#but so is he <3 and he makes it worth it <3

[mrspiastri]

✩ lights, camera, action! 📸

pairing: lando norris x reader

cw: fluff, annoying reporters, austria 2024

wc: 4.9k words

an: thanks for the req anon, hope u like it! pls excuse any spelling errors i could not be arsed enough to proofread this more than twice :p

“So, they’re just going to be in our house… recording us the entire day?”

“Mostly, yeah.”

“And this is happening for a month?”

“Maybe two, depending on how much footage they need.”

A beat of silence.

Lando turned to his girlfriend, watching as she set her Kindle down and looked at him with a sharp glare. All she had wanted was a quiet night in, some light reading before bed, not this conversation.

“So, what do you think?” he asked carefully.

“I think you’ve lost your fucking mind.”

Lando stifled a chuckle, scooting closer despite the warning in her eyes. “It’s not that bad, I promise. They’ll get all your good angles. And if there’s anything you don’t want in, I’ll make sure they cut it out.”

Y/N sighed, rubbing her temples. The idea of letting a camera crew into their home, her safe space, the one place where she could collapse onto the couch after work without a second thought, was unsettling.

“Look, I’m not going to force you,” Lando said, his voice softer now. “Just think about it. It’s like… our moments together being immortalized.”

She arched her brow, still unconvinced.

“We could even look back on them years later,” he continued, ever the optimist. “Show them to our kids!”

Y/N gave him a long, unimpressed stare.

“Just give me a day or two,” she muttered at last.

“Of course, love.” He leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek before letting the subject drop.

Three days later, Y/N found herself reluctantly agreeing, under strict conditions:

1. No cameras before 9 AM or after 10 PM.

2. No filming arguments or fights (if they happened).

3. No recording private conversations.

The production team had no issue following her rules, and soon enough, cameras and microphones became a regular sight in their living room and kitchen.

To her surprise, it wasn’t as bad as she’d feared. The Drive To Survive crew was respectful, and off-camera, they were actually lovely to talk to.

Not that she’d ever admit it to Lando. She had no interest in hearing an “ I told you so.”

Still, she had to admit, there was something oddly enjoyable about it. The cameras felt natural, capturing the effortless way she and Lando fit together. Their banter. Their energy.

Even the crew enjoyed filming them. Because if there was one thing about Y/N and Lando, it was that they were effortlessly entertaining.

The couple had an air of domesticity around them, which was visible during certain moments, like when Y/N announced she was going grocery shopping.

🪻🪻

She didn’t question it at first.

Lando had followed her around their apartment, slipping on his hoodie and sneakers, acting as if they were about to embark on some thrilling adventure rather than… well, a simple trip to the grocery store. But when he practically rushed out the door behind her, stuffing his hands into his pockets like he was trying to play it cool, she finally turned to him with a raised brow.

"Alright, what’s going on?"

Lando blinked at her, feigning innocence. "What do you mean?"

"You insisted on coming with me," she pointed out as she slid into the passenger seat of her car. "Since when are you so eager to go grocery shopping?"

Lando smirked, leaning back in his seat. "Maybe I just like spending time with you."

She rolled her eyes, shaking her head with a soft laugh. "It’s just shopping, Lando."

"Yes… and?"

She shot him a look, but he only grinned, reaching over to intertwine his fingers with hers as he started the car. She glanced down at their joined hands, warmth flickering in her chest.

Maybe it was just shopping. But to him, time with her, no matter how mundane, was worth tagging along for.

The grocery store was as uneventful as ever, aisles filled with tired parents, students grabbing last-minute essentials, and employees stacking shelves. Y/N navigated the space with practiced ease, mentally ticking off the list in her head.

Lando, on the other hand, was thoroughly entertained by everything.

"You know, people are going to think I’m useless because you’re the one actually shopping," Lando mused, walking beside you with a basket dangling from his arm. A small mic was clipped to his hoodie, and a camera trailed at a respectful distance, catching every moment.

"You are useless," you teased, grabbing a carton of eggs and placing them into the basket.

Lando let out a scandalized gasp, pressing a hand to his chest. "Excuse me? I am an excellent grocery shopper. Watch this."

Before you could stop him, he darted toward a display of snacks, dramatically grabbing a family-sized bag of chips and tossing it into the basket. The camera crew caught it all, no doubt enjoying his antics.

"Wow," you said dryly, watching him grin. "Such a valuable contribution."

"You’re welcome." He leaned in, brushing a kiss to your temple before whispering, "At least pretend I’m helpful, love. My reputation is at stake."

She shook her head, amused. He stayed close beside her, fingers occasionally brushing hers when he pointed out random things, a ridiculous cereal box, a weirdly shaped vegetable, an overpriced snack that made him nearly collapse in shock.

Then, as they rounded the next aisle, something caught her eye.

"No way," Y/N gasped, halting so suddenly that Lando bumped into her.

"What? What happened? Are we in danger?" he asked dramatically, clutching her arm.

She ignored him, grabbing a brightly colored package from the meat fridge. “It’s the spicy chorizo I was looking for! It’s been out of stock for months! Lando, do you know what this means?"

"Uh," he blinked, glancing at the box in her hands. "That some company is trying to get people to buy their products again?"

She huffed. "No, dummy. This means I can finally make those chorizo tapas you love so much."

Lando stared at her, as if processing her words. "Wait. You mean—?"

"Yeah," she said, waving the package at him. "You always say it’s one of your favorites, right? So I’ll make it the way it’s meant to be made, not with those other lame brands.”

For a second, he didn’t say anything. Just looked at her. And then, unexpectedly, he reached for her hand and squeezed it, his thumb running over her knuckles.

"You remembered that?" His voice was quieter now, softer.

She scoffed. "Of course, I did. You never shut up about it."

Lando let out a breathless chuckle, shaking his head, but there was something fond in his eyes, something almost touched.

"You’re the best," he murmured, leaning in to press a kiss to her forehead. Right there in the middle of the grocery aisle, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, with an old woman giving them a knowing smile as she passed.

Y/N felt warmth creep up her neck, but she just rolled her eyes. "I know."

Lando grinned, throwing an arm around her shoulder as they continued walking. "See? And you thought I was weird for wanting to tag along."

"You are weird."

"Yeah, but I’m your kind of weird."

She laughed, leaning into his side as they made their way to checkout.

Maybe it was just shopping.

But with Lando, even the ordinary felt like something special.

🪻🪻🪻

The morning sun cast a golden glow over their Monaco apartment, filling the space with soft warmth. The neatly packed bags by the door were a reminder of the plans they’d made, plans Y/N had initially thought were just a fleeting idea when Lando suggested them. But here they were, two years into their relationship, and he was still finding ways to make things special.

Lando stirred beside her, his arm tightening around her waist as he nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck, voice still thick with sleep.

“Happy anniversary, love.”

She smiled, tilting her head slightly to press a kiss to his forehead. “Happy anniversary, Lando.”

He hummed in contentment, pulling her closer. “Can we just stay in bed all day instead?”

Y/N laughed softly, tracing lazy patterns along his back. “As tempting as that sounds, weren’t you the one who planned this whole day trip?”

Lando groaned dramatically, burying his face deeper into the pillow. “Who let me make decisions?”

“You did.”

Another groan.

A small chuckle from the corner of the room made her glance over, where one of the film crew members was adjusting a camera, capturing the intimate yet domestic moment. Lando peeked an eye open and groaned even louder when he saw them.

“Great,” he mumbled. “Now the world gets to see me beg to stay in bed.”

Y/N grinned, pressing a quick kiss to his nose before slipping out from under the covers. “Come on, sleepyhead. We have a road trip to go on.”

By mid-morning, they were driving along the winding coastal roads of the French Riviera, two crew members filming them from the back seat, capturing snippets of their journey. Lando’s hand rested on Y/N’s thigh as he effortlessly steered with the other, the soft hum of music filling the space between them.

She glanced over at him, amusement dancing in her eyes. “So, are you ever going to tell me why you picked Èze?”

Lando smirked, keeping his eyes on the road. “Would you believe me if I said I just wanted to impress you with my impeccable taste?”

She rolled her eyes, but her smile betrayed her fondness.

The moment they arrived in Èze, Lando reached for her hand, intertwining their fingers as they wandered through the narrow, cobbled streets. The medieval village, perched high above the Côte d’Azur, was breathtaking, its stone walls adorned with climbing vines, small boutiques tucked into hidden corners, and the salty sea breeze carrying the scent of fresh flowers.

The crew trailed them subtly, capturing the way Lando would lean in every few minutes just to steal a quick kiss, or how his fingers absentmindedly traced patterns against her skin as they stopped to admire the view.

“You do realize people are going to say you’re way too clingy, right?” Y/N teased, nodding toward one of the cameras.

Lando shrugged, unbothered. “Let them.” He turned to the nearest cameraman, grinning. “I am clingy. Make sure you put that in the episode.”

The crew chuckled, but Y/N just shook her head, laughing as Lando pulled her into the nearest café.

Lunch was slow and easy, filled with stolen bites of food, quiet laughter, and the occasional “Look at him being soft” comment from Y/N to the film crew. Lando didn’t seem to care, not when she was there, looking at him like he was her favorite thing in the world.

When dessert arrived, two chocolate soufflés, Lando picked up a spoonful and held it out for her.

She raised an eyebrow. “Really? You’re going to feed me while they’re filming?”

He smirked. “It’s romantic.”

She rolled her eyes but leaned in anyway, letting him feed her. Lando grinned triumphantly, stealing a bite for himself.

“Put that in the episode, too,” he quipped.

As the afternoon stretched on, they hiked up to the Jardin Exotique, a stunning garden perched at the very top of Èze. The panoramic view of the coastline was nothing short of magical, the kind of scene that made everything else feel small in comparison.

Lando wrapped his arms around her from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder.

“This might be my favorite anniversary so far,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

She smiled, tilting her head to rest against his. “We’ve only had two.”

“Still. It’s hard to beat.”

A breeze drifted through, ruffling his curls as he held her, their hands fitting together so effortlessly.

Y/N turned in his arms, her gaze soft. “I love you, you know.”

Lando’s eyes searched hers for a moment before he cupped her face, pressing a slow, tender kiss to her lips, one that felt like a promise, like forever.

When they pulled away, he rested his forehead against hers, exhaling deeply. “I know,” he whispered. “And I love you more.”

A cough from behind them broke the moment, and one of the crew members hesitated before speaking.

“Uh… that was beautiful,” they admitted. “Can you do it again for a better angle?”

Lando groaned as Y/N burst into laughter.

“Fine,” he sighed dramatically, pulling her closer with a mischievous grin. “Guess we have to keep kissing.”

🪻🪻🪻

The second Y/N stepped into the apartment, she knew something was different. It wasn’t just the warmth of the space or the soft glow of the kitchen lights, there was something familiar in the air. A rich, buttery scent, layered with warm spices, the kind that immediately sent a comforting feeling straight to her soul.

She froze mid-step.

That was butter chicken.

Her favorite food.

And there was only one person in this house who would make that for her.

Her heart raced as she set her bag down and rounded the corner into the kitchen, where she found exactly what she hoped to see Lando, standing at the stove, stirring a pot with the kind of focus he usually reserved for a race car. His curls were still damp from a recent shower, his sleeves pushed up as he leaned against the counter, tasting the sauce with an expression of concentration.

He looked up just as she entered, and the slow smile that spread across his face made her stomach flip.

“Hey, love.”

She blinked, still processing. “You’re… home?”

He smirked. “Surprise.”

Her mouth fell open. “But… you weren’t supposed to be back until tomorrow night?”

“Got an earlier flight.” He turned back to the stove, giving the pot one last stir before lowering the heat. “Figured I’d come back and make your favorite.”

She couldn’t believe it. She had been fully prepared to spend the evening alone, eating something mediocre while scrolling through her phone, missing him. But instead, he was here. Cooking for her.

Y/N didn’t think, she just launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his waist, pressing her face into his hoodie as she breathed him in.

Lando laughed as he caught her, arms circling her shoulders as he held her close. “I take it you missed me?”

“Obviously,” she mumbled against his chest. “You were gone for so long.”

“Babe, it was five days.”

“Exactly. Too long.”

He chuckled, pressing a lingering kiss to her hair. “Missed you too, love.”

A throat cleared from the corner of the kitchen, and Y/N stiffened slightly before peeking over Lando’s shoulder, only to find one of the crew members, clearly amused.

She groaned, burying her face back into Lando’s chest. “You let them film this?”

“I didn’t let them,” he said, amused. “They just… didn’t leave. Wanted to see you surprised and all.”

One of the crew members laughed. “In our defense, this is adorable.”

Lando grinned, tilting her chin up so she had to look at him. “Come on, love. You don’t want the world to see how obsessed you are with me?”

She narrowed her eyes. “I will shove your face into that butter chicken.”

His smirk widened. “Joke’s on you, I made extra.”

She rolled her eyes but let him pull her closer, letting herself bask in the warmth of his touch, the familiar scent of home.

Later, as they sat at the dining table, Lando watched her take her first bite, waiting for her reaction like a nervous contestant on a cooking show.

Y/N hummed in delight, eyes closing briefly as the flavors hit her tongue. “Oh my God.”

His lips twitched. “Good?”

She opened her eyes, pointing her spoon at him. “Suspiciously good. Since when can you cook like this?”

Lando leaned back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest. “What, you think I can’t learn things?”

“I just… didn’t know you wanted to.”

He shrugged, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Maybe I just wanted to impress my girlfriend.”

Y/N softened, her heart swelling. “You have impressed me. This is amazing.”

“Damn right it is.”

She giggled, shaking her head before taking another bite. “Okay, tell me about Shanghai. How was the race?”

Lando exhaled dramatically, shifting in his seat. “Ugh. Where do I even start? First of all, the strategy was so weird, like, I don’t know what they were thinking. And then, I had this fight with Max for like a hundred laps, and I swear, I thought we were gonna crash at least three times—”

As he continued, his hands animatedly reenacting the on-track battles, Y/N just sat there, watching him, a soft smile tugging at her lips.

She loved seeing him like this, completely in his element, passionate, excited. The way his eyes lit up when he talked about racing, the way his hands moved as if he were still behind the wheel.

“You’re staring,” Lando suddenly noted, smirking.

She blinked, cheeks warming. “No, I’m not.”

“You are.” He leaned in, resting his chin in his hand as he grinned. “You’re in love with me.”

She scoffed, trying (and failing) to hide her smile. “Don’t flatter yourself, Norris.”

“I mean, I did just fly home early and make your favorite food…” He reached across the table, running his fingers gently over her wrist. “Pretty sure that earns me some extra love points.”

Y/N laughed softly, flipping her hand to intertwine their fingers. “You already have all my love points, you idiot.”

