eyes drifted over to rafe, watching the neutral expression adorning his face, one arm folded under his head while his other hand held his phone, scrolling through whatever. you couldn’t help but take advantage of the fact that he was not looking at you, admiring the way those plump lips of his were parted, his hair freshly shaved into a buzz cut. despite your initial shock when your best friend had revealed this new style of his to you cheekily, you loved this haircut on him a lot. everything looked good on him, though you’d rather not admit that to anyone, especially not him.

his eyes were half lidded, your heart skipping a beat as you watched him unconsciously lick his bottom lip, blood rushing to your cheeks, the book in your hand long forgotten. why was your body even reacting like this, so eager to memorise every inch of his face?

“staring a little bit too much, aren’t ya?” his calm voice broke you out of your trance, earning a soft gasp from you as you quickly looked away, the action of no avail. he’d already caught you.

“nope, just zoning out.” it was clear that you were lying. he noted how you were a little bit too squirmy, avoiding his eyes — flustered. he couldn’t help but feel a smirk rising on his lips, sitting up on his bed as he put his phone aside, all of his attention now pointed at you.

“you’re lying.” he scoffed, leaning forward.

silence once again fell within his bedroom, short yet tense. you could hear your heartbeat getting louder in your ears, taking a deep breath to calm yourself down.

“rafe, have you ever… kissed anyone?”

what a foolish question to ask, of course he had kissed many times, even you knew that, fumbling your words out in the spur of the moment. though the ways his eyes widened made you go still, realisation replacing the confusion on his face almost as quickly. he snorted, his head falling back as he nodded. “‘course i’ve kissed people. haven’t you seen me?” he asked, cockiness lacing his words.

you rolled your eyes, pursing your lips shut while trying to ignore the fact that you were a little bit too aware of the heat on your face, shrugging your shoulders. “i-it’s… it’s just…” fuck, you couldn’t believe you were actually doing this. “i haven’t… y’know.” you kept trailing off, looking anywhere and everywhere but at him.

he hummed knowingly, staring at you intently. he obviously knew that — definitely not because he always kept close tabs on you behind your back — always surprised that no one had kissed you or swept you off your feet yet. lucky him, he supposed, it was exactly what he’d wanted for a while now. “i know.”

“you do?” you gasped out, though he didn’t let you feel ashamed, his hands soon grasping yours, gently intertwining your fingers.

“i think everyone does.” he snickered, causing you to whine in protest, not even able to swat his shoulders gently since he was holding your hands. “but why’re you bringing it up, huh?” he feigned innocence.

he was so frustrating, obviously knowing that you wanted to try kissing him, especially due to the way your eyes kept trailing down onto his lips, your own lips parting slightly, as if wondering what it’d feel like to kiss him.

the thought of being your first kiss made his heart flutter in the best way possible, every little dream of his about you aching to come true. but still, it was funny to mess with you and watch you stutter while trying to not make a mess of yourself. you were just so damn adorable.

“i was wondering… if maybe we could try it.” you mumbled quietly.

“try what?”

only if you could punch him. “kissing…!” you squeaked out, already regretting your words. what if he’d reject you, never look at you the same again?

“should’ve said that sooner.” he whispered, making you realise just how close he was to you as he leaned forward, his hands pulling you in front of him, soon moving up to cup your face, the tender action making your fears melt away.

“want me to be your first kiss, baby?” his voice was more hoarse now, eyes glimmering with need as he stared down from your eyes to your lips, and then back up at your eyes that were staring at him so dreamily, feeling you nod hastily.

he soon closed the distance between you both, pressing his lips against yours. he was slow and gentle, not wanting to freak you out as you clumsily kissed him back, your fists bunching his shirt up as you clung onto him, feeling his head tilt slightly, his lips parting and moving against yours, swallowing up your surprised little noises.

it felt so good, better than you’d expected from all these novels that you’d been reading. his fingers were neatly tucked behind your ears, not minding that you were leaning forward obliviously, just wanting to be closer to him.

“c’mere.” he grunted against your mouth, that noise alone making your heart go all giddy as he pulled you up to sit on his lap, letting your hands leave his shirt as your arms wrapped around his neck, continuing to kiss him. you couldn’ believe you were kissing your best friend.

he reluctantly pulled away after a while, knowing that you had to catch your breath, eyes drinking in the sight of your panting softly, your lips all wet from the kiss. from the kiss he gave you. he found himself grinning like a fool, pressing a few more kisses on the side of your mouth, hearing you giggle.

