#but that might just be me having a little bit of hope for the first time in a while lmaoo. bleak !!

[fawniswriting]

Before I Could Say It

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Synopsis: The three times Bucky almost confessed his love to you, and the one time he finally does.

Word Count: 5.9k

Warning(s): can be read as gn!reader bcs I didn't use any gender-specific words (pls advise me if this isn't true). canon divergence. no use of Y/N. use of the nicknames sugar and sweetheart. insecure thoughts. bucky feeling like he's not good enough. unrequited love (or is it?). alcohol consumption. a bit hurt/comfort. profanities. use of weaponry, including but not limited to guns and knives. depictions of violence, blood, injuries, and murder. (near) death experience. angst. fluff. open ending.

Author's Note: Hii guys. I know I should be focusing all of my energy on Faithfully Yours right now, but I had the idea for this story and just couldn't pass it up!! We have a bit of an open ending here. I wasn't planning on making a part two but I'll see what the general consensus say and will decide whether or not a part two is due from the responses. anywayy hope you enjoy this one xx don't forget to comment, like, and reblog!!

When Bucky tried to think about the beginning, his mind always drew a blank.

It had been five years since the first time destiny orchestrated your paths to cross, six if one were to count the one-year cryogenic sleep that Bucky spent in Wakanda. The Soldat met you first, back when you, Steve, Sam, and Nat fought him on that highway shoot-out that revealed his identity. After that, you were everywhere—in Bucharest with Steve to coax him out of hiding, on the tarmac battle where you went against half of your own family for his sake, and even in Wakanda, where your eyes became one of the last pairs he saw before his body succumbed to the unforgiving clutches of darkness.

And when he was finally woken up, you were there, too, waiting for him.

Since then, Bucky struggled to remember a time when you weren't there. You supervised his deprogramming in Wakanda, becoming Steve's eyes and ears while the Captain roamed the world as both a fugitive and a vigilante. When the Sokovia Accords turned void, and the scientists in Wakanda assured Bucky that his mind wasn't going to betray his heart anymore, you took him back to New York, offering solace in the form of your warmth pressing against his side on the plane ride to the States. 

Even once the two of you landed on the compound's grounds, you never strayed too far—standing between Bucky and a begrudging Tony as if you were ready to launch yourself forward should the billionaire try to do anything untoward. As if the ruthless Winter Soldier needed a human shield to prevent him from shattering into fragile little pieces.

Before Bucky knew it, his entire routine—his entire life—became you.

From your morning spar sessions in the gym, the long walks around Brooklyn in the afternoon, to the weekly movie nights that you roped him into in the name of reacquainting him with pop culture—everything in Bucky’s life started to shape and smell like you. 

It was a constant. 

You were Bucky’s new constant.

And somewhere along the way, Bucky’s little troublemaker of a heart decided, once and for all, to anchor itself to yours.

True to his fashion, Steve was the first person to notice. All of the lingering touches and longing glances, the hard-etched lines of Bucky’s countenance that seemed to soften every time you were near—they spoke of an affection beyond a mere loyalty one might harbor for their teammate. It spoke of love, one that was so unadulteratedly pure and raw that Steve was sure there was no room left in the crevices of Bucky’s heart where a piece of you didn’t reside in.

“You’ve gotta say something, Buck,” Steve said to Bucky one evening.

The two of them were standing in the convention hall of a lavish hotel deep in the heart of Manhattan, surrounded by a guestlist of people that Bucky was assured were some of the most influential figures of the twenty-first century. People tried to swarm him since the moment he entered the party, shoving business cards to his face and dropping names that Bucky knew should have meant something to him. He paid none of them any mind—not when his eyes immediately found you in that sea of ties and ball gowns, just like a moth enticed to a flame.

You were all dolled up for the night, wearing a fancy little number that screams you if only with a little bit of additional sparkles sprinkled on top. Bucky watched you move through the ocean of people, confidence oozing out of every step, a blinding smile as you received each handshake with an indisputable poise. Bucky’s head whipped towards your direction at every echo of laughter, searching for the source, drinking in your infectious glee as if it were the only way to sustain the rhythmic beating of his heart.

Bucky shifted in his feet, Steve’s unprompted advice forcing him to tear his eyes away from where you were standing by Natasha’s side. The blond beside him smiled knowingly, a teasing yet sincere tilt in his voice as he added, “You’ve gotta tell at some point, pal. Better sooner rather than later.”

The line in Bucky’s jaw ticked. He brought the glass of champagne to his lips, tipping the drink back as though the liquid stood a chance against his enhanced metabolism. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Buck.”

“Punk.”

The Captain sighed, reaching for a drink of his own. “At least ask for a dance, will you?”

Before Bucky could register what was happening, Steve had shoved Bucky forward, sending him stumbling forth towards the direction of your canorous laughter. Steve hid his amused smile behind his drink when Bucky flipped him the finger, the latter continuing his steps on wobbly feet, trying to ignore the pounding travelling up his bloodstreams.

“Hey, Bucky,” you greeted as soon as he had reached you. The smile on your face could rival the sun even on its brightest day, and Bucky prayed to every divine being in the universe that he could be on the receiving end of that smile for the rest of his days.

“Barnes.” Natasha nodded. 

“Hey, guys. What’s up?” Bucky attempted a smile, tugging at the ridiculous material of his bow tie that Tony had insisted him to wear. In fact, Tony was the one who forced Bucky to attend this whole shindig in the first place—something about showing a united front to prove to the public that there was no bad blood within the Avengers’ team. 

It was a shit ton of bullshit, in Bucky’s opinion.

But at least, the party gave him a chance to see you all dressed up to the nines.

“Nothing much.” You shrugged, tilting your head slightly to the side. “Did you need something?”

“No. I mean, I do. I was, um, wondering—” Bucky cleared his throat, “—I actually wanted to see if you’d care to join me for a dance?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Bucky saw Natasha’s eyes widen slightly. The redhead immediately scurried to the side, feigning interest in the tower of chocolate fondue just a couple of feet away.

Bucky’s heart nearly leaped out of his chest when you extended your palm towards him. “I would love to, Buck. Lead the way.”

Your fingers emitted warmth inside his hand, and for a moment, Bucky faltered. He kept his composure enough to guide you through the sea of couples on the dancefloor, willing the erratic thumping in his chest to quieten down as he pulled you flush against his body. The scent of your perfume slithered through the air, filling Bucky’s lungs, attacking each part of his senses until everything Bucky saw, heard, smelled, and felt was you.

“You look beautiful tonight, Sugar.”

The admission tumbled from his lips before Bucky had a chance to stop them, before he could thoroughly process the implications of such candor. You didn’t seem to mind, though. Instead, your persistent smile widened ever so slightly, your eyes twinkling under the glimmering lights of the chandelier hanging from the ceiling.

“Why, you look plenty dashing yourself, Bucky.” You hummed appreciatively, raking your eyes up and down Bucky’s suit-clad figure. “I must say, I was sad to see your long hair gone, but this looks great as well.”

Your fingers skimmed the hard contour of Bucky’s shoulder, leaving goosebumps on their wake, before sneaking through the short tendrils on the nape of his neck. He fought off a groan at the contact, the heavenly feeling of your fingers tugging at his hair sending shivers all throughout his body. Meanwhile, you were still smiling up at him all sweetly, completely oblivious to the rush of heat that you delivered through Bucky’s entire being.

“Sugar,” the nickname fell off Bucky’s lips in a low grunt, and for the first time that night, your composure staggered. 

Your breath hitched around a squeak when Bucky managed to tug you closer, circling his arms around your waist until there was barely room for air between both of your bodies. All around you, the world ceased to exist. The only thing that remained were your bated breaths, a raucous disruption through the electric field buzzing between where you and Bucky were pressed against one another. 

“I need to tell you something,” Bucky revealed, his voice low and sheer, stripped by unease and something akin to fear. 

Your forehead furrowed, undoubtedly sensing the trepidation shining out of the blue of Bucky’s eyes. “What’s the matter, Buck?”

Your palm landed on his stubbled cheek, and Bucky had to fight the urge to lean in, to chase more of your warmth like you were an oasis in the middle of his desert of a life. He grappled for the confession to come, for the feelings in his chest to solidify into something comprehensible. All Bucky had to do was open his mouth and seize the moment.

But just as quickly as it had arrived, the moment splintered through his fingertips.

“Good evening, everyone!”

Bucky's whole body jerked in surprise, his accusatory eyes instantly finding the MC standing on the stage at the front of the room. The music had stopped, replaced by the MC's welcoming remarks addressed towards a dozen supposedly prominent names that Bucky couldn't care less about.

“Hey, let's go find a seat,” you suggested, circling your tender fingers around Bucky's wrist before leading him through the maze of tables.

The two of you sat down just in time for Tony to deliver his opening speech as a representative of the Avengers. You glanced at Bucky in the middle of Tony's heartfelt sentiment about “shaping the future”, your hand finding Bucky's flesh one on his thigh, unaware of the kind of turmoil you have summoned from a single touch.

“You okay, Bucky?” you asked, squeezing his hand. “What was it that you wanted to tell me?”

I wanted to tell you that I love you, Bucky's heart echoed. I don't know when it started, and I don't know how, all I know is that you're every good thing that I have going on in my life.

Bucky's throat tightened.

He never ended up saying the words out loud. Instead, he smiled thinly. “It's not important, sweetheart. I'll tell you later.”

You assessed him curiously before offering him a small smile and directing your attention back towards the stage. Bucky sighed in the aftermath, feeling the wild beating of his heart settled to a normal one.

And just like that, the truth died on the tip of his tongue.

Weeks passed, and between countless briefings, missions, and reports, Bucky was forced to push all matters concerning his heart to the side. It wasn't easy, not when you occupied every facet of Bucky's otherwise monotone life. Every waking moment was a painful reminder that you were always within reach, but never close enough for him to have.

Following a successful infiltration into an illegal bio-weapon factory in the outskirts of Poland, the team had landed their jet on one of the safehouse grounds somewhere near the border of Poland and Germany. Natasha and Clint disappeared inside the house immediately upon landing, while Sam and Steve stayed on the quinjet to go over a few intels they had managed to gather from the factory.

Bucky's boots scraped softly against the grass as he crossed the distance towards the small lake just a few yards left to the safehouse. The surrounding trees rustled in the wind, a symphony of reds and oranges beneath the solemn autumn sky. On the shore of the lake, Bucky found you sitting, a rare serene look on your face as you closed your eyes to welcome the impending breeze.

“Hi, Bucky,” you greeted, eyes still shut tightly.

“How'd you know it was me, Sugar?”

“I always know when it's you.”

The moment your eyes opened, Bucky's heart stuttered in its cage. The smile you rewarded him was soft, embellished with a tenderness that a man of his repute would never deserve. He knew he should have looked away, but the selfish part of him wanted to hold your stare in place, to relish in your kindness no matter how much he believed he wasn't worthy of it.

“Come on, sit with me.”

You patted the ground next to you, and Bucky obeyed without further questions. He lowered himself on the grass, damp from the lingering chill of autumn air, and stretched his legs out. For a while, neither of you spoke, opting to enjoy the sound of water lapping lazily against the shore, a stark tranquility to the horrors you faced during the mission earlier.

The sky dimmed a tad darker as the sun ducked behind the cover of trees, leaving behind streaks of purple and gold on the horizon. Beside him, you heaved out a sigh, the remnants of sun casting your skin in an ethereal glow.

“Sometimes I wish moments like this could last forever,” you murmured.

Bucky's eyes slid towards you, studying the contours of your face like a historian would an ancient scripture. His fingers twitched, itching to feel every soft and hard edge of your features under the brush of his touch. 

You're the only thing in this world I want forever with.

The words resonated in his head and all the way down to his chest, settling like stone sinking underwater, slow and heavy. He almost said it out loud—nearly laid his heart bare for you to judge and scrutinize. But at last, he fabricated a grin and nudged his shoulder playfully to yours.

“You always get sentimental when you're tired,” he joked.

You laughed heartily at his jab, a melodic thing that wrested at every coil of Bucky's heartstrings. The two of you proceeded to watch the sunset together, the silence stretching between you, warm and comfortable. The sky burned in more explosions of hues, casting its reflection upon the lake like a dream neither of you dared to disturb. 

If Bucky were a braver man, a better man—one that wasn't weighed down by his history and remorse—maybe he would have told you. Maybe, in another life, Bucky would have charmed you at first sight, claiming you as his before the day could even end. But for now, Bucky was glad to settle for this—for sharing a quiet moment with you, and to bask in your company as though he were worthy of even a fraction of your attention.

For now, Bucky would let the four-letter word wither inside him, locked in a hidden fissure somewhere within his chest, keeping it safe from ever seeing any light of day.

Days flew by, and it was getting increasingly harder for Bucky to ignore the way his heart gravitated towards yours, to ignore the fact that you were always the first person he searched for in the morning and the last one he wanted to talk to before falling asleep. To pretend like the mere mention of your name didn't send a jolt that revived his entire being. Every single day was a battle between wish and logic—the unruly desire to make you his, and the rational reluctance of dragging you into the mess that was his life.

“This is getting ridiculous, Buck,” Steve said as he leaned back against the bar right next to Bucky, following the latter's eyesight to find you standing at the end of it. “You're just gonna avoid it forever? An eternal silent treatment? The two of you need to talk, whether you like it or not.”

Bucky inhaled a long breath, swirling the Asgardian mead in his glass without ever taking his eyes off you. It was your birthday—a joyous occasion that called for this merry yet intimate celebration with the entire team. The common room of the compound had been transformed into something warm and inviting, lit by the soft glow of string lights draped along the walls. A cake sat on the counter, half-eaten, its candles long blown out, but the remnants of your laughter from when you made your wish still lingered in the air.

From across the room, Bucky watched as Sam teased you about getting older, earning the bird-man a playful swat on his arm. Wanda handed you a small, neatly wrapped gift, and your eyes lit up in a way that made Bucky’s chest ache. He didn’t know what was in the box. He didn’t really care. All he knew was that he wanted to be the reason behind that breathtaking smile of yours.

And then, your eyes lifted.

The eye contact was fleeting. Brief. Gone by the time Bucky realized what was happening and forced his gaze away. Even then, Bucky still caught the hint of surprise as your eyes found his, replaced almost immediately by a longing that Bucky understood all too well. It clutched onto his heart, sinking its sharp nails until the life organ in his chest was bruised and brutally torn apart.

The Captain sighed. “You're being an idiot, pal.”

Bucky knew Steve was right—he was being an idiot. A coward, even. It was his own damn foolishness that had kept him avoiding you for weeks, skipping your morning spars, slipping out of any room you occupied before you could even notice his presence. All because he couldn’t handle the feelings that had taken root in his chest, the one that was growing stronger by the minute, infiltrating deeper into his system every time you so much as looked his way.

The party was still in full swing by the time Bucky decided to retire for the night, forgoing the goodbyes, heading straight to the elevator that took him back to his quarters. It was a few hours later when a clumsy knock sounded against his door, breaking through the quiet that had settled in his room.

“Sugar?”

Bucky's hand clenched around the door handle, his eyebrows knitting together at the sight of you in front of his bedroom.

“Hi, Buckyyy,” you greeted, your words slurring into uncontrollable giggles.

 Understanding dawned on Bucky's shoulders. “Sweetheart, are you drunk?”

“Am not!” You huffed, pushing past a stunned Bucky to enter the bedroom. 

You looked around for a moment, humming to yourself every time you came across a familiar token that decorated Bucky's room. There was a photo of you and him on the nightsand, a sketch of the Brooklyn Bridge courtesy of Steve hanging on the wall, and a few vinyl records stacked neatly on the shelf, gifted by various members of the team. At last, your steps halted beside the bed, and without a warning, you dove head first into the mattress, chuckling to yourself as you attempted to make snow angels with his blankets.

“This is sooo niceee,” you mused, burying youself deeper into one of Bucky's pillows. “Smells like you, Buck.”

The super soldier tried not to dwell too much on the sight of you lying on his bed, looking like you had always belonged in the same place that Bucky took his rest. A shiver ran down Bucky's spine as he closed the door behind him, his feet quiet against the carpeted floor before he took a tentative seat on the edge of the bed.