He squeezed her hand, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “Good. I plan on keeping them.”

She shook her head, taking another bite of the butter chicken. “Okay, but seriously, I want to hear the rest. So, you and Max—”

“Shh.” Lando reached over and gently placed a spoonful of rice on her plate, then another, before looking at her expectantly.

She raised an eyebrow. “Did you just—”

“Just shh and eat,” he said, his voice playfully firm. “I know you. If I let you talk too much, you’ll forget to eat, and then you’ll be grumpy later.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, but the corners of her lips twitched. “You’re so annoying.”

Lando laughed, leaning over the table to steal a quick kiss. “Yeah, yeah. Now eat up.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but obeyed, feeling impossibly warm inside.

There was something so simple about moments like this, the quiet, easy rhythm of their lives together. The way Lando cared for her in ways that weren’t always grand gestures but in the little things. The way he listened, the way he noticed, the way he just knew her.

Even with cameras in the background, even with the world watching, this was theirs.

And Y/N wouldn’t trade it for anything.

🪻🪻🪻

Las Vegas was supposed to be his night.

Lando sat in the dimly lit hospitality suite, still in his race suit, elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped together so tightly his knuckles were white. The weight of the evening pressed down on him, Max had clinched the title, and he had been so close. The points gap wasn’t enormous. If things had gone just slightly differently, if the strategy had been sharper, if he had just pushed a little harder—

He exhaled sharply, jaw clenched, eyes fixed on the floor.

The suite was silent, except for the muffled sounds of celebration echoing from outside. His team was still proud, of course. McLaren had fought hard all season. He had fought hard. But second place wasn’t the dream. First was the dream.

And he had lost it.

The quiet creak of the door barely registered in his mind, but the soft footsteps that followed were unmistakable.

Y/N.

She didn’t say anything at first. She simply walked over, standing beside him for a moment, watching him.

Then, she crouched down in front of him, placing a gentle hand on his knee. “Lando.”

His eyes flickered up to hers. He knew the cameras were still rolling somewhere in the room, capturing all of this, his frustration, his exhaustion, the moment where his season had slipped away.

But right now, he didn’t care.

Y/N’s gaze was steady, her touch grounding. Slowly, she reached up, cupping his cheek, her thumb brushing lightly over the sharp line of his jaw.

“Talk to me,” she murmured.

Lando exhaled through his nose, his hand coming up to cover hers, pressing it against his skin as if he needed the contact to anchor him.

“I should’ve done more,” he finally muttered.

She frowned. “Lando—”

“No, really,” he cut in, shaking his head. “It was so close. We had the pace. We had the car. I just—” He exhaled roughly, eyes darting away. “I wasn’t good enough.”

Her heart ached at the way he said it, at the way his voice dipped into something raw and self-deprecating.

“Lando,” she said softly but firmly, tilting his face back toward her. “You were more than good enough.”

He let out a dry laugh, but there was no humor in it. “Doesn’t feel like it.”

She didn’t hesitate. “Because you expect perfection from yourself. But look at what you did this season. Look at how hard you fought. You challenged Max. You took it down to the wire when no one thought you could. You made them believe.”

His gaze softened, but she wasn’t finished.

“You think second place makes you less?” she whispered. “It doesn’t. You’re still you, Lando. And I’m so, so proud of you.”

His throat bobbed, his grip on her hand tightening.

“You’re just saying that,” he mumbled.

Y/N shook her head. “I never just say things. You know that.”

He let out a slow breath, his eyes searching hers like he was trying to hold onto her words, trying to let them sink in.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, with a small sigh, he pulled her into his lap, burying his face into the crook of her neck.

She smiled faintly, running her fingers through his curls. He never did well with failure, not because he wasn’t used to it, but because he always carried it too much.

But he wasn’t alone in this.

And as she held him, rocking him slightly, she could feel the tension in his body slowly start to ease.

The crew was still there, capturing every second.

But all Lando cared about was her.

And somehow, for the first time all night, losing didn’t feel quite so devastating.

The press pen after the race was always exhausting, but tonight, it was unbearable.

Lando had lost the championship. He had done every interview with his usual composure, polite, measured, controlled. He had smiled when necessary, congratulated Max, and answered the same four questions in slightly different ways.

But this one?

This one was pushing it.

"Lando, do you think this was your only real shot at a title? Or do you worry you might just not have what it takes?"

The question landed like a slap.

Lando barely blinked. His PR training kicked in immediately, forcing a neutral expression as he nodded, exhaling through his nose.

"Look, we had a great season, and I’m proud of what we achieved. Obviously, it didn’t end the way we wanted, but I know we’ll come back stronger."

It was the kind of answer that was designed to deflect, to keep things from escalating.

The interviewer, however, seemed satisfied with their little dig, moving on to the next driver.

Lando barely had time to process it before he heard a very familiar voice from just beyond the camera crew.

"Are you actually kidding me right now?"

He turned just in time to see Y/N standing off to the side, arms crossed, glaring absolute murder at the interviewer’s back.

The Drive to Survive crew, who had been filming his interview, immediately turned their cameras to her.

"What kind of stupid question was that?" she ranted, clearly not caring that she was being recorded. "‘Do you think you don’t have what it takes?’ Seriously? What kind of journalism school did this guy go to? All he knows is how to rile people up!”

Lando pressed his lips together, trying very, very hard not to laugh.

She was fuming.

"He should be embarrassed," she continued, still glaring. "Lando literally fought for this title until the last possible second, and that’s the best he could come up with? I should go over there right now—"

Lando immediately stepped in, wrapping his arms around her from behind, pulling her into his chest before she could march into the press pen and make headlines. "Alright, alright," he murmured against her hair, biting back a grin. "That’s enough murder threats for one night."

"I wasn’t threatening murder," she huffed, but she didn’t resist when he turned her to face him. "I was just saying that guy deserves to step on fifty Legos barefoot."

"That’s fair," Lando admitted, his grip tightening slightly as he leaned down, pressing his forehead against hers. "But I promise, I’m okay."

She searched his face, still frowning slightly. "You shouldn’t have to deal with that."

"I know." He smiled, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "But I’d rather deal with bad interviews than have to bail my girlfriend out for punching a reporter."

"No promises," she muttered, but her lips twitched, betraying her frustration.

Lando chuckled, then, because he simply couldn’t help himself, tilted her chin up and kissed her, slow and soft, like he had all the time in the world.

He felt the presence of what seemed to be a thousand cameras on them, but he didn’t care.

Because right now, nothing else mattered.

🪻🪻🪻

The studio setup was familiar by now, the sleek black backdrop, the dramatic lighting, the Drive to Survive crew hovering around with their cameras and microphones. It was the same place where all the serious, intense driver interviews had been filmed throughout the season.

Except today, it wasn’t serious.

Because today, it was Lando and Y/N sitting on the interview couch together, and nothing about them being in the same room was ever serious.

Lando leaned back comfortably, one arm draped over the back of the couch behind Y/N, while she sat cross-legged beside him, her fingers lazily toying with the hem of her dress. The crew had barely started rolling when he shot the camera a mischievous grin.

“So,” he said, adjusting his mic, “are we finally getting our own spin-off? Because I think the world deserves to see the behind-the-scenes of my life with this one.” He nudged Y/N playfully.

She snorted. “Your life? Excuse me? I’m the normal one in this relationship.”

The interviewer chuckled. “Lando, would you agree with that?”

Lando turned to her, looking absolutely scandalized. “Absolutely not. This woman started a verbal fight with a group of fans and nearly went after a reporter on my behalf. The only reason she’s not banned from the paddock is because she’s cute.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “The only reason you weren’t banned from my apartment after losing the title was because you’re cute.”

Lando grinned, nudging her shoulder. “So you admit it? I am cute?”

The crew laughed as Y/N let out a dramatic sigh, shaking her head. “Fine. You’re alright.”

“Alright?” He turned to the camera. “You see how she treats me?”

The interviewer, still chuckling, moved on. “Alright, let’s go back to the start of the season. You’ve had a whirlwind year Lando, you were a title contender, and Y/N, you were very vocal throughout. What’s been your favorite moment we’ve captured?”

Y/N hummed, tapping her chin. “Ooh, good question. Probably when Lando lost his mind after that crash with Max.”

The crew laughed knowingly.

Lando groaned, but he was smiling. “Of course that’s your favorite. Not like, I don’t know, any of my actual racing?”

“Oh, right,” she said, grinning. “The whole driving really fast thing. You’re decent at that.”

The interviewer raised a brow. “Just decent?”

Lando turned to Y/N, smirking. “I was in a title fight, you know.”

“Okay, okay, you were great,” she admitted, patting his knee. “There. Happy?”

Lando nodded smugly. “Very.”

The interviewer smiled. “And Lando, what about you? Favorite moment we’ve captured?”

He didn’t even hesitate. “Her reaction after my first win in Miami.”

Y/N blinked, surprised. “Wait, really?”

Lando looked at her, his expression softening slightly. “Yeah, I mean I’d never seen you that happy.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “And I like making you happy.”

Y/N bit her lip, warmth spreading in her chest. “Okay, that was kinda sweet.”

“I have my moments,” Lando said, leaning in closer. “You should kiss me now.”

The crew laughed, but Y/N just pushed his face away with a laugh. “We’re literally being filmed right now, Norris.”

“Yeah, and?”

The interviewer, still amused, decided to wrap things up. “Alright, last question. If you had to describe this season in one word, what would it be?”

Lando thought for a second, then smirked. “Chaotic.”

Y/N groaned. “Please don’t say—”

“Because of you,” Lando finished, grinning as he dodged the pillow she threw at him.

She sighed, shaking her head with a smile. “Fine. Then my word is entertaining, because watching Lando suffer through PR answers all season has been hilarious.”

Lando turned to the camera, deadpan. “She’s so lucky I love her.”

The crew laughed as Y/N leaned into him, stealing a quick peck on his cheek. “And you’re so lucky I put up with you.”

He smiled, lacing their fingers together. “Best kind of luck, isn’t it?”

And just like that, the season wrapped.

not so sure about this one, but then again when am i ever sure about anything! <3

[big-robot-fan]

NGL, this is a really fun aspect of AUs. Like you start with the canon character, then you change the situation, then the new situation changes the character, then the character changes the situation, then the situation changes the character, and you repeat that forever and ever.

For (a very literal) example of a character mutating into an OC: I have Doctor Starline in the Ravenous Metal AU.

The AU is about Sonic and Metal Sonic being fucked up monsters in a symbiotic (and romantic) relationship. Starline was obsessed with Eggman, and everything he did was to prove himself to Doctor Robotnik. In this AU, Eggman is killed very early on, so not only does Starline step in earlier, but he isn't seeking to prove himself to Eggman, he's seeking to AVENGE him. This naturally makes his methods much more ruthless, and while canon Starline underestimated Sonic while creating Surge and Kit, RM Starline knows exactly what kind of atrocities Sonic and Metal are capable of. Surge and Kit aren't made to be "heroes" he controls behind the scenes, they're biomechanical weapons to be disposed of once their targets are neutralized. Worst of all, they're children. Approximately the age of Classic Sonic and Tails, Starline did not intend for either of them to reach adulthood. He doesn't even expect Kit to become a teenager.

Of course, despite the physical and mental changes Sonic has gone through, Sonic is still a hero. His sharp teeth and long claws aren't just used for tearing flesh, they're used for protecting the innocent. Sonic is very quickly able to earn the trust of Surge and Kit, becoming a significantly better father to them than Starline. He is able to use his interpersonal connections to rally multiple groups (The Restoration, G.U.N, etc) towards hunting down Starline. When they have him cornered, Starline has one last trick up his sleeve, he gives himself the same regeneration and adaptation abilities as Sonic... but that is his biggest mistake.

Death was his best option in that scenario. The factions were all fighting over who got to capture Starline, but now they all get a piece. The Restoration gets his decapitated head, kept in stasis outside of interrogations. G.U.N. takes his legs and lets him regenerate before doing their own interrogations and locking him in a maximum security prison. Sonic and Metal, they take his chest and essentially use him as a stress toy. Putting him through various forms and torture and inhumane punishments.

The 3 pieces of Starline mutate due to their unique scenarios. The head gains further increased intelligence and psychic abilities, The legs gain greatly increased agility and invisibility , and the torso becomes a senseless monster that knows only violence. They break each other out and work on an ultimate project to get revenge on everyone by becoming whole again. They create a geothermal powered laboratory in a volcano and work to combine their DNA so that they can become the ULTIMATE Starline. The "heroes" kill them all for good by throwing them into the magma and an eruption seemingly destroys the lab and everything inside it.

But it doesn't. The "Ultimate Starline" is still created, and it wants OUT. Not just out of the ruined lab, not just out of the volcanic rubble, it wants to be out and away from *anything* related to Sonic. He is the smartest version of Starline and has the memories of every version before him, and so he's come to the conclusion that fighting Sonic is not worth it. The way he sees it, the other Starlines that did those horrible things are all dead and have served their punishments, so he should just be left alone. Of course, nobody else believes him when he says he ISN'T after vengeance. But he knows that their precious Surge and Kit are ticking time bombs of lethal medical problems such as organ failure, seizures, and water toxemia. He knows that the original Starline destroyed any data that could help them find cures, prevent medical emergencies, or even know what exactly they need to prepare for. He knows that they have no choice but to let him fix his predecessors' mistakes and then accept his demands to be left alone.

Unsurprisingly, that last part is easier said than done. It's fucking Sonic, he takes laps around the planet as a morning jog. Lost Hex? Sonic's there. Little Planet? Sonic's there. Planet Wisp? Sonic's somehow there. The only logical step is to leave the entire dimension. Ultimate Starline creates a one-way, one use portal to the closest parallel dimension and... everything goes well. He finds a pretty modern civilization on the other side and manages to convince the rulers to let him work for them as a royal scientist. He changes his name to "Sirius" after the brightest star on his homeworlds night sky. The princess invites some guests from a far off land and- of course it's fucking Sonic and his crazy ass family of cyborgs and cannibals. But at this point, Sirius has planted his roots too deep to just pack up and leave; plus, this means that nowhere in the multiverse is safe from that blue nightmare.

”you can just make an oc” you dont understand anything. the character needs to mutate naturally until unrecognizable. like all evolutionary processes it takes time. you can’t force it or it doesn’t take. you must endure weird ooc thematically discordant versions of a guy until they bud off into beautiful new life. have patience

[chunkitakii]

A Fight Worth While

Conquest x Hero! Reader

There is almost NO fics abt this crazy ass man, so I'll just write my best because he has been on my mind ever since that episode came out. BTW this fic looks ass but I wanted to js push this one out there. But imagine this: your fighting Conquest along side Invincible. And this mf just starts to like you, and little TOO much…

WARNING: There will be sexual themes, skin licking, choking, typical violence, hints that reader will be uncomfortable (goes with the story but ik some of yall freaky and would take everything this man will give you.) You still find him attractive tho.

