#i don’t know i have other thoughts about this but like i said

[maskedbyghost]

You and Simon aren’t together. Never have been. Never talked about it, never even thought about it.

You just click. You always have. It started as a mission thing—paired up for some op because Price figured you worked well together, and then it just… stuck. You got each other in ways that didn’t need explaining. You liked the same things, moved the same way, anticipated each other’s actions before they happened. You didn’t have to tell him what you needed in the field, and he never had to ask you to cover him. It was easy. Comfortable. The kind of thing that felt natural before you even noticed it happening.

And then it bled into everything else. Eating together. Training together. Sitting next to each other on long flights, in debriefs, in the rare downtime you got between missions. It was never planned, never discussed. Just a thing that happened, like muscle memory. If you were in a room, Simon was there too, and if he wasn’t, he was on his way.

The others noticed, of course. Soap especially. He was the loudest about it, but even Gaz had taken to shooting you both pointed looks when you showed up somewhere at the same time, or when you answered Simon’s half-formed thoughts like you knew what he was going to say before he said it.

Which, honestly, you usually did.

It all comes to a head one evening, the lot of you gathered in one of the common rooms, half-done with the day but not quite ready to call it a night. You and Simon are on the couch, shoulder to shoulder, idly watching something on the TV while Soap, sitting across from you both, groans into his hands.

“You two make me sick.”

You blink at him. “We’re literally just sitting here.”

“That’s the problem!” Soap gestures wildly. “You do everything together. You finish each other’s bloody sentences. You know what the other is thinking. And you’re just—what? Friends?” He scoffs. “Aye, and I’m the Queen of England.”

Simon leans back, tilting his head slightly. “Don’t think you’ve got the legs for a crown, mate.”

Gaz snorts. Price, watching from his spot near the door, only shakes his head like he’s seen this conversation play out a hundred times before. (He has.)

Soap ignores them, pointing a finger between you and Simon like he’s solving some grand mystery. “There’s only one thing you haven’t done,” he declares. “You just need to kiss. That’s it. Only thing missing.”

Silence.

You turn your head. Simon is already looking at you.

There’s nothing in his expression that gives anything away—no smirk, no challenge, no humor in his eyes. He’s just watching you, waiting. And then, with a tiny shrug, he leans in and kisses you.

It’s short, unhurried. Just a press of his lips against yours, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. When he pulls back, his eyes are still on you, searching.

You don’t react. Not outwardly, anyway. You can feel Soap’s disbelief burning into the side of your face, hear the noise he makes—the strangled mix between a gasp and an outraged protest—but you don’t acknowledge it. Instead, you look back at Simon, forcing yourself to stay still even as your heart does something stupid in your chest.

Because, sure, maybe this was just to mess with Soap. Maybe it meant nothing. Maybe it was a joke.

But it didn’t feel like one.

Simon smirks and leans back, turning his attention back to the TV like nothing happened. “Happy now?”

Soap looks like he’s reconsidering every life decision that led him to this moment. “What the fuck?”

—

Later, when Simon walks you back to your room, he’s quieter than usual. His hands are in his pockets, his head tilted down slightly like he’s working through something in his mind.

“I wasn’t trying to make things weird,” he says after a beat. “Didn’t mean—well, didn’t want you to think it was—”

He stops, exhales sharply through his nose. “Just don’t want you to be mad.”

You glance at him. “I’m not mad.”

He nods, but his mouth pulls into something uncertain, like he doesn’t believe you. “Good. That’s—good.”

You reach your door and turn to face him fully. He’s still looking at you, his usual easy confidence nowhere to be found. And it’s funny, really, how the thought of kissing you in front of everyone hadn’t made him hesitate, but now? Now, he’s hesitating. Now, he’s thinking too hard about it. About you.

So before he can say anything else, you push up onto your toes and kiss him.

It’s quick, barely a breath between you before you pull back, but the impact is immediate. Simon’s lips part slightly, his brows drawing together like he can’t quite process what just happened.

You step back, hand on your door handle, and give him a small nod. “Goodnight, Simon.”

Then you slip inside, shutting the door behind you, leaving him standing there in the hallway, staring at the empty space where you just were.

And for once, Simon doesn’t have a single thing to say.

----------------------------------------

@daydreamerwoah @ghostslollipop @kylies-love-letter

[jihyoruri]

❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ 𓍢 LUXURIOUS aeri uchinaga x reader

౨ৎ warnings: popular mean girl x loser athlete, swearing, yn plays soccer(football or wtv I don’t care honestly) and aeri is super rich, drinking, angst, fluff

aeri liked to think of herself as a simple girl she liked attention, shopping, money, and her friends. sometimes her friends. and the only thing she truly despised was-

sports. an unfortunately male dominated activity in the professional world and in schools, but interestingly, not at this school. well, only for one sport.

soccer.

the girls’ soccer team was the most funded, medal winning team in the school. they were popular, big on social media, and the school's main money makers. they were also total machines.

kinda.

"this is the team the school is known for?" aeri asked, filing her nails with a bored expression. "I’m unfortunately not impressed. these editors sure know how to hype them up it has to be the sexy music in the background."

"they're literally stretching." jimin looked at her, squinting. "they haven't even done anything yet. plus, this is practice."

"exactly!" aeri replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "so why are we here? most classes are finished, we should be shopping or something."

"we're here to watch minjeong practice, duh," yizhuo said.

"exactly. we're here to support our friend," jimin added, looking at aeri, who scrunched up her face.

"minjeong is barely my friend," she said, shaking her head while analyzing her nails. "she doesn’t fit our aesthetic. why would you guys adopt a soccer player? is this, like, a charity thing? are we getting filmed? if so, cut everything I just said and get my good side."

"look! they’re taking out the ball now."

aeri didn’t even glance up at yizhuo’s words, too engrossed in her phone. ugh, she couldn’t believe they had dragged her out here just to sit on the bleachers and watch a bunch of brainless jocks kick a ball around.

time passed, and aeri tuned out most of what was happening, busy plotting her escape. maybe she could say her mom needed her for an emergency modeling gig. or that her dad had a last-minute business meeting and required her presence. two things that would never happen, but jimin would probably see right through her anyway.

she was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t hear the gasps and shouts around her.

until something hard slammed into her face.

her head snapped back, and her phone tumbled from her hands.

a soccer ball. she had just been hit in the face with a soccer ball.

"oh shit!"

"good one, yn!"

“shut up yunjin!”

aeri shrieked, clutching her forehead as laughters and are you okays erupted from the field.

"oh my gosh, aeri."

jimin placed a hand on aeri’s shoulder, only for her to be brushed off. "are you okay? that looked like it hurt."

it did.

but aeri wasn’t about to admit that. instead, she inhaled sharply, her voice dropping low. "who the hell did that?"

jimin pointed toward the field. right at her.

standing between yunjin and ryujin, nervously biting the nail of her thumb, was the culprit.

they locked eyes. one gaze wide and doe, the other sharp and burning with rage.

guess which was which.

"hey, are we allowed to keep this since it hit aeri in the face?"

both girls turned to look at yizhuo, who was holding the soccer ball like it was some kind of prize.

aeri barely spared it a glance before snatching it out of yizhuo’s hands. then, without hesitation, she stormed onto the field.

"you’re fucked, y/l/n."

"here comes trouble."

"can you guys shush?"

yn barely had time to process the situation before aeri was right in front of her, glaring up at her with fire in her eyes.

without a second thought, aeri hurled the soccer ball straight at her.

unfortunately, yn caught it. effortlessly. with both hands.

yn blinked, tilting her head slightly, a lopsided grin tugging at her lips.

"i’m so sorry. you see, I have this condition where I just kick the ball really hard. it’s called strong leg disorder—"

"that’s not a thing."

"can you shut up? I’m trying to save my own life here." yn shot a glare at ryujin before turning back to aeri. "there’s no cure. I really wish there was. I would never intentionally mess up your pretty face—not that you aren’t still pretty now, after what just… uh… happened. but, you know…"

her voice trailed off as aeri’s glare darkened. yn winced, mentally kicking herself.

"do you think i’m an idiot?" aeri stepped closer, eyes locked onto yn, who instinctively leaned back only for her teammates to shove her forward, straight into the lion’s den.

"I really want to say no," yn admitted, hands raised slightly, "but I’m scared it’s a trap."

then, as if she wasn’t a whole athlete who could easily overpower aeri, she squeezed her eyes shut like she was bracing for impact.

"you’re lucky I don’t call my dad and get you kicked off the team."

instead of looking scared, yn only furrowed her brows. "he can do that? i thought he owned a car company."

"woah, woah, woah."

chaewon, the team’s captain, stepped in, hands raised in a peacekeeping gesture. "let’s not get too hasty. she’s one of our best players we can’t lose her."

"that thing?" aeri pointed at yn, who mouthed thing? in offense, glancing at yunjin, who was barely holding in her laughter. "is one of your best players? she hit me in the face."

"and I totally get why you’d be mad," chaewon said, cutting off yn when she tried to interject. "she’s an idiot."

yn scoffed. rude.

"but," chaewon continued, "she will make it up to you. i promise. in fact, you can choose how."

"wha—"

"i’m trying to save you here. shut up."

aeri’s expression shifted, mischief glinting in her eyes. yn turned to her team with sheer horror in hers.

"i can choose?" aeri repeated, her voice dangerously sweet.

"…okay."

then, she turned back to yn, who swallowed.

"you," aeri said, watching as yn stiffened.

"yes?"

"you’ll know by tomorrow."

and just like that, she spun on her heel, strutting off the field without another word. her friends scrambled to grab their things and follow because she was their ride, and she was not about to wait for them.

yn exhaled, rubbing a hand down her face.

"you’re so fucked." yunjin whistled.

"can you guys not state the obvious right now?"

it was nighttime, and aeri still hadn’t figured out what she wanted yn to do. everything she thought of felt too cliché. with a sigh, she opened the app she claimed to hate and typed in yn’s full name.

to be honest, she hadn’t known who the girl was until today. sure, she knew of the soccer team who didn’t? they were impossible to ignore in the dining hall, always causing some sort of disaster. and the edits, god, the edits. do you know how many times she had to click not interested?

but now that she thought about it… she’d never seen any of yn. maybe she wasn’t a fan favorite.

or so she thought.

aeri’s eyes widened as she scrolled. video after video edit after edit all of yn. the captions were unhinged , the comments even worse. but before she could even process it, she found herself immersed.

yn wasn’t bad looking.

while she was scrolling, a notification popped up yizhuo had sent her a live. aeri clicked on it, only to realize it was huh yunjin’s.

"I feel like if  I wasn’t a soccer player, I’d definitely be a basketball player." yunjin spoke as she ripped open a bag of chips, turning to ryujin beside her.

"I feel like you wouldn’t even play sports if it wasn’t for soccer," ryujin shot back. "and yn? she’d definitely play hockey."

"yeah, after me, yn’s probably the second most likely to get into fights on the field."

aeri laughed. that loser? fighting?

the mention of yn’s name sent the chat into a frenzy.

user1: where did she go?? 😭 user2: ugh bae needs to come back user3: yn playing hockey… im shaking user4: she needs to come back rn

come back?

"fuck, I poked my eye."

yunjin and ryujin turned just as yn walked back into the frame, squinting one eye while adjusting her beanie.

aeri’s gaze flickered to the screen. yn had her hoodie slung around her neck, exposing her toned stomach and sports bra. the chat went absolutely feral.

so yn was wanted, huh?

aeri leaned back against her pillows, lips curling into a smirk.

just like that, a light bulb flickered in her head.

yizhuo struggled to keep up with aeri’s determined strides as they made their way toward the field, where the girls' soccer team sat catching their breath. sweat dripped down their faces as they sipped from their water bottles, still recovering from the first half of their practice.

“wait, why are we here again?” yizhuo asked, slightly out of breath.

“shut up.”

aeri’s sharp eyes immediately landed on yn, who stood in front of  ryujin and yunjin, laughing at something she had just said. whatever it was, it clearly struck a nerve ryujin’s jaw dropped in offense before she squeezed her gatorade bottle, spraying water directly into yn’s face.

yn let out a dramatic yell, stumbling back as the rest of the team burst into laughter even chaewon.

but the moment aeri called out, “yn!”, the laughter died instantly.

yn wiped at her face with her sleeve, still grinning until she turned around and saw who was calling her. her smile vanished.

aeri wasted no time, marching right up to her and jabbing a finger against yn’s chest. “you’re gonna be my personal girl toy." yn blinked. "huh?"

she glanced over her shoulder at her teammates, but before she could even process what was happening, aeri grabbed her by the shoulder and turned her back around.

"eyes over here." aeri tilted her head, voice smooth, almost teasing. "you’re gonna follow me everywhere i go and do whatever i say. got that?"

yn’s brain short circuited. "uh… is that even legal?" her face burned at the proximity. "I just—sorry—uh—"

"is that excuses I’m hearing?" aeri cut in, unimpressed.

"no? I was just asking a question-”

"then I have nothing else to say." aeri shrugged, turning on her heel like that was the end of the conversation.

just as yn opened her mouth to protest, a sharp whistle cut through the air.

"y/l/n! who the hell are you talking to?"

yn exhaled deeply, shoulders slumping. "sorry, coach!" she shot aeri a pleading look. "you need to leave, like, now. he’s already on my ass."

aeri studied her for a moment before smirking.