“not too bad for a first kiss, yeah?” he asked, earning a hum from you as you snugly sat on his lap, feeling his hands hold onto your waist, fingers slipping sneakily inside your waist, rubbing your sides in light circular motions, just a shy away from the waistband of your shorts. you didn’t mind, staring at him with wide eyes, your breathing quickening at the feeling of his skin against yours.

“what’cha thinking about?” he asked, beginning to press light pecks on your jaw once he felt that you were comfortable enough.

your throat tightened momentarily, chewing on your bottom lip as you looked down, shaking your head, feeling your ears unbearably heat up once again. “nothing.” you whispered too quietly. he tsked, one hand reaching up to gently grab the side of your face, tilting your head towards his.

“just…” you cleared your throat. “just wanna do more.”

“more?”

“y’know what i mean!” this time, you did swat on his shoulders, causing him to chuckle as he nodded.

“mhm, i know. my baby wants more.” he felt your legs spreading a bit more by his hips, your body squirming on his lap. “ever touched yourself?” he asked, rendering you surprised by his rather crude question.

“yes. doesn’t feel really good… i suck at it.” you huffed, not wanting to give the details of how you awkwardly stuck your fingers inside you or tried to rub yourself, either going too fast or too slow, always failing to reach the peak.

“oh no.” he cooed mockingly, his hand gently resting on your stomach through your shirt, his eyes finding yours, softening up. you looked so shy when your confidence was all drained out, it made him want to kiss you all the more greedily. but not yet, that’d be too fast. “want me to make you feel good?” he asked, genuine.

your eyes widened, wondering if he was joking or not, though the way he was staring at you and touching you with so much care made you want to swoon, nodding after a few seconds.

“use your words, baby.”

“yes…” a smile found its way to your lips, his hands swift to shift you around so now you were in between his legs once he parted them, your back resting against his chest. you giggled, your thighs squeezing shut while he pressed soft kisses on the top of your head and then your nape, his hands gently roaming over your torso through the fabric of your shirts, caressing away through your breasts, causing your breath to hitch.

“lift your hips up, cutie.” he ordered, to which you eagerly obeyed by leaning up so he could tug your shorts down, groaning audibly at the sight of your panties. “fuck, always wanted to see you like this.” he confessed, taking down your panties too, putting the clothes aside, not letting you see that he snuck your panties into the pocket of his sweats.

“really?” you whimpered out, feeling his hands gently guiding your legs open, your back trying to lean more into his chest. his fingers snaked down, palming your pussy, your hips already twitching at the foreign touch.

“fuck, you’re so wet.” he couldn’t help but groan, pleased as his fingers swiped through your slicken folds, gathering some wetness. he was hard, his cock eager to jump out of his pants but that was a matter for later, some other day. today was all about you.

carefully, he begins to circle his fingers around your clit, feeling it pulsate due to his feather-like, almost teasing movements. you moaned out blissfully, eyes flying shut as he continued to rub your clit, your skin tingling at this newfound feeling.

“feels good?” he asked, earning a hum from you, his head resting on your shoulder, almost nuzzling against your cheek. his other hand went from gently caressing your thighs to in between your legs. “want my fingers in you too?”

“yes…” you mewled in ecstacy, lips parted in awe as your legs stayed spread, aching a bit though the pleasure coursing within you made it easy for you to ignore that. one hand focused on your clit while the other spread your folds apart, a finger teasing your tight hole, your hips trying to buck forward.

“so eager. all of this is f’me, yeah?” he was breathless, pressing hot open-mouthed kisses against your ear as you nodded, whining out something incomprehensible that seemed like a ‘yeah’.

his finger soon pushed into your pussy, feeling your squelchy walls squeeze around his digit eagerly. fuck, you were so tight, it made him want to stuff you full of his cock to see how prettily you’d stretch around him. he begin to gently move his finger around you, the other hand not ceasing its movements, fingers continuing to rub your clit.