“Sugar?” Bucky took your shoulders in his grasp, turning you around until his eyes locked with yours. His heart staggered. “You wanna get back to your room? I could take you.”

His offer made you sit up in seconds, so fast that Bucky feared you might have given yourself a whiplash. He stared at you as your lips trembled, your whole body turning away from him until you were just a breadth out of his reach.

His fingers contracted in grief.

“Hey, Sugar? What's—”

“Why do you hate me?”

Silence.

Bucky's forehead creased in confusion.

“Hate you?” Bucky tasted the accusation on his tongue—the word being so foreign and farfetched from anything he could associate with you that Bucky had to wonder if he had misheard what you spoke. “Sweetheart, I don't hate you.”

“Liar.” You scoffed, scooting towards the foot of the bed, seemingly adamant to draw as much distance as possible between Bucky and yourself. “You have been avoiding me for weeks. You don't want to talk to me, or do anything with me. You hate me.”

Bucky blinked, stunned into momentary silence before shaking his head as if trying to rid himself of the sheer absurdity of your words. “That’s not true,” he murmured, his voice rough with something that sounded dangerously close to regret.

You laughed at his response—a wry, sarcastic laugh that was void of even the smallest hint of your usual warmth. “Then what other possible reason could you have for avoiding me, Bucky? Hm?” Your head turned towards him, and for the first time that night, Bucky finally saw the telltale sign of tears in your eyes, a glassy sheen that erased any remnant of the wits that Bucky had grown to know and love.

His stomach churned.

Guilt was eating at him alive. He couldn't believe that his stupidity had caused this—that he had hurt you due to his own incapability of controlling his emotions. Bucky didn't know what he was thinking when he decided that the best course of action would be to completely evade you, but he certainly didn't think that it would result in this.

With you, sitting on his bed, crying your eyes out while simultaneously breaking Bucky's heart in the process.

Bucky exhaled sharply, as if the weight of his own remorse was pressing down on his chest. He couldn't stand it—the way your shoulders quivered, the way you tried so desperately to keep your composure together as tears welled in your eyes.

"Sweetheart," he rasped, reaching for you, his fingers hesitant at first before firming in resolve. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.”

You stiffened at his touch, your lips parting as if to protest, but Bucky was already pulling you into his embrace, holding you tightly against the muscular panes of his chest. His hands skimmed soothingly along your back, whispers of sweet nothings falling from his lips as he rocked you in the safety of his arms.

“I don't hate you, Sugar,” he murmured, voice shattering around the edges. “I've never hated you. How could I?”

How could I hate you when you are the only source of light I have remaining in this world? How could I hate you when loving you is the only thing about my life that I am absolutely certain of?

Your breath hitched against his shoulder, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “Bucky—”

“Shh,” he soothed, pressing his lips to your temple in a featherlight touch. “Just let me hold you, okay?”

Slowly, he guided the both of you down onto his bed, his arms never loosening from where they were wrapped around your body. His heartbeat thumped steadily beneath your cheek, his fingers drawing lazy patterns against your back. The tension in your body melted bit by bit with each gentle word, the rise and fall of his chest lulling you into something softer—something safe.

“Don't ever do that to me again,” you warned shakily. “Promise me.”

Bucky's hold around you tightened. “I promise.”

“Good.” You sighed, exhaustion wearing down every inch of your bones. “You're my favorite person, Bucky.”

The admission pierced Bucky's chest like a lightning strike. He knew he should not have read too much into it, that the revelation was nothing more than a drunken slip of tongue that you probably would not even remember in the morning. But for now, Bucky chose to let that little detail slide, to let himself pretend that the confession had been made with more purposeful intent behind it—that the words had meant as much to you as it did to Bucky.

"Sleep, sweetheart," he whispered, his lips brushing against your forehead. "I've got you."

Since that night in his bedroom, Bucky had made a vow: he wasn't going to run anymore.

Bucky had learned his lesson. He wasn't going to let his own fears dictate his actions, nor would he allow his emotions ruin the precious friendship he had built with you over the past few years. Whatever he felt—whatever torment clawed at his chest whenever you so much as looked his way—it was his burden to bear. You didn't deserve to suffer for his cowardice, and he swore to himself that he would never let it happen again.

That thought lingered in Bucky's mind as he moved stealthily through the abandoned industrial site, gun drawn, boots scraping silently against the cracked concrete floor. The mission was straightforward: take out remaining hostiles, extract any valuable intel, and regroup. Simple. A basic in and out job that would be done just in time for dinner.

The team had split into pairs, and as fate would have it—or rather, as Steve would have it—Bucky found himself assigned to the west wing of the site alongside you. The direct channel to your comms in Bucky’s earpiece was quiet, and the super soldier took it as a good indication that your side of the mission was going smoothly. Meanwhile, he swept through his own side of hallways with methodical precision, checking every room, muttering a curt “clear” to his comms for each canvassed area. 

The air was eerie with cold and mold when Bucky entered the last remaining room in the hallway. There was nothing particularly different about this one. It was just as empty and as menacing, smelling of rat’s piss and years of abandonment, though his seasoned instinct—one sculpted from years of fighting and survival—warned him that something was amiss. His fingers tightened around his weapon almost instinctively, feeling an immediate unease venture up his spine, raising the very hair on the back of his neck.

The silence was too perfect.

Bucky’s feet skidded to a stop, turning on his heel to retrace his steps back towards the entrance.

Then, it happened.

The ambush struck like lightning on water. One second Bucky was alone, and the next, shadows had flooded the room, faceless figures in tactical gears leaping towards him at the same time. They were fast and ruthless, and even though none seemed to possess enhanced abilities, Bucky was still outnumbered. He dodged the first three attackers easily enough—disarming the blade from the first assailant’s hand, ducking out of the swinging baton of the second’s, and rolling on the floor before redirecting the third one’s bullet with the palm of his vibranium arm.

Bucky dashed out of the room into the one right across, the group of attackers still hot on his tail. He ducked behind a metal table and started opening fires at the entrance, taking out the threats before they even got the chance to enter the room. A curse fell under his breath when Bucky realized that he had worked through his rounds, scrambling to replace the ammunition as footsteps thundered into the room.

Slamming the fresh magazine in place, Bucky inhaled a gearing breath, only to be met with a sudden hush that descended through the air.

He raised his gun.

Instead of finding himself at the end of numerous gun barrels, Bucky was granted the view of bodies scattered all over the floor. The tang of iron meshed detestably with the spoor of grime, fog swirling around the edge of Bucky’s adrenaline-honed mind. When the dust finally stifled, his focus immediately zeroed in on the figure standing amidst the wreckage, rising out of the smoke like a doomsday’s salvation.

“Hi, handsome.” You smiled around a heavy exhale, a crinkle in your eye that seized the very life out of Bucky’s lungs. “Miss me?”

Bucky let out a rough breath, somewhere between relief and admiration. The grip around his weapon slackened ever so slightly, his body still thrumming with fight-and-flight, though the sight of your beautiful smile had managed to wash him with the kind of serenity that no other person could compel.

“Was wondering when you’d show up, sweetheart,” Bucky said, rising from his makeshift fortress behind the table.

“Sorry, Sarge.” You hummed, casually brushing the dust off Bucky’s shoulder as though the contact didn’t send him skyrocketing to heaven. “You know I like to keep people on their toes.”

Bucky failed to suppress his grin, nudging your shoulder as the two of you headed towards the entrance. With the hostiles neutralized, and the information uploaded to the flash drive discreetly tucked in the safety of Bucky’s inside pocket, the two of you were prepared for extraction. He redirected his comms to the main channel, alerting the other team members that the two of you were ready to wrap up and get the hell out of this dismal place.

He was barely a foot out of the door when a loud bang resonated in the air.

In a split second, Bucky sprung in retaliation, taking aim at one of the bloody assailants on the ground that had somehow taken hold of a gun, Bucky’s finger pulling at his own weapon’s trigger, assassinating him in place.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Bucky’s heart throbbed in his throat, a silent prayer on his lips at how close of a call it had almost been. His gaze took a quick scan of the pile of bodies on the floor, making sure that none of them would pull a similar stunt, only allowing his shoulders to deflate when he saw no remaining signs of life.

“Bucky?”

Your voice barely reached him, thin despite the echoic air of this dingy site, but something inside Bucky twisted the moment he heard it.

When he turned, the initial relief that had flooded his chest instantly collapsed.

You were standing there, just a breadth out of reach with your gun still tightly clutched between your fingers. But the side of your neck—God, the side of your neck—was slick with red, thick and dark as it ran in angry runnels down your skin, staining the collar of your tactical gear, pooling on your shoulder and drenching everything it touched.

Your whole body swayed.

Bucky’s heart dropped to the pit of his stomach.

“No, no, no—” he rasped as he caught you, arms winding around your frame to prevent you from hitting the floor. His knees slammed onto the cold concrete below as he cradled you against his chest, the tremble in his body betraying the steel he was supposed to be made out of.

Bucky blinked, willing this moment to splinter into a dream, willing for his body to be transported back into the comfort of his bedroom where the scene playing out in front of his eyes would be nothing more than a heinous nightmare. But as Bucky’s arms tightened around your limp figure, the awful, gut-wrenching truth settled like ice in his veins. 

This was real. 

The blood seeping through your gear wasn’t imagined. The faint hitch in your breath, the loss of color from your face, the sheer terror clawing its way up his throat—none of it was a dream.

His chest crashed.

“Hey, hey. I got you, Sugar.” His voice cracked as he pressed a palm against your wound, despairingly staunching the warmth from slipping through his fingers. But no matter how hard he was grasping, the blood just kept on flowing—too fast and too much—soaking his hands and every corner of his battered soul.

“Shit. Stay with me, sweetheart. Please,” he begged. “Steve! Nat! Somebody get here now!” he barked into his earpiece, nails digging deeper into your skin. “We need a medic! We need a—fuck—just get down here!”

You made a sound, somewhere between a gasp and a whimper, your breath warm against his cheek as you murmured, “I-It’s gonna… gonna be o-okay.”

It was a lie.

You both knew it.

And it destroyed him. 

“Don’t do that.” Bucky shook his head, his voice cracking around a choked sob. He forced a smile as he looked down at your pale face. “You always suck at lying.”

Your lips parted, the faintest ghost of a smile trying to make its way through, only to be interrupted by a wet cough that made Bucky’s chest cave in.

“Gotta stay with me, sweetheart. Please,” Bucky whimpered. “The team’s coming. Help is on the way. Just gotta hang in there a little more for me, yeah? Just a little longer. Please.”

Bucky wasn’t entirely sure to whom he was begging—whether it was you, the universe, or any higher divine power that might have heard his wretched prayer and taken pity on him. A man who had lost everything and asked for nothing, who was now asking for someone—anyone—to save the only thing in this world that made his life worth living, even if it meant having to sacrifice his soul in exchange.

Your hand reached out tentatively, shakily, gripping the strap of his tactical jacket and giving it the faintest tug. 

“Bucky,” you whispered, voice dissipating like a wisp of smoke as soon as you had uttered his name. Your eyes, glassy and unfocused, searched for his, and when they finally found him, a weak smile curved at your lips. “I love you.”

A sound tore from his throat, raw and full of despair. His forehead dropped against yours, his entire body rupturing under the weight of your words.

“I love you.” Bucky’s voice stammered. “God, I love you—I love you, sweetheart, I love you so much.” He pressed his lips against your clammy forehead, again and again, as though he could tether you here, as though his love alone could be enough to keep you from slipping away.

He should have been happy—should have felt something else other than this hollow, scorching agony. The person of his dreams, the one he had spent sleepless nights longing for, had just made the one admission that his heart had been wanting to hear, and yet, all he could do was break. His whole being perished under the weight of everything left unsaid, every moment wasted, every regret carving him open from the inside out.

He should have told you sooner.

God, he should have just told you—should have braced past his insecurities and found the courage somehow, should have showered you with every drop of love he had neatly stowed in his heart until he was shriveled and had no else to give. He should have bought you flowers everyday, let you know that you were the most beautiful person Bucky had ever met on this goddamn planet—because you deserved it.

You deserved everything.

Not this.

Not bleeding on the filthy floor of this desolate place, fighting off death that had bludgeoned its way right through your door.

“You’re gonna be okay, Sugar. We’re getting out of here, you hear me?” His breath stuttered, his grip tightening as if he could physically gather all of your fragmented pieces and mend you as new. “I’m gonna treat you so good. You’ll see. Gonna spoil you rotten like I ought to. Just—please, just hold on—”

Your fingers twitched against his chest. Your eyes fluttered.

A quivering breath left your lips before your body went completely limp.

Bucky stilled.

“Sugar?”

Nothing.

No soft inhale. No faint murmurs of response.

No squeeze of your fingers against his jacket.

Bucky’s entire world came crashing down in the blink of an eye.

“No. No, no, no, no—”

His hand cupped your face, blood smearing from his skin to yours. Bucky’s fingers trembled as he tapped your cheek, as if the action alone could keep you here, could bring you back to him. His breathing ceased, his whole body shuddering as he rocked you in his arms, your name tumbling over and over again from his lips like a prayer, like a curse, like a plea to the universe to undo everything, to give him one more chance, to take him instead.

“Come back to me,” he whispered, his face wet with the fractured shards of his heart. “Please.”

The only thing that acknowledged him was silence.

And Bucky Barnes had never hated the quiet more.

[giuli4nna]

BEEN AWAY

hamzah wants to take his time with you when he finally gets the chance. requested by this ask

a/n: thank you to all 329 of you who voted on my poll ! this one ended up winning, it’s kind of long but i hope you enjoy (: i’ll eventually post the others xoxo

“slow down,” hamzah chuckles, shaking his head in amusement as he pries your fingers away from his body.

your hands were itching to touch him all night. you wanted to pounce on him the very instant you two arrived back to your apartment, but he insisted on holding back.

you were bubbling with anticipation to see him after several months of being apart. long distance was taking a toll on your emotional state; your separation lead to countless nights of missed calls and makeup texts — apologies for being too busy to respond that day. it was frustrating, but you two always manage to push through.

not to mention, it was even more frustrating for your sexual desires.

you could only send each other so many scandalous photos and videos as a distraction before you were left lonely and desperate for the feeling of real intimacy with your boyfriend.

but — of course, it wasn’t all about sex. you were overjoyed with the fact that he sacrificed time out of his break from youtube to come and visit you.

when you opened the door to see him standing proudly outside your apartment building’s entrance; leaning against his car, a bouquet of your favorite flowers in hand, it was really tempting to just make him to cancel your dinner reservations and spend the whole evening in bed with him instead.

after showering you in kisses and compliments he treated you to a lengthy date at your favorite restaurant. of course you loved getting to spend time with him in person after being apart for so long.

except — hamzah really dragged it out.

“hamzah,” you’d groaned. “we’ve talked about everything possible and we finished dessert. don’t you think it’s time to go back home?”

“oh, c’mon. i’m just enjoying the first date we’ve had in months. now — this is important, if you were ice cream, what flavor would you be?” he smiled, adding on another silly question to the prolonged conversation.

even when the both of you were finally stumbling in through your door, he wasn’t quick to give in.

it was frustrating, to say the least. you’re not some sort of sex-crazed freak, but you’re on the verge of acting like one.

you had spent the last few months pining over him, and now that he’s within your reach, your top priority is to memorize every inch of him as fast as possible — for fear that you might forget all your favorite details of his body the second that he needs to return to toronto.

you barely get the door shut before you’re on him. your hands are in his hair, your lips are crashing onto his. you’re messy, frantic.

and of course, he slows you down. his hands settle on your waist, grounding you, his lips stilling against yours.

“mmh, slow down.” he softly protests. he meets your gaze, his eyes filled with love and adoration. on the other hand, yours are shrouded in desire and lust.

“m’sorry. just missed you,” you mumble, your tone slightly guilty.