Read it on AO3!

Summary: You are a hero fighting Conquest; you later find out that he is really liking this fight. Like REALLY liking it… (Basically its just Conquest bullying tf outa you, and js making things weird like the weirdo he is. <3)

Buildings were no longer buildings, but rubles. The roads that once lay flat on the city ground no longer longer were present in this destruction. Civilians cry and groan, trying to either bring themselves out of the ruble, or trying to find and help others. The city was no longer a city, but a wasteland filled with debris and bodies. 

You had of course come to the city's help after hearing about the destruction. Cities around the world had become unrecognizable. You couldn’t stand by and watch it all happen. 

You hurriedly came to the scene. You couldn’t find the person who caused all of this, so you instantly went for the hurt civilians. They thanked you and ran to either seek shelter or help others. As you continued, your eyes grazed upon a scene in front of you. 

Many civilians cowered in fear, tears streaming down their faces as they whimpered from the man in front of them. You couldn’t blame them, because the man in front of them was one of the most intimidating things you had ever seen. Although you couldn’t see his face, his form itself sent shivers down your spine.  

He was huge…

He wore an all-white fit, and had a metal arm beside him. He foated menacingly above the civilians; it had looked like a predator catching their prey. And you couldn’t stand it; this might be your guy.

“You low-life insects are so puny, I could cry, but…that would just be weak.” The man spoke, his voice like gravel and his breath steady. He had begun to bring back his fist, he was about to kill the civilian underneath him. Their faces twisted in fear, some even began to accept their fate. It haunted you knowing that you were probably going to see them turn into mush under his hand.

Before he could land a hit, you took up all of your strength and flew at him with all of your might.  Luckily before he could react, the hero planted a blow right at his lower spine. Stopping him from ending these people's lives. It sent him flying across the town, you could feel a sense of satisfaction bubble within you.

The civilians below you showing their appreciation for you. “Thank you, thank you!” they cried, pools of tears running down your face. You had to remind them that while you were grateful, they were still on the battlefield. They all had acknowledged you, and had begun to run off to elsewhere, away from the war upon their city.

You felt a sense of pride fill you knowing that you had saved their lives, sparkling theme another day. But before you can bathe in the feeling, it quickly vanishes. You felt an ominous presence before you once again. The debris of the building had finally vanished, only giving you a view that sent fear down your spine. 

There he was once again, now facing you like you had done almost nothing to him. He had a couple of scratches sure, but he had only looked like you only just flicked him. It gave a sense that this man did not feel anything you had given him.

You could now see his face; he had a scar that came from the top of his head. It looked nasty, not to mention it made his appearance more intimidating. The scar had reached his eye that was white and cloudy. Leaving his other eye to stare down into you more.

Although from all of his fearful appearance, you could admit that he was somewhat of a good looking fellow. Although that was masked over the thoughts of him killing innocent lives.

He floated forward in the dusty air until he had stopped within an eye’s view. His shoulders squared as he stood tall. His gaze pierced through the unknown hero, analyzing their every inch. To the tips of your toes, to the top of your head. His eyebrows furrowed a little upon them; you could faintly hear him grumble from the depth of his chest. 

You felt a shiver run down your spine at the sight of him. If you stood side by side with him, he could easily dwarf you. Yet you still stood your ground, you had wanted to show him justice after what he had done. Though the thought of beating this man had become slimmer and slimmer just by looking at him. You would have to try and pull yourself together and prove yourself wrong.

“Are you the one destroying these cities and killing innocent civilians?” You asked; you already knew the answer to it. You just wanted to make sure, and hear this guy’s reason as to why. Curiosity might be the death of you.

He’s cold gaze then softened, then turned into a smirk as he looked at this assumed “hero” in front of him. He could try and have some fun with you. The previous heroes were not as much of a fight after all. It gave him a feeling much like a cat playing with its food before mauling to death. He had killed so many of these weak heroes, but they were always somewhat of entertainment to him. You would just be one more tally mark on the kill streak to him. Though from all of the other heroes of this planet, he felt himself taking a liking to you just by your appearance. You were smaller than him, and could easily be overpowered by him. But something told him that you were going to be worth his while.

“Hm…You know, you have more of a kick to your punch than the rest of those worms...” He muttered out, his eyes squinting at their form. He could see them visibly shiver from him, but their eyes remained determined.

Adorable…

The older man spoke up once again, straightening his posture to introduce himself. "I am Conquest, sent by the Viltomights to take over your feeble planet.” Conquest announced, eyes still remaining on the hero before him. He had seen the once determined face begin to sneer at him.

You felt a growl come out of your throat, at this point. You were ready to beat this guy’s ass for threatening your home planet. You didn’t want to hear another word from this man.

Conquest had felt satisfied at your reaction before continuing. “But to answer your question, yes, I am the one destroying these cities and killing lives.” He stated it in a mocking way to imitate how you asked him that same question before. “But not in Viltrumites name, but for my own pleasure.” Growling that last response out, he paused for a moment, leaning forward just a little. “And you are? I would like to know the person I'm going to tear apart...” Conquest asked, his tone darkened. But you wouldn’t dare to give him your name. Too angered by him and his actions, and he could tell the glare you gave him.

“Why would I? After what you have done here, I don’t think you even deserve it.” Venom spat out your thought, challenging him in a way. Conquest only chuckled at the hero’s remark, finding it cute that they were trying to insult him. His smile bared his crooked teeth down at you before saying his last remark to you. “It’s fine, I’ll know soon enough after I am done with you.” And with that, he serged towards them with a crazed expression. It made your heart drop knowing he was coming at you full speed. Luckily, you were faster.

Quickly, they moved to the side as they saw him zoom past them and stomp into the ground. As he got up, you saw the opportunity to hit Conquest as he was still turned around. You felt the adrenaline pulse through your veins as you brought a hand back to plow into the back of his skull. But he had already known your plan of action.

Suddenly, he twisted his body around and threw one single punch to the hero’s gut that made them spew out blood instantly. The blow had sent their body flying back into a building somewhere behind you. The building began to crush and crumble above them. They could feel many cuts and bruises taking form across their now injured body.

Conquest felt himself frown; he was disappointed with the thought that you were already done after that hit. Many heroes are after a single blow. At times, it was satisfying to let others know how truly strong he is. Though there could be times when he was disappointed with their weakness. Not many beings could even handle his strength; it was sad, really. But something gave him a feeling you were far from that. Right now, it looks like he might have to pull you out of the ground to continue this fight. 

With a closed-eyed sigh, he floated with an easy pace towards the downed hero. But what he didn’t expect was how fast you had gotten up. With his guard down, Conquest felt a piercing punch right in the middle of his face that sent his nose spewing out blood and onto your hand. The punch itself had made him land upon the ground roughly. Conquest was not shocked, but impressed by your durability. 

The punch itself should have at least ruined your intestines. Or even should have made you immobile for a while. But yet you had gotten up within seconds. Impressive, now lets see how long you would last against him.

The viltrumite was about to get up and continue the fight, but the fist then returned upon his face quickly turned into a full grasp as he felt himself being roughly dragged upon the city floor. He didn’t need to open his eyes to feel the angered expression on your face. He felt the heat of your adrenaline, your anger, your excitement.

You’re getting heated…

Good…

To you, it felt good putting this man in his place, the heat of the moment catching up on you. You couldn’t help but feel a smirk forming on your face. Who knows, maybe you could beat this guy.

You could now feel Conquest smile underneath your hand as he was getting dragged through the city. You didn’t have time to wonder if he was smiling until he suddenly grasped your arm. His hand wraps firmly against your forearm. And with a swift move, he swung them around and brought them down with him. Switching the both of their positions, you were now the one getting dragged across the ground with him untop of you.

Both of his hands gripped the chestpiece of your suit, keeping you from going anywhere but the rough and extremely hard ground. You grunted profusely, and as you looked up at the man above you. Conquest had stared right back at you with the same, crazed smirk that will probably haunt you in your dreams. 

“You are alot stronger than I thought, kid…” He grunted out.

Suddenly, without the two of you knowing, the both of them could feel themselves getting slammed into another building, which stopped him from dragging you any further, thankfully. Now that the two of you stopped moving, Conquest brought his metal hand to press you down further into the ground below you. His robotic hand had almost covered all of your chest, it didn’t help he was pressing down with an intense pressure. You groaned and tried to pry his hand off of you. But he didn’t budge, not one bit. Instead, he pressed down harder, and began to rub his fingers around their ribs, feeling you all around. Your flesh and your rib cage both.

Damn, this guy is weird.

“You know, you are really starting to entertain me, Sunshine.” Conquest spoke; the nickname he had given you rolled off of his tongue. To him, it was fitting for you considering he’s fighting a hero with some spice to them. This hero was a feisty little thing; it filled him with fire. Conquest also didn’t forget how cute they were to him; it had just made him want to cave your little chest in. But what had intrigued him more was the fact that they didn’t run away in fear like the rest of his opponents after a moment of fighting. It was too bad he had to end their weak little lives. But you, you continued to fight him with so much anger. A part of him sort of debated if he had wanted to kill you or not. 

“Not many have the strength to entertain me, I give you full credit for that.” He chuckled as he looked down upon you. You glared back up at him with that same fiery glare as you continued to try and pry his hand off, and oh how he loved it. “Go to hell, you psycho…” the hero grunted back at him.

They had begun to raise the legs until they gave a full-force kick into Conquest’s stomach to give you some space. As your legs gave a powerful kick to his stomach, he went stumbling backwards with a harsh groan. He had clutched his stomach in pain. As he was distracted only for a moment, you twisted your body around to give one more final blow, similar to a horse kick. Sending him backwards and into the air above. 

You followed him in the air shortly after, hopefully to plow him back into the earth’s core. Before you could even land the hit, Conquest turned around and wrapped both of his hands around your neck, and serged your body into the ground. The wind around you whistled in your ears, making you almost lose your ability to hear. You finally felt the ground below break as your body made contact with it. A wave of pain had hit your body; you had felt a metallic task in the back of your throat; no doubt that was blood.

Before you had regained full consciousness, you felt a weighing pressure on top of you, keeping you down on the ground. A warm but cold hand was still present on your throat, making sure that you were not going to get up and have the upper hand. Soon, they had gained the strength to open their eyes. Sadly, the only thing that had filled their vision was the one and only Conquest. He was breathing heavily, his shoulders moving with every breath. You could have swore you saw drool coming from his mouth.

He now had you practically in a cage, a cage formed by him. Conquest took a breathy exhale as he leaned forward until his head layed upon your shoulder. Conquest pressed almost all of his weight down onto them, making them slightly wheeze out from the pressure. Their legs were located on each side of his waist. His robotic arm was keeping him propped up by its forearm. Your hand was placed upon his shoulder to try and prevent him from moving closer than he already was.

“Look at you, Sunshine, being so good for me while you fight to your heart's content.” You could hear and feel his ragged breath against the part of your neck just below your ear. With the position the two of you were taking, it was sort of erotic. If someone where to walk by and find the two of you, it would look like a missionary position. And if anyone did, you were just going to call it quits and die.

Trying to get the erotic thoughts out of your head, you snapped at him. “Fuck you…” You groaned out as you tried almost the one hundredth time to get him off of you; Conquest still didn’t budge. You had only gotten a light chuckle from him.

“I can go at this for days, but I doubt you could even keep up with a viltrumite like me.” Conquest muttered against you. You could feel his pelvis upon yours, and you could even feel him. Every part of this man screamed huge, and you weren’t sure if you were ready to find that out. You let out a soft gasp at the contact as you tried pushing him off, “Get off of me asshole-” they gasped out, but each move they made had them moving into the man above them. Conquest had only grounded into them more, his smirk becoming bigger and bigger by the second. You could almost hear him groan above you, and he could hear you whimper underneath him. To him, that sound alone made him made up his mind about you. Conquest was definitely keeping you…

Now, the cogs in your head made you realize something,

Conquest was getting off by this. This sick fuck was getting off to you fighting him! 

You couldn’t help your face from getting warm by your situation. To save you from humiliation, you moved your face away from him. You still couldn’t really move due to his hand gripping at your thoat, so you had tried your best to fight his hand. Hopefully to escape from him seeing your warmth and embarrassed face. But what you didn’t realize was that you were giving him full access to your neck. Conquest felt you try and move away from him, he also felt how warm you had gotten. 

You instantly regretted it as you felt him smile wickedly against your neck. Conquest adjective his hand to where it wasn’t handling your neck, but hilding the side of it you keep you from moving away. He gave a soft inhale against your skin, inhaling your scent before he began to press his face further down onto their neck and rub his face all over you. At first, you thought he was just being weird and creepy. Yet the thought was quickly shut down as you felt a liquid spread across the side of your neck. It was warm yet cold at the same time. But then it hit you like a bullet train.

Conquest was rubbing his bloody nose all over you…

It had felt like he was marking you with his blood; you felt yourself cringe at the thought. His nose slid across every curve of your neck, making it slippery to the touch. This man wasn’t just a normal, powerful villain; this man was a crazed psychopath who gets off at this! You didn’t know if you could fight him anymore. You didn’t know if it was because you were too weirded out and scared, or because you were afraid you would like it. You would be lying to yourself that you didn’t find this man attractive. Yet this man had potentially killed millions, if not more! At this point, you were scared of both your feelings and conquest.

You whimpered as he trailed his face up to your cheek. Giving you a hard cheek nuzzle to spread his blood more on your face. You could hear him chuckle against your cheek, breathly but rough. After what had seemed like long, antagonizing minutes, he settled his forehead on theirs, staring deeply into them as if the two of you just made love. His half-lidded eyes held so much adoration while yours were wide and fearful ones. 

The sight alone had pleased him, turning him on more than he already was. You, covered in blood, it was a beautiful sight. He would do anything to keep you in a frame within his mind forever. The hero’s once fiery eyes were now replaced with fearful ones. It seemed they had now realized what and who they were up against. 

“Aw come on, don’t tell me you already lost that spark in you. Things were just starting to get fun.” Conquest whined; he loved the fact that a once confident hero, broken down into a weak worm from the man before them. But at the same time, Conquest wanted to continue this fight with you. You were so much stronger than the rest of those weak little worms that call themselves heros. But then again, he loved to show how he can easily dominate you in battle.

Maybe later he can break you down until you were a submissive little thing while he beats you into the ground.

His statement towards you alone had brought you back to reality. You had contemplated if you had wanted to flee, but now that he urged you to fight, you found that same spark that was once lost. His words replaying in your head, he thinks that you gave up. Like hell you were going to give up.