"meet me after your practice."

and with that, she spun around and walked off, yizhuo trailing behind her.

yn let out a breath, rolling her shoulders as she stepped out of the changing room, still toweling off her damp hair. her baggy sweatpants hung low on her hips, barely clinging on, and her oversized team hoodie was slung over her shoulders, revealing the tank top underneath. she adjusted her hoodie absentmindedly, already dreading whatever ridiculous task aeri had planned for her.

but she hadn’t expected to see aeri leaning against the wall right outside the girls' changing room, arms crossed, looking like she had been waiting forever.

"you just stand outside girls’ locker rooms now?" yn asked, rubbing the towel over her head.

"I was losing patience," aeri said simply, pushing off the wall. "you take longer than I thought. what were you doing, a whole spa treatment in there?"

"some of us actually shower after sweating for two hours," yn replied. 

“so, what? I  just follow you around and get you stuff now?"

"yeah," aeri confirmed, like it was the most natural thing in the world. "you follow me, you do what I say, and you get me whatever I need. and in return, you get to be seen with me."

yn blinked. "...what?"

"people are always jealous of me," aeri continued, casually inspecting her nails like this was just another tuesday for her. 

“but I just recently found out how valuable you are. I mean, did you know people on the internet practically worship you?"

yn's eyes widened slightly. "what—"

"seriously, it’s insane." aeri shook her head, like she was still processing the horror of it all. "you’re, like, a phenomenon. and if I have you following me around like a puppy, it’ll make people even more jealous of me."

yn stared at her. "...that’s your whole plan?"

"yes."

"that’s the stupidest thing i’ve ever heard."

aeri shrugged. "stupid, but effective."

yn exhaled through her nose, shaking her head. "you know what? alright. I’ll see you around."

"great!" aeri clapped her hands together. "be ready for tomorrow."

"what happens tomorrow?"

"I’m taking you shopping."

yn groaned.

the next day, yn found herself standing in the middle of an expensive boutique, arms full of shopping bags that weren’t even hers.

"I feel like I should be getting paid for this," yn muttered, shifting the bags to one hand so she could pull her hoodie sleeves up.

"you’re getting something better," aeri said, examining a designer bag.

"which is?"

"me."

"wow," yn deadpanned. "so generous."

"I know, right?"

as yn adjusted the bags in her arms, she caught their reflection in a nearby mirror. she looked ridiculous, carrying all her stuff, while aeri strutted around like a runway model.

"you know," aeri mused, looking yn up and down, "you actually look really good like this."

yn raised a brow. "like what?"

"doing what I want."

yn nearly dropped the bags. "what—"

"I mean, look at you," aeri continued, a smirk playing on her lips. "following me around, holding my bags, waiting outside my class for me. it’s a good look on you."

"yeah, whatever," yn muttered, looking away, ears burning.

aeri grinned. "so cute."

aeri wasn’t sure when it started happening, but she was noticing yn way too much.

at practice, yn would be running drills, sweaty and focused, and aeri would catch herself staring.

when yn would wait outside her class, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, aeri would find herself smiling before she even realized it.

and when yn showed up at her house for the first time, dropping onto aeri’s bed and ranting about soccer practice, aeri found herself just… watching her.

yn was so expressive when she talked, hands moving, eyes lighting up when she got passionate about something. and god, she was attractive. even in her stupid soccer gear, hair messy, voice slightly raspy from yelling on the field.

"are you even listening?" yn asked, turning her head to look at aeri.

aeri blinked. "huh?"

yn sighed, dramatically throwing an arm over her face. "I said, practice sucked."

aeri rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the amused smile tugging at her lips.

"here." she reached into her bag and tossed something at yn.

yn caught it, frowning. "what’s this?"

"a gift."

yn turned the small box over in her hands, raising a brow. "you’re giving me stuff now?"

"you work hard," aeri said simply, like it wasn’t a big deal.

yn opened the box, eyes widening at the necklace inside.

"aeri, this is—"

"don’t make a big deal out of it," aeri cut in quickly. "just take it."

yn hesitated. "I can’t accept this—"

"well, you’re gonna have to," aeri said, 

crossing her arms. "I’m not taking no for an answer."

yn looked at her for a long moment before sighing and slipping the necklace on. "fine. but this doesn’t mean you own me."

aeri smirked. "sure."

when the big game finally came, aeri dragged jimin and yizhuo to the front row.

she expected to be bored.

but then she saw yn in her element, completely locked in, eyes sharp, 

  moving like she was built for this.

and then she saw the coach yelling at her.

"jesus, what’s his problem?" aeri muttered.

"he’s just hard on her," jimin said, watching the game.

"yeah, well, he needs to chill."

then, it happened.

yn, her awkward, dorky, occasionally charming personal servant, got into a fight.

aeri watched, wide eyed, as yn shoved an opposing player back, jaw tight, voice sharp as she exchanged heated words.

"oh my god," aeri breathed.

"she’s hot, right?" yizhuo whispered.

"shut up," aeri snapped, crossing her arms.

yn got benched for a while, but when she was finally thrown back in, after having another yelling match with the coach she scored the winning goal.

before she knew it, aeri was heading straight for the locker room.

when she found yn, the girl was pulling a hoodie over her head, damp hair falling messily around her face.

"congrats," aeri said, leaning against the doorframe.

"thanks," yn replied, voice tired.

aeri frowned. "you don’t sound too happy."

yn exhaled. "stuff with coach got intense."

aeri raised a brow. "why do you let him get in your head?"

yn rolled her eyes. "cause he’s my dad."

aeri blinked. "oh."

"yeah."

"…if it makes you feel better, at least you and your dad have the same interests. my dad probably wouldn’t care if i ran off to join the circus."

yn huffed a laugh. "that… actually makes me more sad."

aeri grinned. "oops."

yn shook her head, but she was smiling.

"you’re going to the party, right?" aeri asked.

"yeah," yn said. "I’ll see you there."

aeri smirked. "good."

and that was the beginning of the night that would change everything.

aeri knew she had a problem when she saw a cheerleader lean closer to yn, and her first reaction was to throw back another drink.

“okay, slow down.” yizhuo raised an eyebrow as aeri downed her fourth drink in the span of ten minutes.

aeri ignored her, eyes locked on the corner of the party where yn sat, looking stupidly awkward while the cheerleader giggled and played with her hair. 

yn was slouched forward, hands clasped together like she was in a job interview, clearly uncomfortable. 

but aeri didn’t see that. no, she saw yn sitting with some girl, some random girl not even thinkingabout texting her to see if she was here.

the audacity.

“aeri?” yizhuo waved a hand in front of her face. “you’re being weird. why are you-oh my god, are you jealous?”

“me? jealous?” aeri scoffed, setting down her empty cup. “please, I’m just—”

she lost her train of thought as she watched the cheerleader lean in even closer, whispering something into yn’s ear. that was it. that was her last straw. 

she spun on her heel and made a beeline toward them, mean girl switch fully activated.

yn noticed her first. “aeri?” she blinked, eyes widening.

aeri crossed her arms. “so, you couldn’t text me to see if I was here?”

yn furrowed her brows. “what?”

the cheerleader glanced between them, clearly sensing something was up. aeri ignored her and stepped closer to yn, lips curling into a smirk. “moving on to cheerleaders now? cute. I still own you, by the way.”

yn’s entire face flashed with hurt. “are we still doing this?” her voice was quiet. “I thought we were done with that. I thought we were—” she swallowed. “I thought we were connecting.”

aeri’s stomach twisted. she hated the way yn was looking at her right now, like she was disappointed.

so, naturally, she did what she did best, shoved that feeling way down and doubled down.

she let out a sharp laugh. “connecting? why would i connect with a dumb jock who hit me in the face with a soccer ball?”

yn flinched. actually flinched. and suddenly, aeri hated herself.

but instead of fixing it, she grabbed another drink and walked away.

an hour later, she was completely shit-faced.

she was swaying, a half-empty cup in her hand, reaching for another when someone grabbed her wrist.

“I think you’ve had enough.”

aeri groaned, rolling her head back to see who was bothering her now. yn. of course it was yn.

“leave me alone,” she slurred, trying to tug her arm free.

“nope, you’re done.” yn pried the cup from her fingers and set it down.

aeri whined, pushing at yn’s chest. “you’re so annoying.” yn didn’t budge. “yeah, yeah.”

aeri pouted and stumbled, and before she knew it, she was being lifted off the ground.

“what the hell?” she yelped, gripping onto yn’s shoulders as she was thrown over her back. “I forgot you’re an athlete.”

yn adjusted her easily, carrying her like she weighed nothing. “and you’re so lanky how the hell are you doing this.”

aeri kicked her feet uselessly. “put me down, loser.”

“not a chance.”

they passed by yunjin and ryujin, who both raised their eyebrows.

yn sighed. “I’m taking her home.”

yunjin snorted. “good luck with that.”

in the car, aeri was a mess.

she was slumped in the passenger seat, mumbling nonsense, until she suddenly turned her head and stared at yn with glassy eyes.

“I hate that you’re so attractive,” she blurted out. “and dorky. and strong. and cute. and I just wanna kiss you in front of everyone.”

yn’s hands clenched around the steering wheel. “you’re drunk, aeri.”

“so?” aeri pouted.

yn sighed. “just go to sleep.”

when aeri woke up in jimin’s apartment, she immediately knew two things.

one, her head was killing her.

two, she was definitely not at home.

“what the hell…” she groaned, sitting up and rubbing her temples.

“morning, sunshine.”

aeri blinked blearily, turning toward the voice. jimin was sitting at her kitchen counter, sipping a cup of coffee, watching her with a smirk.

“why am I here?” aeri croaked.

jimin took another sip before answering. “yn dropped you off here last night.”

aeri froze. “yn?”

“yeah.” jimin set her cup down. “said you were too drunk to go home alone. figured I’d take the babysitting shift.”

aeri groaned, flopping back onto the couch. 

“kill me.”

“not before you tell me why you were getting wasted in the first place.”

aeri shut her eyes. “no reason.”

jimin snorted. “yeah, sure. you’re you the most calculated, high maintenance, self absorbed person I know. you don’t do anything without a reason.”

aeri peeked one eye open. “was that an insult or a compliment?”

“depends. are you gonna tell me why you were drinking like a maniac last night?”

aeri hesitated.

jimin crossed her arms. “if you don’t spill, I’m kicking you out.”

aeri sighed dramatically, sitting up again.

“fine. but you cannot laugh.”

jimin smirked. “oh, I’m absolutely laughing.”

aeri ignored her and took a deep breath. “I saw  yn with some cheerleader.”

jimin raised an eyebrow. “okay… and?”

“and she was leaning in and yn was just sitting there—” aeri huffed, crossing her arms. “I don’t know, I just snapped.”

jimin tilted her head. “so, you got jealous?”

aeri opened her mouth, then closed it. “no.”

jimin gave her a look.

“fine.” aeri threw her hands up. “yes.I got jealous. ridiculously jealous. stupidly jealous.”

jimin grinned. “I knew it.”

aeri groaned, flopping back onto the couch again. “I’m such an idiot. yn probably hates me now.”

jimin leaned her elbows on the counter. “what exactly did you do?”

aeri stared at the ceiling. “I walked up to them, turned on my mean girl mode, and basically told her she still belongs to me, because of the thing and like completely destroyed all the development we had.”

jimin choked on her coffee. “you what?”

“I know.” aeri covered her face. “it was bad. and then—” she cringed. “yn said she thought we were connecting and I laughed in her face.”

jimin slapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide. “aeri.”

“I know.” aeri groaned. “I panicked.”

jimin shook her head. “oh my god, you like her.”

aeri scowled. “duh.”

“no, like, really like her.” jimin smirked. “you’re obsessed.”

aeri groaned, dragging her hands down her face. “I am.”

“this is amazing.” jimin laughed.

“it’s not.” aeri pouted. “I don’t know what to do. yn probably thinks I’m an evil, heartless—”

“dumbass?” jimin offered.

aeri glared. “not what I was gonna say.”

jimin rolled her eyes. “okay, listen. I know for a fact yn doesn’t hate you.”

aeri looked skeptical. “how?”

jimin smirked. “because she dropped you off here. if she hated you, she wouldn’t have made sure you were safe.”

aeri bit her lip. “but—”

“no buts.” jimin pointed at her. “you’re going to fix this.”

“how?”

jimin grinned. “she has morning practice. I’ll drive you.”

aeri hesitated.

jimin rolled her eyes. “do not make me throw you in the car.”

twenty minutes later, aeri was storming onto the field just like first them when yn hit her right in the face.

yn was standing near the goal, foot resting on a ball, when she looked up and saw aeri marching straight toward her.

“aeri—?”

before she could finish, aeri grabbed her face and kissed her.

yn froze, completely shocked, but after a second, she melted into it, her hands gripping aeri’s waist and pulling her closer.

when they finally pulled away, aeri was breathless. “please don’t hate me, I’m sorry.” her voice was quiet now. “I’m, like, in love with you, and iI don’t know what I’ll do if you don’t say anything back to me, because I want you so bad—”

yn let out a nervous chuckle. “I can’t believe you just kissed me.” she smiled, cheeks flushed. “I’ve been wanting to do that for days.”

aeri grinned, pressing another kiss to her lips

TWEEEET.

a sharp whistle cut through the air. they turned to see the entire team watching. and standing at the front, arms crossed, was coach.

yn’s dad.

“now that’s a way to meet the parents, yn get your little girlfriend off the field.”

the team howled with laughter. yn groaned, face turning a shade of red aeri had never seen before.

aeri whispered, “I’ll see you later,” before spinning on her heel and jogging back to jimin.

as soon as she reached her, they both squealed, gripping each other’s arms.

meanwhile, yn stood there, frozen, as her teammates slapped her back and teased the hell out of her.