“i know,” he says gently. “let’s just go slow, okay? we have plenty of time.”

you huff. “hamzah, seriously?”

a smirk tugs at hamzah’s lips, but his eyes are soft, soaking you in like he’s memorizing you all over again. “yes, seriously. just let me take care of you.” he says, his voice dropping to an entrancingly low tone.

you practically squirm under his gaze. “why are you messin’ with me?” you ask, sounding a little bit more pathetic than you intended.

“m’not tryin’ to,” he murmurs presses a lingering kiss to your jaw, then your neck, his lips soft and slow as if he’s committing each inch of your skin to memory. “just wanna make sure i feel you. really feel you.”

he always does this. he makes everything feel like more than just desperation, more than just a fleeting moment of heat. he’s trying to make up for every second spent apart.

your breath stutters as his lips trace a slow path down your neck, enough to make you shiver. you grab fistfuls of his shirt, trying to pull him closer, but he stays steady, his control unwavering.

“you’re not being fair,” you breathe out, basically pouting at this point.

he laughs, soft and warm against your skin. “you’re not either,” he says, his hands roaming lazily up and down your sides, feeling the fabric of your dress. “you’re tryin’ to rush me. that’s not very fair.”

“but i’m only rushing ‘cause i missed you.”

“and i missed you,” he dips his head lower, lips pressing just above your collarbone as he speaks with a frustratingly unbothered tone. “that’s why i want to take my time with you.”

“hamzah, you’re so f— ah!”

whatever annoyed phrase you were about to throw at him is instantly forgotten as hamzah sweeps you off your feet, literally. in one swift movement, he’s picked you up bridal style and started carrying you toward your bedroom.

“what was that?” he taunts with a grin, nudging the door open with his foot and practically tossing you down onto your bed.

“nothin’,” you mutter, your cheeks flushing in slight embarrassment as your eagerness rises once more. you wonder if he’s finally going to do something, anything.

you watch him, waiting for him to move first. to shove you back, to climb on top of you, to finally let go of all his patience and take what’s his.

he doesn’t.

instead, he stands between your legs, his hands coming to rest on your thighs, warm and steady. his thumbs move in slow, lazy circles, like he has all the time in the world.

he doesn’t seem to notice how loud your body is internally screaming with need for him right now.

you exhale sharply, tilting your head back with a groan. “i think you’re killing me.”

hamzah laughs, quiet and deep. “you’ll be just fine.”

his fingers trace up, dragging along the hem of your dress, and you suck in a breath as he pushes it up — inch by inch, nothing hurried, nothing rushed.

every movement is deliberate, like he’s unwrapping something precious. and in his eyes, he is. you’re the most precious thing in his life.

you lift your arms, letting him undress you, your skin prickling at the loss of warmth. he’s quickly touching you again — his palms glide over your bare shoulders, down your arms, and across your ribs, like he’s learning your body all over again.

he leans in, finally, brushing his lips against your temple, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth. it’s soft, barely there.

“more,” you whisper.

hamzah’s lips hover over yours, close, but not close enough. “not yet.”

your hands slide up his chest, gripping at his shirt. “why?”

he smirks, kissing your jaw instead. “because i love watching you like this,” he says, quiet and teasing. “all desperate.”

your fingers tighten around the fabric of his shirt, frustration curling in your stomach like a flow of lava.

he hums in amusement, his lips trailing lower, his fingers slipping under the thin straps of your bra. he toys with the fabric but never pushes further.

your breath catches in your throat when his mouth finally moves lower, leaving a warm path over your chest and your stomach. his hands ground you, steadying you against the mattress as you arch instinctively toward him.

just when you think he’s about to break, about to finally give in, he slows down again. his lips press soft kisses along the inside of your thigh, his fingers tracing idle patterns against your skin.

you whimper, tugging at his shirt in frustration. “hamzah, please.”

his grip on your hips tightens at the sound of your voice, and you don’t miss the way his breath stutters — like he’s just as affected by all this restraint as you are. his willpower is just now beginning to fade. yours is long gone.

“say that again,” he murmurs, his voice thick.

you swallow hard, meeting his gaze. his eyes are dark and burning with something you can’t quite put your finger on. your fingers reach down to cup his face, your thumb brushing over his lower lip.

“please?” you whisper again, softer this time.

something snaps.

with one fluid motion, he tugs his shirt over his head, tossing it somewhere behind him, his hands quickly returning to your skin.

there’s no hesitation anymore, no patience. his lips crash on yours with pure heat and hunger, his body pressing flush against yours.

his hands roam, no longer teasing, no longer holding back. his fingers trace every curve, every dip of your body. it’s suddenly urgent, dripping with the kind of hunger that’s been building since the second you two walked through the door.

you gasp against his lips as he presses you further into the mattress, his weight settling over you in a way that makes you feel impossibly small beneath him. his hands slide beneath your thighs, spreading you, positioning you.

you can feel the way his control is slipping between his fingers like sand. you can feel it in the way his body moves against yours.

“hamzah,” you breathe, your voice breaking around the sound of his name.

he groans, low and rough, like hearing you say his name just like that is his undoing. his forehead presses against yours, his breath is warm and uneven as he rolls his hips against you, slowly and purposefully.

you moan, your fingers clawing at his back, pulling him closer. “i need—”

“i know,” he cuts in, voice thick with want. his lips brush against your cheek, then your jaw, his hands gripping your thighs tighter. “i’ve got you, baby.”

eventually, somewhere between messy kisses and frantic touches, your clothes have been shed along with his and hamzah’s body is now hovering over yours on the bed, heat radiating between the two of you.

you’re so deeply lost in him that any frustration has long since evaporated. all that remains is the intoxicating pulse of anticipation as he aligns himself with your entrance and finally — finally, he shifts, pushing forward, sinking his cock into you in one smooth, perfect motion.

your breath stutters, your body arching into him as he fills the space between you completely. a deep, guttural sound rumbles from his chest as he stills for a second, his grip on your hip tightening dangerously.

he exhales sharply, pressing his forehead to yours. “you feel…” he trails off, shaking his head like he can’t even find the words.

instead of trying to complete his thought, he tilts your chin up, capturing your lips in a slow, devastating kiss as he finally starts to move. he presses deeper, slower, letting you — no, making you feel every inch of him. he groans at the sensation of your nails in his back, his body tensing up as if he’s barely holding himself together.

“hamzah,” you whine, your voice shaky and overwhelmed.

he shudders, his hands flexing against your waist before sliding upwards, cradling your face between his palms.

“look at me,” he murmurs.

the second your gazes lock, something in you shatters. your body? your mind? your soul, maybe?

there’s a melting pot of drastically different emotions swirling behind his eyes, you can’t even begin to describe the way it makes you feel.

“you’re everything,” he whispers, his voice rough, like he’s speaking the words without even thinking. “you know that, right?”

you nod, unable to speak, not with the way length is dragging in and out of you too slowly. he tilts your chin up, ghosting his lips over yours so softly it makes your stomach twist.

“say it,” he demands in a murmur against your mouth. he’s trying to break you, you think.

you fingers slide into his hair, pulling him impossibly closer. “i know.” your voice is barely above a whisper.

“there’s my girl. so good for me, aren’t you?” he says with a small smirk, knowing the effect his words have on you. “can’t believe i spent so long without you.”

his lips crashing onto yours, raw and consuming, like he’s trying to pull you into him completely.

“hamzah — more,” you choke out breathlessly against his lips, your mind melting at the slow pace he’s set.

he chuckles lowly, but doesn’t protest this time. he knows he’s got you ruined already.

his hands slide beneath your thighs, shifting you just enough to deepen the angle, and when he moves again, it’s harder, needier. he’s finally pouring himself into you fully, dropping the ‘let’s take our time’ façade.

your chest heaves as desperate moans and choked whimpers escape your throat, the way he’s now snapping his hips into you — it makes your lose all remaining composure.

your head tilts back against the pillow, overwhelmed, and hamzah’s right there with you. “that’s it,” he breathes, voice shaking. “y’sound so pretty.. god, i love you,”

he drives into you harder, deeper, his pace growing erratic. the pure hunger in his eyes matches the frenzy building between your legs, a gnawing need that has you gasping with each stroke.

“mmh.. love y— love you too..” you force out, lips trembling.

“uh-huh..” hamzah breathes, his voice rough, practically growling as he watches you fall apart beneath him. “oh — fuck, baby, you’re taking me so well,”

you whine at his words, and you can feel the heat building in your stomach, the pressure mounting with each thrust. you’re almost there, your abdomen tenses as the pressure in your tummy builds.

“please.. harder, hamzah,” you beg, barely able to form the words as your body quakes beneath him.

his lips curl into a dark smirk. he drives into you with twice the effort, setting a punishing new pace.

a low growl vibrates in his chest, pleasure surging through both of you, turning your minds to mush. the way he’s moving, the way he fills you — each thrust is making it harder to think, harder to breathe.

“fuck,” you choke out, your voice cracking with need as you meet his pace. his strokes are relentless now, the pressure building at an unbearable pace. you can barely hold on, the sound of your frantic breaths and his skin slapping against yours filling the room.

hamzah watches your face, your lips parted in a silent plea, your chest rising and falling in desperation. he only moves faster, harder, like he’s chasing something just beyond reach. “c’mon,” he grunts. “get there for me, baby.”

you can feel every inch of him, the way he fills you completely, his every move making your body tremble, your senses on fire.

your legs tremble as you reach the edge, the world around you blurring. “hamzah, i — m’there, feels so..” you gasp, desperate for release, your voice raw with need.

he nods erratically, his hips stuttering as his sanity slips along with yours. “yeah, give it to me,” he moans, his voice rough yet on the verge of being whiny. “finish f’me, be the good girl that you are.”

with a final, deep thrust, everything breaks. your body convulses, and the pleasure washes over you in waves, almost too much to handle. your moans spill out breathlessly along other broken, incomplete sentences as you shudder beneath him, lost in the intensity of the moment.

hamzah closely follows you over the edge, his body shaking as he finally releases, spilling into you with a low, guttural growl. his body collapses on top of yours, both of you trying to catch your breath, the room now filled with nothing but the sound of your rapid breathing and the faint hum of your heartbeat in the aftermath.

for a long time, neither of you speak. there’s really nothing else to be said. your breathing falls in sync.

the heat between you is still buzzing, alive. his fingers trace lazy patterns along your hip, his lips brushing against your temple. his small, absentminded gestures feel just as intimate as everything else that just happened.

“you okay?” he eventually murmurs, voice still thick with exhaustion.

you nod weakly, your fingers threading through his hair, nails dragging gently along his scalp. “mhmm.”

he smirks, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your shoulder before finally shifting, rolling onto his side but keeping you close, tangled up in him. “told you, going slow would be worth it.”

you scoff and roll your eyes, but there’s no real bite to it. he just grins in response, knowing he’s right.

and he is right, he really is. it wouldn’t have been the same if he didn’t make you wait. after not seeing each other for so long, rushing — despite how badly you wanted to — wouldn’t have been nearly as romantic or special.

you huff, tucking yourself closer against his chest. hamzah’s arms tighten around you instinctively, like holding you is second nature, no matter how long you spend without each other.

xoxo giulia

[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.

[literary-dolly]

my hero.

jason todd x fem!reader

word count: 4.6k warnings: minor injuries, alcohol (reader gets drunk), a hint of implied sexual content, major injuries at the end, a bit of angst (it’s mostly fluff, i promise)

A collection of the times Jason is your hero, and the odd occasion when you have to be his.

1. The Step

One, two, three. God, you were so desperate to get home that you were counting the steps from the car to the doorway. It had been a truly terrible day: you’d woken up alone (boyfriend nowhere to be seen), dropped the necklace that said boyfriend had brought you behind the fridge with no hope of getting it back, your engine light had come on as soon as you got in the car (job for boyfriend to fix) and your boss had been a dick about the notes you’d made for your upcoming presentation.

The desire to get home, collapse onto the couch in Jason’s arms and watch shitty reality TV with a Chinese takeaway from down the street, was almost overwhelming. There wasn’t an idea that seemed sweeter, and you can almost taste it.

That is, until your foot begins to slip off the step outside your apartment building.

In an act of desperation, you shoot out your right leg to try and catch yourself. A pathetic attempt, really. Instantly, your ankle begins to scream, pain ebbing from the area into the rest of your body. The position you land in is twisted, like some kind of sad ragdoll left out by the trash, ready to be taken away first thing in the morning.

Your eyes close as you try and muster up the wherewithal to pull yourself together and assess the damage, and you can feel your throat beginning to tighten to avoid any stray tears that might fight their way out.

Deep breaths.

One, two, three.

In an instant, you feel two arms close themselves around your body, lifting you up off the ground without a smidge of hesitation. You don’t need to open your eyes to know who they belong to, instead opting to burrow into Jason’s chest in a feeble attempt to hide from the world.

“You okay, Princess?” His words are soft, tinged with an affection you’re sure is saved only for you. It makes your heart swell in spite of the circumstances.

“Hurts, Jay,” it comes out as little more than a mumble into his sweatshirt.

He keeps you tight in his grasp as he manoeuvres his way through the lobby of the apartment building and up the stairs, kicking your unlocked front door open with a soft tap of his foot. Whispering sweet words of encouragement, he places you down gently on the couch before promptly falling to his knees at your feet. A hand shoots out, calloused and scarred, to cradle your cheek with a tenderness that was seemingly unwavering.

“That looked like a pretty nasty fall. You gonna to let me take a look at that ankle, hm?” The words are barely more than a rumble in the back of his throat, his eyes never leaving yours.

Your cheeks immediately begin to burn red. “You saw that?”

“Got home a few minutes ago,” he pauses to press a kiss to your temple, letting out a soft chuckle, “I saw your car pull up and was watching you come in.”

“Creep,” you let out a wet laugh, wincing as Jason slowly begins to examine your, admittedly, fucked-up looking ankle. You let out a hiss as he traces his finger over a particularly tender spot, pulling back ever so slightly from his grasp.

“Looks like a sprain to me,” his lips are pursed tightly, and you can practically feel the concern oozing off him, “Gonna have to wrap it up and ice it.”

“I’ve had a shit day, Jay,” you whine, cursing yourself for feeling so pathetic.

“I know, Princess, I know,” Jason’s words act like salve on your wounds, physical and otherwise. You allow yourself to collapse against him, letting out a guttural groan. His palms move across your shoulder blades, bleeding the tension out of them with each pass, “Chinese is on the way though.”

“Really?” You shoot back, straightening up ever so slightly. Maybe the day was salvageable after all.

“Course it is. What? You think I just came home and fucked about? I’ve got my priorities in order,” Jason’s words, as usual, come accompanied with a sarcastic bite that never fails to bring a smile to your face, “We got ten minutes until it gets here, I think we might manage to get ya’ sorted out by then.”

“Ten minutes you say, Dr. Todd?” You can feel the grin growing on your cheeks, “A lot can happen in ten minutes.”

You don’t miss the smirk on his lips as Jason begins to retreat to the bathroom, or the swing of his hips.

Yeah, the voice in your head calls out, today is definitely salvageable.

2. The Bike

“Sweetheart, I really don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Jay, you promised!” You huff, swinging your leg over the motorcycle like it was second nature. Well, it was, but normally Jason was sat on the front of it ready to whisk you away to wherever it was you were headed. Sometimes you went out together just for the closeness, the wind whipping around the pair of you as you sped through Gotham without a care in the world.

You love Jason. Jason loves you. But, Jason also loves his bike. He can’t blame you for wanting to know what all the fuss is about. You’d managed to get him to promise to teach you one night when you’d both been gasping and panting, dazed from your previous activities. You’d done your absolute most to ensure his head was spinning before you popped the question.

“I know, I know,” he concedes, holding his hands up in surrender with a quiet tut, “I just don’t know that this type of thing is your, ah, forte.”

You feel the scowl beginning to etch itself into your brow, “What do you mean by that?”

“It’s just… you remember that time you crashed the car into the pillar in the parking lot? And the time that you hit that shopping cart. And the-“

“Those were all a long time ago!”

“Baby, you hit the shopping cart last week.”

“You just care about your precious little bike getting scratched!” You huff, crossing your arms pointedly across your chest.