Conquest saw the light ignite in their eyes, their fury now showing within your colored orbs. They let out an infuriated growl as they quickly brought their head back and slammed it right into Conquest’s head. It brought him back into a sitting position, giving you room to move. Headbutting him so hard that even both of them saw white. But the pain didn’t stop them from pushing him into the ground and putting their fists into his face repreatedly. 

Ofcourse, Conquest only eat their punches up like it was a full course meal. He finally had enough of your little “tantrum” and finally caught your hands with a swift move. Conquest then socked you in your chest, but not too hard to send you flying. You had luckily landed on your feet a couple of feet away from him, but the air had vanished from your lungs, causing you to cough profusely. You only focused on getting the breath back into your lungs to realize that Conquest had already appeared behind you within a blink of an eye.

You then felt a pair of arms around you; feeling his head behind your back to lift you up into the air. The two of you were in a position where your back was against his chest, his arms cradling your waist from behind. You would use your arms, but they were pinned beside you by Conquest forearms. You could visibly see his arms flex around your waist.

You found yourself still not taking back the fact that this man was really attractive.

His shadow casted over the hero’s form, making them feel smaller than they already were. Of course they had tried to fight back, their back had tried to arch away from him. But that had only made him bring them closer towards his body. You could feel each muscle of his behind you, especially his chest.

“That’s it, get angry…” He growled lowly. His voice was low and quiet; it didn’t fail to make you weak in your knees. You felt disgusted with yourself. Luckily you weren’t even standing; well, you didn’t know if it was a good thing.

What had happened afterwords pretty much cleared that question. You felt Conquest tighten his grip on you, almost crushing you with his bare arms. He lifted you up slowly before quickly falling backward onto the ground, slamming your head into the hard ground as he suplexed you.

You could not even cry out in pain from how hard the blow was. Instead, the only thing heard from you was deep, jagged breaths. You had struggled to keep yourself conscious as he unhooked his arms and let your body fall to the ground. You tried to keep your body upright, but the painful throbbing in your head kept you from doing so. You left the new fresh blood seeping out from your head and onto your bruised face. 

Your vision was blurry from the attack. And yet the only thing you could recognize from your foggy vision was the figure that stood before you. It wasn’t rocket science to know it was Conquest. What gave it away was the taunting voice of his. “Come on, sunshine. I know you have some strength in you still. Your strong, and I believe in you, you know that?” Conquest spoke in a soft voice, but you weren’t fool to know that he wasn’t sincere. 

But yet you still tried to move your legs, try to sit up, or even try to move your head. But you still couldn’t stop the pain in the back of your head. And the beast of a man just sat there and watched. Conquest was not a patient man, so with the goodness of his heart, he thought he might as well help you. “Here, let me be of service to you.” He simply stated.

You saw his figure move towards your form. You tried to move away, but that quickly failed as he roughly picked you up by the front part of your suit. He held you just above the ground; you feel dangled below you. The two of you stared at each other, you with a pained expression, and Conquest with an emotionless face. He took a long look at you, his singular working eye grazing upon each cut and gash that occupied your face. Additionally, his own marking of blood that covered the whole right side of your face. Glistening in the bare sun like fine wine.

“But, I can admit, seeing you all beat up just excites me…” Conquest muttered before uppercutting you in the jaw with a swift motion. The action was so off guard that you still couldn’t even grasp it. It had only hit when you were finally skidding on the ground with full force. Your limbs and joints became more painful each time your body collided with the ground. It didn’t help when body roughly stopped into a boulder. 

Your had now started to water, the pain from the uppercute had now started to dissolve into your jaw. You weren’t crying, but your eyes watered profusely from the pain of bone your jaw and your head. You tried to quickly wipe them away, trying to keep your eyes on the monster of a man that slowly flated towards you. But each time you blink, Conquest seems to become closer and closer. It was like straight out of a horror movie; it sent chills down to your core. After a couple of blinks, Conquest was now above you. You didn’t know if you could take another hit from him. Afraid of dying by his hands.

As Conquest stood above you, he brung his good hand to your face. His rough, warm hand grazed your cheek with the back of his hand; it was soft, but not until he forcibly yanked your head up to his. You felt his breath against your face; you also felt the intest eye contact he gave you. You grunted from the hard grasp he had; his hand covered most of the side of your head. You could tell he was smiling—the soft and giddy hum was present in the air. 

But what had caught you off guard the most, was that Conquest used his other hand to grab ahold of the hand you used to wipe your tears off of. His had softly touched yours, the action made you flinch due to the fear of what he might do next. Conquest twisted your hand to make your palm point directly above to his mouth. For a brief moment, he looked at you, waiting to see the confusion on your face. His eyes were soft, but not too soft to give away the menacing smirk. Conquest was pleased to see how your eyebrows furrowed just a little. That itself gave him the cue to do his deed. He opened his mouth, then stuck his tongue out to give your palm a long, hard lick.

He was licking the blood and tears off of your hand.

You mentally shrieked, now trying to close your hand. But Conquest was quick enough to hold it open with his thumb. You brought your free arm out to try and push him away, but that only made him open his eyes and bring your fingers into his mouth. Conquest gave you a devious smirk as he lightly bit down on them, making you gasp and freeze up. Scared that he will bite all of your fingers off.

Conquest gave a pleased sigh as he felt your fear of him. He brought your fingers out of his mouth, his saliva and your fingers being the only thing connected. “Your cute, you know that?” He questioned as his grip on the side of your head hardened. The sound of your pulse quickening only brought him pleaser. 

“At first, I thought you weren’t going to last after the first hit. But the more I spent my time fighting you, I began to feel more and more intrigued by you.” Conquest then lets go of you, releasing his grip on your head and hand. You fell to the ground with a loud huff, now propping yourself up on your forearms to try and give yourself leverage. Conquest dropped down to his knees, leveling with you as he gave you his words.

“You are not the strongest I have fought, but yet your durability amuses me. The other heroes this planet provides could not even last this long if they tried. Maybe I’ll keep you for safekeeping, maybe a suverneer to my home planet-” “You wouldn’t dare…” You cut him off from finishing his sentence. The thought of him “keeping” you unnerved you. Like hell you were going to be some pet to a man like him!

“But I can!” Conquest replied rather quickly for your liking. He then leaned in closer towards you, his eyes now darkened. “Let’s face it, you can’t beat me. Not for a long shot, sunshine.” Spitting his words down at you. Conquest then leaned back, relaxed as ever. You couldn’t even hold yourself up, so why bother being tense.

“You are like…Hmm…” He looked around the atmosphere, taking in all of the destruction he caused upon humanity as he tried to find the right example for you. Conquest spoke up once again, “You are like a dog in your people’s sense; you are only meant for my entertainment. I could treat you however I like and you would just come running back like nothing happened… Or, at least you will eventually.”

You were about to shout back at his words, but you were cut short with your vision going black and your body giving up on you. Conquest, gave you one swift punch to the head, and knocked you out cold. He knew that more insults would come out of your mouth, so he saved himself the time by shutting you up. 

He watched as you became quiet and unmoving in front of him. Conquest gave out a long, exagerated sigh before putting both of his arms underneath the hero, and picked them up without a single struggle. Your body was limp in his arms. Your head rests against his chest as all of the blood from you smeared onto his suit. Blood from both him and you. 

“Let us go home, pet…” Conquest spat out in the air like venom. Now floating in the air to get ready bring you back to Viltrum.

Pets weren’t normalized on his home planet; they were a sign of weakness. They would get too attached, and then that would be a liability. So, they were looked down upon. But you? No, you were going to be a form of entertainment to him. Something to keep his mind off of his loneliness. Maybe something to bring him out of that loneliness. 

His little entertainer…

I HATE proofreading, so sorry if this is ass and not well put togeather.

[stevebabey]

pre-steddie, post the events of s4, and some good ol' steve harrington gets some new glasses <3, 2k-ish

There was a time where Steve would've rather died than wear them.

Then he did nearly die—several times over, actually.

But if Steve had to sum up what he actually gained from the horrific annual monster-hunting bullshit—besides the scars and trauma, of course—he would say perspective.

It's a lot easier to see what matters on the other side of the end of the world. Or in Steve's case, it's actually harder to see. And he should've totally been wearing those prescription glasses his parents bought him back in the seventh grade.

Maybe then, instead of an occasionally foggy memory and migraines, he'd be a little better off.

But as things go, he hadn't worn them. No, instead, when he was a foolish 13-year-old, Steve had hidden the glasses. Pretended they got lost. Fibbed while knowing exactly where in the house he'd stashed them.

It had certainly earned him an earful of chastising, as well as an actual sore ear from how his mother had pinched it tightly. But, either way, in the end he'd got what he wanted.

Sure, it definitely made it harder on his grades. More often than not, if Steve didn't cop one of the seats closer to the front of class, he'd earn himself a headache from all his squinting. But it was worth it because at least he wouldn't look uncool. Popular kids never wore glasses.

And then... years later, a couple brushes with his fragile morality, old friends turned enemies and new friends, genuine friends earned... he gets perspective.

This is all to say, Robin finally convinces him to wear his glasses again.

Well, actually, the doctor had been the one to convince he needed to wear them, given all the other problems he'd gathered from his mounting concussions.

Robin had been the one to somewhat bully ("Lovingly!" She'd protest) him into actually wearing them. An uphill battle she had been determined to win, despite all Steve's abject objections.

She won. They'd gotten him new frames, made sure the prescription was up to date and that Steve didn't completely hate the way they looked.

But even though they didn't look anything like the smaller pair still tucked away in a shoebox beneath his bed, collecting dust, there's still a hesitance to wear them.

But... perspective.

It's what Steve keeps trying to hold onto as he scrunches his nose down at the glasses in the case in his hands. The lenses glint in the fluorescents of Family Video.

He huffs and picks them out, unfolding the arms gently. Looking a little stupid was better than getting another migraine at work, he decides.

He stores the case beneath the counter and sits back down at the computer, hands in his laps, the wire-rim glasses in his fingertips.

You put these on and you may as well just declare the 'You Suck' side a forever winner. Some part of him whispers meanly. Not as if you're much of a looker anymore. It's a sliver of that slimy ego lurking within him. Steve's mouth twists as he does his best to shove it away.

It's true, to some extent. That last run-in with the Upside Down had left its mark well and truly. Along his chin, rippling down toward and along his jaw, is a scar where the skin split and had to be patched back together. The discoloration of it makes it impossible to miss.

Robin says chicks dig scars. But even if she's right and not just saying it to banish the sad lilt in his voice, there's still some part of Steve that wants to cling to what once made him important. What made people look at him, pay attention to him.

The point is wearing the glasses isn't just about wearing the glasses.

But Steve also isn't trying to be all about appearances anymore — so if they made him look... worse, then so be it.

He slides them on and tilts his head up, focusing on the screen. The pixels on the computer sharpen and the blurriness of his surroundings saps away, smoothing out his field of vision. Steve blinks.

It's much different to how it was trying them on at the doctor's office. He's in familiar turf now and as he blinks again, looks around, Steve realises how many details he's been missing. Holy shit. Can Robin see this well? All the time?

He can read the things all the way across the room — can parse out the poster titles without having to squint in the slightest. Jesus Christ, should he even have been allowed to drive—

The bell on the door chimes and Steve turns instinctively.

"Oh! Steve, you're wearing them!"

It's Robin, dropped off by none other than Eddie, for the half-shift she shares with Steve on Thursday afternoons. Sure, she could bike from school, but it’s getting icier in the mornings and Steve likes to drop her off before his shift.

Eddie takes the other half. If that means he also meanders into Family Video to hang around for a half hour and talk to Steve? Well, Steve’s got no problem with that at all.

They’re friends. Hard not to be, given the circumstance of their springtime shared together. It's not exactly something Steve ever predicted happening, but considering his newfound perspective, he's taken it in stride as one of the pros of the whole situation.

Except with his newly corrected vision, two things change simultaneously.

Behind Robin, Eddie steps into the Family Video and Steve suddenly sees Eddie Munson with a reverent clarity.

Has Eddie always looked like... that?

With his glasses, Steve can see the true brown in his eyes and the brightness in them as they meet Steve’s own. He can see the sweeping lashes that kiss in the corner, the strong line of his nose.

The curve of Eddie’s bottom lip and the blister in the middle of it, chewed too frequently, pinker than his lips. He sees the faintest of freckles, hidden in his hairline, and—

— he sees the exact moment Eddie clocks the glasses.

Because Eddie stops, midway through the door, full-body stutters and then just halts. The door he'd pulled open swings and hits him in the back.

Right. There's a neon-bright sign from the universe that Steve does, in fact, look as stupid as he feared. Embarrassment wells up inside him, hot and itchy.

Steve whips the glasses off so fast they hit the counter and bounce over, onto the ground.

"Jeez!" Robin jumps, for which Steve can't blame her for considering both he and Eddie made two loud noises in the space of roughly two seconds. She looks over her shoulder to see Eddie's frozen figure and mutters, "Oh, I'm clocking in." Then disappears out the back.

Steve watches her go, already missing the clarity of his glasses but hell if he's putting them back on. Not after that god-awful reaction. They can get trod on by customers for all he cares.

God, okay, so maybe that's an overreaction (those things are expensive) but also, this was the first test in trying them out in public.

Look, Robin's obviously his best-friend but shit, he was hoping she wasn't straight up lying to him telling him they looked good.

How did this turn into 13-year-old Steve's exact nightmare?

Eddie only seems to realise he's still stuck in place when the chime of the door bell sounds once again, alerting Steve of his presence—as if he could ignore that reaction coming in.

Well, at least it was an honest reaction.

How much were contacts again?

Steve pushes back from the counter with a sigh, beginning to head round to retrieve the glasses from the floor. Except, the movement seems to kickstart Eddie and he scrambles forward so that when Steve straightens up, glasses in hand, Eddie's right before him.

Brown eyes wide. Expression... serious?

"You didn't tell me you wore glasses." Eddie says. He sounds almost breathless.

"Yeah, well, not anymore." Steve replies dryly, heading back around the counter.

Eddie tracks him as he goes, looking almost devastated at what he's hearing. He stumbles in closer, palms pressing against the counter, and leans forward as Steve retrieves the case.

"What do you mean? What do you mean not anymore?"

He sounds a little panicked now.

Steve levels him with a flat stare. "C'mon man, I know what a bad reaction looks like when I see one—"

But Eddie's shaking his head furiously, hands flying as he does everything to signal the word no. "Nope, no you do not. That— nuh uh. Will you put them on again? Please?"

"No way!"

"Steve, I promise you that was not a bad reaction. That was- was-" Eddie stammers for the right words before pivoting. "Can you just put them on again? Please put them on again?"

It's the genuineness in Eddie's tone that actually gets Steve to pause. He glances down at the glasses in his hand, hovering midway to the case, and then back up to Eddie.