“rafe… rafey!” you tilted your head, eagerly gasping out the nickname only you’d use on him, your lips trying to find his. he indulged, kissing your lips once again, sneaking in a second finger inside your pussy, beginning to thrust them in and out. his fingers were nicely long, reaching in and probing against your sweet spots that you had convinced yourself didn’t exist. it all felt so good, your wetness leaking onto his fingers and probably dirtying his sheets too, the pleasure from both the simultaneous rubbing of your clit and his fingers fucking your pussy made your body writhe, feeling all sensitive, getting closer to the edge embarrassingly quick.

every pretty noise you were making was muffled against his mouth, feeling all hot and needy, something building up in your stomach. “i-i think m’gonna cum.” you fumbled over your words after pulling away from the kiss.

“keep lookin’ at me.” his fingers continued to thrust in and out of your pussy at a steady pace while rubbing your wet throbbing clit, his hands a mess, eyes staying locked onto your glossy ones. your breathing quickened as you felt your peak approaching, crying out once you orgasmed, cumming all over his fingers, walls clenching around him impossibly tight as your body convulsed. his fingers didn’t stop rubbing your clit until you were a limp mess in his arms, panting softly, all warm and fuzzy.

he gently pulled his fingers out, proudly looking at them before moving his fingers to your mouth. “lick it f’me?” he asked softly, your brain melted into mush as you opened your mouth to suckle onto his fingers for a while until he pulled them out. comfortably sitting you up, he cradled your face and pressed a kiss on your nose, watching you smile doppily, just so happy.

“wanna get cleaned up?” he tilted his head, causing your brows to furrow.

“but… what about you?” you asked, looking down at the tent formed in his pants. his cheeks reddened at your observation, shaking his head as he nuzzled his nose against yours.

“don’t wanna go so fast on you and freak you out. someday later, okay?” truth was that he knew he wouldn’t be able to control himself, claiming you as his as soon as he’d fuck you properly, letting his obsession unveil. he promised himself that he wouldn’t do that — not yet at least — wanting your first time to be gentle with him taking his time with you.

and you’d be looking forward to it.

[mossyscavern]

I’d give my T-cog and my spark to you.

______________________

D-16 groans, optics fluttering online.

Staring up at the sky, servo rubbing his helm, trying to recalibrate with what happened. He sat up and saw that Orion is online too, trying to wake elita up. ‘He’s gonna get punched in the face again.’

D thought, shaking his helm, before immediately remembering something important.

He frantically got up and looks around the surface, yellow optics scan the jagged surroundings before spotting a familiar pair of peds, upside down and kicking. “Bee!” He shouts, climbing up the hill mount.

He grabs both ankle guards, pulled and revealed the happy yellow sparkling, upside down and giggly. “Hi Dee!” The youngling says, smiling.

D sighs in relief and flips him up right before putting him back down. “You ok? How’s your helm?” D fuses, checking bee’s helm and plating for dents.

“Uhm… it hurts but it doesn’t?” Bee asks, helm tilt slightly to the left. D huffs a chuckle, not immune to the adorable sparkling bee is.

For a nanoklilk, D-16 hears elita-1 screaming her helm off. Both bots turn to the pink fury and saw her pacing and screaming, then went and punch a mountain, Orion trying to talk to her before she snatches the device.

D-16 cringed at the whole one sided conversation between Orion and elita, where bee looked worried at the three before looking up at the sky, getting D’s attention and point to the gradient the surface offered.

It worked very well as D stares directly up at the sky, bee smiles holding D’s servo before he forced out a yelp as someone picks him up, making him let go of the servo. Confused he looks up and saw it was elita-1.

“Hi! I’m b-127, or bee! Or badassatron! Are you coming with us-?” he babbled on, elita continues to walk while Orion waits for D-16 before following elita.

Orion turned and snorts, seeing an impressive scowl as the yellow optic bot stares daggers at elita-1. “What?” D asked, turning to Orion. “Sorry, just that you’re staring daggers at our ex-commander- what’s she do anyway?”

D-16 huffs and crosses his arm guards, for a couple of kliks he sighed and finally-. “She took my baby.” He confessed, that got a laugh out of Orion and that made D punch him in the shoulder pad.

“Sorry, sorry.. I didn’t think you’d say it out loud.” He chuckles, patting D’s shoulder guard. “Does that mean he’s our baby then?” Orion asks, earning him a hiss from D-16. “You’re the cousin that makes regrettably life choices, pax.”