“That is the least of my-“ You cut him off abruptly, turning the key in the ignition and letting the engine roar to life. You can hear Jason’s sharp intake of breath from across the parking lot, brow pinched between his fingers, “Lord, give me strength.”

“Okay, I’m going now!” You shout over the engine rattle in the most sing-song tone you can muster, much to Jason’s chagrin, who seems to have turned a sickly shade of green.

For the first five seconds you and the bike are in motion, it’s a glorious feeling. It’s sturdy, it’s empowering, and your heart begins to thunder in your chest as endorphins flood your system. Instantly, you get it. You get why Jason loves this bike so much.

And then you can feel your hands begin to slip on the handlebars, and your body begin to migrate backwards in the seat, pulling you further and further away from the front of the bike. It happens in a flash, as the bike whizzes out from underneath you and splutters off aimlessly into the distance, unceremoniously dropping onto the concrete with a loud smack. Your body hits the ground with a decidedly less dramatic sound, more of a sharp oof, and pain shoots through your tailbone from the impact.

Jason is by your side in an instant, skidding across the concrete without a second thought. With a flurry of movement, he’s pulling off your helmet, restlessly patting different body parts as if to assure himself of their integrity. His eyes are wild, darting up and down and all over as he tries to assess every part of you.

“Jay, baby. Jay. Jason!” You nip, letting out an exasperated laugh at the way his eyes widen almost comically, “Baby, I’m fine.”

For a second, he’s completely still. You’re afraid to move, lest you scare him away like some kind of spooked deer. His chin drops down towards his body, and for a moment you fear you’ve taken it too far – until his chest starts to vibrate up and down, and a low, melodic chuckle begins to fill the air. Within seconds, it’s transformed into raucous laughter, Jason able to do little more than shake his head in disbelief and wipe at the tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

“It’s not funny, you dick!” You swat at his shoulder, collapsing into your own fit of laughter beside him, “I could’ve been seriously injured!”

“I tried to tell you,” He wheezes, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead, “God, I’m going to remember this forever.”

You pout in his direction, pulling dramatically away from his affections for all of one second before promptly falling back into his grasp. “I’m sorry about your bike.”

“Is’alright Princess,” Jason sighs, carding a hand through the back of your hair with a smile, “Just gives me something to fill the time this week, I suppose.”

3. The Friend

“So, then me and Roy were all ‘Oh fuck! I didn’t think that guy was gonna turn out the be the alien!’ and we started pulling out all of our…”

Under normal circumstances, it would be the highlight of your day to hear the stories of Jason’s adventures all over Gotham – he was so rarely in the mood to chatter about these things, usually preferring to listen comfortably with his head rested in your lap as you mused over the day you’d had. He’d come home from patrol this evening an uncharacteristic bundle of energy, and it broke your heart that you couldn’t put your all into listening to him.

Earlier in the day, you and your closest friend had gotten into a fight. It was brutal. It was catty. It was downright mean. You could barely remember the last time the two of you had even a minor disagreement, let alone a blow-up screaming match. It was a shock to the system that you’d fought at all, especially with such malice and vitriol. Quiet feelings of rage still simmered beneath the surface at the things that they’d said to you, things that they knew would cut deep beneath the surface, things that you’d spoken about in confidence and were now being used against you.

As much as it would be easier to act high and mighty, you had thrown out your fair share of insults, including dealing a particularly crushing final blow that had caused your friend to storm out without a word. You had both been as bad as each other – you couldn’t even remember what started the argument in the first place. All you knew was that the thoughts of it were gathering around above you like a storm cloud, a tornado ready to reach down and unleash its fury on everything in its path. But as the minutes passed, it was becoming harder and harder to defuse the bomb that felt like it was ticking over in your chest.

You were trying your best to listen to Jason’s story, adding in the occasional sigh or noise of affirmation to show that you were following. It’s sudden when Jason’s palm, which had been spread across the small of your back moving in languid circles, yanks you forward into his lap, causing you to let out a soft grunt as you settle yourself across his thighs. The look in his eyes is one of knowing, and you don’t know how you’d missed it in the half an hour he’d been home. His fingers continue to draw dainty patterns between your shoulders as he waits for your posture to relax, the tension in your body to dissipate.

“I think I’ve been very patient,” Jason begins, voice tentative, “waiting for you to tell me that’s wrong. But clearly that isn’t going to happen. So, baby, I’ll bite. What’s wrong?”

Of course, he knew something was wrong from the moment he’d walked in the room.

It hits you all at once, the tears beginning to flow freely down your cheeks. The idea that your boyfriend, who was probably exhausted after his patrol, had gone out of his way to put on a peppy attitude to coax you out of your slump, made it all too much to handle. He was being so good to you, and you’d done nothing but sit and simmer the entire time.

“C’mon, beautiful,” he’s peppering kisses across your tear-stained cheeks, “Don’t cry.”

“It’s just them,” your voice breaks, refusing to name the friend you’d felt so betrayed by. Jason knew you were having a visitor earlier in the evening, and he also knew of the frustrations that had been building under the surface for the past few weeks. “It just all came to a head, and I’m just not used to fighting with them.”

“Well, I can’t say I’m an expert in the area of mending friendships. I’m more of a burning bridges kinda’ guy,” Jason starts with a smile, eliciting a quiet snort from you, “but it’s probably a good thing that you’ve said what you’ve been thinking, right? Means you can move forward, clean slate.”

You scoff, his words breaking you out of your stupor, “Did you just say move forward with a clean slate? You are like the least qualified person in the world to say that.”

The rumble of Jason’s laugh shakes you both, and you move your arms to rest comfortably around his shoulders, fingers curling into the strands at the nape of his neck.

“No, I suppose I’m not,” he pauses, before adding with a grin, “but I am very good at being right. Did they say anything you don’t think you can bounce back from?”

You sigh, dropping your head forward to rest against his, “No, I think they said some things that I probably needed to hear. I’m more worried about what I said.”

“I’m sure they’re probably thinking the same thing,” Jason hums, and you can tell that he’s stifling a yawn from the way his teeth seem to grind together.

“When did you become so wise, hey?” You tease, tracing a finger round his jaw.

“I’m like a cat with nine lives. Probably ought to have learnt something from some of them.” The laughs that come from both of you are subdued, veering dangerously close to sleepy. For a man most believe to be so full of fire, it’s miraculous how quickly Jason can wash over you with a deep sense of calm.

“C’mon then, Whiskers. Bedtime,” you tease, barking out a laugh at the way his face contorts in disgust at the nickname.

In a flash, he hoists the pair of you upwards and begins taking long strides towards the bedroom, hands splayed underneath your thighs, the yawn he had been fighting for so long finally pushing its way forward. With every step Jason takes, the burden of the day seems to drop off piece by piece, and you’ve never felt more weightless in his arms.

By the time he pushes the bedroom door closed, it’s feels like it there was never really a problem at all.

4. The Tequila

“JASON!” If you were currently more self-aware, you would realise how shrill the noise that had just come out of your mouth was. It was halfway between a shriek and a flat-out scream, and your heels are thundering across the pavement to you boyfriend, who leans casually against his beat-up, old beamer. Once again, if you were more in tune with your surroundings, you would likely have realised the way your dress was rapidly riding up your thighs, putting on more than a show for the miscreants of Gotham that lingered around the outside of the club.

“Hey, baby,” His face is bemused as you finally arrive in front of him, skidding to a stop so sudden it forces him to stick a hand out and steady you. This, you take as a sign to just lean into the movement, stumbling sideways as he straightens you up with a soft tug.

He’s so handsome. So pretty. Gosh, he’s so dreamy. You want to just bite him. Would Jason care if you just devoured him whole? No, he’d probably like it.

“- Ya’ listening to me, Princess?” Shit.

“What are you doing here, Jason? Oh my gosh, you’ve come to party!” You send him an enthusiastic thumbs up, words dribbling out between incoherent giggles. The world seems to spiral around in swathes of colour, lights blurring into one big swaying movement. You lean towards him with a soft psst, prompting him to hunch over towards your lips, “I am definitely where the party is at.”

“I don’t doubt that.” His words are teasing, and his other hand reaches down softly to tug your dress down at the hem ever so slightly to preserve a smidge of your dignity, “You certainly are a sight to behold.”

“Come on! Come on!” You giggle, pulling fervently at his worn Wonder Woman work out shirt. Not exactly club attire, you suppose, but it mostly definitely will do the job.

“Baby, what I was telling you, is that your friend called me. They think it might be time for you to call it quits for tonight.”

Instantly, you spin on your heel to throw a glare at said friend, who was lingering in the doorway of the club with a sheepish look. You see Jason give them a soft wave out of your peripheral and watch them mouth a few words to him that you can’t quite discern in your current state. You can hazard a guess it might be ‘thank you’.

“No, no, no, no, I’m fine, look!” You flash a smile in his direction as you promptly demonstrate your abilities to walk perfectly normally back and forth on the sidewalk.

A grin spreads across Jason’s lips, “Was that supposed to be a straight line?”

“Jay!” It comes out as a protest, and you can feel your foot slam down into the concrete, “I’m literally a whole adult. I can stay if I want to.”

Jason’s hands come up in surrender, glee written across every one of his features. Without a sound, he pulls the car door open and slides into the driver’s seat, feigning disinterest. “Okay, okay. That’s fine, you’re right. I’ll just go get into bed, all alone.”

Your brow draws tight at the idea. It wasn’t that you wanted Jason to leave, much less go back to your apartment to no doubt sit up waiting for your return like he usually did on your nights out in the city. You didn’t want him to be sat there by himself.

With a huff and one more longing glance towards the club entrance, you stumble round to the passenger side and yank the door open with an unnecessary level of force. It wouldn’t be a surprise if you looked like an octopus trying to squeeze into a jam jar as you attempt to position yourself in the seat, limbs moving without much thought or cause.

Jason turns the key in the ignition, soundlessly reaching over to pass you an opened bottle of water with a pointed look. You don’t miss the bowl either, usually found in your apartment’s top cupboard, stashed in the footwell.

“Thanks for keeping me company, Princess,” Jason leans over to press his lips to your brow, purposely ignoring the way you grab at his face to try and deepen the kiss. You should know better, he doesn’t kiss you properly when you’re this drunk.

“You’ve played me like a fiddle,” You pull the water up to your mouth, grumbling profanities under your breath as the world continues to spin like a kaleidoscope around you.

Jason only lets out a chuckle and pulls into the road, resting a hand gently on your thigh as you turn to corner back towards home.  

0. The Injury

You’d tried to stay up for when Jason returned from patrol, you really had. It wasn’t that he expected you to, if anything it was the opposite, him often chiding you for being awake at this ‘god-forsaken hour’ as he slipped through the bedroom window. Hypocrite. In spite of his words, it was clear that he appreciated the sentiment (particularly after a rough night), more often than not leaving his suit in a sweaty, bloodied heap on the floor as he raced to the shower, desperate to crawl into bed and fall asleep in your arms.

But the old reruns of shitty television and combined force of multiple coffees hadn’t been enough to keep you awake. You’d slipped off peacefully into a deep slumber on the couch hours before Jason was due to be home. It would be fine, you’d considered in your brief moments of consciousness, you would just wake up in time for his return.

As a result, the heavy thud that echoes around your apartment sends you shooting upwards in record time, hands scrambling for the gun you knew Jason kept slotted under the coffee table. It’s only when you look up over the cushions that you realise that Jason was the culprit, obviously.

You call his name softly, expecting him to stand and peel his domino off like he normally does before sauntering over to press a kiss to your lips. Instead, he stays down, and you can hear the labouring of his breath clanging metallically from the modulator. It’s not meant to sound like that.

In an instant you’re by his side on the ground, just as he uses the last of his energy to flip himself haphazardly onto his back, chest heaving with effort and occasionally letting out a strangled groan. It’s only then that you notice the deep wound etched into his chest, ripped through his suit and Kevlar alike, blood pooling out far quicker than you even comprehend. Jason had come home beaten up before, but he normally laughed it off with a wince and went to patch himself up in the bathroom. You’d never even seen an injury this bad before.

“Jay? Jason!” You move to pull his modulator off, letting in clatter on the floor as Jason grimaces at the sound, pressing a hand to his cheek hurriedly. The tears are thick and cloudy as you chant his name over and over, “Jason, please, I don’t know what to do.”

With a burst of effort, Jason fumbles for the phone in his pocket, letting it clatter out onto the carpet. You’d only seen it a few times before, it was high-tech, Wayne Tech, saved only for patrols and emergencies.

“0…8…0…4…” The numbers spill out of Jason’s mouth between laboured breaths, and you feel him beginning to slip from consciousness as the hand he had clamped tightly around your wrist begins to loosen.

Without hesitation, you scramble to pick up the phone, punching in the numbers and holding it up to your ear mumbling soft words of encouragement to Jason as he twitches and whimpers on the ground. It connects instantly.

“Penny-One.”

“It’s Jason. Jay,” You let out a huff of frustration at your own inability to find the words, scrubbing a bloodied hand over your face, “Redhood. It’s Hood. He’s been hurt, uhm, badly. Really badly. I don’t know what to do. Please, help me.”

“Miss, do you happen to know where Master Jason keeps his first-aid kid?” The British voice is crooning, uncharacteristically calm in comparison to your own frantic disposition. You let out a gasp of relief that you haven’t accidentally revealed Jason’s identity to some sinister stranger who could use it against him. Your feet are moving towards the bathroom before you can even gather your thoughts together.

Penny-One continues to instruct you on how to care for Jason, telling you where to put pressure to try and quell the bleeding. You’re sure your sobs are ragged down the phone; Jason had lost consciousness just minutes before, you had no one to keep your composure for anymore.

“Miss, humour me, but may I ask how your day has been so far?” A choked laugh bites out at his question, and your certain the look on your face would be one of absolute disbelief.

“I can’t…” Your laugh gets caught in your throat, “I can’t…”

“You can,” there’s a conviction within the man on the end of the line, “You have already proven yourself capable, Miss. Humour me.”

You steel yourself with a deep breath and begin to tell the man the mundane stories of your day so far: your breakfast with Jason; your presentation at work; Jason leaving flowers on the table for you when you got back as a congratulations. Every so often, Penny-One raises a question about Jason’s condition, or prompts you to shift to a different task, but for the most part he chats casually back and forth offering tit-bits of praise on your daily life. You’re surprised when you feel yourself begin to calm, in spite of the situation, working methodically through the tasks you’ve been set like it’s second nature.

“Someone will be with you in around 28 seconds, Miss, I hope you’ll forgive me for divulging your address so openly,” Penny-One’s voice is earnest, and you can understand why Jason had picked him to call in his moment of crisis. “Try your best to not be alarmed.”

As if your day couldn’t get any stranger, its Nightwing that bursts his way through your front door. He’s not even from here, is he? You knew Jason played nicely with the other vigilantes on occasion, but you didn’t think he knew any of them well enough for them to be bursting through your door to save him in the early hours of the morning.

The vigilante crouches next to you on the floor within seconds, prying the bloodied rag from your taut fingers with a gentleness that seems out of place for the urgency of the situation.

“Thank you,” Nightwing smiles delicately, and even beneath the domino you can sense the tender look in his eyes, “You’ve done a great job. I can take it from here, if that’s okay? Why don’t you go and try and get cleaned up? He’ll be more than little sore, but fine. I promise.”

It takes you a few seconds to gather yourself as Nightwing begins to work, muttering admonishments to Little Wing who lays pale on the carpet. You dread to think how he would have reacted had he been awake. You feel yourself float towards the bathroom, and you have to choke down a cry and as the water in the sink runs pink from the blood crusted under your nails. On your hands. Everywhere. Jason’s blood.

“You’ve done an excellent job, Miss,” Penny-One’s voice echoes around the room from the phone you had hastily shoved in your pocket, “Nightwing is right. There is no doubt Master Jason will make a full recovery.  You should be incredibly proud, as I’m sure he will be. It was an honour to meet you, although I wish it had been under better circumstances.”

“Thank you, Penny-One,” It comes out as barely a whisper. You don’t think you could manage more than that, anyway.