Is this some elaborate way to make fun of him? No, Eddie wouldn't. But then what?

The pause is long enough for Eddie to spring into action and he slowly reaches out, heading for the glasses in Steve's hands. Eyeing him hesitantly, Steve reluctantly lets him take them from him, unfolding them with his ringed fingers.

Then, he holds them out and up. Through the lenses, he can see the detail of Eddie's face once more and he swallows. His fingertips brush Eddie's as he takes them and slides them back onto his face.

It takes another blink to get used to the change and in this time, Steve notices, Eddie has managed to turn a wonderful shade of pink.

Steve can see it in much better detail than usual as well, can track how it seems to crawl up his neck. He bets the tips of Eddie's ears are red too, hidden amongst his wild curls. He's blushing. He's blushing?

And he's smiling too, this maddening curl to his lips, as he drinks in Steve and his new glasses with a hungry gaze that darts all over his face.

Man, Steve thinks absently, using the moment of quiet to examine all those new details of Eddie's face, how long has Eddie been pretty?

Then Eddie huffs a disbelieving laugh and Steve's stomach drops.

It must show on his face because instantly Eddie's hands are up, waving away the thought in Steve's head. "No, no, no! Not bad! Just... Jesus Christ," He mutters the last part into his shoulder, his face turned away for a moment.

"I just actually didn't think it was, uh," He coughs. "Like, possible for you to get any hotter."

“What?” Steve says.

That's what that reaction was? Something fizzles inside him, suddenly feeling pleased as punch.

“What?” Eddie parrots.

The pink in his face has dipped closer to crimson and if it keeps going that way, Steve reckons he could roast marshmallows over it.

Steve shifts on his feet, reaching up and running a nervous hand through his hair. Sure, he said wanted attention but this is something new, something different. He's not sure if he likes it just yet.

Eddie watches the motion, wide eyes glued to his hand, and when he catches Steve's questioning gaze through his glasses, he does a full 180 turn away from the counter.

"Oh my god, I'm so gay," He mutters, in a breath that Steve probably wasn't supposed to hear.

Steve's eyebrows raise. It sounds like... and he could be wrong here, but it sounds like Eddie likes his new glasses. Very much so.

And that makes Steve feel... good. Really good. Top of his game, one tally in the You Rule side of the board, good.

Eddie turns back and fixes a smile that Steve is sure isn't supposed to look that crazy. Steve reaches up and nudges the glasses further up his nose with his knuckle idly.

"So," Steve says, the uncertainty in his voice not false. "You don't think they look... bad?"

"Nope," Eddie squeaks out.

His smile has gotten a little more deranged. Then, in one big breath he says, "Tell Robin she betrayed me and I'll see you later-bye!" and peels out of the Family Video, the door-chime announcing his departure.

Robin treads out from the back-room, her Family Video vest on now and she surveys the store as she walks. Upon finding only Steve, her brows wrinkle together.

"Where'd Eddie go?"

Steve shrugs. "Dunno. Left in a hurry. Told me to tell you that you betrayed him or somethin'." He makes quotation marks with his fingers.

Robin frowns harder at that, her puzzling face on. A moment later, it melds away into a deviousness that means Steve instantly knows he's missing out on some inside joke. Especially when Robin starts to cackle, laughing so much that she has to hide a snort in her palm.

"What?" Steve all but pouts. "What is it? Tell me."

Robin, still laughing, snags the returns trolley and begins to wander backward. "Trust me, Steve. You'll want to figure this one out on your own. Either way, I think you should wear your glasses around Eddie again. Preferably while I'm there to watch."

She wiggles her brows as she disappears around an aisle, still wandering backward. Steve hears the moment she bumps into a shelf and snickers at her responding ow!

He turns back to the computer and settles in the seat, nudging the glasses up his nose once more. Huh. So Eddie likes the glasses. Maybe they weren't so bad.

And if Steve got to see that blush again, in glorious good-vision detail? Then that wouldn't be so bad either.

[mmirx]

AFTERTHOUGHT ⋆⑅˚₊

Who were you if not unremarkable? You had finally come into terms that you are someone who was meant to stay in everyone’s shadow, but not until you met Caleb, or so you thought.

cw/tags: PART 3 of this, university au, non-mc reader, frat guy caleb (but not really important), angst, jealousy, self-loathing (please just lmk if i missed more cw, i just cant identify more as of now)

note: idk what im doing lmao kidding nway, wrote this in one sitting bcs it was the only chance i had after the loooong week i had. alsoooo, i take it back, i might make this longer bcs i haven't explored some parts in the previous chapters. PLUS THANK YOU GUYS FOR READINGGGG!!!

word count: 1.7k

You’re at your breaking point—or at least you were weeks ago. Now, you weren’t even sure what prompted you to fill your schedule to no end; leaving no room for any sort of self-care at all. But, you were adamant in accepting the truth that it was not the answer to the hole that Caleb left you.

Nothing can ever fill the part that he took from you the moment you let him in your life because he wasn’t just any bystander that you knew would leave you. When you thought that you were finally worth being a recipient of one’s genuine attention was the moment you should’ve known that you have once again been defeated by the nature of love itself. He curated a room in your life. One that you thought you were the center of almost letting yourself believe that someone is capable of doing that for you.

But now, you weren’t sure at all, no you were, but for the fact that he wouldn’t do anything that deep for you.

The reason? Well, she’s standing in front of you right now. Eyes filled with worry and hint of anger while refusing to let you speak. However, you knew why, mad at you for cutting your connection with them—not completely—by deactivating your social media accounts, and even going as far as ignoring messages and calls with your ‘previous’ number. But you can’t just disregard your own sake to ‘bring back old times,’ her own words to keep up a dramatic flair.

“What? Like four weeks ago?” she retorted after hearing your reasoning about being busy with the conference. MC was right—it ended a month ago, and you were aware of the fact that you haven’t been with her for more than a month. 

“I know, I know but I took up a new volunteering gig…”you said trying your best to muster up a half lie. It’s true though that you joined a volunteering group, but they haven’t even demanded an hour of your life. How were you supposed to tell her that you’ve been neglecting her because of Caleb? Her literal childhood bestfriend?

You stared at her profoundly, and if you weren’t, you would’ve missed the moment she hesitated to say something. What was that?

“Come with me,” she said in a beat, grabbing your wrist, “don’t try to run away this time, got it?”

“Where–” trying to loosen her grip–“are you taking me?” 

Of course, in her true nature, she ignored you. You knew that you didn’t have a chance to flee this, so like a trolley, you let her drag you in God knows where.

Walking for minutes across the campus didn’t feel as irksome as it once used to be. The sun was also present with wind as its companion. Looking around, you realized that maybe you were too busy trying to distract yourself in a way that your body probably hates you for now. Completely oblivious of the fact that you missed out the times that the sun had waited for you. 

Your optimism didn’t last very long though.

Holding your wrist on one hand and taking her phone out on the other hand, your heart almost jumped out the moment she uttered his name. What in the fresh hell?

You heard how she hissed his name accompanied with insults that were somehow out of character of her because they were said as if she dipped them out personally from hell. 

“MC!” you shouted with eyes unintentionally widening. “Is he coming with us?”

But to no avail, she waved her hand dismissing you as if you. You couldn't help yourself to roll your eyes at her. She was literally insisting to spend time with you a moment ago, and now she’s dismissing you because of him? Well, that sounded bitter of you.

Curiosity growing as they spoke, you were about to ask what they’re talking about but—

“Alright, let’s go,” MC cut you off with no intention of letting you ask questions. It was weird, a moment ago she seemed okay, but she looks pissed right now. You knew that she’s hiding her annoyance, it almost made you laugh, where did her acting skills go?

However, it made you wonder, what happened when you were busy trying to avoid them? Did a ‘progress’ finally take place when you were gone? Maybe Caleb didn’t even notice your absence—he might have been grateful too that there’s one less person to divide MC’s attention from him. If that is so, then it’s high time for you to get a grip and move on.

Your mind wandered to possible scenarios that happened between them during the last few weeks. It makes your stomach turn upside down. As if something has flipped your organs  intentionally to rattle you for being stupid enough to like someone, and you hate it. You’re human and you know you’re bound to fall in love with someone, but at the same, at your bestfriend? Really? Were you even his bestfriend? 

Like a bell, you were again reminded of what you heard weeks ago.

No, you weren’t his bestfriend, just a mere someone he didn’t even know how he managed to tolerate.

I don't even know how I managed to put up with her.

What you hated even more is that if he really did feel that way, why act as if you’ve meant something bigger in his life? As if you were a significant chapter in his life. As if one that he needed to make sure to be appreciated by himself and every person in the story of his.

Busy with your inner monologue—about the sole reason you ended up with an unhealthy way of coping in life healthy for the system that exploits you but not for your own body—you didn’t realize where you were now.

Looking around, it’s the hidden part of the campus where you used to frequent with the two of them. You can feel it—something good isn’t about to happen. One that you spent weeks trying to ward off.

“MC…” you called her attention, noticing how busy she was trying to spot something, “please tell me he’s not here.” 

You wanted her to lie because at least that’d bring you comfort even for a moment. The air suddenly felt like it was meant to bring suffocation. Your hands torn between emitting heat to ward off the cold that the weather brought or bringing a feeling of dampness with sweat that you’d always hated. Either way, you felt revulsion towards anything at the moment.

MC was looking at you as if she was silently asking for your forgiveness. Her eyes trying to tell a code that you couldn’t decipher. But you couldn't muster any kind words, at least not until she puts her plea for forgiveness in words. Then—

A voice came from behind you. One that you haven’t heard for weeks calling your name like a prayer. At that moment, you hated how your body responded to his call. His eyes wandered on you as if finally making up for the moments that he’d been deprived of the privilege of setting eyes on it.

It took all your strength to not shift away your gaze from him. 

But you had to face MC, “What’s this?” you asked laced with rage rather than confusion while pointing at Caleb. “And I thought, it was you actually wanting us to spend time together.”

“Well, for starters, I don’t see an issue with me bringing you here to see Caleb? You’ve been avoiding us, and now, you’re mad?”

“I wasn’t but I certainly am now!”

“It was my idea,” Caleb interjected, “don’t be mad at her, she wasn’t at fault.”

Still protecting her? 

“No, I’m not done with her. MC, trying to be a good samaritan?” your voice dripped with sarcasm. “Helping us make up? If we were thirteen, that would be cute, but for fuck’s sake we’re pushing mid-twenties, so it’s just plain stupid.”

You didn’t miss how her eyes flickered with pain and if your heart was’t throbbing with anger right now, you would’ve reached out her hands to apologize. But how can you, in this state, think rationally?

“I’m sorry. I understand your anger but I needed to.” You hated how even in moments like this, she’ll be the ever-so-nice person that she is. “I’m leaving, please, talk.”

With that, you didn’t try to stop her because what’s the point in trying? This was their plan. 

“Don’t blame her, I insisted on her doing this,” Caleb said, taking you out of your own mind. It infuriated you because what is he truly planning to get from this?

He didn’t see you as someone who’s worthy of his affection. He made that clear when you heard him talking with his friends. That was enough to repel you from his life. Plus the fact that you have been slipping away from him.

What you couldn’t put your fingers on right now is why does it feel like his gaze at you in this moment is trying to tell you a different story?

“You’re avoiding me,” he said, more of an accusement than a statement. 

“If I am?” you tested him. Suddenly, you were back with your habit of biting the inside of your mouth when you’re nervous. Little did you know, he noticed that, because he knows you as if he’d study the book of your life—wanting to be a part of it in a way where he’ll never be written out.

“Why?” he begged, voice dripping with desperation that made your skin crawl. “Tell me what I did.” 

“I’d beg heaven just for you to forgive me.” You averted your gaze from his as you pondered how you hated how convincing he sounded. You hated every moment of it because all of a sudden you were back where you were a few months ago. Silently cursing yourself for being weak from everything that he does, you didn’t get a chance to speak at all.

Missing every wave of emotions on his face, you kept your mouth shut, not knowing what to say because it all felt unreal.

“Anything, just don’t tell me you’re with someone.”

What?

tag(s): @justpassingdontworry @jadeymeciela @i-messed-up-big-time @rxelarailuj @albatrossblues

[gf2bellamy]

Hi,

I came across your account not to long ago and I've been binge reading almost all of your fics, (specifically the spencer reid ones). I've giggled and kicked my feet with the biggest smile to so many of them, they're amazing.

I had an idea of someone on the team getting reader a gift either as like a congratulations or a birthday present. Doesn't really matter. Then spencer sees and is like you should have gotten her *what you decide* instead, she loves it. Then proceeds to talk about a date they went on were she was talking his head off about it. Expect the team doesn't know they are dating and he's just outing them in front of everyone without even realizing it. Then reader walks in and greets everyone and they all just stare, then proceeds to ask questions and tease.

Again love your fics, they make my day. If you do this thank you! :)))))

bracelet — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: secret relationship a/n: hiii !! thank you so so much <3 i'm so so glad you like them <3 also i love your idea and i hope you like it :)

“What is that?” Garcia’s eyes zeroed in on the expensive-looking bag in Rossi’s hand as he walked in. The bag had a logo that screamed luxury, and Garcia was already halfway out of her chair to inspect it.

Rossi held the bag up with a proud smile playing on his lips. “Late birthday gift,” he explained, setting it down on his desk . “I couldn’t make it to the dinner over the weekend, so I thought I’d make it up to her.” 

Derek raised an eyebrow as he sipped from his coffee mug, leaning casually against his desk. “Looks expensive,” he remarked. “What’d you get her? A diamond-encrusted tiara?” 

“It’s probably worth more than my entire apartment,” Emily muttered under her breath, glancing up from her paperwork.  

Rossi ignored the jabs, his pride in the gift undiminished. “It’s a bracelet,” he said, opening the bag and carefully pulling out a velvet box.

He flipped it open to reveal a delicate silver bracelet adorned with white charms. “Silver, with these beautiful charms. Elegant, timeless, and perfect.” 

Spencer, who had been quietly writing away at his desk, glanced up at the mention of the bracelet.

His brow furrowed slightly as he listened to Rossi describe the gift, his pen pausing over the report. He tilted his head, as if considering something, and before he could stop himself, the words tumbled out. 

 “She actually prefers the pink one,” Spencer said, as though he were stating a well-known fact.

“The one with the flower charms. Last week, when we were on our date, she wouldn’t stop talking about this little boutique we passed. They had this pink bracelet in the window, and she went on and on about how much she loved it. She even made me go inside with her to look at it.” 

The room fell silent.

Garcia’s eyes widened, her mouth dropping open in shock. Derek choked on his coffee, coughing loudly as he tried to recover. Emily froze, her smirk fading into a look of pure disbelief. Even Rossi blinked at Spencer, momentarily speechless. 