[luv-lock]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤALIEN GIRLㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Yandere Mark Grayson x Fem Qu Reader Part 4

☆⁠ HEADCANON : It's been two years since you told him you're pregnant. And when he start to believe that maybe you were wrong, he become a father...

☆⁠ NOTES : Qu is an alien species from the book All Tomorrows. You can learn more about her here. English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

Mark had been convinced you weren’t actually pregnant.

Two years had passed. Two whole years.

Two long years of your strange habits, cravings, and obsessive nesting.

But… no baby.

At first, Mark had panicked. Then, after months of nothing changing, he thought, Maybe she was wrong? Maybe whatever weird biology she had messed up and she wasn’t actually pregnant.

He even asked his mom about it.

Debbie had given him a deadpan look. "You’re hoping it’s a mistake?"

Mark sighed. "I mean, yeah. It’s been two years. Nothing happened."

Debbie just shook her head. "Mark, honey. She’s an alien. You don’t know what’s normal for her."

Mark groaned. "I just—I don’t know if I’m ready for—"

But then, one morning, he woke up to— Something he never expected.

Mark walked into the bedroom that morning, rubbing the sleep from his eyes—

And froze.

Tiny babies. A lot of tiny babies.

Mark froze.

His brain shut down.

You were curled up in your nest, naked, looking like a goddamn angel, surrounded by— He blinked. What… the hell? There were tiny creatures all around you. At first, he thought they were insects or some weird alien parasite. But then one of them turned its tiny, shimmering face towards him— And Mark swore his heart stopped. They were—

Glowing, beautiful creatures.

Some were spinning in circles, some were chewing on your hair, and others were just clinging to your fingers like tiny, precious fairies.

Mark’s mouth opened. No sound came out.

You were smiling softly, cradling one of them in your hand. The little thing let out a soft, bubbling sound and nuzzled against your nose.

You laughed.

A sweet, soft sound—like bells ringing in the wind.

And Mark—

Fainted.

He woke up to tiny hands patting his face.

He blinked blearily, vision blurry.

Then, he saw it.

A tiny, palm-sized creature was sitting on his chest.

It had soft silky hair, jewel-like eyes, and a face that looked eerily like yours.

It stared at him, then made a tiny, frog-like croak.

Mark screamed.

The baby screamed back, jumped in surprise, flipping in the air like some kind of acrobat and landing on his face.

Mark flailed. "WHAT—WHAT THE HELL?!"

You tilted your head from where you were still lying in the nest, surrounded by tiny babies.

"You loud," you said, unbothered. "Babies sleep."

Mark sat up so fast the baby on his face tumbled into his lap. "I—what—what the fuck?!"

Mark’s brain short-circuited.

He looked around. The nest was covered in tiny, glowing babies—some were curled in your hair, chewing on it like kittens, others were nestled against your stomach, and a few were floating?

Mark stared.

Then, slowly, he looked down at the tiny baby in his lap.

It was looking up at him with big, glowing eyes.

It reached out—tiny, delicate hand brushing against his chest.

Then it leaned forward and kissed him.

Mark melted.

You were still holding one in your hand, gazing at it with a soft, angelic smile, your eyes full of warmth. The tiny baby made a bubbling, singing noise, almost like a frog’s call but… softer. Sweeter. Mark’s heart squeezed. This was… This was… actually… kind of beautiful? The baby bite your finger. And you laughed. It was the most pure, soft, happy laugh Mark had ever heard from you. Mark felt his head spin. His chest ached. His eyes burned. He stepped forward, swallowing thickly. "Babe… are these…?" You looked up at him, your glowing eyes soft and proud. "Our sons." Mark felt his heart explode. "Sons. I have sons. Holy shit. I have too many sons."

Then, as Mark took in the beautiful, fairytale-like scene before him— You opened your mouth. Wide. Way too wide. Like something out of a horror movie, teeth glistening. And one of the babies dangling above your mouth. Mark’s soul left his body. "HOLY SHIT—" He lunged forward, grabbing the baby out of your hands.

"OH MY FUCKING GOD!"

You blinked at him, confused. "Mark?" Mark clutched the baby to his chest, horrified. "WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU DOING?!" You tilted your head. "Eat." Mark screamed. "NO! BAD! DON’T EAT THE BABY!" You blinked, then giggled. "Not eat all. Only some." Mark felt like he was going to die. "OH MY GOD. YOU’RE A TERRIFYING MONSTER." You pouted. "Not monster. Mother. Must eat weak." Mark hugged the baby. "OVER MY DEAD BODY." You blinked at him. Then, after a pause, you smiled. "Mark strong." Mark huffed. "Damn right I am." You just laughed and snuggled into him. "Then no eat." Mark sighed in relief— And then froze. "Wait, so you’re saying—if I wasn’t strong, you’d eat them?!" You shrugged. "Maybe." Mark’s eye twitched.

The babies chirped curiously, tilting their tiny heads. Mark sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Jesus Christ. I need to call my mom."

Debbie had seen a lot in her life. But walking into her house to find one hundred tiny, fairy-like grandchildren crawling around her living room was definitely a first. "...Mark." Mark turned to her, exhausted. "Mom." Debbie looked around. The babies were absolutely adorable—singing softly, clinging to Mark, playing with each other’s hair. "...I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this." Mark sighed. "Yeah, well, I wasn’t expecting her to try to eat them." Debbie froze. "...She what?" Mark groaned, rubbing his face. "Apparently, her species eats their weaker children." Debbie stared. "And you stopped her?" "Of course, I stopped her!" Debbie hummed. "Huh." Mark narrowed his eyes. "Why do you sound… not surprised?" Debbie shrugged. "Honey, you dated an apex predator. What did you think was gonna happen?" Before Mark could respond, Nolan walked in. He took one look at the scene before him— And froze.

He just stood there, staring at you—looking like he wanted to drop dead. "...You gave birth to a hundred." You tilted your head. "Small number." Nolan inhaled deeply. "Small number." Mark shrugged. "At least they’re cute." Then, one of them climbed onto his head. And Nolan watched as Mark just let it happen.

His expression was unreadable. Slowly, one of the babies floated up to him, its tiny, glowing eyes staring at him curiously. Nolan glared. The baby chirped prettily. Nolan’s face twitched. The baby gently kissed his nose. Nolan let out a deep sigh and rubbed his temples. "Goddammit."

Nolan still hate you. But he had to admit— These things were… adorable. They were unnaturally well-behaved, polite, and clung to Mark like little ducklings. And worst of all? They liked him. Nolan would be sitting on the couch, arms crossed, trying to ignore them— When suddenly, a tiny one would crawl onto his lap, grab his mustache, and start playing with it. Nolan’s eye twitched. "...Mark. Get it off me." Mark smirked. "I think they like you." More babies swarmed him. They hugged his arms, kissed his face, and made little happy croaking sounds. Nolan just sat there. Defeated. "...I hate this." But he didn’t move.

The babies love Mark. They sleep on his chest, crawl all over him, and fight each other for his attention. And they were obsessed with him. Mark could not escape. He woke up one morning with ten of them sleeping on his chest. Another time, he found them cuddled in his hoodies, making little happy noises. Mark’s life was now just being followed by a pack of glowing, fairy-like children who worshiped him. And honestly? He loved it. Even if he caught them eating random things. Because these kids? They ate anything. One time, Mark caught one of them chewing on a doorknob. Another was licking the floor. And one almost ate his phone. Mark had never screamed so loud in his life. Debbie caught one doing the dishes. She nearly cried. They talk to you in your native language. Mark has no idea what’s being said.

It's terrifying.

It clicks, hisses, gurgles, and warbles.

It chirrs like an insect’s wings, croaks like a deep-sea creature, pulses like something breathing in the dark. It is wet, guttural, and skittering, yet somehow, in its horrific alien cadence, eerily beautiful. “Ɐ̷̢͙̤̖ɦ̶͙̳̝͚͖’̙̻̠̼̫͢z̢̲̦̗̗h̵̛̞h̵͍̘͉̠͙l̨̡̥̟̝̠͚l̠̦͉̜͜ͅ r̸̪̜̰͕ͅr̴̗’̳͚̦̲̲̞k͕̗͉̗͢a̶̛̗̞̩a̵̜̯͖̜̠a̵̙̦͉̗̦ͅ-̡̡͉̪͕̞̪̜c̡͚h̴̡͍̖̦̳ī̶͓͖̝͚̙ī̴̫̻͇ͅī̡̢̬͈̹,͇̜̞̩͎͎̕͜ ś͍͉͉s͏̦͕͍̻ͅa̶̮̠̳̲̹’̴͖͍͈͙͖v̦̬̺̰̻͍͠a̸̳h̞̦͈͈r̸̖͖̞h̖͙̯͜h̵͉̠̘͎̞̰ t͉̳͈͞c��̳͍̜̟̟̻h̨̹̖̳̖͡ͅa̢̰͓͚͎’̡͎̹͡k̸̝͝a͓̞̗͡a͎̠ͅr̵̫̪u̶̘̜͚u̢͍͉̠̘.̸̪”

Sleep, little spawn, the dark waters hold you now... hush... hush... hush...

“T͕͘’͖͚͓͡k̦̘͖͍̀k̢͉͍h͏̲̼̙r̩̙̦̬r̵̨̟r͙͉͚͉̺͘ͅ s̜̻͎̞͜s̛̪̠̼̘̦’̵͏̻͍̯ͅk̸̼͙̞͍̩̯̕a̴̬̰̳͍̘͇͝a̛̬a̼̕̕’̡̦v̸̮͕̲̞̙̕v̵̛̠̜̲n̹̩̕n̨̩͙̝̲̬̳͠,̸̜͍̗͇ h̹͎̲͕͜h͉͝’̨̡͓̝͎̰z̖͙̠͝ͅr̷̞͉̤͚̘̗͞r̜̼͢r̸͙̼̟̕a̡̻̦̙̞͡a̛͙͉-̵̨̳͕̩c̡̡̲͈h̖̜̤͟ͅi̢̨̻̥̤i̵̛̗’̻̘̲̘͠v̷͎̯̘h͎͝u̞͝r̷͉̗̩̰r̴̙͎̞ͅ.̦̖̞͎́”

Do not tremble, do not weep, the deep will consume all things in time... hush...

“C̞̩̠̰͘h̞̻̪̀k̨̼̲̺̠k̠̀’̼̕ͅh̶̨̞h̵̘z̢̙̞̞z̷̲̩̰—͏̗̝v̡̻a̵̦͖̬à̺̗’͙̤̤͙̳͡r̶̜̲̱̬͢i̼̪͡’̷̡̯̹x̷̡̗h̷̩͜h̩͞a͏͙̪̼̝͝a̸̲̥!̡̢̬͇̪͖ K̨̩r̠̕i̦̩̕͢i̛̺͜’͜ͅͅt̷̮̼̩͙ź͖̥̤c̯̙̳̟̥̕h̸͜ v̶͔͢r͏̡̞̜̼’̵͏̰r̸̜͎̰r̼͡n̷̦̝̜̰n̛̬̦͖̜a̛͚̻̗̝?̨͏͎̰”

Oh, my little crawling thing—what is this mess you've made?

“H͠h̀͜z̷z͝h̸̗̬͖̼’̡̺̩̪͓k̷̺̦̠̩k̛̘h̸̝̯͕,̢͎̗̬ v͞á̻͕a͠’̸̳͚͇͙x̡̨̬̦r̸͕̟͙͜r̢̛̻̩̲h̕͟.͡.̶̯̜͓̼͉̹.̶̩͙̻ c̴̝͉h̢̨̝̗̤’̵̙̯̗t̡̢̻z̷͎̻̳h̸̗̖h͙̖̕̕h̷̪͓ v́r̴̻̖r̶̦̠̰a͠a̢̠̙a̳͜a̢̲̰̟ s̴͚ͅz̞̝̦̕͞à͙’̨͙͖̕l̨̙̰̖͡a̢.̶̦̦”

Shhh, my teeth... I will tell you what the tides never whisper...

“T̵̟̝̻’͍͡s̵̗̝̼h̢̯̗̰̰h̢͚͕̪k̷͖a͏̛̥̖a̛̜͎͍͕ v͎̬̗̖͢v͏̡̙̜̗r̵̬̘̻͡’̵̯͙̕h̨͎h̦̞̹̕u̷̝̲u̦͕̬͜u̷̠̰n̶̨̝̗̠ c̰̩̝̺͘h̸͏̝͙̼̩z͚͎͔̕z̛̙͕̯t̩͘͝’̛̹̹̰̘v̸̰̹̗͉͜v̡͏̹̹̲̬h͇̕̕a̵͖a͏͕,̷̨̠͙͉ m͏̹͚̖a̡͚̲̠͠h̡̛̗̗’̪̬̪̻̯͝t̴̬̻c̸͍̘̯͍̝̕h̸̦͡r̘̖̳͜ͅr̢͎͠h̷͍̤.̷̢͎”

Come, my dripping, writhing things... to my arms. They all croak back in unison everytime. Mark dies of cuteness. He's also kinda scared because he don't understand anything. They like to steal Nolan’s things. His gloves, cape, books. One tried to steal his boot. Nolan caught it dragging the boot across the floor.

"Mark. Control your gremlins." "Dad, they’re literally palm-sized babies." "They have no fear." The babies nest with you. They curl up in your hair, hold onto your fingers, and purr. Mark watches them sleep and feels his heart explode. He still can’t believe it. He’s a dad. And despite the sheer insanity of it all, Mark had to admit—

These kids were freaking adorable.