“Please, call me Alfred,” Alfred muses, “I’m sure Master Jason will have much to tell you about me when he wakes. As much, I’m sure, as he has to tell me about the woman that saved his life this evening. Goodnight, young hero.” The phone line clicks. Dead.

You take a moment to stare at your reflection in the mirror, taking in the absolute state of the tear tracks on your cheeks, hair a mess atop your head, streaks of blood decorating your cheeks.

A hero.

It was the least you could do, really. It pales in comparison to just how much Jason does for you every day.

Dedicating this one to all my clumsy bitches out there. You’re seen. You’re heard. I am you.

If you liked it, well, like it - a reblog is always appreciated. If you don’t like it, leave me alone.

[kittyhowlett]

tags: professor! logan, unprotected piv, oral sex (m and f receiving), virgin reader, pussy pronouns, creampie, daddy kink, professor kink, logan might have a innocence kink, praise, slight degradation??? (idk logan calls reader a cumslut) taboo themes, sub!reader, dom!logan, mention of sub space, logan is a little mean, reader is a babbling mess at times but she knows what she wants, LOGAN WEARING GLASSES MEOW, and think that’s it?? pls lmk know if i missed anything- also! this is not proofread these are just my unfiltered horny thoughts

word count: 2.9k+

the cool air of the evening hit you as you were waking down the busy streets of manhattan. reminding you that you also opted for a thin top with no bra underneath. the reason why you’re not really sure, maybe some part of your conscious that really hopes something more than just a tutor session happens tonight. a few hours after class ended you emailed your professor, hoping you could get some help on the subject considering you had a D minus. at first when writing the email you were certain that your intentions were to really raise your grade, then after your professor told you to meet him at his house, as his work day had ended and surely gone home, you’re mind started spinning. you’ve always had the hots for your professor, logan. always staring a little too long at his big hands as he grades papers, or the way his glasses sit on the bridge of his nose, his huge biceps and the way they flex when he’s writing something on the chalkboard that you were surely too entranced to remember what it was. but now, as youre walking up the stairs to his apartment and gently knocking on the door. you realized that this was just you trying to see him and be close to him. you knock two times at the door before the door is swung open. and my god, does he look delicious. i mean, you saw him in class before, but right now he looks different, his hair a little tussled and messy, his glasses sitting a little lower on his nose and his white button up, two buttons undone at the top. “hey, you’re here early.” he motions for you to come inside. his apartment was cozy, a lot of wood accents, dim warm lighting, and the faint smell of cigar smoke. he walks over to his couch where he has his laptop open and some books on the coffee table. “please, sit.” you sheepishly sit on the little loveseat. “so, uh i know this last semester has been a little tough on you” he starts. “you’re grade went from a C plus to a D minus, i’m sure you’re aware of course, but i wanted to let you know that i’m always eager to help my students, and you don’t have to wait to let it get bad if it can be helped” you let out a soft sigh. “yeah i- i know i’m sorry that i’ve been distracted lately i just kind of have a lot going on in my life” you really don’t you’re just toobusy staring at his biceps in class to focus on the material he’s teaching.

“that’s alright sweetheart we can sort it out” you blush at the nickname. he starts to open up a book, flipping through the pages. “alright so why don’t you tell me specifically what’s troubling you the most, you seem to be having trouble with my economics exams, is it okay with you if we start there?”

a few hours go by and you’ve been on your best behavior, trying to focus on the material your professor is re-teaching you. “you seem to be catching up so far, however there are only two exams left in this semester, and even if you pass both of those you’ll be back at your original grade which was C plus, there’s not much else i can do, we can do more sessions to make sure you grasped the material if you’re still not feeling confident enough”

you stutter over your words a bit. “ i- uh- listen professor, my parents are not all that happy that they’re paying a bunch of money for me to study in this university, and im failing two of my classes. is there anything i can do for at least a B minus?”

he seems a bit upset at first but they’re a glint behind his eyes you can’t quite catch.

“honey, i understand okay? but you can’t waltz in here with a small top and even smaller skirt hoping it gets you a better grade, you have to put the work in if you wanna see good results, i would suggest trying to focus during class instead of going off to dreamland”

you scoff, completely offended- because how dare he read you like that .

“im sorry? i- what are you even talking about?”

“sweetie, it’s not hard to see what you’re trying to do, to say it isn’t working wouldn’t be entirely true- but i can’t let you get off that easy, tell you what, come here.” he pats the spot next to him, motioning you get closer to him. you scoot over until you’re really close. and i mean too close, his smokey woodsy scent is invading your brain and you can feel his hot breath on your face. he brings his hand up to stroke your hair and play with it. your eyes start glossing over at the little bit of affection he’s giving you, it’s driving you insane. you look up at him, very doe eyed and glossy pout.

“you have no idea what yer doin to me sweetheart”

he strokes the front strand of your hair and kisses your cheek. noticing your tearing up, he gets concerned.

“what’s wrong princess?”

you’re words come out in a babble, feeling to overwhelmed to even let out a coherent thought.

“i- uh- just wan- ta- make u feel good”

he curses under his breath.

“i know, you’ve always been eager to please right?”

“mmhm” you let out a soft moan.

suddenly he’s bringing his hand to your thigh and stroking it softly, he gives you a soft peck to your plump lips.

“you wanna tell me what you want, pretty girl?”

“mm- uh- ijust-“

“what was that honey? you gotta be speak up”

“i wan t- mm- i-“

suddenly he grabs the back of your hair and yanks it a little. not too hard, but enough to make a statement.

“mmuh i want you to touch me please-“

“that easy, sweetheart.”

he brings his hand from your thigh up your skirt and cups your pussy. feeling its warmth and wetness. he begins to kiss you again, rougher this time and weaving his other hand through your hair. slowly rubbing at the little wet spot on your panties.

“is this okay, baby?”

“ye-yes mm please- need more”

he stops suddenly but before you can protest he’s stand up and picks you, wrapping your legs around him as he carries you to the his bedroom. gently laying you down on the edge of his bed. he takes your little boots off and throws them to side. spreading your legs he, gently caresses your damp panties with the back of his fingers.

“you’ve been waiting for this for a while yeah?”

“mmhm”

he tuts.

bringing his nose up to inhale your scent through your panties, he curses again. making your face turn red with embarrassment and arousal

“fuck, can i take these off baby?”

“yes, professor”

although he’s heard you say those words countless times, hearing you say it in this setting makes the tent in his pants start to throb with the primal urge to fill you up and make you his.

he slowly takes your light blue panties off, looking at you through his glasses and pocketing the thin material for later purposes.

“look at that, she’s fucking dripping for me”

before he can do anything your sitting up and grabbing his face.

“wait, professor- i uh- ive never-”

you don’t have to finish what you’re saying for him to understand.

his face is a little shocked at first but then it’s reassuring.

“are you sure you want to? i don’t wanna-“

“yes, yes professor i just wanted to tell you because maybe you wouldn’t want to”

“oh no baby, that’s never stopped me before, what makes you think i wouldn’t”

“i dont kn- know, i’m a little nervous”

he sighs, cursing under his breath again over how innocent you are.

“look at me honey, i’m gon’ make u feel good i promise yea? lay back down for me.”

you do as instructed and try to hide your face from his view from how embarrassed you are.

he focuses his attention back to your aching hole, licking from bottom to the top, and then suckling on your little bud.

“mm tastes s’fucking good”

the ache in your core begins to worsen as he continues to tease your cunt, pressing little kisses and sucking on ur clit for way too little time.

“p-please daddy- i need more”

it’s not that he’s never been called that by another woman, it’s just the way your sweet voice says it that has him losing all sanity and giving you the best head you will ever receive in your life.

his beard burning the edge of your thighs as he eats you out like you’re his last meal on earth. his tongue fucking your hole while his nose bumps at your clit, literally has you moaning high pitched whines and incoherent words. it’s all too much and suddenly your feel a hot flush through your belly and your cumming all over his face. getting you slick all over his beard.

he stands up, and brings hand to the back of your head pulling you in for a wet, sloppy kiss, that has you moaning into his mouth. he pulls back and as he’s about to take off your top, you push him back.

“w-wait, i - professor i wanna try something.”

he looks at you a little confused but then you get off the bed and drop to your knees in front of him.

“oh sweetie, you don’t have to do that-“

“please, professor, i really always wanted to try it.”

and how can he say no to his favorite student.

he gives you a nod and tangles his fingers in your hair, letting you unbuckles his black trousers, and bring them down to his thighs. oh the little look on your face when you see his thick bulge through his boxers, he’s never seen anyone cuter in his life.

you pull his boxers down letting his cock spring out and almost hit you in the face.

the look on your face tell him all he needs to know, you’re wondering how that’s gonna fit inside you.

you lightly grip his shaft stroking it a bit, bringing your hand to the top to spread his precum all over his cock. you stick your tongue out and give lick from the bottom to top, making him shudder.

you start to suck on the tip hollowing out your cheeks, trying to mimick what you’ve seen in–uh….videos. you take him down to the middle of it thinking there no possible way you could take him all the way. that is until he grabs a tuft of your hair, and forces his length all the way down your throat. making you choke and pulling off with a spit string attached his cock. you look up at him and he grunts, “look at me, breathe through your nose, and relax, yeah?” you try again, taking him all the way down so that your nose is touching the curls at his base. “good girl, just stay still.”

he starts fucking your throat at a fast pace, you try your hardest to breathe through your nose but the way he’s fucking the back of your throat raw is making you gag and choke. “fuuuck, yea that’s a good girl, your doing s’good for me baby.”

the praise is making your cunt leak on the floor and getting you lightheaded. lost in a space that makes you feel like you’re floating. he pulls you off his cock and you make lewd pop sound making him grunt.

he picks you up off the ground, laying you on his bed again. taking off your top, and playing with your perky nipples. he’s kissing you rough and deep and fighting for dominance with his tongue. his cock is red and swollen as he rubs up against your glistening cunt. getting your slick all over him before he pushes in. and when he does, it’s the most beautiful feeling ever, it’s slightly painful but the stretch is too delicious for it to not be pleasurable.

“mm fuck, daddy!”

you bury your face in his neck, tears already rolling down your face.

“i know baby, i got you”

he lets out a deep growl as he bottoms out.

slowly thrusting in and out. his pace remains slow until it becomes too much and not enough and you’re begging him to go faster. he picks up the pace, faster, and then ever faster, the lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin and your whines and his groans fill the room. and you’re sure all his neighbors hate you guys right now.

it’s all too much, you’re lost in this state of ecstasy and his hot breath in your ear, cooing sweet things and suddenly your somewhere else, in a deep space of submissiveness. where all you can think about is how you’re being absolutely dominated and taken over by your professor, then you hear his voice. “you look so fucking pretty like this baby, all fucked out hm?”

you can’t even saying anything just whine and moan until he stops suddenly . making you whine in protest. “come here princess-” he sits down with his back against the headboard. “you want a B minus? show me that you’ve earned it.” he pats his thigh signaling for you to get on top of him.

you’re already fucked out and you don’t know how you’re gonna be able to ride him, but god, if there’s one thing that you want more than anything it’s to earn it.

not even the grades, you don’t care about that anymore, you just wanna earn that praise, you wanna be good for him and most of all, you want him to fill you to the brink with his cum.

so with that giving you the energy, you climb on top of him, unbuttoning his shirt and throwing off to the side, you pull him in for a deep and passionate kiss and sink down on to his cock. you break the kiss and place both your hands on his shoulders. you start to bounce as fast as you can. his hands fly down to your waist helping you move and your tits are incredibly close to his face. it’s taking all of him not to fill you up right now- he just wants to enjoy this for a just little bit longer, the way your tits are bouncing in front of his face and your brows furrowed, focused on being good and trying to earn your higher grade, he thinks might actually be in love with you. it’s then when he’s snapped out of his thoughts from you taking glasses off and putting them on yourself. it makes your eyes look significantly bigger and glossier.

“am i doing good- daddy”

“you’re doing so good princess, fuck- daddy’s gonna have to keep you behind after classes are done hm?”

you whine and blush at the thought of this being more than a one time thing.

“you gonna be a good little slut and come on your professors cock?”

“y-yea” it comes out whiny and airy.

suddenly he’s grabbing your hips and fucking his cock in and out of your cunt at a diabolical pace, making your belly feel really warm again, but this time it’s different, you feel a pressure that is about to be released, and before you can warm him, your gushing all over his thighs and abs, squirting alll over him.

but he doesn’t stop he just groans really loud and grabs your hips with an iron grip that you’re sure will leave bruises later.

“oh fuck baby, i’m gonna cum- agh where do you want it” he manages to grunt out.

“wan u to cum inside of me please daddy- fill me up”

“god- oh fuck yea baby, you wan me to fill you up with my load hm?? u wan’ be a good little cumslut for me?” his grunts are louder now.

“yeess pleaseee professor” you whimper out.

and with two-three more thrusts his spilling inside of you, the warm sensation, unfamiliar but extremely pleasant and you’re falling over on his chest, catching your breath. he looks at you, still with his glasses on, and smushes your cheeks together to give you a kiss, taking off your (his) glasses and putting them back on so he can see how his cum drips out of your puffy cunt.

“i’d say that’ll earn you an A plus for the rest of the semester, sweetheart.” he says out of breath.

you turned your face down, feeling embarrassed.

“whats up, baby?”

“i uh- i didn’t want you to think i just did that for a good grade. i actually been wanting to do that for a while and i- uhm really like you professor.”

he lets out a deep chuckle.

“i know princess, noticed how you would stare at me during lectures, you’re not very good at hiding it”

“oh- uh- i uh-”

now you’re really embarrassed.

“but what you didn’t notice is how bad i wanted to kiss your pretty little pout when i graded your last exam- or how bad i wanted to keep you behind after classes just to bend you over my desk and take you right there”

“o-oh.” your flustered, trying to think of what to say to him.

“i mean after all sweetheart, you have always been my favorite student”

something tells you you’re gonna start doing really good in this class now.

authors note: a lot of this was inspired by a fic i read earlier, by @carbonfiction . i hope u don’t mind i really enjoyed your sitting pretty fic and i was heavily inspired 🙈

[themultifanshipper]

"It's a marathon not a sprint"

Warnings: smut, lingerie, edging, bickering, oral, mention of charles, I actually hate this but I hope I made it acceptable to read 🤞

One of the Boys masterlist

He was busy hugging everyone in the paddock after his sprint win. Rightfully so.

He'd just won his first race with Ferrari.

You knew he would, so you had prepared.

Under your clothes you had a red lace set you knew he'd go mad for, and in your bag a matching lacy robe.

You went straight to his driver's room and waited.

You'd given him a little... extra motivation this morning before the sprint by giving him a quick sneak-peek.

He hoped that when he opened the door to his driver’s room you would be there, and indeed there you were, in all your glory sitting on his couch.

"Fucking hell...." he sucked in a breath, soft smile spreading across his face as he took you in.

"It's been a while, huh?" You smirked, uncrossed your legs and made your way over to him sensually.

"It certainly has" his eyes roamed your figure, he could already feel himself stiffening in his pants.

He met you in the middle and wrapped an arm around your back to pull you against him.

His suit was wet and sticky and you squirmed out of his grasp before he could lean in to kiss you.

"Ewww... Lewis you're soaked"

He just smirked at you. "Not as soaked as you're going to be"

You rolled your eyes at him. "Go and shower" you pointed towards the small bathroom "I'll be waiting"

That was the quickest shower of Lewis' life.

He dried himself as quickly as he could before rushing back into the room, completely naked, and all but jumped on you.

His hands were everywhere, his mouth was on your neck, and you could feel him hardening against your thigh.

"Roll over, I'm gonna ride you" you muttered and he couldn't be happier to let you do just that.

He looked up at you in awe, and he realised the panties were crotchless when he felt your wetness against him.

Perfect, he could admire how the lace complimented your skin all the while being inside you.

You ditched the robe, and smiled down at him as you sank down on him slowly.

You took a minute to adjust to his impressive girth.

"So do you like it?" You purred, your hands tracing the patterns of the lace, and he was mesmerised.

"Yeah..." his fingers played with the fabric. "It's beautiful. If I win more races will you put in on again for me?"