“… rude, but ouch, don’t like how quick you answered.” Orion says, but D-16 stopped listening. Yellow optics focused on bee, who’s chatting elita-1’s audible off. ‘Serves her right.’ D thought, smirking at her annoyed expression.

When blue optics meet his yellow one’s bee waved his servo, a bright smile on the sparkling’s faceplates. This made D smile as he himself waved back to bee.

He chuckled to himself and kept on walking, servos hitting the metallic rocks beneath. ‘Primus, this is lot to take in. We find the matrix, I’m heading back up.’

D thought, crossing his arms, staring out at the horizon. Thinking about bringing Orion and bee with him too, maybe making it a forever home again…

It’s wishful thinking, but it’s something he can put up with.

______________________

… I present.. a gift for @yuukirita for deceptibee, babybee and a lot more!

Oh! And also for @yourplaywright too cause… I love their warm colours fic that they finished… (That and I can’t stretch out to express my gratitude)

I-… I don’t know if I’m gonna do it again, uh… this is actually my very first transformers fic since… ever! And a baby fic too!

But all around what had lead to this story? I… wanted to write something…

[ham1lton]

SIMPLE !

pairings: jude bellingham x lewis hamilton’s assistant!reader

summary: after your first few dates with jude, everything seems to be going smoothly. however, there’s just one problem: your boss seems to hate your new boyfriend.

warnings: judeyn being dumbasses.

author’s note: part of my dream girl universe. for best enjoyment, read after the first instalment. assistant2 also makes her first official appearance!!

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📍 berlin, germany.

tagged: judebellingham

liked by ham1ltonshaderoom, jobebellingham and 2,837,918 others.

yourinstagram: the photos he takes of me vs the one i take of him. i think you all can see the better photographer.

view all 1,108,928 comments

user1: LOVE seeing hot people date each other.

-> user11: i love seeing two hot people be BESTIES.

user2: JUDE IS TAKEN ???!!!! NOOOOOOO

-> user3: babe… you didn’t have a chance at all. like please be serious.

-> user13: thank god they aren’t actually dating tho.

user4: my gf <3

-> judebellingham: who even are you.

-> user4: we can share <3 i can keep her satisfied thru the weekend u have the weekdays king.

jobebellingham: love this yn. he looks so depressed and ugly.

-> judebellingham: U JEALOUS ASF 😹

-> jobebellingham: yn i’ll paypal you £50 rn if you post more ugly pictures. which is all his pictures really.

-> yourinstagram: challenge accepted 🫡

lewishamilton: you look good yn!

-> user5: and what about jude??

-> lewishamilton: what about him?

-> user6: NOT YN’S HUSBAND HAVIN BEEF W/ HER BFF 😭

user7: lip combo?!!??

-> yourinstagram: i’m not a gatekeeper. it’s on my tiktok!! my most recent one <3

user8: you did my king so dirty with that one pic…. LMFAO DO IT AGAIN

-> yourinstagram: 🫡🫡

user10: their friendship is so cute!!

user12: yn is moving up in the world!!! from bts delulu to besties with JUDE BELLINGHAM

-> yourinstagram: blocking you! 😃

-> user12: you can block me but you can’t erase ‘hobisbabymama’

-> yourinstagram: HELLO?2&/9£/

user9: WHERE IS LANDO?!

-> user10: she blocked his main and his ten other side accounts because she’s secretly in love with him and wants to leave loser jude for him.

-> user9: hi lando 😁

user10: no roscoe pic?

-> yourinstagram: sorry babe :(( he’s at home with his dad and i’m on holiday. assistant2 has some highlights of him on her page!! <3

judebellingham: why do i look so depressed

-> yourinstagram: idk <3 want to get ice cream?

-> judebellingham: .. yeah

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title: my girlfriend’s boss (l,39) hates me and it’s ruining my relationship. help?

hi all, i don’t really post on here, but i’m at my wit’s end and need advice. i (j, m21) have been dating my girlfriend (y, f24) for a couple of months now, and it’s been brilliant. she’s smart, funny, beautiful, and honestly the kindest person i’ve ever met. here’s the catch: her boss (l, m39), who also happens to be an insanely famous athlete and very wealthy, clearly hates me.

y works as his personal assistant, and from what she’s told me, l has always been good to her. she’s known him for years, and he’s helped her out a lot in her career. she always says he’s like family, but ever since she introduced me to him, he’s been awful.