They clung to him like little monkeys, curling up on his chest when he napped.

They kissed him all the time, tiny soft lips pressing to his cheeks, nose, and forehead.

They loved everyone—especially his mom.

Debbie would be cooking, and they’d all be floating around, handing her ingredients.

"Thank you, sweetie," she cooed at one, patting his little head.

The baby made a soft, frog-like song, happy and proud.

Mark’s heart melted.

Even Nolan had given up fighting it.

Mark had caught him more than once with a tiny baby curled up in his palm, snoring.

"...They are cute," he admitted. Mark smirked. "See? Told you."

And Mark’s favorite thing?

You, curled up in the nest, singing them a lullaby in your strange, haunting language.

The babies would float around you, making soft chirping sounds, slowly drifting to sleep.

And Mark?

Mark would just sit there, watching, realizing how much he loved this insane, beautiful, monstrous woman.

And his strange, perfect, tiny children.

— MASTERLIST ☆

— NEXT ☆ Part 1. Part 2. Part 3.

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, repost or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[swtheartz]

i loved your little drabble of the “breaking up with mark doesn’t work” post and i’d really like to hear your thoughts on how that would go down with some of his variants if you have the time pretty please����✨

ohh of course dear !! been thinking abt it and this req inspired me even more info : obsessive behavior, mentions and acts of murder, stalking, he’s crazy in every universe. gn!reader a / n : this is a gift to you guys for 348 followers. i’m soo grateful n happy <33

SINISTER MARK

he thinks it’s a joke at first. you’ve no real reason to actually want to leave him, right? he’s utterly convinced that there was nothing wrong with the relationship. and to be fair, there wasn’t. other than the fact he was possessive as shit and always had tabs on you. would scare off your friends and constantly linger around you whenever he wasn’t terrorizing the masses. the second he realizes that you’re serious? he doesn’t take it very well. you won’t ever find someone better than him. he won’t let you. just what human could ever be better than him?

“You’re not very good at jokes,” Mark says—voice and expression both hauntingly blank. It sends chills down your spine for the simple fact he’s never had such an empty tone. The way he looks at you is something that you can’t exactly put into words. Maybe he’s disappointed. Maybe he’s annoyed, or expectant, or some other emotion that you cannot be bothered to decipher. Not when there’s blood staining your clothes and his, the floor, your cheeks and his hands. Whatever ‘friend’ you were hanging out with was dead before they’d hit the ground. It’s been twelve days since you had gathered the courage to tell Mark you wanted a break, and it took him this long to take you seriously. Thought, it hadn’t taken much effort for him to take a life. “I don’t know why you thought this was a good idea. . .” He hummed, tilting his head as he crouched down in front of you, watching you tremble like a deer in front of an incomprehensible creature. ”But let’s not do this again, hm?”

OMNI MARK

calm. at least, he seems calm. but he also doesn’t take you very seriously. acts as he usually does, even asks you when the next date night is. as if he’ll even be able to make it with his schedule and how often he cancels on you. looks at you as though you’ve said something ludicrous when you answer that there isn’t a date night—you’re not together anymore. surely, you don’t know what you’re talking about. if you wanted him to plan the next date, you could have just told him. he’s usually the one that does all the thinking, anyway, so it doesn’t really matter. honestly, what made you think you could walk away from him? the one human he cares for, and you’ve the nerve to try and separate from him? funny.

“We’re not dating, Mark.” The way the two of you stare at each other for a few tense moments is a little awkward, though he doesn’t seem to care. He holds eye contact with you before sighing—like you’re a child who doesn’t know what they’re talking about. Like you’ve garnered the nerve to tell some dry joke. “If you have a problem,” Mark starts, arms crossed against his chest as he ignores your exasperated expression, “we talk it out. Like a couple is supposed to do.” “But we’re not a couple anymore. That is what I’m telling you.” You’re attempting to be reasonable, you really are, but you swear up and down he’s making you feel like the crazy one. This has got to be the third time you’ve had this conversation with him, and it hasn’t even been a week. There isn’t any way you can get through to him and you just don’t understand why. Mark scoffs, again, ignoring you. “I’ll make sure I’m not busy. Crime’s been going down, so it should be fine. They’ll manage without me.” “Just kill me already.” You mutter to yourself, unable to decide whether or not you’ll be able to ever get your point across. . . . You’ll just try again tomorrow.

FULL MASK MARK

more pathetic than mainstream mark. this man is like a wet cat in the rain. tries to maintain distance, but ends up following you everyday, texts you without thinking about it while he attempts to reason that it’s okay. you just need some distance and time, and maybe you’ll both get better. ends up outside your window after a particularly bad fight with a villain he had. he didn’t do it on purpose, he just sort of ended up here. call it muscle memory if you will. all he knows is that he’s a mess without you—needs you like oxygen, can barely think or focus on anything without you. probably the only one that tries to be the best he can be for you outside of the main universe. and probably the only one you didn’t really want to break up with.

“ ‘m sorry.”

“Markus.”

“ ‘m sorry,” Mark sniffles, face tucked into your neck as he clings to you. You’d think of it as pathetic if it were anyone but him, honestly. He’d shown up with your favorite candy and drink, bloody and looking like a stray abandoned on the side of the street. You practically had to drag him through the window when he tried to turn back around. It took a bit of insisting and a med-kit to get him cleaned and patched up, despite him reminding you that he technically didn’t need it. You snapped at him to shut up before inevitably pulling him to your room again—letting him stay the night was an easy decision, almost too easy. As of right now, he was simply listening to the sound of your heartbeat, your soft breathing, enjoying the way your gentle fingers tangled in his hair. It was sweet. Familiar. Something Mark had missed so much it made his heart ache and hurt, to the point felt as though it was being ripped apart. Though, if it were done by your hands, he wouldn’t mind.

a / n : i liked writing this, i might make a part two to this and i’m gonna make the healer reader thing a series if you guys are up to reading that. mwah mwahhhh

taglist : @lxkoluvsu // @broicouldjustbuyyousomekombucha // @tokoyamisstuff

[reallyactuallycereal]

Growing up, debate was encouraged. I was told to question everything, and my questions were met with thoughtful answers and invitations to research and more questions to further push my critical thinking. When I would get frustrated or run into a logical wall, I was encouraged to do some research and return to the topic with my findings, and my grandfather would say, “I just want you to consider perspectives and experiences outside your own.”

As I grew older, I kept asking similar questions about similar topics. I’d do my research beforehand and come armed with defenses for my ideas. I got better and better at forming well-rounded, well-informed opinions—but the patience for my well-informed debates got thinner and thinner, until debates became arguments and I was routinely told “Well, you just have an answer for everything, don’t you?”

And now, in my mid twenties, when I’m sitting in the living room of the family that encouraged me to research and find factual evidence to support my thoughts and ideas about philosophy and the government, they tell me completely, provably false things they see on channels like Fox News. And I correct them with sources. And you know what my mother said to me, as if it was some icky, mildly disturbing thing that I Wasn’t Raised To Do?

“Oh. I forgot you Do Research.”

I was so stunned by that response, after all these years of trying to teach me such vital skills, that I blurted, “So you just have unfounded opinions based on what other people tell you and don’t check to see if it’s true?”

And she just shrugged and nodded. So no. They do not care to learn the difference between fact and fiction, let alone between “I don’t like it” and “This is evil.”

I so desperately want to be able to convince Trump supporters with facts and logic and empathy, but it’s so important to remember that their ignorance is INTENTIONAL. my mom didn’t let us watch Sleeping Beauty growing up. I asked her why recently and she said, “it was evil.” when I pointed out other movies had similar themes and depictions of evil, and asked what the difference was, she couldn’t. I pressed one more time and she just said, “it felt evil to me. I didn’t like it”. same thing with dune 2: she said it was “dark”, and I was, “literally, like the movie’s lighting? Or the themes?” and she said “I don’t know” and didn’t want to talk about it more. many conservatives genuinely cannot tell the difference between “I don’t like it” and “this is evil” and they do not care to learn despite many chances

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

Toto’s Guard Dog

Part 2

Word count: 617

Pairing: Toto Wolff x reader

Summary: Y/n L/n may not be Toto Wolff’s wife, but she acts like it—relentlessly dragging Christian Horner in press conferences, social media, and the paddock itself.

________________________________________________________

Y/n L/n didn’t wake up every morning thinking about Christian Horner. In fact, she would have gone her whole life without giving him a second thought if he had just kept Toto’s name out of his mouth.

But he hadn’t.

And now? Now he was her mortal enemy.

It had started with an interview. Some offhanded comment from Horner about how “Toto likes to play the victim” after a heated team principals’ meeting. Y/n had been sitting in her usual spot at the Mercedes garage, sipping her coffee, scrolling through Twitter, when she saw the quote plastered everywhere.

Her jaw clenched. Her fingers twitched. And before she even realized what she was doing, she was firing off a tweet:

“Imagine talking this much when your wife’s the only reason you’re still relevant. Couldn’t be me.”

The internet lost its mind.

The paddock lost its mind.

Toto, casually checking his phone before a meeting, raised an eyebrow at the notification and smirked.

But that was only the beginning.

It became a running theme. Y/n, always lingering in the paddock, always nearby when Christian Horner had something to say, always ready with a perfectly timed eyeroll or a scathing remark just loud enough to be heard.

When he walked by, she hummed idiot under her breath.

When he spoke in press conferences, she made exaggerated snoring noises from the back.

When he talked about Mercedes “struggling,” she posted an Instagram story of her sipping champagne in the garage with the caption:

“I’d rather struggle with Toto than thrive with The Hobbit.”

Because that’s what she called him.

The Hobbit.

It caught on faster than she expected. Soon enough, whenever anyone in the paddock mentioned “The Hobbit,” they weren’t talking about Tolkien.

“Did you see The Hobbit’s latest interview?”

“The Hobbit looked pissed today.”

“Oh my god, The Hobbit and Y/n were at it again.”

The next escalation came during a press conference.

She was standing just off-camera, waiting for Toto to finish up when a reporter directed a question at Horner.

“Christian, there’s been a lot of back and forth between you and Toto this season. Do you think the rivalry has reached a new level?”

Horner smirked. “I think Toto spends more time worrying about Red Bull than his own team. Maybe if he focused more on Mercedes, they wouldn’t be struggling so much.”

Y/n didn’t even think.

“Loud for someone who’s been in the FIA’s office every other week,” she muttered.

The microphone picked it up.

Horner’s head snapped toward her. “Excuse me?”

She put on her sweetest smile. “Oh, was I not supposed to say that out loud?”

The room went feral. Lando nearly choked on his water. Max ducked his head, biting his lip to hide his grin. Even Charles, ever the neutral party, looked delighted.

Toto?

Toto leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, smirking like a man thoroughly entertained.

“You do know you don’t have to fight my battles, right?” he said later, when they were back at the garage.

Y/n scoffed. “Who else is gonna do it? You’re too classy. Someone’s gotta put that man in his place.”

Toto chuckled, looking her up and down. “And you’ve decided that someone is you?”

“Obviously.” She tossed her hair. “You can’t get rid of me now, boss. I’m your guard dog.”

Something flickered in Toto’s gaze. Amusement, sure. But also something darker, something she couldn’t quite place.

His voice dropped, just slightly. “Good girl.”

Y/n blinked.

Her brain short-circuited.

And Toto?

Toto just smirked and walked away, leaving her standing there, stunned, heart racing, very much aware that she was in so much trouble.

[ipushhimback]

would you be able to write oscah fluff after china win?

there you go, anon!! it is not too long but i hope you like it <3

shut up and give me a hug

pairing: oscar piastri x reader warnings: none words: ca. 800

The whole last week Oscar had been in a bad mood thanks to everything that had happened at his home race in Australia. Not even the fact that he had secured his first pole position in qualifying made him feel better. 

Now you were standing next to Oscar, who was getting ready for the race in China. 

“Listen, baby. You will go out there and you’ll fucking win this race, ok? Don’t think about anything than winning. You can do it. I know that you’ll win, the fans believe in your win.”, you said as you moved to stand in front of your boyfriend to look him in the eyes. “Did you understand? You’ll win.”

Oscar looked down at you and nodded. “Of course. I’ll try my best.” He leaned down to you and pressed a kiss to your lips before grinning down at you. “But I want a reward”, he said smirking. 

“Yeah yeah, sure. Now go”, you said and placed his helmet on his head. He gave you a thumbs up before getting in the car. 

***

He won. Oscar really won the Grand Prix. To be honest you were a little scared after his start but then he crossed the line first, making you tick another cube on your bingo card. Yes, you did have a bingo card because you need something to keep you interested in the races when they become boring.

Your boyfriend got out of the car and he looked… like always. Oscar has never been one to show his emotions after a win. That didn’t mean he wasn't happy to be first. Just that he liked it better to celebrate with you.

After the interviews and the podium, where you cried but… no one has seen that, he went over to you still smelling like champagne and sweat. 

“I hate to break it to you, babe, but you really need a shower”, you greeted him. 

“Shut up and give me a hug”, Oscar mumbled as he stepped forward to wrap his arms around you. 

“Yes, you big baby”, you said hugging him back and patting his back over the race suit which was drenched in champagne. 

You scrunched you nose. “Osc. I really really love you but can you please take a shower and change? You are smelly. And wet. And I know the champagne is amazing bc you know you won but it is also just gross…”

”Okayyy…”, Oscar sighed. “But remember my reward, yeah?”

You nodded and gave him another pat to his back to get him to leave for a shower. He left you standing there wondering what you could reward him with. You knew he would be happy with a night full of sex but you wanted to give him something else. Something more meaningful. You just had no idea what. Until it hit you. Something simple. But you were excited to see his face when you would give it to him. 