"That might take years" you teased. "You might not be in Ferrari next time, so I'll have to get a different colour..."

He swatted your thigh and shifted under you, making you gasp as he moved inside you.

"Answer the question. Will you?"

You smilled, starting to roll your hips to get a bit of friction. "Maybe. I guess you'll have to win to find out"

He hummed thoughtfully and gave an experimental thrust.

You moaned low, steadying yourself on his chest and he did it again before asking another question.

"What about Charles? If he wins will you wear it for him?"

You bit your lip to hide your smile.

"Believe it or not, he's not very into clothes" You leaned forward, brushing your lips against his neck teasingly. "He prefers me naked, or with a shirt with his name on, which for some reason he likes to come on-"

"Okay, too much information, jesus" Lewis chuckled, the fact that Charles liked coming over his own name was not something he wanted to know about his teammate.

"You asked " you were smirking at his disgusted expression. "Besides all of you have weird kinks"

"Yeah, yeah, stop talking about other people now"

"And do what? You don't seem to be very intent on fucking me"

His eyes darkened and his hands tightened on your hips.

"We've got 2 hours before I need to get ready for qualifying. If you think you're coming anytime soon, think again..."

You barely had time to react before he was picking you up and carrying you over to the strongest wall to press you against it.

He was still inside you, and the jostling had made him slip in even deeper inside you.

He kept you pinned, and he had you writhing in minutes as he pounded into you while panting into your neck.

His groans just egged you on, and you could feel an orgasm creeping up your spine.

He felt it too, however, and as soon as you started clenching around him he pulled out, and you whined as the feeling of euphoria was ripped away.

"Lewisss..."

He chuckled and set you down on the massage table, gazing down at you with a smirk.

"I told you, darling. You're not coming until someone calls me out of here..."

He slapped his cock against your clit, taking great pleasure in denying you before slipping inside you again.

He was maddeningly gentle, thrusting as slow as he dared while staring intently at the way his cock was stretching you out and your wetness was clinging to it.

"God, I'd missed this" he groaned.

You were trembling under him, the drag of his cock was exquisite and you begged him to go faster.

"No baby, I've waited a long time for this, so I'm going to savour it"

You were stuck, held down by his strong arms as he forced you to endure the slow torture.

Then again, it was so good that after a while, you felt like you were on the precipice once again.

But he just smiled like a maniac and pulled out again and turned you over, bending you over the massage table.

He kneeled behind you and kissed up the back of your thighs, lips igniting a fire under the skin they came into contact with.

The first teasing lick against your clit made you jump, and he had to hold your hips steady to bury his face between your legs.

You knew at that moment, no matter what happened that afternoon, there weren't going to be any post-qualifying activities for you.

[harrywavycurly]

I still think about how soft Harry turned for his sunshine girl and I imagine all the random voice notes he’d send her during the day when he can’t call her or maybe the voicemails he’d leave and how sweet his little rants would be😩🥹

Hiii babes!! I miss my little lovey dovey HWC Harry so I’m gonna give you some examples of his rant-ish voicemails and voice notes to his sunshine girl! I hope you enjoy!!💖

Find all things Handle With Care here✨

Tag List: @gmikaelson @ell0ra-br3kk3r @tulips4harry @mellamolayla @mads3502 @empathyroad @idk199o @sassamanda77 @maudie-duan @macy-tpwk @namoreno @coralferrio1 @stylesftcher @mema10 @cherryloveshs @umadirectioner @styleswithaseaview @sunflower-tia @fangirl509east @howling-wolf97 @outofthisworl-d @triski73

Summary: These are some voice notes and voicemails your lovely ex frat daddy boyfriend Harry sends you during the week✨

Monday’s Voice Note: “Good morning sunshine it’s…uhh shit…oh sorry don’t be mad…ah okay it’s seven fifteen in the morning and I’m about to go for a run and then come see you before you go to work. I hope you slept good? How did that weird sleepy tea taste? Did it work?…m’not totally sure all those things are actually good for you but if they help then I’m all for it because my sunshine girl needs her full eight hours or she’s a bit prickly…but I don’t mind when you’re a little grumpy..makes you more cuddly and we both know how I feel about cuddling so-oh bloody hell why is all my coffee gone? m’gonna kill that Irish fuck-I mean I love you baby I’ll see you in a bit…I wonder if you’re dreaming about me right now? Hmmm…you’ll have to tell me what you dreamt about when I see you. Love you!”

Tuesday’s voicemail: “Hey baby I’m just seeing if you’re free for dinner tonight? I forgot you had a meeting during lunch today so just call me back whenever you can…I miss you…oh and I love you…yeah okay that’s it. Love you…I already said that didn’t I? Oh well you can hear it again…I love you…bye sunshine.”

Wednesday’s voicemail: “I am so sorry I couldn’t walk you to work this morning I forgot to set an alarm and when I woke up I saw all your missed calls and…god I’m-shit I’m so late…I’m sorry sweetheart but I hope you have a good day and I’m going to come see you for lunch! I’ll bring your favorite…I love you! I’ll see you soon! Make sure to save a few smiles for me okay? Don’t give them all away…love you.”

Thursday’s Voice Note: “Goodnight my sunshine girl…thank you for letting me pick the movie tonight even though it’s technically your night…I love you and I can’t wait until you finally stop telling me no when I ask you to move in because we both know you want to live with me…or maybe it’s that we both know I really really hate not being able to wake up next to you everyday..two floors of separation is killing me baby and I know one day soon…you’ll just stop fighting it and just accept the fact we are going to be together forever so might as well start forever as soon as we can…and before you say anything yes I stole parts of that from when Harry met Sally but it’s the truth…remember when you said you’d be okay with the wife thing after our first kiss? Well that was almost a year ago…but anyway…I love you…a lot…actually it’s more than just a lot but there’s not a word to describe the amount so…a lot will just have to do for now…I know you’re just now getting out of your bath and putting on all your lotions and potions that make you all soft and uhg…I miss you…fuck this…ohh sorry baby…let me just grab my sweatshirt and—where are my socks? Oh okay here they are…I’ll be there in three minutes and forty five seconds…prepare for a sleepover because I miss you too much. I love you! Don’t fall asleep before I get there!”

Friday’s Voice Note: “Hey sweetheart did you know Niall has a key to your apartment? I didn’t until he walked in while I was in the living room and he scared the shi-crap out of me…when did he get a key? Did he steal it from you?…oh and I’m making pizza for dinner does that sound good? I hope you’re having a good day at work…Miss you and love you like crazy.”

Saturday’s Voicemail: “Hey baby…m’a little drunk but s’all Niall’s fault and god I love you. I’m gonna marry you when you finally let me. But you know that yeah? Yeah…yeah you know that…god hallways are so long and…and ugly? Why are the hallways so hideous? M’gonna come cuddle you is that okay? If it’s not just…kick me off the bed okay? Yeah..yeah I’ll see you soon sunshine…my sunshine..you smell like flowers and sunshine because you’re my sunshine girl…that I love so…so much a lot…m’gonna go now okay? M’at the door! Love you!”

Sunday’s Voice Note: “Baby where are you? You just left me in bed with a bottle of water and some aspirin with a note on my forehead saying…br…feast? That’s…that’s not a real word?…wait oh it says…breakfast…did you go get breakfast? God I’m so lucky that you’re my…my everything…you’re too good to me. I’m gonna go shower because I smell like the floor of a shitty bar…but I love you and miss your cute face so hurry back? Please?”

[chenlezip]

.⊹˖ᯓ★. ݁₊ love at first like | a mark lee smau

002 : pr nightmare.

꒰ annas note: ꒱ if i forgot to tag u, please let me know!! 🤍 enjoyyyy :3.. also i know this is a little short but it was to set up the next chapter I PROMISE. will try and update more regularly between this smau because i know i've been a lil dead lately for posts, i'm sorry my angels.

you immediately make your way down, you don't want to get on your managers bad side, especially at a time like this. you look at the numbers that were placed beside the doors, '0208... 0704... ah, 127.' you thought to yourself as you stood outside of it. to say you were nervous was an understatement, you were kinda shitting bricks. who knew what this meeting entailed? you just hoped losing your job was not a risk.

as you enter, mark is already sitting down just opposite his manager, looking.. well, not stressed but definitely concerned. his manager, on the other hand, had an unreadable expression on his face as he eyed you walking in. you quietly close the door and usher to the seat opposite them and your manager, a projector being turned on.

"do you have any idea what kind of mess this caused?" she asked you, gesturing to a powerpoint of endless comments of you, mark and the both of you combined. chaos-- absolute chaos you're looking at, side eyeing mark to see his reaction and he just tried to stifle a smile at what one of the tweets had mentioned.

it's nice to know he finds this funny.

while you're overthinking you losing your job, his managers voice calls through the room, "we might need you two to act like you're dating, just to settle things down for a bit." oh, you're joking. you turned to him with wide eyes, "what? are you serious?" you ask in complete confusion. mark, ever the people pleaser, is trying to mediate: "i mean.. it's not that bad right? we just need to--"

you let out a loud sigh, index and thumb finger gripping tightly at the bridge of your nose. dating mark lee? being under public scrutiny? you did not want to be known for this. plus, what happens if the truth comes out about you both?

"i promise it won't be that bad to fake date, plus i won't fall in love with you, haha." mark awkwardly chuckled at you, trying to ease the tension in the room but all he got in response was a deadpanned look from you and mumbling, "that is the last thing i'm worried about, mark."

last | next | masterlist

tags: @polarisjisung @luvmrk @finewinesixtynine @bbyjjunie @multifandomania @jenocity23 @iluv7tn @sungbites @haluenx @222brainrot @iluvkyo @ayukas @mmjhh1998 @skibidihan @f6llsun @florihaei @kiszjuli @cloudmrk @cigsaftersuh @io6hae @neozon3nha @urlocalbeaner5 @sunghoonsgfreal @nasasungs @mbella607 @desssss-0 @prettymoles @haechsworld @mejaemin @yizhrt @fullmoon0606 @n0hyuck @dilflover44 @nctdreamchaser @stuckonmark @bananinhazz @luvs4haechan @tynlvr @remgeolli @jae-n0 @blondemrk @lukeys-giggle @mimi894 @haechyuckan @jakiki94 @sacdepixie @bluedbliss @yoyomul @nctrawberries @hoeingthefuckup @joneborder

[kirlicues]

Townhomes for Large Families | Sims 2 Apartment Lot Download

500 followers! Wow! Thank you to all of you who have given this page a follow. I'm glad that you are enjoying the homes and hope they are making your neighborhoods prettier and happier places. 😊

As a little gift I've put together my first official apartment lots: Mapleview Terrace built on a 5x3 lot, and Hydrangea Court built on a 4x3 lot. These lots are free of CC that is not Maxis made. The Season Pre-Order bonus swingset is included in the larger lot, but if you use the Sims2Pack Clean Installer you can opt not to install it if you don't want it.

These townhomes were built especially for your larger sim families. Each home comes with 3 bedrooms--the larger lot even has one with a 4th bedroom!

The down side is that this means they are on the more expensive end of things and they aren't even that fancy looking in my opinion! The Mapleview Terrace apartments come furnished and will cost $3590-$3822. The Hydrangea Court Apartments are unfurnished except for the kitchen and bathrooms and will cost $3874-$3884.

But, let's take a short tour and you can decide if they are worth it for you.

These apartment lots were meant to be a set. They are fairly simple and non-descript on the outside, and you can line multiple lots up for a whole community of cookie-cutter apartments. 🤣 Feel free to paint them different colors though if you wish.

I originally built the shell on the larger townhome lot shortly before Apartment life came out. The goal was to have a place to stick the Maxis families that came in the sim bin so that they would have access to a telephone and not be unreachable except for as "walk-bys".

Here's what they look like at the back. These apartments are nearly identical in floorplan layout, one has 3 units and the other only has 2.

Mapleview Terrace:

Hydrangea Court: Putting solar panels on the roofs can help off-set the cost of rent I discovered, thanks to the helpful members of a Sims 2 Facebook group. 😊 The other lot has them too, but they just didn't make it into the picture.

Let's take a look at the floorplans!

Mapleview Terrace - 1st Floor:

Mapleview Terrace - 2nd Floor:

You might notice a slight theme to each home. But feel free to remove the furniture and redecorate if you want.

Here's what Hydrangea Court looks like. The layout is pretty much identical to Mapleview Terrace, but I did put nicer appliances in downstairs:

One more thing, The neighborhood view for the larger lot has the maple trees seeming to do a little "wave". It's just because I rotated them when placing them, but they should all be in a perfect row on the lot. :)

If you notice anything "off" about these apartments please let me know and I will try to fix the issue. If it's something that can only be accessed in build mode and the option is greyed out you can use this cheat and fix the thing: 'boolprop AptBaseLotSpecificToolsDisabled false' ...Just don't forget to turn it off by typing 'true' in place of 'false' when you're done!

A huge thank you to the folks in one for the Sims 2 groups on Facebook for letting me know what apartments needed or didn't need. 🎉

500 Followers Gift - Townhome Apartments Set: MF | SFS

All EPs and SPs are required.

*I highly recommend that you have the PerfectPlants mod from TwoJeffs*

I’ve run this home through the Lot Compressor so any random references to sims that aren’t there should be removed. I have also run it through the Lot Cleaner to remove any bits of buggy code. This lot comes with a shiny custom thumbnail so it has even more curb appeal in your Lots and Houses bin! 😄

This home uses 1 piece of CC, which is a Maxis pre-order bonus item from Seasons that you may already have in your game. It can easily be replaced or omitted if you don’t want it though.

CC List (Included): -Seasons Pre-Order Bonus “Garden Swing of Bliss and Harmony”

Default Replacements Shown: -More realistically colored Hydrangea shrub from @peppermint-ginger If you don’t have these in your game your Hydrangea shrub’s flowers will look neon blue. Purple Lupin shrub from Peppermint-ginger If you don’t have these in your game your Lupin will be blue. -White Wall Top Texture Replacement by Maranatah at Mod the Sims -Neon panels removed on the Forbidden Fruit bar/island default by Shastakiss. Pay attention to the special instructions. If you only want the Maxis counters adjusted with no additional new recolors you'll only need to pop "shasta_CEP_nl_nightclub_island_bar.package" in your downloads folder. -FreeTime bedding defaults by CuriousB

I ALWAYS recommend using the Sims 2 Pack Clean installer to install lot files.

Want to improve the look of your game, or grab some “Lost & Found” Maxis objects? Check out this post.

[stxary]

「 ✦ 𝒄𝒓𝒂𝒘𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖 ✦ 」

❤︎ pairing : ex-bf!jungkook x fem!reader

❤︎ genre : non idol au, porn w a lil bit of plot, smut, angst

❤︎ word count : 2k

❤︎ warnings : yandere jk, jealous jk, possesive jk, obsessed jk, hes terrible but reader is still practically in love w him. extremely toxic relationship (dont be like them) degradation, car sex, rough sex, hate sex, love bombing, manipulation, obsession, creampie

❤︎ a/n: hellooo im finally back with another fic after a very long month.. my motivation has been in the dirt but its slowwwly coming back, im debating writing a multichapter fic but ik i would not stay consistent with it 😭😭 im not sure if this really counts as yandere but im js gonna tag it as that js in case.. let me stop yapping i hope u guys enjoy!! ^_^

you could barely hear your own thoughts in the crowded club. the music pounding in your ears along with your the light buzzing in your bones was making you feel sick, and you wanted nothing more than to leave.

“you should come.” your friends told you when they mentioned coming to the club earlier that day. they said itd be good for you, that you needed to loosen up and have a little fun.

at first you wanted to refuse, but after thinking on it (and your two friends begging) you decided it wouldnt hurt to come. they were right, you did need to have a little fun.

so here you were now, sitting at the club bar alone, on your fourth drink of the evening, regretting even coming at all. you rubbed your temple as you checked your phone, sighing at seeing that you had only been there for an hour. fuck, why was time going by so slow?

you were just about to order another drink when you saw someone sit down next to you in the corner of your eye. “negroni, please.” he met your gaze, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “and for the lady..” he dragged the last word out as he gave you an expectant glance.

you were a little stunned at first, surprised that he was offering to buy you a drink, and a little flustered by himself. you blink your attention away from the man, looking at the bartender. “oh, um.. ill just do whiskey.” the bartender nodded before moving away to help the people on the other side of the bar.

the man sitting next to you gave you another smile, breaking the silence between you two. “i hope you dont mind. you seem a little startled.” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

you blinked, realizing he meant you were staring. partly because you were a bit startled, and partly because the guy was hot. really hot. maybe your friends were right, maybe this is what you needed.