Spencer, oblivious to the reaction he’d just caused, continued writing, his focus seemingly back on his report.

“It’s not that the silver one isn’t nice,” he added, almost as an afterthought. “But the pink one would’ve made her happier. She’s really into those kinds of details.” 

Spencer wanted to buy it for you. Not even a day later, he had gone back to the boutique, determined to surprise you with the pink bracelet you’d admired so much. But when he arrived, the store clerk had given him an apologetic smile and told him it was already sold out.

Garcia was the first to break the silence. “Wait. Wait, wait, wait,” she said, holding up a hand as if to physically stop the conversation. “Did you just say date? As in, you and her? On a date?” 

That’s when Spencer realized his mistake. His pen halted in his hand, mid-sentence, and he froze. His brain suddenly went completely blank.

His cheeks flushed a deep shade of red, and he stammered, “No, I meant—uhm—I—” 

But it was too late. The damage was done. The entire team was staring at him now, their expressions ranging from shocked to downright gleeful.

Garcia’s eyes were practically sparkling with excitement, Derek was grinning like he’d just won the lottery, and even Rossi looked amused, his arms crossed as he leaned back in his chair. 

Emily raised an eyebrow, her smirk returning full force. “Oh, this is rich,” she said, clearly enjoying Spencer’s discomfort. “Reid, are you telling us you’ve been dating this whole time and didn’t think to mention it?” 

Spencer opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. His mind was racing, trying to come up with a plausible explanation.

 “I—uh—it’s not—” Spencer stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. He adjusted his tie nervously, his fingers fumbling with the knot. “I didn’t mean to—” 

“Oh, you so meant to,” Derek interrupted, his grin widening. “Come on, pretty boy, spill. How long has this been going on? And why are you keeping it a secret? You know we’re all about love here.” 

 Garcia clapped her hands together, practically bouncing in her seat. “This is the best thing that’s happened all week! Spencer Reid, secretly dating our girl? I need details! How did it happen? ” 

Before Spencer could respond, the elevator dinged, and you walked into the bullpen, holding a coffee cup and looking completely unaware of the chaos that had just unfolded.

“Morning, everyone!” you called out, your cheerful tone cutting through the tension in the room. 

The team turned to you in unison.

You paused, glancing around at their faces. “Uh… what’s going on?” you asked, your smile faltering slightly. 

Garcia was the first to pounce. “Oh, nothing,” she said, her tone dripping with faux innocence. “Just that Spencer here was very casually telling us about your date last week. You know, the one where you talked his ear off about a pink bracelet?” 

Your eyes widened, and you shot a panicked look at Spencer, who was still sitting at his desk, looking like he wanted to disappear. “You told them?” you asked, your voice rising in disbelief. 

Spencer blinked up at you, his face still flushed. “I didn’t mean to,” he said weakly. “It just… slipped out.” 

You stared at him for a moment, your lips twitching as you tried to suppress a smile. Of all the ways for your relationship to come to light, this was definitely not what you’d expected.

“Of course it did,” you said, your tone fond rather than annoyed. You weren’t mad—how could you be?

Spencer’s accidental confession was just so him, and honestly, you’d been wondering how long the two of you could keep your relationship under wraps anyway.

The team was bound to find out eventually.

Rossi, who had been quietly observing the chaos , decided it was time to intervene. He picked up the fancy bag from his desk and walked over to you, holding it out with a flourish.

“Here,” he said. “This is for you. A late birthday gift. I was going for subtle elegance, but apparently, I should’ve gone for pink and floral.” 

 You took the bag, grinning at him. “Thank you, Rossi. You really didn’t have to,” you said, genuinely touched by the gesture. 

 Rossi shrugged, his smirk widening as he glanced over at Spencer, who was still looking like he wanted to melt into the floor. “Well, I figured it was the least I could do after missing your birthday dinner. But clearly, I’ve been outdone by Dr. Reid here. Who knew he had such a knack for romance?” 

Spencer sighed. “I didn’t mean to ruin your gift,” he muttered under his breath.

 “Oh, you didn’t ruin it,” Rossi said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “You just completely stole the spotlight. No big deal.” 

The team burst into laughter again, and even you couldn’t suppress a grin. “Don’t worry, Rossi,” you said, opening the bag and pulling out the velvet box. “I love it. Really. It’s beautiful.” 

Rossi gave you a satisfied nod, clearly pleased with your reaction. “Good. At least someone appreciates my taste.” 

Garcia, who had been practically vibrating with excitement, couldn’t hold back any longer.

“Okay, but can we please get back to the important part here?” she said, clapping her hands together. “You two are dating! Why were you keeping it a secret? ” 

As the team continued to tease and prod, you couldn’t help but smile. Sure, your secret was out, but in a way, it was a relief.

And as you glanced at Spencer, who was finally starting to relax, you realized that maybe this wasn’t such a bad thing after all. 

[naranjapetrificada]

Specifically about the racefakery:

I'm primarily seeing the conversation around All This focus on plagiarism (which makes sense) but I wanted to say some things as one of the handful of Black people I'm aware of that hang out around here:

1. Discord makes my brain itch and I've been afraid to go to OFMD bluesky after how bad OFMD twitter was, so I'm often one of so few Black people on here that you can count us one hand. I wasn't especially close with Atticus but I did like knowing that someone else was gonna be loud about racist Ed takes from a "position of authority" as it were. That knowledge made shit feel a lot less lonely over here and this motherfucker took that from me. That's what I feel betrayed about. That's what pisses me off about the racefaking in particular. Things are now unequivocally going to be harder for me around here than they were before and I hate that he was able to put me in this position.

2. I'm not aware of if he plagiarized any of my fics because they're mostly 100% canon compliant or in one case, too weird to effectively copy, but I'll never know because 100+ middling fics is too many to check through. I'm okay not knowing because the stilted way he wrote about Ed's hair and Ed's race are not things I wish to subject myself to anymore. But for the record, his fics are one of the places where the racefakery shows the most imo because writing makes you tell on yourself in unanticipated ways.

3. Maybe this next point will get me blocked by even more white people in this fandom but here we go anyway. I've struggled to come up with a more diplomatic way of saying "white people are too polite/conflict averse" but like, white people are too polite/conflict averse. This has literally come up in this exact fandom before, around a less fraught issue but still. It had ugly fallout then and it's had ugly fallout now, and while I understand not wanting to come at somebody you perceive as a person of color where everyone could see it, I do wish we had an environment where people who did have suspicions about him could have come forward. The amount of harm he was able to do is directly proportional to the amount of time and space he had to do it, and even before you start talking about the racefaking he was up to shady shit that I certainly had no idea was going on. Which leads to my next point.

4. I can recall a couple times where my race-related spidey senses tingled, but any unease I had was easily lost in the constant din of race-related shit that comes with my existence both in and out of fan spaces. To borrow from scarrletmoon (I miss having you here!) it's like background radiation. Also, there was always the "maybe it's just bad writing" excuse, or the "it's not my place to say but the way he writes about Judaism isn't quite like the way Jews I know talk about it" excuse. There was my (continued) inability to imagine why some white person would bother, because no amount of clout is worth what it's like to be Black on the internet. There was also probably some kind of aversion I had to the idea of losing "one of us" on here, which honestly might be something he was preying on but it's not productive for me to try to get inside the mind of someone who would do what he's done.

And if I was falling into those particular traps (around the racefaking in particular) myself, there's no way the rest of y'all could have known anything was up. Certainly not in isolation. Now I can't help but wonder if being seen interacting with me gave him some kind of legitimacy in any of your eyes, which is lowkey horrifying if true.

Anyway, those are the things I have to say now, after processing for a bit. It's still not worth my sanity to spend more than 30 seconds at a time looking at Discord, where I know a lot of this sort of thing gets discussed, but I can't help but wish I'd known about this sooner.

[phantomyre]

UPDATE:

The graffiti asset was pulled, so now we have the full image.

Some additional things to note...

Also keep in mind this is from the perspective that Vincent wrote this.

We can now see Kadaj's name is indeed a part of the equation, though with some additional information as well. The circular shape with 3 objects in the middle next to Kadaj's name might be a Venn-Diagram but I'm not sure. Your guess is as good as mine. But this does at least tell us that Vincent seems to be aware of Kadaj as well, and the role he might play.

(Ignore this picture for now. I can't delete it for some reason)

According to the Ultimania, 1976 is when Midgar was built. Something worth noting is that Professor Gast discovered Jenova in 1977. Perhaps 1976 is the year Vincent first entered Shinra as a Turk and where all his nightmares began.

As we all know, Jan 31st 1997 is the official day FF7 OG was released. It could be just a nod to the OG. Or it could be hinting at the OG being a part of history, another world, etc. You be the judge.

Here we have 10.13 which is Vincent's birthday. Also, 27 is the age that he 'died'.

Lastly, we have what is likely Vincent's initials.

Overall, it seems that Vincent was at least trying to make sense of what he is connected to, the fate of the planet, how Sephiroth and Jenova is tied to it all, and where his nightmares are stemming from. This also suggests that there is a connection between himself (Chaos) and Jenova.

This is the original concept art for Vincent's cave. As you can see, there are a lot of torn pieces of red cloth, and what looks to be blood in certain places. This strongly hints that Vincent went mad/berserk some time ago. Thus, the graffiti showing his state of mind, aka the words Chaos, monster, Turn Back, pandemonium, etc. The math equation may have been around the time Vincent was able to collect his thoughts, accepting what he had become, but searching for answers through his despair.

Vincent may be aware of the multiverse

Firstly-- credit to @XTurkValentine (Twitter) who graciously shared this information with us. They connected with mathematicians and asked them to deduce what was written in Vincent's basement, and what they discovered seems to imply something fascinating about Vincent... According to the math professors who studied this image, Vincent used a mixture of several mathematical equations, including the following: Calculus with integrations, differential equations, summation notations, probability, statistics, complex analysis, physics, etc. What's more interesting is that there's evidence of quantum mechanics. For example: ∫f(ϕ(x))dx: represents integrating a function over a space

P(A)=P(B)P(A∣B): describes conditional probabilities of events

In other words-- this all suggests that Vincent is aware of the multiverse as well as how different events are affected by them. His awareness of how the planet functions may even be similarly in tune with what Sephiroth knows. This further implies that there is a small chance Vincent is also aware of Chaos and his ultimate fate when it comes to the planet's function. Granted, he may not have the whole picture as much of that should still be hidden in Lucrecia's missing files. Nevertheless, if all of this tracks, this implies that Vincent may not be quite as oblivious as he was in Dirge of Cerberus.

[littlelamy]

title: birthday sex with your husband

warnings: 18+, smut

notes୧: alexa play 'in da club'

paris still clings to you—on your skin, in your hair, in the way your body feels weightless from champagne and indulgence, like you’ve been sculpted from something finer, softer, made only for pleasure. rafe made sure of that. from the moment you woke up wrapped in silk sheets to the second he dragged you off the private jet, he’s given you everything.

and now, in the sprawling presidential suite, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the glittering city, he’s about to give you more.

“birthday girl looks so fucking pretty,” rafe murmurs, voice thick, low, vibrating against your skin as he presses you into the massive bed. the air still smells like roses and sex, like the bottle of wine he ordered before he pulled you onto his lap, lips trailing down your neck while he fed you strawberries, one by one. “been spoiling you all day. hm think i gonna ruin you now.”

his fingers trace your thigh, slow, teasing, leaving goosebumps in their wake as he pushes your legs apart. he doesn’t rush—no, he never rushes, not when he has you like this, spread out for him, waiting, wanting.

“what do you think, birthday girl?” he murmurs, teeth grazing your collarbone, lips soothing the bite with a kiss. “you want me to take my time? or you want it rough?”

you whimper, hips rolling up to meet the teasing stroke of his fingers, already slick, already aching. “rough,” you whisper, breathless.

rafe pulls back just enough to look at you, dark amusement flashing in his eyes. “yeah?” his fingers press deeper, teasing, making you writhe. “not very lady-like, is it?” he taunts, smirking as your breath hitches. “but hey, it’s the birthday girl’s choice.”

his words send a fresh wave of heat flooding through you, and you don’t care how desperate you sound when you nod, whimpering, “please, rafe.”

he chuckles, and fuck, it’s sinful, the way he does it, full of dark promise. “gonna need more than that, sweetheart.” his thumb brushes over your clit, featherlight, teasing, making your breath hitch. “use your words.”

“want you,” you gasp, nails digging into his shoulders, legs falling wider as he slides down, kissing a path between your thighs. “need you—need your mouth—”

“that’s my good girl.” his voice is pure sin, all honey and heat, before his tongue replaces his fingers, slow and languid, savoring every moan, every squirm, every desperate pull of his hair as he ruins you with his mouth.

he worships you, the way he always does, but tonight—tonight it’s different. tonight, almost like you’re his birthday gift, and he’s going to unwrap you slowly, thoroughly, until you’re trembling, begging, coming undone beneath him over and over until your body forgets how to do anything but take him.

when he finally slides inside you, stretching you open, filling you to the hilt, his name is the only thing you know how to say, the only thing you can cling to as he fucks you deep, slow at first—just to make you whine, just to hear you plead for more—before his grip tightens and he gives you exactly what you begged for.

hard. deep. devastating.

“mine,” he breathes against your lips, swallowing your moans, rolling his hips just right, hitting every spot that makes you shake. “all fucking mine.”

paris is beautiful, but nothing compares to the way rafe devours you—like you’re the only thing in the world worth celebrating.

edited: going to take a break from this account for a couple days...the last part of catching him cheating is queued for tomorrow around 12 pm! if you need anything ill be on @littlesoulshine <3 as i approach 4k followers i do want to thank every single one of you because i created this account because i was simply in love with rafe and obx and a lot of you have made this community so fun for me and can't thank you enough. i will create a 4k celebration, and on this break, i will finish my requests! OH and please continue to tag me in everything!!!!

tags (lmk if you want to be removed): @rafesbabygirlx @namelesslosers @drewsephrry @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @rafesheaven @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @rafedaddy01 @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah @alivinggirl @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @lil-sparklqueen @rafessweetgirl @esquivelbianca @p45510n4f4shi0n @palomavz @cokewithcameron @donaldsonsgirl @yncoded @lilbunnysfics @solaceluna @icaqttt @alphabetically-deranged @bevstofu @wintercrows

[helvegen-s]

a flat white and a sharp tongue

an Oscar Piastri one-shot

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

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

Warnings: slow burn, teasing, banter, mild language

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

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

masterlist

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

He hadn’t regretted it.

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

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

And then, there was the cat.

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

Everything had been perfect.

Until the calm had been shattered.

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

The cat bolted from his lap.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"So stingy."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Aren’t you tired of so much sugar?"

"I never get tired of the good stuff."

He scoffed but started preparing the drink.

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

Then, he felt it.