You sprinted to a small stand where the fans could buy merch and other stuff. You bought what you were looking for before running back to wait for Oscar in front of his driver’s room. 

Only a couple minutes later the door opened and Oscar, now in jeans and a McLaren hoodie, was standing in front of you.

”So? You got my reward?”, he asked, smirking as he leaned down to kiss you.

”Yes. I do. Close your eyes.”, you demanded. 

Oscar looked confused for a second before doing as you told him. You grabbed his hand and slipped something on his wrist. Oscar furrowed his brows trying to make out what it was.

”Ok, you can open your eyes again”, you said nervously. What if he thought it was stupid? What if he didn’t like it? But before you could overthink it Oscar opened his eyes and looked down at his wrist. 

An orange hair tie with a small charm of the chinese gp on it. 

“I’m sorry it is only something small and probably a little silly but you know when people are a couple and the girl gives her boyfriend a hair tie? We haven’t done that yet and I thought it might be cute like from now on you can just add the charms of races you won or so but if you don’t like it it is ok as well or-“

Oscar interrupted you by pressing a kiss on your lips.

”Shut up. It’s amazing, babe. Thank you”, he told you as you blushed. “Now to the reward I actually meant before…”

a/n: loved writing this and i hope you like it! pls continue sending requests i already got a few and am so happy about all of them <3 tags: @strawberryy-kiwii / @a-distantdreamer / @requiemforthepoets / @martygraciesversion381 / @l-vroom4 / @comicqlivy / @sid-is-gr8 / @picklesbuddy93 / @sadiemack9 / @f1fantasys / @cloud-55 / @sunny44 / @widow-cevans / @gigicisneros / @mbioooo0000 / @sinfully-yoursss / @bravo-delta-eccho / @rue-t / @mayax2o07 / @alexanderachillesisgay / @maviesamour / @suhchenjun / @pippyth3hippy / @sweate-r-weathe-r / @joannaln4 / @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy / @aleatorio1234 / @anayaverse 

[rafes-slut]

desperate ex!rafe smut?

Pathetic Desire

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Ex-Reader

Warnings: Smut, NSFW, explicit sexual content, desperation, unprotected sex, exes with unresolved sexual tension, begging, rough sex, possessiveness, dominance, intense sexual need, voyeurism, manipulation (emotional), power dynamic, soft degradation, orgasm denial, desperate begging, Rafe being pathetic and shameless.

You hadn’t expected the call, the one that came in the middle of the night. But it was Rafe, and you didn’t ignore it, not with the way things had ended.

"Rafe?" You answered, voice low, cautious.

His voice on the other end was strained, desperate. "I need you. Fuck, I need you so bad right now."

You froze, heart racing in your chest. You hadn't heard him this broken, this needy, in a long time. "What are you talking about?" you asked, though you could already feel a pull in your chest. The way he said it, needed you, it wasn’t just a casual request. There was pain in it.

“I can't stop thinking about you. Fuck, it’s been so long… I miss the way you feel—miss your pussy,” he rasped. You could hear the desperation thick in his voice, his breathing uneven. “I can't focus, can't sleep... I can't get you out of my head. I just want to fuck you. Please. You have no idea what it's been like without you.”

It almost made you laugh, the way he sounded so fucking pathetic. But then it hit you—the way your body reacted, betraying you. Your pussy clenched, a surge of warmth rushing through you at his words. Despite everything, you missed it too. You missed him inside you, the way he made you feel—alive, full, desired.

"You sound pathetic, Rafe," you replied, though you couldn't hide the small, almost unnoticeable hitch in your breath. "I don't know if I want to deal with that again. You really think I want you back like this?"

There was a long pause, and then you heard him—his voice cracking, full of yearning. "Please... I can’t—fuck, I can’t stand it. I need you. I miss your body. I need to feel you around me. I’ll do anything—anything you want. I’ll even beg, just please… let me feel you again. Let me have what’s mine.”

You bit your lip, torn between feeling a bit sorry for him and feeling thrilled at the thought of being with him again. There was something about Rafe’s desperation that sent a wave of heat straight to your core. Maybe it was the fact that he never showed this side of himself—always the cocky asshole, the guy who thought he could have anyone. But now, hearing him like this, begging you, it almost turned you on.

"Pathetic," you whispered, closing your eyes and trying to push down the surge of need flooding your veins. "You really think I'll just give you what you want? After everything? You think you can just beg me back into bed?"

You heard him suck in a breath. “I’ll do anything. I’ll apologize. I’ll beg. I don’t care. I just need to be inside you again. I want you so bad, baby. Please, let me feel you again. Let me feel you clenching around me. I swear I'll make it worth it.” His voice was rough, so full of need it almost sounded like he was breaking.

God, you hated that it made you feel hot—the desperation in his voice, the way he sounded like he was on the edge of losing control.

“Please,” he begged again, his voice raw. "I’ll fuck you how you want. Gentle, hard, fast, slow. Just let me inside you, I can’t stand it anymore. I just want to feel your body again. Feel you wrapped around me, tight and warm…”

There it was again—the ache between your legs, undeniable. Your heart pounded harder, but you didn’t want to give in so easily. Not after everything. Not after how things ended between you two.

But his words kept spinning around in your mind, his desperation pulling you in deeper. You could feel your own breath growing heavier, your body so fucking needy.

“Rafe,” you sighed, a soft moan escaping as your fingers subconsciously grazed your skin. “You’re pathetic. You think I’m just going to give you what you want after everything that happened? You were an asshole.”

“I know,” he groaned, voice thick with shame and hunger. “I know I fucked up. I was a dick. I’ve been a dick this whole time. But I swear to god, I need you. I’m begging you, baby. Don’t leave me like this. I just—please, just fuck me. I can’t be without you anymore. Please… I’ll be whatever you need me to be.”

And that was it. You couldn’t resist any longer. The sound of him, the desperation, the need in his voice—it was too much. You missed it. You missed him. You missed his cock.

“I’m not doing this over the phone,” you said, voice trembling as you made up your mind. “Come over here, Rafe. Come to me right now. You’re gonna show me just how sorry you are.”

Within minutes, there was a knock at your door. You opened it, and there he was—standing in the doorway, his eyes dark with hunger and need, sweat glistening on his skin from the rush of adrenaline. His clothes were disheveled, and you could already tell from the bulge in his pants that he was just as desperate as he sounded.

“You’re really pathetic, you know that?” you teased, but the way you ran your hand down his chest betrayed how badly you wanted him.

Rafe didn’t care. He didn’t have time for your teasing. He pulled you into him, crushing your lips with his in a hungry kiss, hands already tugging your clothes off. “I don’t care what you call me. Just let me fuck you. Let me feel you again. I need it. Please.”

You pulled away, laughing softly despite how turned on you were. “You’re really begging for it, huh?”

“I’d beg all night if I have to. Just please, don’t make me wait any longer.”

That was all you needed to hear before you slammed your lips back into his, and within moments, you were both naked, Rafe pressing you against the bed, sliding inside you in one hard thrust.

The feeling of him inside you again, his cock deep, filling you completely, was exactly what you remembered. Fucking perfect.

Rafe groaned, his face buried in your neck, hips grinding into you desperately. “God, I’ve missed this—missed you—missed how fucking tight you are. So fucking good.”

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him even deeper as you both moaned in sync. Every thrust was brutal, raw, and desperate. His hands were everywhere, gripping your thighs, your hips, your ass.

“Please,” he panted, “Please come for me again. I need to feel you lose control. I need to know you’re as fucked up about this as I am.”

And when you finally did, your body shaking in his arms, Rafe wasn’t far behind. He spilled inside you, both of you trembling with the force of it.

He collapsed on top of you, breathing hard, his body still shuddering. “I’m not letting you go again,” he whispered. “I can’t be without you.

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

then send me a son

pairing: joel miller x reader

cws/tags: so much angst (w/ happy ending! i swear), discussion of suicide attempt (the canon one), suicidal ideations, losing a child, losing a parent, survivors guilt, discussions of abortion, unplanned pregnancy, p in v, oral sex, virginity loss (but it's not that big of deal/not a kink), both dealing w grief, ellie is dead, this is set in jackson post tlou pt I

summary: joel is put on suicide watch after he returns to jackson w/o ellie and reader becomes his 'caregiver' of sorts. lowkey enemies to lovers but also not bc it's kinda one-sided 'hatred'

a/n: author is pro-choice! and also understands the complexities of mental health that reader and joel do not at times (just wanted to make it clear that i understand... from personal experience... what depression is like as well as suicidal ideation).

title is from the song 'the suburbs' by arcade fire, but listen to the entirety of the suburbs (album) and funeral (album) if you want to understand my mindframe while writing this

the last sentence is a quote and i've reblogged it before but i'll find the image and post it/reblog it again

wc: 9.4k

masterlist | ko-fi | taglist

Joel is just surprised Tommy has the gall to ask, “Where’s Ellie?” when he arrives in Jackson alone. 

In this world, when two people leave and only one comes back, you don’t ask because you already know what happened. You wait for that person to tell you about a miracle, and when they don’t, you know for sure. 

“Heaven, if you believe in that sort of thing,” is Joel’s response. 

But Joel doesn’t believe in Heaven or Hell, or anything other than ashes and dirt. 

“I don’t know what to say,” Tommy says because he’d already said ‘I’m sorry’ when Sarah died, and that didn’t bring her back. 

It takes a hefty amount of booze to get Joel to tell the story.

“I just hope she died for something. Then, at least, I’ll know I’m being selfish.”

I didn’t get that with Sarah, he thinks. She didn’t die for a ‘noble cause’. He doubts Ellie did either. 

“You’re being put on watch,” Maria tells him the next morning – when he’s sober and asking what his duties are now that he’s back. 

Life goes on, which means work goes on, so what’s my job? As long as it’s not burning bodies, I’ll be okay. 

“Watch? Like I’m watching, or I’m being watched.”

“Being watched.”

He asks why, though he doesn’t need to. Tommy knows why he’s got that scar on his forehead. 

“Fucking authoritarian bullshit,” he mutters, half into his pillow. “Thought you were a communist.”

“I am. And this has nothing to do with that.”

“I bet Tommy put you up to it anyway.”

“He didn’t ‘put me up to anything’.”

“But he told you, didn’t he?”

“He told me a long time ago.”

“Figures. You always knew I was a coward.”

“You say stuff like that, and then act like you don’t need help.”

“I didn’t say I don’t need help. I said I don’t want it.”

She’s silent, letting him continue. “Now let me grieve in peace, will you?”

She hums something akin to agreement, but asks for something that sounds like protest to him. “Where’s your gun?”

“Which one?”

“All of ‘em.”

He tells her because he doesn’t want Tommy or anyone else searching through all his bullshit because that’s what happens if he doesn’t give ‘em up.

“Want my kitchen knives too?” he says, almost wryly. 

She takes most of them, but leaves the more blunt ones out of sympathy. He can have butter on his toast. Unless she takes the toaster so he can’t take it with him in the bathtub. 

She leaves the toaster, and then, leaves him alone. 

Quite frankly, he’s too old to kill himself. Sure, people do it at his age, but he’s so goddamn tired. Moreover, he knows he could get someone else to do it pretty easily. Maybe he could be a martyr. He could save someone from a clicker or a soldier. He could save someone’s life for once. But would that be enough to save his soul? To make it to Heaven and see Ellie and Sarah again?

Maybe, he would, if God really does love people the way some say he does. But if Joel was God, he’d deny himself entry.

He stays in bed for the rest of the day. Aside from the two times he eats. And once in the middle of the night to take a piss because he may be depressed, but the last of his dignity is motivation enough not to wet the bed. 

He doesn’t shower or change his clothes. Not like he’s wearing a shirt anyway, just boxers ‘cause it’s too hot outside and he doesn’t want to get up and turn on the fan. Sleep doesn’t come easy, but it comes. It comes because it has to, reluctant as it is.

He wakes up to the voice of an unfamiliar woman. Quieter than Ellie or Sarah, less stern than Maria or Tess. Not like he was expecting to hear from three out of four of those women, not outside of his dreams. 

You’ve always cared about people, saving lives and all that. But you’re no good with a gun, so Tommy finds a better job than patrol for you.  

“You’re going to be watching my brother, Joel.”

“Like, spying on him?”

“No, like making sure he doesn’t kill himself.”

A suicidal man is nothing new, especially in this world, but Tommy’s bluntness about it is. He acts as if it’s a normal job. Like the ones in office buildings that sound wonderful even though the people who tell you about them assure you it was barely better than life is now. This new watchmen position is the same as patrol, in a way. Terrifying in the gravity it holds. You have to keep someone alive.

You can shoot deer, you can run quickly, you can hide well. You can survive on your own. But, at age 10, your mom bled out as you sat by her side. You were too weak to carry her, to dig a grave and bury her. Your survival feels unearned, but you’re no good with guns. You’d miss if you tried to do it. That’s a rare thought anyway, and surely not one you plan to ever speak aloud. They’d put you on watch too, which sounds suffocating, in all honesty.

You don’t know Joel. You’ve heard his name in passing, but you arrived in Jackson during the period of time he was gone. He was going to take some girl to some hospital for something or other. 

“What about that girl?” you ask. “Is she not taking care of him?”

“She’s not around anymore.”

“Oh,” you say. 

He just nods. The ‘why’ of the whole arrangement makes sense, but you’re still unclear on the ‘how’. Am I just supposed to stay in his house 24/7? Is he allowed to shower on his own? Do I have to cook or do laundry?