“o-oh.” you say, shaking your head and laughing nervously. “im sorry. i just didnt expect anyone to come up to me, let alone buy me a drink. so thank you..?” you tilted your head as you dragged your last word out, urging him to say his name.

“hoseok.” he said, taking his glass that the bartender handed to him, and handing you yours.

hoseok. thats a nice name. and he seemed like a nice guy. thats usually hard to find in places like this.

“im y/n.” you say, taking a sip of your whiskey. you felt a little shy all of a sudden. you didnt want to mess this up.

“y/n.” he repeated, as if he was testing it on his tongue. “thats a pretty name for a pretty girl.”

youd be lying if you said that didnt make you want to smile. yes, that phrase might be overused, but somehow when he said it it didnt sound corny. or like he was trying too hard. it just seemed natural.

you smiled at him, hoping he wouldnt notice how flustered that simple sentence got you. “thank you.”

as you guys continued to talk, the time finally began to start moving, and your earlier nervousness faded away. so it wasnt really a surprise when you ended up dancing with hoseok.

you had only known hoseok for about an hour but it felt like you knew him for a year, maybe more. the way he talked to you, looked at you. like you were so important. it made it easy to get lost in him.

and he was a great dancer. a really fucking good one, it was like the music flowed through him when you were together. you never thought someone could sexy dance so well, but here he was.

you wouldve almost thought you were in a dream, the way your night instantly turned around as soon as he made an appearance. maybe hes like a guardian angel, you thought. protecting me from all these drunk assholes who would have bothered me.

hoseok leaned down and whispered something in your ear, the pounding of the music mixed with the alcohol making you unable to hear him. he repeated himself.

“do you want to get out of here?”

hell yes, you did. you nodded eagerly, his hands moving from your waist before one of them grabbed your hand and started to guide you off the dance floor.

then another hand wraps around your free wrist, yanking you out of hoseoks grip. you turn around to see who the fuck did that, ready to slap them.

but then your eyes land on his face and your stomach drops.

no.

why is he here? how did he know you were here?

why were you surprised? it was like he was always where you went. no matter how much you tried to avoid him, he was always there. you tried to remove him from your life, but the grip he had on it was too strong.

two months. you broke up with jungkook two months ago. but he wouldnt let you go. and deep down, a part of you knew it was your fault. because you kept letting him slither his way back into your life. because every time you saw him, it always ended the same. and of course, that night was no different.

“do you really think i’d let another guy fuck you?” jungkook rasped, his hips ramming into you from behind.

you whined in response, fingers clutching at the leather of his car seat. you wanted to say something, anything.

he had yanked you away from hoseok, all the way out of the club, ignoring your protests and weak attempts to pull away. he didnt stop until he shoved you into the backseat of the car, not even speaking a single word before his lips were on yours, already working at your clothes before you got a chance to say anything.

“dumb fucking slut.” he mused, fingers digging into your hips harshly as he watched the way you fell apart under him. he wanted to engrave the image in his brain forever.

he honestly couldnt believe you were about to let another guy fuck you. see you in the way only he could. touch you the way only he could. the thought of it made him push his cock deeper into you, your eyes rolling back from the feeling.

“youre mine. and mine only. you know that. dont know how many times i need to fuck you to get that in your dumb head.” he punctuated his last words with harsher thrusts, as if he was trying to prove something to you.

you whined again, nails digging further into his car seat. “f-fuck you..” you whimpered out, turning your head so that your cheek was pressed against the seat, looking at him behind you.

fuck, you were a mess. and you were all his. nobody elses. definitely not hoseoks.

jungkook smirked at your weak insult, slowing down his thrusts. “baby, you need to stop acting like you hate me.” he murmurs, his smirk growing as he sees you struggle to form words.

“i-im not pretending- shit, i do hate you.” you gasp out, trying to ignore the way his cock was sliding in and out of you perfectly.

he tilted his head, raising his eyebrows a bit. “really? if you really did hate me, you wouldnt be letting me fuck you right now. unless you dont care who gets to use you, which is what it seems like. you were about to let that guy in the club get in your pants.”

“t-that.. thats not true.” you whine out weakly. you hated how he was right. you didnt truly hate him, otherwise you wouldnt be in this position right now. you hated the fact that you couldnt hate him.

and he knew that he had that effect on you, and used it to his advantage. so every time he found his way back to you, it always ended like this. it was a neverending cycle, and as much as you wanted to remove him from your life for good, a part of you still loved him.

jungkook pulled out of you abruptly, flipping you onto you back. you yelped, not having time to react before he slammed back into you. it was then when you realize how close you were to cumming.

he leaned down, his breathing hot against your face as he panted. “you dont hate me. you love me.” he said, his voice rough. then, it changed to almost desperate, pleading tone.

“fuck, i-i love this pussy, i love you. nobody can even compare to you. youre the best thing thats happened to me, baby. i dont understand how you could just leave me like that. d-didnt you feel the same?”

jungkook was just rambling at this point, like he always did when he got close. his whole demeanor would change and his earlier anger would wash away, getting replaced with neediness.

if you didnt know better you would believe his words. but luckily you did. he didnt love you. he was obsessed, and it led to him not letting you breathe. its the reason you broke up with him in the first place, thinking if you cut it off, it would stop.

but it didnt.

after you broke up, the amount of text, calls, and voicemails he left you was insane. you tried blocking him, but he kept trying. then eventually he stopped, just to find you in person. you had to change your daily routine to avoid him, and he would still find ways to get to you.

“y/n, stop running from me, please. baby, i love you. im sorry, please talk to me. youre all i want. i cant live without you.”

no matter how much you tried to avoid him, or asked him to leave you alone, he wouldnt. then when you tried talking to other guys, is when whatever you would call this started.

“i love you- fuck baby, dont you see that? i cant let you go.” his talking was getting frantic, along with his thrusts, and you knew he was close too.

“jungkook, i-“ he cut off your words by bringing his hand down between you to rub at your clit, causing you to moan out.

“i know, babygirl, i know.” he cooed, his breathing labored against your face. “youre so fucking lucky i need to cum right now, otherwise i wouldve edged you for hours for being a dirty slut.”

you clenched around him at his words, nails scratching at his arms. his hips stuttered, and he let out a loud groan before filling you up, his cum shooting straight inside your fluttering cunt.

you followed right after, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as you let out a moan to match his. he leaned down and cut off your moan with a sloppy kiss, swallowing the small whimpers that followed when you came down from your high.

jungkook pulled out of you with a raspy moan, leaning his back against the car door. he lifted your leg up to stare at your cunt, biting his lip ring when he sees his cum dripping out of you.

it was then when you finally gained your consciousness, and at least a little bit of common sense. you pulled your leg away from him and began to search for your clothes, trying to ignore the way he watched you as you put them back on.

you got out of his car, only saying a simple 'bye' before doing so. and as you walked back to your own, a wave of shame washed over you. because once again, you let jungkook have his way with you. all because you were still in love with him.

you always felt guilty after the fact, but a part of you still felt like it was right, even though it was wrong. so wrong. you should tell him to stop, but you already tried that, and he won't listen. and honestly, you didn't want him to stop. you would let him in your life over and over again, because he could. it was the effect he had on you.

© stxary 2025, all rights reserved .

[yokumirumerafan]

| Demon slayer reaction request |

Characters reacting to Y/N that scared of first time with her/him

Could you do demons too?

Sure demons too! <33

Demon Slayer Characters Reacting to Y/N Being Scared of Them at First

Hashira

Giyuu Tomioka

Notices your fear but doesn’t know how to handle it properly.

Tries to keep his distance, hoping you’ll feel less threatened.

“I… won’t hurt you.” He says it bluntly, but his sincerity is clear.

If you eventually warm up to him, he’ll be subtly relieved but won’t express it outright.

Shinobu Kocho

Finds your fear amusing but also a bit concerning.

“Oh my, do I really seem that scary?” She giggles, but there’s genuine curiosity behind her question.

She tries to appear as non-threatening as possible, speaking in a soft voice and keeping her distance until you’re comfortable.

Will slowly earn your trust through kindness.

Kyojuro Rengoku

Booming voice and intense energy might have startled you at first.

When he notices your fear, he immediately lowers his volume.

“Ah! I see I may have startled you! I apologize!”

His warm nature eventually makes you realize he means no harm, and he makes an effort to make you feel safe.

Tengen Uzui

At first, he thinks you’re joking. Who would be scared of someone as flashy as him?

When he realizes your fear is real, he dials down his energy… slightly.

“Hey, I may be flamboyant, but I’m not scary! I’m too good-looking for that.”

Eventually earns your trust by joking around and showing his more protective side.

Mitsuri Kanroji

The last person you should be scared of, but if you are, she’s heartbroken.

“Oh no! I don’t want you to be afraid of me!”

She makes an effort to be extra gentle around you, offering small gestures of kindness.

Will 100% reassure you until you feel safe around her.

Muichiro Tokito

Doesn’t even realize you’re scared of him at first.

When it finally clicks, he just blinks at you. “Oh.”

He’s not sure what to do, so he just keeps his distance and lets you approach at your own pace.

Eventually, when you realize he’s not actually cold-hearted, your fear fades.

Sanemi Shinazugawa

Your fear is completely understandable—he’s intimidating.

At first, he just scoffs. “Tch, whatever.”

But deep down, it bothers him a little. He’s used to demons fearing him, not people he’s supposed to protect.

Over time, you realize he’s not as terrifying as he looks, especially when you see his softer moments.

Obanai Iguro

Doesn’t blame you at all for being scared. He kind of expects it.

Keeps his distance and doesn’t force conversation.

If Kaburamaru slithers toward you and you don’t recoil, he takes it as a sign that you’re warming up to him.

Once you realize he’s just reserved, not cruel, your fear gradually fades.

Upper Moons + Muzan

Kokushibo

His presence alone is intimidating, so your fear is expected.

He doesn’t react much to it, simply observing you in silence.

“You fear me. That is wise.”

But if you stick around, you’ll notice he never actually harms you and eventually, the fear subsides into respect.

Doma

Absolutely LOVES the fact that you’re scared of him.

“Aww, don’t be scared! I won’t bite… much.”

Purposely messes with you at first but does try to win you over with his charm.

The more time you spend around him, the more you realize he’s not as carefree as he pretends to be.

Akaza

Frowns when he notices your fear. He doesn’t like it.

“I don’t hurt the weak.”

Tries to show you through actions that he’s not a mindless killer.

If you show strength or determination, he starts to respect you, and the fear is replaced with something else.

Muzan Kibutsuji

Thrives on fear. He enjoys it.

“You should be afraid.”

However, if you manage to stand your ground, he finds it amusing and might just take a special interest in you.

Main Trio + Genya

Tanjiro Kamado

Feels so bad when he notices you’re scared of him.

“I promise, I would never hurt you.”

Goes out of his way to be extra kind, never making any sudden movements.

Eventually, his warmth and sincerity make you feel completely at ease.

Zenitsu Agatsuma

“WAIT, YOU’RE SCARED OF ME?! I’M SCARED OF ME TOO!”

If you’re afraid, he just assumes you know something he doesn’t and panics.

When he realizes it’s just his energy overwhelming you, he tries (and fails) to calm down.

Eventually, you both just get used to each other’s nervous energy.

Inosuke Hashibira

“HAH?! WHY ARE YOU SCARED? I SHOULD BE SCARED OF YOU!”

Absolutely does not understand your fear and is not good at handling it.

Eventually, once you realize he’s just chaotic and not actually dangerous, you start to feel more comfortable around him.

Genya Shinazugawa

Notices immediately but doesn’t know what to say about it.

“I—uh—I don’t bite.”

Tries to prove he’s not a threat by awkwardly giving you space.

The more you talk to him, the more you realize he’s just a socially awkward guy, not scary at all.

Over time, all of them find ways to ease your fear, whether through kindness, humor, or just proving they mean no harm.

[lolitasangel]

if your requests are still open i'd like some noah x actress!reader hc's please? maybe she's a popular and famous actress and they do everything they can to keep their relationship hidden from the press and papparazzi 🥺

An- Hi, Angel, yes my requests are open, thank you for trusting me with your request, I hope you enjoy! Also thank you to anyone who voted for my header <3!

TW- none, fluff

word count- 1k

Divider by- @anitalenia

Noah doesn't mind the sneaking around at first and neither do you, you both liked the adrenaline you got from trying not to be caught. 

Of course, with certain occasions you both get sad when you can't support each other at certain shows. You do enjoy the fact sometimes you can sneak backstage to wait in the green room when they do interviews.  

It gets very hard to try and stay hidden and quiet especially when journalists ask questions about your love life rather the movie you were shooting or show.  

"So, Y/n do you have any one special in your life, a lover maybe?" The woman sitting in the chair across from your jokes, flashing a smile. You always dreaded these questions, but you couldn't help but smile when the thought of Noah came across your mind. 

You would love to shout to the world about your love but with the press and fans tend to get nosy you both decided it would be best to just stay quiet for a bit.  

When you and Noah go on dates they are typically in reserved areas where Noah can spot you not even from a tree. Sometimes the sound of bushes tousling would put you on edge, but Noah was always there to calm you down. "It's just us, babe. No need to worry." 

You would go to his shows as often as you could when your schedule was free, wearing a hoodie and glasses, maybe a mask too depending how big your career is or if a movie just came out. You wish you could dance and scream the words, but you were always nervous that someone might notice it's you.  

When Noah must fly over seas or whenever he has the time and he’s away from you he watches your movies. He gets a little jealous of a kissing scene comes up even though he knows it means nothing. He knew it was a part of the job he was just sad he couldn’t do that with you.  

He loved watching you on the screen knowing the back stories and the memories you made when filming. Noah brings up the potential idea of you staring in one of his music videos but never pressures you.  

You always hated going on social media when your name was back in the lights. You hated when there were dating rumors around, you were always worried that Noah might get upset but he never cared. And vice versa Noah was worried you would feel the same but you both understood what comes with being in such a big industry such as acting and singing.  

Sometimes when you’re both have the week off, you’ll spend it together, sometimes Noah will lay with you as you read your script. Noah beckons you to read it to him, using the excuse “you need to remember it right, baby?” When really, he just loves to hear your voice.  

You both call as much as you can throughout the day, you would give him a tour on face time of what the set you were working on looks like. All your close friends knew about you two and loved seeing you so excited, happy and in love.  

Sometimes leaving your house was a struggle or going out to do normal things was filled with people taking pictures and asking for autographs. You loved being with the fans who supported you and watched all your movies.  

You knew the fans would respect and not pry into your relationship. On the other hand, you knew the paparazzi and ‘haters’ would tear your relationship apart and nit-pick it apart. And you didn’t want that. But you really hated that you couldn’t even sneak out the house with Noah without being spotted.  

Sometimes you and Noah would go out in disguises and not get noticed. You loved the moments with him, even if it wasn’t ideal, you still loved spending the time with him. Every time Noah would see your movie premiere photos on billboards or signs, he would send a selfie with it to you. “Look who I saw, babe” and his cheesy grin.  

If you have a movie coming out and Noah can’t see it with you, he will have a boy's night and watch it with the crew. And you would do the same with his music videos and any song that comes out. You’re on the clock when it comes out.  

You both are so supportive of each other's careers. Just like how Noah would stay with you as you read and studied your script. You would be in the studio with him listening to him play the guitar or softly singing lyrics to himself. 

If you are shooting any action film that might take some turmoil on your body Noah makes sure you’re okay. He checks up on you every day to make sure you are taking breaks and not pushing yourself.  