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

Instinctively, he knew what was coming.

Footsteps approached.

"I haven’t seen you here before."

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

"Hmm."

"That’s all you’re going to say?"

"I’m busy."

She let out a small laugh.

"Of course, you are."

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

Oscar shut his book with a snap.

She smiled.

"Now you’re looking at me."

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

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

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

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

Oscar felt a headache forming.

Something told him his peace had just ended.

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

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

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

He had no response.

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

"Are you seriously reading this?"

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

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

She tilted her head, as if evaluating him.

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

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

She laughed again.

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

Oscar clenched his jaw.

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

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

"Stop bothering the customers."

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

She turned her head, pouting exaggeratedly.

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

Oscar stared at her, unblinking.

"No."

She let out a delighted laugh.

"See? He adores me."

Her brother sighed and nodded toward the counter.

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

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

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

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

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

She didn’t wait for a response.

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

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

He exhaled slowly.

His peace was definitely over.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oscar tried to ignore her. He really did.

But Elaine wasn’t someone who could be ignored.

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

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

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

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

“So, that’s a no.”

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

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

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

“I’m busy.”

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

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

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

The cat.

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

Great.

And then, another day.

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

“Do you like watching yourself drive?”

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

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

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

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

“Do you really have nothing better to do?”

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

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

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

Oscar exhaled slowly.

This was becoming a damn habit.

Different day, same problem.

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

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

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

“You’re not going to win.”

“It’s a cat.”

“A cat with a lot of character.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Elaine shrugged. “House rules.”

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

One evening, Elaine did something completely unexpected.

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

“So, tell me about the car.”

Oscar barely looked up. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

So he gave her one.

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

Elaine listened. Really listened.

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

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

He sat back abruptly, fingers tightening around his cup.

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

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

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

Oscar hesitated before nodding. “Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

Elaine didn’t change after that conversation.

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

But something shifted in Oscar.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He merely shrugged, clicking through his data sheets.

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

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

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

But reality had started to change.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why do you study history?”

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

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

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

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

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

Oscar’s eye twitched.

“I’m rescinding the question.”

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

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

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

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

Huh. So that’s how it starts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oscar considered that. Considered her, for that matter.

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

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

And more like a habit.

That day, the café felt… different.

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

And yet…

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

Elaine wasn’t there.

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

"You're frowning."

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

"I'm not frowning."

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

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

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

Her brother raised an eyebrow, clearly amused.

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

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

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

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

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

Oscar’s eye twitched. “I’m not—”

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

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

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

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

Not because he wanted her to walk in. Obviously.

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

Oscar was busy.

Too busy to think about insignificant things.

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

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

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

Not that he’d noticed her absence.

Not at all.

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

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

Which meant Oscar could—should—walk away.

Instead, his feet remained stubbornly in place.

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

That realization alone was enough to irritate him.

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

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

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

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

"Yes, but I was less charming then."

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

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

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

Oscar crossed his arms. "Fancy that."

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

"Not remotely," he deadpanned.

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

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

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

That caught his attention. "Oh."

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

"Did you pass?"

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

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

A beat passed, and then—

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

"Admit what?"

"That you missed me."

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

"Hmm. Unremarkable. Much like your presence."

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

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

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

Without thinking about it, they started walking together.

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

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

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

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

Elaine shrugged. “I improvise.”

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

“You’re not feeding an army.”

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

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

To another stall.

And another.

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

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

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

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

“No.”

Elaine hummed. “Boring.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They stared at each other for a beat.

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

Oscar scoffed. “You tricked me.”

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

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

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

Elaine turned left. Oscar turned left.

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

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

Oscar did the same.

They walked a few more meters in silence.

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

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

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

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

Elaine huffed. “I live nearby.”

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

Then, with an unspoken agreement, they resumed walking.

Turned a corner.

Kept going.

Another turn.

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

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

Oscar blinked. “You live above the café?”

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

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

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

Oscar simply shrugged. “Apparently.”

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

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

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

He smirked.

Just a little.

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

Then, with unrestrained glee, she pointed at him.

“A-ha!”

Oscar blinked. “What?”

“You almost smiled!”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.”

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

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

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

Oscar rolled his eyes.

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

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

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

Which was weird.

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

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

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

Oscar frowned. “It’s efficient.”

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

“You’re hopeless.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And?”

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

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

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

It felt warm.

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

“Okay,” he said. “Sure.”

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

“Hope you like chaos.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You actually cook?” he asked, skeptical.

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

“You just don’t seem like the type.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Elaine scoffed. “Boring.”

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

“Because I am a generous and forgiving person.”

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

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

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

Oscar blinked, caught off guard. “Help?”

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

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

“Oh, I fully intend to.”

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

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

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

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

Neither of them acknowledged it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You like it.”

“It’s edible.”

“You love it.”

Oscar sighed. “I tolerate it.”

Elaine laughed, kicking him lightly under the table.

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

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

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

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

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

Oscar, against all odds, found himself enjoying it.

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

And somehow, he wasn’t annoyed by it.

If anything, he was listening. Actually listening.

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

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

The cat meowed, offended by the accusation.

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

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

He cleared his throat, shaking the thought away.

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

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “High praise.”

“You should feel honored.”

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

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

Next time.

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

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

It was just a fact.

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

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

“Wait. Are you actually—”

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

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

Oscar frowned. “One of what?”

“A man written by a woman.”

He gave her a blank stare. “What?”

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

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

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

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

Elaine had never seen that before.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…The past.”

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

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

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

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

“And you have the hobbies of a dad.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Not in the slightest.”

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

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

“Move it, slowpoke!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Elaine.

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

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

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

Oscar sighed. “Don’t start.”

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

Elaine grinned back. “Flatterer.”

Oscar shot him a look. “Lando.”

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

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

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

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

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

Oscar frowned. “Elaine.”

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

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

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

Oscar didn’t answer.

Lando’s grin widened. “You like her.”

“I don’t.”

“Mmhmm.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He ignored it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lando smirked. “A little.”

She snorted. “Very funny.”

The conversation moved on.

But apparently, Oscar hadn’t.

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

Elaine wasn’t a morning person.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oscar sighed. “Just open it.”

So she did.

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

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

Elaine blinked. Then blinked again.

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

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

“For Zandvoort.”

“Yep.”

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

“You thought I wouldn’t?”

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

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

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

She looked back at Oscar, expression stunned.

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

Elaine just… stared at him.

Then, slowly, a grin spread across her face.

“Did you just bribe me with museums?”

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

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

Her chest felt strangely warm.

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

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

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

Oscar had never walked so much in his life.

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

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

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

Elaine gasped. “Blasphemy.”

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

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

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

Then came the canal walk.

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

For a while, he just listened.

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

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

Elaine raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“You like drama.”

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

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

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

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

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

Oscar grinned.

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

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

Oscar considered. Then—“Dinner.”

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

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

“Debatable,” she muttered.

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

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

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

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

Neither of them mentioned it.

Neither of them needed to.

Dinner had been good. Simple, but good.

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

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

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

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

She liked to talk. He liked to listen.

It worked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Instead, Elaine just… walked in after him.

He blinked. “What—?”

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

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

Elaine snapped her fingers. “Right! So—”

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

He considered kicking her out.

Then he considered how much energy that would take.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mmhm,” she hummed, eyes half-closed.

“You should go.”

Silence.

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

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

Right.

Well.

That settled that, then.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right. The armchair.

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

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

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

“It’s not a pull-out couch.”

“Whatever, it looks uncomfortable.”

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

Elaine, apparently, was not.

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

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

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

Oscar hesitated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He exhaled slowly, staring at the ceiling.

Maybe if he just stayed perfectly still—

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

“Oscar,” she murmured.

He closed his eyes, feigning sleep.

“I know you’re awake.”

Damn it.

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

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

“I’m fine.”

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

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

Elaine, ever perceptive, saw straight through him.

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

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

Oscar froze.

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

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

That’s the problem, Oscar wanted to say.

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

She wasn’t teasing him this time.

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

Oscar swallowed.

It was nice.

That was the worst part.

Slowly, hesitantly, he let himself breathe.

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

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

Eventually, her movements slowed.

Then, they stilled entirely.

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

Oscar exhaled, staring up at the ceiling again.

He was still wide awake.

The next day felt… different.

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

But something had shifted.

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

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

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

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

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

Like now.

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

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

It wasn’t intentional. Probably.

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

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

Oscar didn’t either.

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

But neither of them moved.

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

And Oscar should not be thinking about it this much.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And two: he was completely, utterly screwed.

And when night came, Elaine was doing it again.

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

Except tonight, she wasn’t talking.

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

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

Oscar didn’t say anything about it.

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

Still silent.

Still watching.

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

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

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

Something she hadn’t noticed before.

Something she liked.

And that was dangerous.

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

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

Oscar snorted. “Unlikely.”

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

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

But she paused.

Turned back.

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

Her touch sent something electric down his spine.

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

But it wasn’t just a comment.

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

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

His throat felt dry. “Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oscar, of course, noticed immediately.

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

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

“You have a paddock pass.”

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

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

“I don’t know anyone.”

“You know Lando.”

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

Oscar checked his watch. “Media duties.”

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

“Because I actually have things to do.”

“Rude.”

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

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

She felt ridiculous.

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

Oscar snorted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She was learning.

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

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

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

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

That last part was not ideal.

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

Except—he had looked for her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oscar raised a brow. “Not my fault.”

“Isn’t it, though?” she teased.

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

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

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

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

And then came that moment.

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

Their eyes met.

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

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

Oscar smirked.

She immediately took a step back.

“Good job,” she muttered, arms crossing.

“Thanks.” His voice was lower, rougher.

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

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

Elaine exhaled. Crisis averted.

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

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

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

What was surprising was how everyone else seemed to notice.

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

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

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

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

The others noticed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And no one said anything.

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

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

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

Silence.

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

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

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

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

Still, no one said anything.

No need.

It was only a matter of time.

Everything was a blur.

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

P2. A podium.

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

Elaine.

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

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

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

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

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

And then—

There she was.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His chest tightened.

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

Her gaze flickered downward, just for a second.

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

Someone called his name. Without thinking, he turned.

Their lips brushed.

The world stilled.

Elaine barely had time to react.

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

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

She never got to finish.

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

This time, it wasn’t an accident.

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

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

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

Then—

The garage erupted.

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

Elaine barely had time to process it before—

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jesus, Elaine.”

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

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

“Shut up.”

Then she smirked. “Make me.”

So he did.

@smoooothoperator @freyathehuntress @gold66loveblog @hadesnumber1daughter

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

ALSO IF YOU MADE IT THIS FAR, TALK TO ME. I DON'T HAVE FRIENDS WHO LIKE F1 AND I FEEL LONELY. THIS IS A SERIOUS CALL FOR HELP.

[norrissm]

⌗ the art of latte hearts — ln4

barista!lando. fluff. lando makes latte art hearts on your drinks — upon confrontation, he stumbles over an awkward confession. you and i by tom speight. ★ LIBRARY

you were a regular at the cafe. lando had noticed the first time you walked in. “a vanilla latte please,” you’d said.

the ding of the overhead bell of the door at exactly 9 o'clock in the morning, the exasperated look in your eyes before the coffee would kick in, ordering the same drink - sometimes swapping in an americano too - he knew it all too well.

the moment when you’d leave, muttering a “thanks lando” turning around to leave with a smile, he felt like he’d do this forever if that meant hearing his name from your lips.

and when it starts happening, lando doesn't know either. hands carefully, almost absentmindedly, drew a heart on your coffee, passing it to you as a confession spoken in the quiet, unknown to you.

max had noticed it nonetheless. wiping the mugs one day he’d said “mate she either has no clue or is waiting for you to up your game.” lando had feigned innocence calling it a ‘baseless allegation’ before chucking a cloth at him.

it got him thinking that night. did you see it simply as latte art?

it took your friend nothing to ruin lando’s day a few days later. pointing out the heart to you. “how’s it he makes hearts for you and this,” she motioned at her coffee. “this rather amazing tulip on mine?”

you’d never paid attention to this before, choosing to peacefully live with the fact that your barista crush made hearts on your coffee and not ruin your mood by being nosy enough to see if he did with others.

“i’m sure that’s a procedure for them. y’know latte art.”

“no, latte hearts,” she emphasised beckoning over to the other cups littered across the cafe. flowers, smiles and even some swirls but no hearts in sight.

“it’s textbook barista flirting.” she said. “and i know you fancy the curly-haired too. might as well do something about it y’know.” eyes wide over the rim of the coffee mug.

which is why you found yourself at the counter again. having finished the latte waiting for lando to be done with an order. max had excused himself from the register to take over, ushering him away from the matcha he was working with.

lando straightened up seeing you again. “another latte?” he asked. a charming smile adorning his face.

oh, how you loved this smile. the reason you kept coming back to this cafe, a solid 20-minute walk from your dorm. worth it you’d think.

“another latte heart?” you teased. lando blinks. “what?”

“you seem to be enjoying practising latte hearts on my coffee.” you gesture to your coffee. lando laughs, a little too quickly. “pfft, no, it’s just, uh—just muscle memory, y’know? been making a lot of hearts lately.”

“only on my drinks, though,” you counter, raising an eyebrow. “seems like a very specific muscle memory.”

“okay, yeah, um… so, funny thing…” he scratches the back of his neck, cheeks dusted pink. “it’s kind of a—i don’t know—stupid barista crush thing? i started doing it without thinking, and then i thought maybe you’d notice, but then you didn’t, and i just… kept doing it?” he exhales sharply, shaking his head. “wow, that sounds weird out loud.”

the words hang between you, and he looks like he wants to crawl under the counter. you bite back a smile. “oh? and what if i like you too?” lando blinks. “wait—really?”

you tap the mug with a finger. “yeah. maybe you could’ve tried, i don’t know, using words instead of milk foam?”

he grins, boyish and bright. “okay. how about this—can i take you out sometime?”

you pretend to think for a second, just to see him squirm. then, with a sip of your coffee, you smile.

“i’d like that.”

reblog and follow 3 all rights reserved ©️norrissm please do not copy, save, or translate my stories.

[milunalupin]

— every little thing she does

james potter x reader ★ 1k words

part two to all-american <3

The last plate clinked onto the counter, signaling the end of your shift. You wiped your hands on your apron and slung your coat over your shoulder, ready to head out. The diner had quieted down after the usual dinner rush, and the last few stragglers were finishing their meals. It had been a long, tiring evening, but the thought of curling up with a book at home made the exhaustion feel worth it.

“Hey, someone’s here for you,” Amelia, your coworker, sang through the order window, her voice bubbling with excitement. You had just changed out of your uniform, coat in hand as you had been preparing to leave when the other waitress had called out to you.

"Who?" you asked, already pulling your bag over your shoulder.