“Just check in on him. He’s not the most… personable, but don’t take anything he says to heart.”

Just check in on him. It sounds simpler than it will be, you know that much. Even keeping a plant alive takes more than ‘checking in on it’. 

You arrive at his house around 10 AM. You assume he’ll be awake, but when you look around his living room and kitchen, you can’t find him. Oh God, you think. What if he’s… 

He’s asleep in bed. You’re pretty sure. He’s lying there and there’s no evidence that anything’s wrong, but when you say his name from the doorway, he doesn’t move. So, you walk closer to him, just to make sure he’s breathing. 

“Joel,” you say softly – because your other option is reaching out to touch him, and you feel that’s a little too personal, especially when he’s not wearing a shirt. 

“Who the Hell are you and how did you get into my house?” he says. 

“Tommy sent me.”

“Oh, so they’re making you watch me?”

“Yeah.”

You’re glad he knows about the arrangement. Maybe he’ll give you some direction on what to do with him. 

“Must hate you if they stuck you with me.” 

You can’t tell if he’s being ironic, but you hope so. Still, you don’t know how to respond. You decide on a simple, “I’ll let you get some sleep. I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”

Though you’re alone in the room, you sit with perfect posture on Joel’s couch, looking around at the decor – or lack thereof – looking for clues about who this man is. 

You think about making him breakfast, but you’d have to raid his cabinets to do so, and you’re terrified to make any missteps when it comes to Joel. You don’t think he’ll kill himself over burnt toast, but there is a persistent need lodged inside your brain to make him like you. It’s a little selfish when you should be focused on just keeping him alive, but maybe if he likes you, he’ll feel better, maybe you’ll feel better too. That’s still nothing but the ever-lingering hope in your heart. But it’s something.

He comes downstairs eventually, in a t-shirt and a pair of pajama bottoms. 

“Good morning,” you say. 

“No, it ain’t,” he says, heading in the direction of the kitchen. 

“Do you want me to help you with anything? Breakfast or coffee?”

“I can make my own damn coffee, kid.”

And he does. The first shred of kindness you get from him is an offer to pour you a cup. 

“I’m alright, but thank you.”

He sits down in a chair across from you and sips his coffee as you watch him awkwardly. 

“Are you really gonna do that all day?”

“Do what?”

“Sit there and stare at me.”

“I don’t know what else to do.”

“You could leave, for starters.”

“I’ll get in trouble.”

“What? You afraid Tommy’ll get upset with you?”

“A little.”

“He’s a softie. I wouldn’t worry too much.”

You are worried. Sure, you want Tommy to be happy with you, but moreover, you don’t want to leave Joel alone lest something happen to him. You might not know the guy very well, but you’d hate to see someone take their own life. 

“Can I just stay here? I promise I’ll leave you alone.”

He shrugs, and you take it as a yes.

He does not need a caregiver or a watchman. He does not need you, but you look like a kicked puppy and there’s no way he’ll force you to leave. Another young girl he’ll reluctantly let stick by his side. It’s almost cruel of Tommy to send someone like you. Someone young and full of life. Someone he has a hard time pushing away. 

He should’ve sent Joel a crotchety old bitch or a drill sergeant. Maybe Tommy thinks he’s doing Joel a favor by giving him a nice girl, polite and eager to please. It’s a good thing your chipper attitude irritates him. It’s the first item on the very small list of qualities that Joel dislikes.

At first, he insists on making his own food. You’re still a guest, even if he’s reluctant to have you as one. It doesn’t matter where he lives, he’ll always have been raised in Texas. He’ll always hear his mother calling him out on his lack of manners. His hospitality is force of habit.

Plus, if he lets you do anything for him, he’ll owe you something – at least in his mind. And he doesn’t want to owe anyone anything. He doesn’t want to give or get or build any kind of rapport with you whatsoever, especially since you seem to take all attention as progress, despite the fact that Joel is harsh with you most of the time. 

The whole ordeal makes him feel like more of a failure than he did before. He couldn’t save Ellie, or Sarah for that matter, and now he’s being forced into his own retirement or held hostage depending on how you look at it, so he can’t even get the satisfaction that productivity brings.

He also finds himself pretty fucking bored without work. He became so used to being in constant battle, even in his sleep. One wrong move and he was dead. The worst injury he’s gotten in the past few weeks was a paper cut.

Reading was never his biggest hobby, but it’s not bad when you find the right book. Often, you’ll sit across the room from him and read a book of your own, and the silence as he relaxes into the couch is quite peaceful for a change. 

No amount of peace and quiet can cure his boredom, though. It makes him antsy, and you notice. You notice a lot when your job is just staring at him, it seems.

“I found a book of crossword puzzles,” you announce. 

“Congratulations,” Joel says. 

“I thought since you were bored, I’d give them to you, and maybe you could do them…”

By the look on your face, he can guess that you’re regretting your words. Lest he make you cry, he accepts the book. 

“Plus, it looks kind of old so I don’t know if I’d know how to do it myself,” you add.

He knows you don’t mean it as an insult, but it sounds like one, and it makes him laugh. The list of qualities Joel likes about you is already long — and buried deep in his subconscious — but he’ll have to add the fact that you can make him laugh.

“Are you calling me old?”

“Not in a bad way. You’re just older than I am.”

He flips through the book and finds that about 80% of them are done. 

“Somebody did most of these already.”

“I’m sorry… maybe I could erase that person’s answers and then you could do them?”

“I think I’d still be able to tell.”

You hang your head in defeat. 

“Gimme a pencil and I’ll try the ones that aren’t done yet.”

You look through his junk drawer, find a pencil, and hand it to him. He doesn’t expect you to sit on the couch next to him. 

“I know you’re supposed to watch me, but you don’t have to watch that closely.”

You move away slightly, no longer looking over his shoulder. 

“I was just curious about the answers.”

“I was kidding around,” he says (though, it’s only a half-truth). “Come back here.”

It takes him about a week to finish the book. 

“Had to go back and fix some of the others,” he says. “The person who originally filled ‘em out was an idiot.”

“That’s not very nice. Maybe it was a kid.”

“Kid had great handwriting, then.”

You pause, hesitating for a reason he can’t pinpoint. 

“What? You want me to say sorry for calling that guy an idiot. ‘Cause I will if it matters that much to you.”

“No, no, fuck that guy, he was an idiot,” you say, clearly taking after him. 

“Language, Missy,” he says, jokingly scolding you. 

“Sorry. I should stop swearing.”

“It’s okay. You probably picked it up from me anyway.”

“Maybe,” you agree. You’re fidgeting, holding something behind your back, he notices. 

“Whatcha got there?”

“Oh, it’s nothing, really,” you say, holding it out to him. “I just figured since you finished the crossword book, I should get you more.”

He only did the crosswords for you. He never really cared for them anyway. He just wanted to make you happy — he’d rather have you content than pissy or whiny. The only thing worse than your constant insistence on getting his approval would be if you just sat there and cried all day.

He’d tried to give the book back to you, but you couldn’t do ‘em on your own since you were lacking in 90s pop culture knowledge. So, he did them, with you watching over his shoulder the whole time. 

He’s about to admit this to you and hand the new one back over to you when he looks at the pages – white paper, stapled together, all drawn up in pen. 

“Did you make these?” he asks, in awe of both your ability to draw perfectly straight lines, and moreover, how much you must care if you’re willing to go to these lengths. Kiss-ass behavior, he tells himself.

You nod, and he gets the sudden urge to hug you, but opts for a thank you with a smile he can’t repress.

“You didn’t have to do all this, but it’s very sweet of you.”

He considers taking back the ‘very sweet’ comment when he finds that 3 down is four letters with the prompt “grumpy old man”. JOEL fits perfectly in the blank spaces. 

You go on walks, read endless books, and Joel finally lets you start taking on some of the housework. It should be nice, but you get the feeling he’s not all that happy about this situation. Not that he tells you it outright. He doesn’t tell you much at all. And you’ve tried. It’s not like you’re asking hard-hitting questions. 

“How old are you?” 

“56.”

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Blue.”

He doesn’t even bother to ask the same question back to you. Sometimes, he doesn’t even look up at you when you speak to him. You know it’s the depression of losing someone close to you, you know what that feels like – the problem is, you don’t know how to fix it. You only know how to hide it.

It’s quite simple, in theory. All you have to do is give him the desire to get out of bed every day. But you don’t even know what he likes. All you know is that your presence is not high on his list of favorite things. You try and try until you swear his shitty attitude is rubbing off on you. 

Tommy checks in with you periodically, asking you how things are going with Joel, and this would be the perfect opportunity for you to get out of this position, which Joel would probably love, but to spite him, you tell Tommy it’s going well.

And it is, in a way – Joel is not actively mean to you. He doesn’t insult you or argue with you, he just mostly ignores you. So, you figure if you ignore him, maybe he’ll miss your attention. Stupid teenage bullshit mindset, acting like you have a crush on him, playing some sort of push and pull game that he’s not even privy to. 

But that’s not like you. That brooding behavior is all Joel, so it lasts no more than a day or so until you go back to trying, and accept the fact that he’s just an asshole. Doesn’t mean you have to be one. 

You never expected to win him over with the crossword puzzles but you see the look in his eyes when you give him the homemade ones, and you know there’s something in there besides all that pain. You know that look, can’t put a name to it, all you know is that it’s a good sign, one you had yet to see from Joel.

Joel wouldn’t have thought he’d get tired of hearing someone ask, “can I do anything for you?”, constantly begging to dote on him, to care for him. The last time someone did this for him was on Father’s Day, which is an ancient holiday now, almost mythical.

But it’s been weeks of the same old shit. It has nothing to do with you. In fact, you’re probably the best ‘caregiver’ he could’ve gotten stuck with. Thing is, though, he doesn’t want a caregiver, and he’s tired of said caregiver bombarding him. It’s enough to just have her watching him like a hawk, but yapping in his ear is another thing. Because he enjoys the quiet (and because the way you ask him questions reminds him of Ellie.)

It’s a joke, a stupid joke. It’s his patience wearing thin.

“Can I get you anything?” you ask. 

“Sure. A beer, maybe. And a fuckin’ blowjob,” he mutters. Yeah, that’d be the dream but it’s a joke, bordering on a jab at you. 

“I don’t think we have any beer,” you say. You both know damn well there’s no alcohol in the house. 

“I know.”

“And, as for the other thing- is that something that you’d want… me to do?”

“Hey,” his tone softens. “Sweetheart, it was a joke. I was messing with you.”

“Okay, so you don’t want that, correct?”

“It was a joke. I’m sorry I even said it.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you say, sheepishly. “It’s your house, your rules, right?”

The concept of free speech in his house was one he’d brought up regarding ‘swear words’— It’s his house so he’s allowed to say ‘fuck’, ‘shit’, ‘bitch’, and every other word he could come up with, and he came up with some deep cuts just to make you laugh. Admittedly, it’s a nice sound.

“Yeah.” He thinks for a moment. “I just think that these sorts of topics aren’t appropriate for someone…”

“You know I’m an adult, right, Joel?”

“Yes, I know, but you’re still young and you seem a little innocent. I don’t want to put those types of thoughts in your head.”

“I know what a blowjob is, and I know what sex is. I just haven’t found the right person yet. That doesn’t mean I’ve never thought about it or whatever.”

You rarely snap at him, so he knows that word — innocent — must’ve been more offensive than he’d meant it. Maybe you’re not innocent. Maybe you’re just kind and a hell of a lot younger than him. Maybe it just seems like you should be.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m just saying that I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

“But do you want it?” You punctuate every word with a newfound annoyance.

“It’s not about that.”

“Yes it is.” You’re quite incredulous for someone who has been presented with the idea only a moment ago.

“Fine. Yes, in theory, if we were just two people who know each other, then, sure, if you offered, I’d say yes.”

“I offered.”

The way he calls you ‘sweetheart’ feels more like an insult than a term of endearment. You’d rather be ‘kid’ or nothing at all, anything less patronizing. It’s worse when he calls you innocent. You’re not innocent, you’re just nice — something that Joel is not. You’re painfully nice. You’ve heard it makes people like you. You’re still waiting on the results, though.

But, if he’d ordered you to suck him off, you’d have kneed him in the balls, and he would’ve thought twice about calling you ‘sweetheart’. The thing is, he doesn’t. Instead, he backs away from the opportunity, tells you it was a joke. 

But you see two things behind his eyes: one, he wants this. He might not want to want this, but he does. More importantly, you see his genuine concern for your well-being override this desire and you realize you feel safer around him than you do around most men. That’s one of the reasons that you do give him ‘a fuckin’ blowjob’. The other being that, sometimes, before you go to bed, you can’t sleep, and a certain man comes to mind as your fingers slip beneath the waistband of your panties. 

When you reiterate that you offered, you exchange a long stare wherein you try to reach into each other’s souls and sort this shit out but when you both realize you can’t, Joel says, “Okay.”

And you say, “Okay.”

A new kind of tension bubbles to the surface as Joel sits down on the couch and you kneel before him. 

You fiddle with his belt, eventually managing to get it undone, but Joel does the rest of the work it takes to get his pants down to his ankles, boxers too. 

You’d imagined he’d be big, but that’s how fantasies work. Every man’s dick is big in your lewd daydreams, but it’s like you manifested it with Joel. You begin to feel like you’re in over your head, and though you aren’t innocent, you aren’t experienced enough to take him. But who are you to back down from a challenge?

Joel can see hesitation wash over your face for the first time. You pause, study the scene like you’re trying to decide your approach, and then you take his cock in your hand, looking up at him like you’re asking for the green light.