it started small, like him calling me “mate” in that condescending way that makes you feel about two feet tall. but last week, i went to pick y up from work, and he gave me this look—you know the type, the kind that says, “you’re not good enough to breathe the same air as her.” i tried to play it off, but it’s eating at me.

another time, we ran into him at a café, and he made this offhand comment about how “footballers aren’t known for their brains.” y tried to laugh it off, but i felt like an absolute idiot.

then there was the incident with the tickets. y mentioned she’d been offered two box seats for a big match, courtesy of l, and we were both so excited to go. but when she told him i was going with her, he suddenly “remembered” he’d promised them to someone else. i know it sounds paranoid, but it feels deliberate.

to make matters worse, y thinks i’m overreacting. she says l is just protective of her because they work closely together, but i can’t help but feel like there’s more to it. she brushes off his weird behaviour, but come on—this is the same man who asked her to taste-test a box of chocolate truffles because he couldn’t decide which to order for himself. (weird, right?)

it’s not just the comments, though. y told me l doesn’t usually care who his staff date, but she mentioned he’s suddenly started asking loads of questions about me, like whether i’ve been in trouble before or if i’m serious about her. it’s like he’s looking for a reason to disapprove. y thinks he’s being protective, but i swear he just doesn’t like me. here’s the problem: i’m pretty sure he hates me. actually, scratch that—i know he hates me.

i’m spiralling here. what if l starts sabotaging our relationship? y says she’s not going anywhere, but i can’t shake the feeling he’s got some weird power over her. am i just being insecure, or is there something seriously wrong here? what do i do?

top comments:

soggy_pigeon: nah, this is classic alpha behaviour. he’s marking his territory. he probably sees her as more than just an assistant, if you know what i mean. tread carefully.

fluffybananas: footballers aren’t known for their brains. maybe he has a point.

spicy_gravy: dude, he’s probably jealous you’ve got abs and a girl who loves you. chill.

randomuser_123: sounds like you’re dating your boss’s work spouse.

tofu_throwaway: i think l’s just jealous because y spends more time with you now. he’s like a toddler upset that someone’s playing with his favourite toy.

ladybantheboys: ok but what if it’s the opposite? like, what if l approves of you but is being mean on purpose to test if you’re good enough for her?

football4ever: j, mate, you’re overthinking. l’s just a famous bloke who doesn’t want to lose his assistant to some random guy. show him you’re not random. take him out for a pint or something.

memequeen420: this reminds me of when i had a cat and got a new dog. the cat hated the dog at first but now they’re best friends. just give it time.

plshelpme1998: have you tried googling “how to win over your girlfriend’s boss”? there’s bound to be a wikiHow.

bananabreadbae: mate, if he wanted her, he’d have made a move by now. maybe he just doesn’t like footballers. not everyone does, you know.

user2847: honestly, the truffle thing makes me think he’s the weird one. does he do this with everyone or just y? if it’s just her, he’s probably got some weird older-brother complex going on.

ultimategoblin69: maybe he wants to adopt you. famous people do weird shit like that.

yogurtbutter: ok but what if you’re the problem? maybe you’re just a bit annoying and he senses it. famous people have great instincts.

iamnotanon: have you considered sabotaging him back? like, nothing serious, but maybe show up in a better suit than him one day. alpha vibes only.

opinionatedowl: this is a power thing. l’s rich and famous, and he’s used to being in charge. stand your ground, but don’t disrespect him. he’s probably testing you.

thecheeseman: it sounds like a bad rom-com where l secretly approves of you but can’t admit it because he’s emotionally constipated. if i were you, i’d play the long game.

spicywaterlover: wait… what if l is secretly in love with y and you’re the obstacle? plot twist.

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edit: wow, ok. this has been a ride. thanks for all the comments, even the wild ones. i think i’ll try the “pint” suggestion, but i draw the line at sabotage. will update if anything changes (or if i get adopted).

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liked by messyassuser, lando11priv and 1,938,882 others.

ham1ltonshaderoom: football star jude bellingham seen cuddling and being affectionate with his new girl! she has been identified as yn yln, she is the personal assistant of f1 icon lewis hamilton. they were spotted outside a restaurant in las vegas after the grand prix all boo’d up! according to sources, they were all loved up at the after party. they ‘didn’t leave each other’s space’. what do we think about this new couple ham1ltons?

view all comments

user1: who tf even is she

-> user2: a baddie. she’s seriously so funny and sweet. you guys should see her tiktok or insta pages. jude is punching above his weight.

user3: oh!

user4: HOTTIES!!!

user5: why they doing the most in public???