Whenever there’s a controversial headline about you Noah is on top to distract you. He doesn’t want you to see anything that might make you second guess yourself or make you second guess your career. It takes everything in his body not to tell everyone to fuck off and leave his baby alone. 

Sneaking in the studio wasn’t as hard as you thought it would be. You were able to sneak through the back with no one catching you, taking a back door and quickly finding his studio.  

Sneaking in hotels to see each other was much harder. Whenever you would go into a hotel to stay word would get out and it would be harder to leave and get to where you were going without drawing attention to yourself.  

Noah had it a little easier sneaking in compared to you. Yes, he might get noticed but the chances were a lot lower. Making sure he wasn’t noticed and if he were to be noticed no one would notice it was ‘him’.  

If you and Noah are feeling mischievous you would walk out in ridiculous disguises throwing off the paparazzi. Say like wearing wigs and masks, paparazzi not sure if it’s really you and a mystery man. Noah of course must wear hoodies and cover his tattoos as best as he can.  

You loved his tattoos. Tracing your finger against the line work on his arms, chest, neck, etc.… You could be struggling to remember a line from your book and feeling yourself get frustrated you would just curl up with him.  

Noah also will read any other character in a scene to help you remember the lines better. Sometimes this causes inside jokes making you have a hard time filming a scene with someone. “No, not her” Noah would say in a terrible accent causing you to laugh. The memory of him acting like a goofball would make you struggle to get through a scene without breaking.  

Sometimes in interviews if someone would ask what music you liked to listen to you would subtlety hint at Bad Omens. If you had a chance to mention your love you would take it, especially if you knew it wouldn’t cause much of a ruckus besides “they know Bad Omens!” From some of your fans. 

Taglist🫶🏼- @fadingintothegrey @like-a-omen @veejezhyk @english-fucker @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @bluestdai @kaliforniahigh @flowery-mess @concreteemo @dollieomens @calleyx13 @fadingangelwisp @hurricanesfollowyou @lacy1986 @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @xxkittenkissesxx @iluvmewwwww75 @silent-stories @veephoenix @graceylove @marvelousmal @thenmaybehellaintsobadafterall @amelia-acero @disappearintothegrey @concretejunglefm @concretenoah @tikosblogg @xmads-omensx @tosoundlessdarkistare

[changingplumbob]

First Round - Day five (Chloe group)

The Chloe group are lucky last, meaning they've had some extra time to get to know each other before this. Tensions still exist though as some personalities clash.

Callie: This is so exciting! This place looks amazing

Apolline: I think it needs work. A lot of work

Billie: I suppose you're used to a higher standard?

Elise: It's a lot nicer than some places I've been let me tell you

Hana: I hope we get some free time to paint. At the moment the schedule seems pretty tight

Lara: We have some free time now don't we?

Callie: Yeah but we should be bonding and getting to know each other

Apolline: Why would we want that

Billie: Maybe you don't understand Callie but this is meant to be a competition

Lara: Why would you say that? We don't need to kill the vibe

Hana: Maybe not all of us feel as relaxed about the situation as you are Lara

Elise: You know what's relaxing? The onsen in Mt Komorebi

Hana: I think I'm going to go unpack

Elise: I'll come with, I've got the room beside yours

...

Callie: I know it's a competition but it doesn't mean we can't be friends... does it?

Billie: I didn't mean to sound quite that harsh

Apolline: *scoffs* You really want to befriend 29 woman chasing the same person you are?

Lara: You make it sound so cut throat Apolline. Maybe not everyone thinks the way you do. We should try and be friendly

Hana: Now where do you suppose the remote would be?

Hana decided that she didn't want to be overly social that morning and instead chose to watch some sports on TV after unpacking.

Apolline: I can be friendly! I love your... green?

Lara: *smiling* See now Polly, we're getting along great

Apolline: *seething at being called Polly*

Elise: So what did I miss

Callie: Nothing much. Can you tell us about one of your adventures?

Billie: Yes! I'd love to hear more of your travels

At lunch Deanna appeared to say hello to everyone and see how they were settling in.

Deanna: Are you doing okay?

Apolline: Yes. Deanna you look tres jolie in that shirt

Deanna: *smiling* Thanks. But really is it going okay

Hana: Things are bound to be awkward while we adjust right

Lara: Some things are bumpy but we're getting through it

Hana: I said that

Lara: I'm just trying to make conversation

Callie: The rooms are lovely

Billie: And the views are so inspiring

Elise: I love it here but I do miss home

Apolline: Deanna you must come visit Champs Le Sims, you as well Hana

Hana: I've heard the galleries there are impressive

Billie: I'd love to see them to

The rest of lunch is filled with jokes and laughter. Despite initial clashes these contestants do seem to want to understand each other.

Lara (voiceover): Things may have got tense this morning but it's nothing I can't handle. You don't get to be a party animal without learning how to handle an awkward situation. Apolline seems like she likes us, but it also feels like maybe she's liking us against her better judgement? I don't know. I decided to polish my charisma today, that way I can help diffuse any other arguments that might pop up

Elise (voiceover): It was a lot of fun talking about my travels with the others. Apolline didn't seem too impressed by the places I chose to visit but I think she respects my determination. There was an awkward moment with Apolline and Callie for sure though, and Billie. I think they just need to size each other up and move forward, eyes on the prize. I chose to practice video gaming for skill time, it was good to unwind

Callie (voiceover): So maybe I was a little bit naive thinking everyone would want to make friends. I just thought there's only so many people who do these kind of things, who else would best know what we're going through than a fellow competitor? At least Lara seems welcoming, and hey maybe the others just need to get to know me. I picked charisma to work on for the afternoon, I could do with less social slip ups

Hana (voiceover): I tried to tell myself not to be annoyed at Lara just because she was number one... but my hot-headedness got me. Hopefully she's cool enough to forgive it though because yeah... I do have to admit she seems pretty awesome. I think it was right to do some sports watching before lunch though, helped get me in a better place to chat. For the skill time I picked videogaming. I'm interested to see what challenge it's recommended for

Apolline (voiceover): I mean... I'm trying to overcome quite a bit right now. I do think it might seem like I'm cold but I'm being realistic. We can't all win. Deanna is only picking me- I mean, one of us. I don't know about you but I would rather not befriend people I know are flirting with the same person as me. How can you establish trust? I picked charisma to work on, not that I really need to, but it does seem like a skill that will be essential in the villa

Billie (voiceover): I didn't mean to be rude to Callie, she just doesn't seem like a serious competitor. But after I snapped she looked like a puppy someone had pushed in a puddle. So I backtracked and tried to patch it up, hopefully she's not the kind to hold grudges. Lunch was fun, it would be nice to visit Champs Le Sims one day if Apolline ever deems me worthy of invitation. For skills I chose charisma, I'm going to need it

For dinner Deanna made some Chicken Saltimbocca.

Apolline: Merci! Some real food

Billie: Thanks Deanna

Deanna: You're welcome

Elise: It tastes really nice, what brand of nectar did you use?

Deanna: Uhh, the one in the cupboard?

Lara: Brands don't always tell you how good the nectar will be

Hana: I didn't realise you drank nectar

Lara: I don't much but I know how to navigate behind the bar

Apolline: A useful skill?

Lara: It can be. Sometimes your ordered mixologist will not appear and you need to keep the party going

Callie: I've never really been to many parties

Elise: I've been to parties on almost every continent

Billie: Gosh this sunset is just gorgeous

Hana: I know! I wish I had my full set of paints to capture it

Following the cleaning up, Deanna invites the women to watch a movie with her. While most seem excited at the idea of a film in a language that is not English, Lara is skeptical and Callie is worried.

Callie: Will there be subtitles? We can have subtitles right?

Deanna: Absolutely

Apolline: Disappointed Lara?

Lara: Huh? No, I just prefer action films not drama

Billie: I saw a review of this one but have yet to watch

Hana: Shhh, it's starting

Despite her initial hesitation Callie gets drawn in to the film, crying along with Elise at the sad moments.

Deanna: *sniffling* I don't have a good feeling

Billie: I think they'll make it through this, they're so cute

Hana: Maybe but the lighting says not

Lara: Apolline do you have to cry quite so loud

Apolline: *loud sobs and words in French*

When the film has concluded absolutely everyone headed off to bed despite there being some socialisation time with Deanna left. Emotional films can take a physical toll though so maybe that's why everyone had to rest up?

Sims created by: @belsasim, @igglemouse, @invisiblequeen, @paracosmic-sims, @perolesims (@peroleeesims), @simscici

[misc-obeyme]

hello !! can i have a drabble (or headcanons, whichever is easier) where mc refuses to pamper/baby (?? idk, i havent played the game in So Lomg sorry) belphie like his brothers, they wont guve into his pleas or whatever n will often make him do whatever it is himself

they mainly act this way cause they already experience it at home, they do NOT wanna experience ot here as well

Hello there, anon!

You can certainly have a drabble about this, though it is extremely late. I hope you still get to see it! Anyway, I personally thought that Belphie would like not being pampered. Hopefully this is kinda what you were looking for.

Belphegor x GN!MC

Warnings: none

Belphegor found himself being nudged awake at the dinner table by Beelzebub. He had his head pillowed on his arms in front of him, but upon waking he turned it just a little, to hide himself further. He groaned and opened a single eye to look over at Beel.

“It’s your day to do the dishes,” Beel said. “I’d help but I promised Barbatos I’d help out setting up for the event at RAD tomorrow.”

Belphie sighed. “It’s fine,” he said. “I’ll find someone else to do it.”

Beel just patted his shoulder briefly before leaving the table.

Belphie glanced across the table and saw you sitting next to Mammon. He sat up, making a big show of stretching and yawning. He rubbed at his eyes.

Then he looked down at his empty plate and ran a finger along the edge thoughtfully. “You know, we’re pretty famous,” he said mildly. “I bet people would pay big bucks for these dishes that we’ve used. They’d need to be washed first, though.”

Mammon perked up immediately, inspecting his own plate. “Ya might be right about that,” he muttered, half to himself. “Lord Diavolo gave us these dishes, too.”

He started looking around the table at the other dishes, then seemed to come to a conclusion. “Who’s on dish washing duty tonight?”

“Me,” Belphie said.

Mammon grinned at him. “Well, Belphie, it’s your lucky day! I’ll take care of that chore for ya!”

You rolled your eyes and put a hand on Mammon’s arm to stop him from starting to gather the dishes.

“Don’t,” you said. “He’s just trying to trick you into doing the dishes for him. Even if these are worth something, do you think Lucifer would be happy with you if you sold them all? What will eat on?”

Mammon hesitated. “Aw, c’mon MC,” he said. “Think of the Grimm!”

“No,” you said. You looked across the table. “It’s Belphie’s turn to do the dishes, so let him do them.”

Belphie held your gaze across the table. Your eyes almost dared him to argue with you. He smiled, a genuine expression of pleasure. He liked this side of you.

“What about you, MC?” he asked. “I saw you helping Beel with his homework the other day. Won’t you help me with the dishes?”

You folded your arms and frowned at him. “That was different,” you said. “Beel actually needed help. You’re perfectly capable of doing the dishes on your own.”

Belphie leaned toward you a little. “Aww,” he said. “Are you sure? You wouldn’t have to do much. It’s really just an excuse to spend time with you.”

Belphie watched in satisfaction as you blinked, a bit of uncertainty on your features as if you were trying to decide if he really meant that or not.

And then Belphie’s heart rate increased because he realized he actually did mean it. Even if you just sat and watched him, he would be much happier if you were there with him.

Before you decided he was trying to manipulate you, Belphie let his expression fall open, let his face convey what he was really feeling in that moment. “I mean it,” he said.

The sincerity in his voice was undeniable and he could see that you heard it.

You sighed. “All right,” you said. “I’ll come with you. But you’re doing it all yourself.”

Belphie smiled and it was one of his soft, sweet smiles, something rarely seen. He stood up from his seat and gathered up his plate, moving to collect the empty plates of his brothers as well.

You took some of the dishes as you followed him to the kitchen, placing them in a pile by the sink. Then you sat down at the counter and leaned your face on your hands, watching him.

Belphie got to work right away, not wasting time. He chatted with you while he worked, but he didn’t ask you for help once.

Belphie found that he was quite pleased with your refusal to give in to him. It was so easy to get his brothers to do what he wanted, but you were different. And he didn’t really want to make you do anything. When it came to you, he was surprised at how much he wanted to do whatever you asked him to. Anything at all. The thought made him blush a little, but he was sure you didn’t notice.

masterlist | Thank you for reading!

[aotivrs]

Hello! It's me , sorry for sending the request late but I hope you're having a good day or night! May I request Part 4 Jotaro x reader where he has a crush on reader & but after the events of Egypt he was late to tell reader because they disappeared, bumping into each other in Morioh those feelings come back and tries to see if reader is seeing anybody.

I hope this isn't too much, and make sure to stay hydrated! (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)

THREADS OF FATE

Hi!!! Thank you for the request :) I love this idea sm, I feel it’s so in character for Jotaro esp with how much he matures from part 3. Hope you enjoy!

A/N If anyone’s interested in a part two i’d love to continue this.

Egypt had been 11 years ago.

Yet the memories still swirled in Jotaro’s mind, not the memories of the various enemies they faced but of you. He’d often cursed his younger self for not acting when he had you in his near grasp but he doesn’t like to dwell on past.

He couldn’t dwell on the past and his regrets, not when the danger ahead could strip him of those fond memories. Morioh was facing grave danger and when it was in association with stand users his intervention was inevitable.

Perhaps it was destiny or fate that brought the two of you back together. As soon as you caught wind of the appearance of a bow and arrow that can grant stands, you had taken it upon yourself to investigate. After all those deadly fights and the friends you had lost in Egypt, you couldn’t let history repeat itself.

“You… You shouldn’t be here” Jotaro sighs, yet his tone held no real dissatisfaction. He couldn’t hold a distant tone with you, not when you were in front of him after all this time.

“I couldn’t just ignore what’s happening Jotaro” you sigh softly.

“I shouldn’t have expected any less” Jotaros eyebrows furrow, “Come, let’s go for a walk”.

————————————————————————

“Marine biology?” you think, he did always know a lot about sea life after all.

“Mhm, what have you been doing?” It can’t be wrong to divulge in a little bit of questioning, it had been a long time.. this is what friends do right?

“Went to get a degree, focusing on work” you simply reply, watching your steps as you and Jotaro follow the emerging scenery.

That hadn’t been specific, had there been something you aren’t telling him? Eleven years and his feelings hadn’t changed, more so when he had seen your face again. You’d matured but your eyes still held that soft gaze, a one he couldn’t help but return even now.

“I’d have thought you’d have been married by now” his tone disinterested but his stiffened jaw and furrowed eyebrows betrayed his facade.

“Married?!” you laugh, what a silly thought. “Since when was I interested in marriage?”

Jotaro slightly shrugs but he couldn’t help but feel a rush of relief. He might have not grasped his chance the first time but nothing had said he couldn’t now. Not when you were here… with him.

[thelilylav]

Introducing the Fairy of Music, Raven Queen!

Her mother is the current ruler of Melody, which she took over after making Raven's father give up the throne. She's currently locked away, and with her being locked up Raven took the opportunity to transfer to Alfea from Cloud Tower, which her mother was forcing her to attend before. She enjoys being able to use her magic for good, and hopes to take over as the guardian of Melody one day. But not everyone is as pleased as she is about her arrival...

-

Since I'm re-watching Winx, I thought it would be fun to start up a new series! First on the list to complete was Raven, with a little bit about her backstory. Not fully sure about the lore for this one yet, but I'll get there as it goes on. Her wings are made from feathers instead of the usual butterfly fairy wings because she has both fairy and witch magic, which makes it manifest differently! I like the way her design turned out. She's referenced mostly from Musa, because her being the fairy of music just made the most sense to me. Might do another drawing with her and her headphones in her outfit. Was trying to do a mix of her more structured gothic style with the way more flowy style of Winx and I think it worked, but let me know what you guys think! I have Apple, Briar, Maddie and Cedar planned right now for the next updates, but I'm open to any other characters you guys would want to see!