He gives you the go-ahead with the only piece of advice he thinks you’ll need. “Just don’t bite, and you’ll do fine.”

He probably should’ve mentioned another thing: don’t take too much at once or you’ll choke. His head lolls back and his eyes fall closed the moment your lips meet the tip of it. He doesn’t touch you, doesn’t want you to feel intimidated by his presence while you’re exploring, so to speak. He lets out a low groan of approval to let you know he’s still with you.

But he’s fading into a beautiful oblivion until he hears you gag, feels you sputter and it shocks him out of that blissful feeling. His eyes snap open and he cradles the back of your head. 

“Easy, easy,” he says. “Don’t hurt yourself.” 

You pull away briefly and catch your breath. 

“That’s good,” he says. “Breathe, baby.”

He can see you looking for instructions, so he takes your hand and helps you get a firm grip on his cock, sliding your hand up and down, and finally letting you do it on your own. 

“Doin’ good, baby,” he says. “You gotta give your mouth a break sometimes.”

You’ve never gotten anything close to praise from Joel before. It’d warm your heart like nothing else if it weren’t so goddamn sexy in this context. 

You nod, wipe the spit from your chin, and give your mouth a brief break, but you can’t hold yourself back forever. Soon, your lips are back on his cock, kissing from the base to the tip, flicking your tongue over the head, seeing what reactions you can get from him. 

When you get into the rhythm of hand and mouth in tandem, you barely register him telling you that he’s gonna come. 

You imagine it’s an acquired taste but it’s not awful. You can swallow it. So, you do, and you look up at him with a smile. 

He looks like he’s woken up from a dream and he’s still getting his bearings straight, but he’s quick to stand up and take your hand. 

“Where are we going?”

“To my bed.”

You’d follow him anywhere but bed does sound good to you right now. It sounds like an adventure. You don’t go into his bedroom unless absolutely necessary. You’d think he was hiding something horrible in there if you didn’t have a mutual feeling regarding your own bedroom.

“Are we going to have sex?” you ask. 

“No,” he says. 

“Then, what are we going to do?”

“You,” he begins. “Are going to lie back and relax.”

He coaxes you to lie down, and he doesn’t have to try hard. 

“I,” he continues. “Am going to make you feel good.”

You’re fairly certain about what he means, so there’s nothing left for you to do but let him do the work. It’s just another part of the job you’ll have to learn from experience.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he says. 

You nod. 

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Let’s get you out of these clothes,” he says, playing with the hem of your t-shirt. 

“Wait-” you say, sitting up, and he withdraws. “Can we kiss… first?”

He looks surprised for a moment, and you worry you’ve fucked up. 

“I just feel like we should do that,” you say, much quieter.

“Yeah,” he says. “I guess that makes sense.”

His hand cups your cheek and he looks you in the eyes like he’s trying to find answers somewhere in there. 

“Has anyone ever kissed you before?”

“Not really, not the way I want you to kiss me.”

“Feels a bit rude of me to have put my dick in your mouth before you’d even been kissed.”

Still, he leans in and kisses you, but it’s soft, gentle. It’s not a peck on the lips, though, it’s more. It gradually gains momentum and passion. Eventually, he slips his tongue in your mouth and you take it in stride. 

“You’re very good at this,” he says. “If I didn’t know any better, I wouldn’t think this was your first time.”

“Is that a compliment?” you ask, doubting Joel is capable of such things.

He ignores your question, and sighs. You know it’s not directed at you because you’re fairly sure he’s not listening.

“I know I said I was gonna do some things with you, but I don’t wanna take things too fast, okay?”

“Are you saying you’re just going to kiss me?”

“I think that’d be the right thing to do.”

“That’s not fair,” you whine.

You wish you could sound sexy, or whatever, but you probably come off like a bratty child.  

“Excuse me?”

“That’s not fair. You said you’d make me feel good. I thought you were gonna return the favor.”

“I was.”

“Then, why are you backing out?”

You’re shocked that he’s the pussy — pun-intended — in this scenario.

“I thought it might be too much for you.”

You grab his hand and slip it under the flimsy fabric of your shorts. 

His eyes go wide. 

Fucking hell, you’re wet, is the only thought on Joel’s mind. It makes sense. He’d be offended, maybe even worried if you were dry as a desert down there, but he’s barely touched you. Either you really enjoyed kissing him or you actually liked sucking him off too.

He gently presses the pads of his fingers against the wet spot on your panties.

“You’re right, baby. It’s only fair if I help you out.”

He’s able to get your shorts and your panties down in one swift pull. You look impressed by the action. Just you wait, he thinks. He’s not an expert by any means, but it’s not too hard to learn if you pay attention — and sex is one of the only times Joel does listen — it’s also not a skill you lose over time. It’s muscle memory, or maybe it’s innate.

His thumb rubs your clit lazily as he watches your face scrunch up in pleasure, your eyes fill with need. When the first finger slips inside you, he hears a breathy sigh come from above — it sounds like relief though he knows you haven’t come yet.

He’s never had a woman have such a strong reaction to his lips on her clit. It almost startles him at first. You’re frantic from the moment his lips meet your skin, crying out for him like you’re scared he’ll stop.

“Hey,” he says, “I’m right here. Don’t have to get so worked up. I’m gonna take care of you.”

He can’t say another word because his lips are occupied, so he relies on his hands, his soothing touch, to tell you that everything is alright. He gets the urge to tell you how good you are for him, how good you taste, how pretty you are like this, but he knows it’d be cruel to let up now. He’s callous often, sometimes harsh, but rarely cruel.

His instinct tells him to drag this out, to make your thighs shake, to have tears running down your cheeks, to tease you. To be the asshole that he tends to be when you’re around (and when you’re not). This is a version of Joel you might come to like.

He’s lived long enough to be well-practiced in this field of life. Doesn’t matter if he’s particularly romantic or even sociable, it’s just happened enough times over the course of fifty plus years for him to know the ins and outs. He can get you there quickly and lead you through it slowly.

He’s so used to you saying his name in a tone he considers pestering that he’s begun to hate the word itself. But when it’s drawn out and desperate like this, it sounds wonderful.

You’re at his mercy, he thinks. Which means he’s in control. And, as much as he’d hate to admit it, control does not mean he can kill you, control means he can care for you.

When you come down from your high, Joel is looking up at you from between your thighs with messy hair and kiss-dark lips. His smile looks like one of pride. Your cheeks heat up, only half-remembering what just happened. You could describe the event simply in a cause and effect relationship — he went down on you, so you came. You know what an orgasm feels like, but that was something beyond anything you’d ever experienced before. You fear an addiction may be coming on.

Your voice comes out shaky, which only makes your first words after a long silence sound stupider. “Thank you.”

He looks confused, and it takes him a moment to respond. “My pleasure,” he says, and you swear it might be when you see a semi through his sweatpants.

You’d offer more ‘help’ but you truly don’t think you can manage it. You can feel your body pulling you towards sleep. Your eyes have barely opened and they want to close again.

Joel notices because how could he not, you’re completely naked in every sense of the word.

“Get some rest,” he says before standing up.

He’s leaving.

“Where are you going?” you ask, instinctively.

“Downstairs.”

You do not want to say it. The fear of rejection is too strong, but so is the sudden urge to cry. Holding back tears is a strength of yours, though, so Joel never sees them. Somehow, after doing one of the most adult things, you feel like a baby in the wake of it. You are supposed to be taking care of him, and you are failing.

“What?” is his response to your refusal to meet his eyes.

“I just assumed you were going to stay. That’s all.”

“I can. If that’s what you need me to do.”

You don’t say anything. He climbs into bed anyway after picking up your underwear and handing it to you.

He doesn’t hold you but he doesn’t leave either. What he does do is kiss you on the forehead when he thinks you’re already asleep. It’s a compromise between your fear and your desire.

It isn’t as weird as one might think it would be — acting as if you’ve never done anything remotely sexual with one another. It’s easier because you don’t have to go back to being friends. You never really were. It was always awkward. What’s new? Only your knowledge that at least some of your feelings are mutual. Only the fact that you think about having sex with him every time he’s in front of you. It’s really just out of curiosity sometimes. What would he be like in bed? Does he want it too? How would you even broach the subject?

Sometimes, it’s not just curiosity. Those days are harder to navigate. You have to pretend like every little touch — most of them accidental — fuels the fire. It’s not the sensation itself. It’s just the acute awareness of his body, how close it is to yours, how easily you could reach out and touch him, that enters your mind.

“You’re staring.” Joel says from the other side of the couch.

“Sorry. I zoned out.”

“Got something’ on your mind?”

“Not really.”

“C’mon, what is it?”

“Why do you suddenly care about my thoughts?” About me.

“You think I didn’t care about you before? You’ve been in my house everyday for months now.”

“So?”

“And, I haven’t tried to kick you out yet.”

“You’re not allowed to kick me out. That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Okay. How ‘bout this: I’m down here sitting with you because I know you don’t like to be alone.”

“So you pity me?”

“No, if I pitied you, I’d have told Tommy to give you a new job.”

“Okay, so, you expect me to believe you care but you refuse to talk to me half the time.”

“I’m not much of a talker. But, now that I’m trying to talk to you, you’re shutting me out.”

“I’m not— It’s just not a big deal. I don’t even remember what I was thinking about anyway.”

“Bullshit.”

“What?”

“I said, that’s bullshit.”

“Okay, fine. I’ll talk.”

You take a deep breath before speaking, one long enough that he gestures for you to go on.

“I was just thinking about what it would be like if we had sex.”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, since we, you know, we did that stuff… it’s not like it’s a totally crazy thought.”

“‘That stuff’? Be more specific, honey.”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

“I do, but you can’t be thinking about having sex with me when you can’t even use big girl words when you’re talking about it.”

“It doesn’t even matter.” Your face is burning. It so, totally, does matter. “I was just curious.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Mm-hmm. Go on thinking, I’ll get back to reading.”

“Wait, what? You just made me tell you that to make me embarrassed? You’re not even gonna—”

“What? Gonna fuck you?”

The word slips out of his mouth so easily.

“I don’t know, maybe.”

“Well, I’m not.”

Truth is: he’s been thinking about you every day since. He only caught you staring because he was doing the same. He tries to restrain himself because it feels like the right thing to do.

But he still, he acquiesces and takes you upstairs to his bedroom.

He lays you down on the bed and undresses you slowly like you’re a gift and he doesn’t want to tear the paper. He places your clothes atop the dresser, but leaves his strewn across the floor.

Wonder fills your eyes as he reveals his naked body. Hesitation and awe wrapped up in one.

“Wow,” you say, breaking the silence, “it’s, um, you know— do you think it’ll fit?”

It’s not the first time he’s heard that. It no longer brings him that bashful pride that it did when he was younger. It’s just a fact. A nuisance sometimes.

“Not if we don’t get you ready first.”

“Do you need to get ready first too?”

He looks down at his cock, rock-hard and eager.

“No, baby, just looking at you is enough to get me ready.”

A thought crosses his mind — one he thought he’d left in his teenage years — what if he comes too quickly?

He lies back on the bed next to you and reaches for you, waits for you to let him maneuver you.

“Come here,” he says.

You sit up and face him, slowly inch towards his arms that beckon you.

You’re fairly sure you know what he wants you to do. Sit on his face. But god, something about it seems awkward in the amount of control you simultaneously give up and are given in turn.

“You trust me, right?” he asks.

“Of course.”

An answer you wouldn’t have ever thought you’d give back when you first met.

“Then, come sit on my face.”

You swing your leg over him and steady yourself above his face.

He grips your thighs to guide you. You grip the headboard to save yourself from passing out the moment Joel’s mouth meets your skin.

Joel wouldn’t be the man you’d have thought would have such a talented tongue based on how little he uses it. You can’t blame him for not talking right now. Your moans echo off his bedroom walls and permeate the balmy summer air. The windows are closed and the curtains shield your naked bodies from the neighbors but even if you’d left them open, you wouldn’t have the sense to care.

You’re an incoherent mess of moans and half-words, trembling thighs and sweat. Your orgasm comes on strong, and if your eyes weren’t screwed shut, maybe you’d see the gates of heaven.

It’s been a while since he’s done this. Tess never liked it like this and the last woman before her was one from another lifetime, pre-outbreak, an inconceivable world despite having once called it home.

He’s not really thinking about that, though, in this moment, all Joel can think of is you. Your skin, your sweat, your heat, and the pretty noises you make. At one point, he swears he hears his name though your thighs are covering his ears. And he doesn’t mind it one bit.

“I’m gonna pass out,” he hears from above him.

“No, you’re not. I’ve got you,” he tries to say, though surely his words are muffled.

“Don’t let me go.”

He doesn’t. He carefully helps you lie back on the bed. When he meets your gaze, he swears he’s never seen adoration like that in anyone’s eyes before. At least, not in a long time.

It terrifies him, but in spite of his hesitation, he holds you close.

A blanket of peaceful silence settles over your bare bodies.

You speak quietly, trying not to awaken Joel’s senses. The ones that pull him away from you. The moment feels like glass in your hands.

“Are we going to have sex?”

“Hm?”

“We were going to, right? You were getting me ready for it.”

“I thought I wore you out.”

“Maybe, but that doesn’t mean I want to stop.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’d tell you if you were.”

He hesitates.

“I’ll be good. I promise.”

Those are the words that awaken his arousal. In an instant, you find his body looming above yours. He kisses you until your lips are red and puffy. He doesn’t break your gaze as he positions his cock at your entrance. Your green light is your needy hips begging him to fuck you.