-> user6: they’re in love? girl lmao.

-> user7: she’s his beard or he’s hers. idk yet. i need to consult the stars.

-> user8: ^ me when i’m off my meds.

user9: am i the only one who thinks they’re cute? good for them!!

user10: um i think she’d be happier with lando.

-> user11: lando please how are you still making new accounts.

-> user10: i’m totally not the handsome and gorgeous lando. i’m actually… pando. hi.

user12: my gf and my bf are dating??? i’m gonna be sick.

-> user13: they got two hands.

user14: they’re rlly dating???

-> user15: no bitch. they’re just coworkers 🙄

-> user14: oh! thank you :D

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UPDATE: my girlfriend’s boss (l,39) hates me and it’s ruining my relationship. help?

hi all, it’s j again. thanks for the advice on my last post—it was a mix of helpful, hilarious, and… well, a bit unsettling. but it gave me the push i needed to talk to l. here’s what happened:

i decided to man up and ask him out for a pint to clear the air. i figured it was the most normal thing to do. well, turns out l’s teetotal (thanks, y, for not warning me properly). when i suggested a pint, he just looked at me for a second and went, “i don’t drink, mate,” in that calm, terrifying way he has. i panicked, said something about tea, and left feeling like an absolute idiot.

but two days later, he called y at work and told her to invite me round to his place for tea. TEA. this man lives in a house that looks like it’s straight out of a Bond film, so you can imagine how intimidating it was to rock up with a packet of biscuits like some budget offering.

long story short, we had tea, and he cleared the air. he admitted he’d been giving me a hard time because he wanted to make sure i was serious about y. he said she’s like family to him (didn’t say “work spouse,” thank god), and he needed to know i’d treat her right. honestly, it was a bit awkward, but also kind of sweet.

so yeah, we’re good now. he even said he’d save me a seat for the next big race. i don’t know if that was a peace offering or a power move, but i’ll take it.

thanks for the push, reddit. you lot are mad, but in a good way. most of the time.

comments:

ladybantheboys: told you he was testing you! this is literally every rom-com ever. next step: you accidentally bond over an inside joke, and he becomes your biggest fan.

bananabreadbae: this is so british it hurts. “sorry i was mean, let’s have tea.” mate, at least you passed the test!

football4ever: called it! blokes like him just want to make sure you’re solid. now you’re in his good books, you’re set for life. congrats, mate.

memequeen420: so… what kind of biscuits did you bring? was it something boring like digestives, or did you go all out with hobnobs? we NEED to know.

randomuser_123: this is like when my dog hated my boyfriend at first but then they bonded over cheese. sometimes it just takes time.

tofu_throwaway: glad it worked out, but honestly, i’m still a bit scared of l. even through your post, he sounds like he could crush a man with a single stare.

iamnotanon: congrats on passing the test. now don’t mess it up, or i guarantee he’ll make you disappear. rich people have connections.

ultimategoblin69: you went to his house?! are you sure it wasn’t a trap? like, did he subtly scan your fingerprints for future blackmail material?

plshelpme1998: like, this whole thing is giving weirdly protective father vibes. good luck, mate.

user2847: what does his house smell like? no, seriously. i feel like rich people’s houses have that “old money” smell, like leather and expensive wood polish. was it intimidating?

(deleted): send feet pics.

opinionatedowl: so… when’s the wedding? i’m assuming l will walk her down the aisle now that you’ve been knighted into his inner circle.

thecheeseman: this is the most British solution ever. “i made you feel terrible, but here, have some earl grey, and now we’re mates.” glad it worked out though!

memequeen420 (again): STILL no answer on the biscuits. j, you’re avoiding the REAL questions here. were they branded or store-brand? did he eat one? this is important.

weirdcookieperson: did he sniff you when you walked in? like, does he have a heightened sense of smell? rich people are weird, man.

alphamale_uk: mate, you handled this all wrong. never apologise, never offer tea, and NEVER back down to another alpha. you should’ve walked in, sat in his chair, and asserted dominance. that’s how you gain respect. next time, bring steak, not biscuits. real men bond over meat, not tea.

j (op): l’s vegan, mate. bringing a steak would’ve been like waving a red flag at a bull. also, this isn’t Planet of the Apes, it’s just tea. chill.