Amelia's grin widened, her gaze flicking toward the diner’s large front window. “A cute guy—dark hair, tall, looks like he’s been standing out there forever, poor thing. He’s got this bouquet, too.” She said the last part like it was a secret, her tone playful.

Before you could ask any more questions, Amelia was already grinning at you, clearly enjoying the surprise. “He looks like he’s waiting for you. You better go check it out, girl.”

James is wet.

So is the bouquet of (flowers) he'd conjured up to present to you. He’d been standing in the pouring rain for what felt like ages, the excitement of seeing you mingling with the nerves that made his stomach flutter. It had been exactly one week since he’d been blessed with your existence, and every moment since had been a mix of longing and exhilaration.

“James!” The call pulled him from his thoughts. He was suddenly yanked by his sleeve out of the rain and under the diner’s striped awning, his heart racing as he finally saw you.

Your name escaped his lips in a lovesick sigh, his eyes drinking in the sight of you. You stood there with your cheeks flushed from the warmth of the diner compared to the chill of the rain outside. Specks of mascara freckled the skin under your eyes, and stray curls framed your face, having escaped from your fallen ponytail. You looked utterly enchanting, and for a moment, he forgot all about the rain.

“James, you’re soaked!” you exclaimed, laughter dancing in your voice as you took in his disheveled appearance. The bouquet of flowers, though a little worse for wear, still held a certain charm, droplets of rain glistening on the petals.

“I'll dry off sooner or later,” he replied, his voice a bit sheepish as he offered the bouquet, the flowers bobbing slightly in the drizzle. “They’re not exactly at their best, but—”

You cut him off with a laugh, gently taking the flowers and cradling them against your chest. “They’re lovely, thank you. I can't believe you actually showed up with flowers.”

“Anything for you,” he said, his tone earnest as he looked deep into your eyes.

“Well are you going to stand there all day, or are you taking me somewhere?” you teased, a playful smile on your lips.

“Right! I have a plan,” he said, recovering quickly.

“Alright then, lead the way!” you laughed, slipping your arm through his as he guided you away from the awning and back into the rain.

The two of you made your way to a cozy bar tucked away on a side street, its warm glow inviting you inside. As you entered, the atmosphere wrapped around you like a comforting blanket, the chatter of patrons and the clinking of glasses creating a welcoming ambiance. You found a booth in the back by the fireplace, the low lighting and rustic décor making it feel instantly relaxed. James ordered drinks—two warm ciders to warm you both up—and you smiled as he walked back to your table, his easy demeanor making your heart flutter.

"So, tell me," James said, leaning forward slightly, his hands wrapped around his mug. "You’re American, right? But you’ve been living in London for a while now, that’s got to be a big change."

You smiled at the sudden curiosity in his voice, feeling that familiar question coming. "Yeah, I moved here a couple of months ago for work, and it's been great so far."

“Work, huh?” James raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “That’s a bit of a jump from home. I mean, interesting that you’d move all the way here.. for an American-themed diner?”

You caught yourself for a moment, then laughed, shaking your head. "No, I'm just there a few nights a week. I work in.. foreign affairs. Just paperwork and stuff, really boring. Anyway, I’d much rather hear about you."

As you settled into conversation, the rain outside continued to fall softly, creating a comforting backdrop. James talked animatedly about his friends and personal life, his passion evident in every word. You listened, captivated by the way he shared stories of his teammates and their antics, his laughter infectious.

And then, just as you were lost in the rhythm of his words, something unexpected happened. He was telling a particularly funny story about his roommate's antics when his hand shot out to emphasize a point, accidentally knocking his cider glass precariously close to the edge of the table. It wobbled, teetered, and in an instant, it was almost on its way to disaster.

Instinctively, you reached out, your hand brushing against his as you tried to save the glass. The cider glass wavered, frozen in the air as if it, too, was caught in the shock of the moment. It felt as though time slowed—each second stretching longer than the last—as you locked eyes, both of you startled, your heart racing from the unexpected moment.

It wasn’t just the shock of nearly spilling the cider—it was the awareness that you were caught. And as the glass, finally steady, settled back into its place, the room seemed to sigh with relief.

"Was that you or me?" he asked, a playful grin spreading across his face.

A laugh bubbled up from your chest. There was a magic in the air—one that felt entirely different from the spells you knew.

James grinned, his voice laced with mischief. “Well, I did promise the night would be magical.”

[richardsphere]

actually, while i agree with nearly everything here. Marinette did not "sneak into his home". Her, Nathalie, and Adrien (and technically Placide) co-conspired for her to be there as his moral support in a difficult time in the only way that she, or anyone was allowed to be there for him. All the 3 people actually living in the Agreste Mansion willingly accepted and assisted in her presence. I would hardly call that "sneaking". (unless you're looking at it from Emil's POV, in which case... my answer is simply: fuck that guy) Everything else stands. But the implication that her one, singular act this season that was a legitimately good showing of her willingness to emotionally support her BF should not be warped this way. That episode gets all sorts of fucked up later with her: -engaging the "trophy to be won" metaphor at face level, -never explicitly refuting the notion he was an item to be won, -ignoring 5 lucky charms telling her to get help only to settle on the Scarf of Lies, -beating all claimants and "winning" his ownership, -Not bothering to give him even the dignity of being a damnsel-in-distress for her to save and murdering him instead of even bothering to liberate him from his prison, (like... for all he's Fairytale Princess coded... fairytale princesses still get to be considered "worth saving". Adrien doesnt even have that!) -then speaking for him in the final denouément with the Vanillies, instead of having Adrien speak up for himself... Which all settles in a final lesson that Adrien doesnt deserve to make his own decisions but instead deserves to be "owned" by Marinette (through legal proxy of Nathalie) like... that episode is far from perfect, but technically speaking, she did not "sneak" her way in, for all purposes she was invited by Adrien and Nathalie or at least offered to help and Adrien and Nathalie chose to let her of their own free will. Lets hate her for the things she did not the things we imagine she very easily could've. Claiming that Mari "snuck" her way in denies one of only two bits of agency Adrien has had so far this season (accepting her help in Werepapas, Refusing to attend the girl's slumberparty in Daddycop). So that distinction kind of matters (at least to me).

Honestly, in my opinion, Marinette saying she doesn't trust Chat Noir for THIS reason did nothing but VALIDATE Alya in her anger.

Cause all that Marinette actually says to Alya here is that Marinette doesn't want Chat Noir to know because she thinks it's way too likely that Chat wouldn't stand for that lie either and not knowing who the boy underneath Chat's mask is would leave Marinette helpless if Chat were to flip her off and just decide to tell Adrien the truth as civilian behind her back.

Like, that's literally all Marinette said to Alya here. Even if she probably didn't even realize it, it nothing but VALIDATED Alya in her opinion that telling Adrien is the right thing to do because now she being told by Marinette that Chat would side with her, ALYA, and not Ladybug if he knew.

So from Alya's perspective, it's Marinette vs both of her partners who she deliberately keeps in the dark BECAUSE she suspects they wouldn't agree with her.

Which is ironic cause Alya started this conversations asking if this is a Ladybug and Chat Noir vs Rena Rouge situation, only to find out it's Chat Noir and Rena Rouge vs Ladybug.

[ghostlandtoo]

thinking about the abandonment issues present in every member of the buckley-diaz lineage…

1) buck. like, obviously, number 1 is buck. we don’t have to rehash this. we all know. familial, romantic, and platonic—that man bas been abandoned by many and it has deeply affected his psyche. NEXT!

2) christopher. he also has abandonment issues—mostly stemming from shannon leaving and her death, but from eddie as well. eddie did miss out of the early years of his life, and chris might not remember that as clearly as shannon being gone, but he did tell eddie “i miss you all the time.” and now, he’s been in texas for however many months, and while that’s so his own choice, he can still feel abandoned by the fact that eddie took so long to move/make a decision regarding that. additionally, his brief period two-timing middle schoolers because they end up leaving anyway. we can attach his ideas about dating to eddie’s series of failed relationships.

3) eddie. firstly because of his dad not being present while he was growing up. and then because shannon left him. i thought you were coming back. shannon’s death right after she asked for a divorce means eddie’s grief is such a complicated thing, and he never had to come to terms with the fact that she wanted to willfully leaving him (and chris) again, besides the fact that she left them by dying. and we can say that during the lawsuit arc, eddie also felt abandoned by buck! he needed buck during that time, but buck separated himself from the entire 118, but eddie and chris specifically.

4) bobby. honestly he’s right up there with buck, but this latest episode really let us see how his dad’s death and his mom walking out on them deeply affected bobby. “i will not apologizing for leaving,” his mom says, about 40 years after the act and knowing what bobby has gone through since. (and whatever you may think about bobby forgiving her, it is both the show’s MO to forgive, and also bobby is an alcoholic in a 12-steps program. he forgives.) we see in s1 especially that his self-worth and his history effects what he thinks he can bring to relationships, even friendships, and how he closed himself off from them.

i think the show has shown all of them working through this, even if christopher and eddie are still in the middle of this emotional arc. buck still has his emotional reactions to him perceiving being left, and knows that and works to right it. bobby has forgiven his mom and dad in a way that works for him and his recovery. so on buck’s side of the family tree, they’ve worked through their issues to some degree.

now the diaz side… shannon truly haunts eddie and chris’ relationship, in the way that they’ve never talked about her directly to each other. it’s eddie passing a letter along, it’s christopher running away instead of talking. it’s something that they need to actively address with each other, rather than letting her hang over their necks.

i’ve always loved how bobby and eddie are mirrors of each other with the same grief, and it’s interesting to me with how they’re mirrored with bobby believing his mom would come back and eddie believing shannon would, too. eddie might have worked through some of that grief with kim-as-shannon but it’s still there, because he’s never dealt with how it affected christopher. “she left me, not him,” he asserted to everyone (the same way ann left tim but not bobby, since bobby chose to stay), but that doesn’t change the fact that christopher was left too.

and from what we know about the show and how it handles these topics, it probably won’t be the same as every fanfic of eddie and chris cutting helena and ramon (eddie would not.), and them having complicated feelings over shannon and each other, but the nuance is already there in how these issues run through the family, and how they’re everpresent in their narrative and character foils.

[aikrus]

rated mature

Seeing him again and knowing you will end up in his bed; ending up in his bed and knowing you will have to walk out the door He knows he can't be with you, not in the ways you deserve to be-the ways he's already failed you- but he can service you like this. You should be so much more than his, but he'd give up the world to be your lover

"We can't keep doing this," his arms are trembling as they cage you in on either side.

"I know."

His head tilts back, and you can see his throat bob heavily as he swallows- "You feel so good."

"I know," you pant and try to focus on breathing, only letting air in and out.

He rocks forward again, using a hand to tilt your waist as he hits deeper inside of you.

"Fuck!"

The room's dark, but you can see most of his face. The lines are gone, most of the slight twitches that tell you easily how he feels; but his eyes are there looking down at you like they always have.

His hips twitch, but he manages to keep his pace when you lock your ancles behind him.

You can feel him inside you, throbbing and desperate in a way that reminds you so purely of the man snaking his fingers between your thighs.

You try and fail not to let the pathetic little cries free from you, as he deftly parted your lower folds-diligently gathering the natural lubricant already pooling out of you-and began to toy with your clit.

Circling around it, dragging his nail lightly on the side most covered by the hood, he lovingly dropped from his posted hand to his forearm- narrowing the distance enough to meet your lips together.

The head of his dick scrapes against your walls, deliberately driving you towards delirium.

"You can let go, love," he purrs into your ear and the next thrust has him hitting the delicious spot inside you that makes you cry.

"Oh- oh," you tangle your fingers in his hair and pull him against you, "my god."

"So pretty," he hits it again

"So beautiful," like it's a magnet he doesn't even have to try anymore

"My gorgeous girl," your squeezing around him, and you can feel his free hand reach behind your head and stabilize your neck.

His head is buried in your neck nearly as purposefully as his dick pistons into you.

His lips tremble against your sensitive skin and you can't tell if it's that or the circling finger assaulting your clit that has tears falling from your eyes.

It doesn't take long for the lips to move from your neck to your face, drinking up your tears and his tongue snaking out to scoop up whatever he can't kiss away.

He wouldn't be letting you cum any time soon, but it would be worth it when you did. You'd go together; you always had.

a gift for aizawa shouta, bakugou katsuki, keigo tamaki, or midoriya izuku fuckers <3

[emeraldserenade]

Request time! I’m sick rn so can you please write about Joaquin taking care of reader when she’s sick? like bringing her soup in bed or smth and just being sweet </3

Sick Day Love ~ Joaquín Torres

synopsis: you get sick and Joaquín takes care of you.

tw: fem!reader, none?, barely edited.

fic, ficlet, drabble, request

I hope you get better soon and I hope this is what you hoped for.

➽──────────────❥

You should have known you were getting sick, you had a headache and running nose for days. You thought nothing of it, just maybe you were working too hard. Joaquín, of course, noticed how you were sluggish and the amount of nose blowing you were doing.

It wasn't until you woke up one morning, the sun making your head pound and the previously running nose now stuffed. Your small groan of discomfort woke your boyfriend, he was immediately trying to help. He helped you up from the bed and to the bathroom, per your request.

You spent your day in bed, Joaquín had run to the store to get you medicine, tissues, and anything else you might need. He made sure you were comfortable, boxes of soft tissues around you with a trashcan next to your bed just for you. Joaquín had tried to stay in bed with you, but you told him to leave because you didn't want to get him sick.

"Angel, I made you caldo de pollo, if you're hungry," Joaquín walked in holding a bowl that had steam coming from it. He walked over to you and you gratefully took the bowl from him as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. Joaquín tried to get in bed with you but you protested.

"Joaquín, amor, I don't wanna get you sick. You should go watch something or play a game," you scooted away from him but he just pulled you back towards him. He rested his head on your shoulder as he rubbed gentle circles on your back. Between the soup and the warmth coming from Joaquín, you felt fully relaxed. "You're going to get sick," you mumbled, a feeble attempt to get him to leave as you placed the, now empty, bowl of soup on the bedside table.

"If I get sick from cuddling with you, then it will be worth it," Joaquín told you and you finally relented, letting Joaquín fully pull you to him.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

"Amor, I told you, you were going to get sick," you stood at the foot of the bed. Joaquín had woken up feeling horrible only a few days after you got better. So now it was your turn to take care of him.

"And I told you that it would be worth it," Joaquín told you, it was unfair, where you were struggling to breathe, his nose was fine. But unlike you, he was nauseous, so you decided that maybe you were lucky after all. "Come back to bed, Angel," Joaquín held both of his hands out to you and you sighed.

"God, we are just going to pass whatever this is back and forth," you told him but crawled into bed to lay with him anyway.

➽──────────────❥

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