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j (op): wow, i forgot how weird reddit is. for the record: branded hobnobs. because i’m not a monster. no sniffing, no fingertip scanning and i’ll get someone to update you if i go missing. cheers for the laughs.

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— all works taglist: @luvsforme @yelenasloverrrrr @donttouchthegnote @chelle1306 @bloodyymaryy @aliciaablueprint @km-23mr @stinkyjax @f1kenzzz @ctrlyomomma @theblueblub @23victoria @namgification @tallrock35 @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @ariellovelynn @shhhchriss @lifeless-firefly @xylinasdiary @evie-119 @itseightbeats @landososcar @yongi-lee @velentine @m1892 @blushmimi @evans-dejong @nixisracing @lethalvenus @sainzluvrr @santanasaintmendes @idontknowlmaoo @sainzluvrr @tetetoni @ssprayberrythings @heavy-vettel @tashisgf @daniskywalkersolo @c-losur3 @lestappenslover @linoscrly (see yourself tagged when you don’t wanna be? or you want to be and don’t see yourself? send me an ask!)

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[anghraine]

I had seen this post before, but not the actual episode in question, "The City on the Edge of Forever." However! my bff and I are currently watching TOS in our closest approximation of chronological order, so now I have seen it and it's only wilder in the context of that specific episode. So for those who don't know:

In the episode, McCoy accidentally gets high for plot reasons, which results in him stumbling through a portal back in time and screwing up history with horrific ripple effects throughout the universe as the other TOS characters know it. Kirk and Spock follow him into the past (1930s NYC) to try and fix whatever he changed. After some shenanigans, Kirk takes up work for a hopeful, anti-war lady activist with dreams of humanity getting past this 20th-century nonsense and going to the stars. Kirk really likes her and seems to be finding peace in this quiet life lost in time (other episodes reveal that Kirk was a youthful survivor of a truly horrific atrocity before his time as a bullied nerd, so this tracks) even as he and Spock are secretly trying to determine what the original change that destroyed their timeline even was.

Kirk and Edith (the 20th-century pacifist lady) are very obviously super into each other, but what makes this interesting on a Spirk level is that Spock is visibly jealous and concerned about it. This is really unusual for Spock—in general, he seems mildly amused or baffled at Kirk's flings, but basically indifferent—and his jealousy is used in the episode to signify that this Kirk romance is different and special.

They discover that McCoy's effect on the timeline hinges on whether Edith lives or dies in the near future (for present Kirk and Spock, so c. 1930). And in the end, Spock finds out that McCoy zapped their timeline by saving Edith's life. She is not only ahead of her time but disastrously ahead of her time because of her highly competent involvement in anti-war activism ... but she's living just before WWII. It turns out that the cascading end result of her efforts would be the Nazis winning the war via atomic bomb, an obvious disaster that would derail the entire course of history.

(Edith is not ever suggested to be a Nazi sympathizer, btw, just a hardline pacifist in a terrible time for it. Joan Collins later remembered Edith as a sympathizer, but as far as anyone can tell she just misremembered this element of the story; the episode never suggests it and afaik there's nothing like that in its incredibly fraught script history.)

Kirk, though at first in denial and clearly horrified, nevertheless helps Spock physically restrain McCoy when she's randomly hit by a car and McCoy is about to rush over to give her medical care. She dies and their timeline is restored. (In Harlan Ellison's original script, though, Kirk actually tries to help McCoy save her and Spock alone is the one who prevents it.)

So there's this whole tragedy that is partly about the sacrifice of this woman's life because her aspirations, while noble, are completely ill-suited to the realities of her time. The better world she's working for will come to exist—but not for her. But it's also about the loss of this life of quiet purpose and happiness that Kirk was building in that pocket in time. Spock isn't gleeful or anything about events removing his rival (as he clearly saw her!), to be clear, just compassionate about the weight of what they just did. But an offer of a similar life on Vulcan where Kirk could find that kind of comfort and rest, without the pressure of very literally running out of time, with Spock taking the role of Edith—uhhhhh there's a whole lot happening here.

i am constantly thinking about the part of the city on the edge of forever script that didn't make it into the episode