He starts slow, even the head is a stretch. You scrunch up your face and hold back the urge to squirm.

“It’s gonna be a little uncomfortable at first, baby, and that’s why we’re gonna take it slow.”

Slow is an understatement. It takes ages for him to give you another inch — or maybe you’re just antsy. This one makes you whimper, makes you clamp down around him.

“It’s okay, baby. You’re gonna be fine.”

Joel’s voice is tender and sweet, and it gives you enough hope to ask for something you think he’d usually deny you.

“Can you hold my hand?”

He interlocks his fingers with yours. It feels oddly natural. He doubts he’s heard someone ask to hold his hand since— not now, he’ll go soft if he thinks about her. He’ll close in on himself and you need him — in more ways than one.

He continues slowly as he promised he would until he hears your moans of pleasure and your pleas for more, more, more. More is a little bit faster, a little bit harder, as deep as you can take it, and most importantly, his thumb tracing circles on your clit.

You squeeze his hand with yours as your inner walls clamp down around him.

“Just let it happen. It’s okay. I’m right here.”

When you come, he does too — the most blissful mistake he’s ever made.

Curses fly out of his mouth through his orgasm, stopping briefly as he catches his breath, and resuming when he pulls out and watches as his come drips out of you.

“Fuck. Shit. Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you insist. “I liked it.”

“I’m glad you liked it.” Because I fucking loved it. “But, it’s dangerous. We’ve gotta be more careful.”

In the future — it’s implied. Another time is nothing when the lines have all been crossed and when the other side brings him a warmth the hot summer never could.

You have more power over him than the sun.

It becomes a routine — briefly — and you are more careful. You discreetly buy condoms, but when your next period doesn’t come, you fear it might be too late.

You don’t tell Joel, not at first. Sometimes, they’re irregular, and you don’t want to give the man a heart attack. But then a week passes, another week passes, and eventually you have to — especially when you’re beginning to feel a bit nauseous and have no other explanation for it. It’s better to say something before he asks.

“Joel,” you say, “I haven’t gotten my period yet.”

A look of horror crosses his face before he asks, “How late is it?”

You take a breath before admitting, “A few weeks.”

“How many?”

“Almost three.”

“Fuck.” He sighs in preemptive defeat. “Have you taken a test?”

“No, I thought it would come so I didn’t want to overreact.”

“We’re going to go get one.”

He stands up immediately and turns towards the door.

“Wait,” you say, stopping him in his tracks.

“I should probably get it. It’ll look less suspicious.”

No, it won’t. Those who suspect something is up with you, will have their suspicions, and those who don’t, won’t think to pay attention.

They recommend taking multiple because false negatives are common.

The first one is a clear positive, so clear you think it might be a false positive, so you wait to freak out until you see two lines come up on the second test.

Joel is silent, even when you hand him the test.

But, so are you, because what more is there to say? The tests say it all.

“I’ll do whatever you need me to,” he says, and you’re surprised until he clarifies.

“I doubt they’ll make you pay for the pill or the procedure — however they do it, but I’ll take care of you while you’re recovering. I’ll be there through it all. Promise.”

The pill or the procedure. The abortion that he expects you to have. Truth be told, you hadn’t really thought about what you’d do until now. It’s probably the right decision. Do you really want to bring a baby into this world? Can you even take care of one?

“Okay,” you say. “I’ll make an appointment.”

You save your tears for Maria. She approaches you in the clinic. You’d be delighted to see her at any other moment.

“Making an appointment?” she asks.

“Yeah, just a checkup,” you lie.

The woman at the counter clarifies with you. “Just a checkup? Is that what you’d prefer?”

You turn back and forth between her and Maria.

“Um, no,” you say, “keep it as is.”

Maria raises an eyebrow and there is nowhere left to hide. You might be able to outrun her, but she knows where you live and isn’t afraid to confront you at your doorstep.

She saves you some of your dignity when she whispers, “How about a chat at my place? I have some tea that helps with nausea.”

The tea is persuasive but you’d have to go anyway. You don’t speak on the walk to Maria’s. She brews the tea and you sit across from each other in the kitchen before she finally speaks.

“What’s the appointment for?” she asks. “And I’m not here to judge you, I just want the truth.”

You’re not my mom, you could say, but she’s the closest thing you’ve had to one since your own passed.

“An abortion,” you say quietly, looking down at the table, at your hands around the mug.

“Okay,” she says, gently. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

You try to reply but all the comes out is a sob.

Eventually, she pries the truth out of you. You explain what happened when you told Joel the news.

“So, he made the decision, and then told you he’d be there for you if he did what you wanted?”

“I guess. But, I think it might be the right choice. I mean, it'd be hard to raise a child in this world…” You cut yourself off when you look at her bump. She’s gonna be a mom, a good mom. And, stupidly, you’re jealous.

Even though it’s not there yet, you swear you can see a high chair in your periphery. You could be holding a warm bottle instead of a hot mug of tea. Maria could be feeding her child his first bite of baby food next to you.

“Let me ask you something, and I want you to really think about it, and be honest with me.”

You nod and wait for her question.

“If Joel had said he’d support you no matter what, even if you wanted to keep the child, if he said he’d step up as a father, would you have made the appointment?”

“I don’t know.” Oh, but you do. Maria waits for you to come to a conclusion, for you to spit it out.

“I like the idea of having a kid. I love kids, and I sometimes think about what it would be like being a mom, but I know that I can’t be one. Not right now.”

If there is one thing Joel can’t be, it’s a father. Not again. He’s too old, too grouchy, too cynical. He’s not the man he used to be. He was never good at it anyway. He couldn’t save his own kid. He’s already a failed father — once, if not, twice.

You’d be a great mother, and that’s the greatest tragedy. He’s failed you already. He’s not good at the kinder things of life. He shouldn’t have indulged in you, in the love you gave him when he cannot give it back. There are a lot of things Joel can’t quite get right — being a lover, a father, a good man.

Every night since the outbreak began, he’s watched Sarah bleed out in his arms. Sometimes he sees Tess, Sam and Henry, Bill, even Tommy which feels like an augury. Ellie is there almost every night, losing consciousness. Only sometimes is she in that hospital bed, often, she’s lying in the show, with blue lips and almost no pulse. Now, you’ve begun to enter his subconscious. You’re always too far out of reach, screaming his name until he’s shot dead, and the last thing he hears is you shriek as you watch him die in front of you.

Another person is another tragedy once they have the misfortune of coming into his life. There cannot be another person, especially not a child.

You should be back by now, he thinks as he splashes water on his face for the umpteenth time, hoping it’ll wash away all the mistakes he’s made.

He can tell it’s Maria by the way her knuckles rap on his front door. He can tell she’s pissed too.

When he opens the door, he sees you in standing behind her, like you’re afraid of him.

“Unless you want to have this discussion on your doorstep, I suggest you let me — us — inside.”

He does, reluctantly.

“Joel Miller, when do you plan on becoming a man?”

“What?”

“You just told her to make an appointment, didn’t even give her a chance to think about it? You managed to run away from your problems while you’re on house arrest. Impressive.”

“I thought that was what we both wanted,” he says, looking past her, to you.

“I guess, maybe,” you shrug.

The one thing he’s grateful for is Maria’s suggestion that you talk privately.

You sit further from him than usual, you refuse to meet his eyes.

“I’m sorry I didn’t ask what you wanted. I thought I was making the right choice.”

“It’s okay. I don’t even know what I want.”

But the tears suggest otherwise.

“Do you want to keep the baby?”

“Maybe, but I can’t. It’s not a good idea.”

“That’s what I think, but Maria’s right, it’s your choice.”

“But I don’t know how to make that choice.”

“You’ve got a good heart. Follow it.”

You spend a lot of time thinking, remembering, and trying to convince yourself that there is no part of you that wants to be a mother. But, in your bedside drawer, there is a handful of photos — all from before the outbreak. You see your mom as a child on a swing set, and as a teen blowing out candles on her birthday. Her mom is in that one too, sitting next to her, smiling. You wish more than anything to have pictures of you and your mom.

You think about the little girl who pretended a ratty old stuffed bear was her baby. You can hear your mom telling you that you’re doing a good job, how you’ll be good at this one day. Your bedtime stories were never about fairy princesses, but about your family, the ones you didn’t get to meet.

“I wish I could have that,” you’d say.

“One day, you might be able to — the world is scary right now, but that doesn’t mean it’s gonna be like this forever,” she’d insist.

In retrospect, you wonder if she really believed that, if she really believed that teddy bear would one day be a baby that you’d be the one carrying, and she’d be the proud grandmother.

“I told her I wanted to be a mom like her,” you explain to Joel, and he understands.

You know about Ellie, but not about Sarah. Joel never brings either of them up to you. Until now. It’s a fair trade, he tells himself. Photos for photos, info for info. But it’s more than that.

“Hold on for one minute, I’m gonna go get something, and I’ll be right back.”

It’ll only take him a second to grab the pictures, but he’ll need a moment to compose himself.

“This is Sarah,” he says, pointing to the little girl in the photo. “My daughter.”

You’re silent for a moment, gazing at the photo, at a younger Joel you’ve never met.

You’re the first person not to tell him that you’re sorry for his loss, and he is relieved not to hear the empty sympathies once more.

“What was she like?” you ask.

It’s hard to explain, and for that reason, he talks for at least a half hour about Sarah. All her likes and dislikes, all his favorite moments from the day she was born until the day she died. He tells the story of that too.

When you try to tell him that he sounds like he was a good dad, he has to explain why he wasn’t.

“I couldn’t save her,” he says.

“I couldn’t save her either,” you say, pointing to your mother in one of the photos.

“You were just a child,” he says. “It’s not your fault.”

“And, you were just a man,” you say. “It’s not your fault.”

“A grown man.”

“Doing the best that you could.”

And you’re right. He did try his best. He stops arguing not because he’ll ever concede but because the weight of the present falls upon him all at once as he meets your eyes and remembers why you’re here.

He can’t have Sarah back, he can’t have Ellie back, but you’re right in front of him — and he loves you. It’s too late to turn back and kick you out on your first day, it’s too late to never speak to you, it’s too late to not love you.

It’s not too late to fail you like he’s failed everyone else. It’s not too late to do the opposite either.

You tell him your decision, and wait for his disagreement, for him to dissuade you. But, he doesn’t.

“Okay,” he says.

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to try my best.”

You cancel the appointment and make the final decision, but it doesn’t feel real until Joel finishes building the crib in the spare bedroom. The most unexpected part is how excited you feel even when you’re nauseous, even when your feet are bloated, even when your back is killing you.

You’re also terrified, particularly when you hear Maria’s account of her labor and delivery. For someone describing how painful it was, she seems oddly unfazed, happy even. She’s too focused on her baby boy, and you get it — he is pretty cute.

When the day comes, you find that you’ve underestimated the pain entirely. The wounds you’ve gotten in combat are nothing compared to this. Every hour that goes by feels like a full day for you. Every time the doctor checks your dilation it’s still not yet time.

Until it is. And everything becomes a million times more chaotic. You swear the only thing keeping you sane is Joel’s hand in yours. (You have to apologize later for squeezing it so tightly.)

Finally, the telltale cry comes, and it feels like you’ve run a marathon by how exhausted you are and by how proud you are of yourself for doing it. This will go down as the greatest feat of your life and you are more than satisfied with that fact.

The doctor announces that it’s a boy and though he said he’d be fine with either gender, Joel’s smile is wider than you’ve ever seen it. You’re smiling almost as big. It hurts your cheek muscles but you can’t stop, especially when they hand you your baby boy. Though he doesn’t know how to speak, his hand wrapped around your finger tells you that it’s going to be okay.

There is so much pain in this world, but not in this room.

[kerryshifting]

i’m gonna grow wings (and fly away from this reality).

this reality is full of six years old thinking about if things we don’t see, actually exist. when you are a child it’s still socially acceptable to think ‘out of your league’ and so the adults in your life will let out a giggle when you’ll tell them how many things you want to be: a mermaid, a witch, an astronaut, an actress, a fairy. and the list goes on. i remember writing (or at least thinking i was spelling everything correctly… they weren’t even letters) in my mia-and-me themed diary that i couldn’t wait to explore all the things waiting for me. i still vividly remember seeing the tail of a siren, but when i told my mom she just said “ohh cute!” without actually believing me. then the more you grow up, the more society ruins your imagination. no, mermaids do not exist. and you will go to school, then have a job, then marry, then have kids, and then die. that’s it. life !!! maybe if you are lucky enough you will go on vacation.

i was a very stubborn young girl. i didn’t believe immediately and i questioned everything. i learned about the universe in elementary school and i was baffled by the thought that people really thought that we were the only one. i knew we had other lives, and i started to imagine them. what if i was raised somewhere else? what if i was in my favourite tv show? what if i had blonde hair? what if we were all living under the ocean? what if i was an alien? constantly daydreaming about my other possibilities.

i definitely manifested that tiktok about shifting during the quarantine. the gasp i let out when i realized that i was always right. it’s not an uncommon event in my life, actually; people never believing me when i know i am right. but i had the proof !!! people talked about their experiences at hogwarts or in the marvel universe. i KNEW it. but……….. i wasn’t a young child anymore, and i also knew that people lie a lot. i started questioning everything again. what if i just watched tiktoks of this weird wattpad fanfic story that i don’t know the name of? what if they are liars? what if i was just wrong?

as a human, we ( i hope ) question things. of course. i constantly questioned myself if all i was experimenting was fake and other things were happening in that exact moment. when i realized that that’s what shifting is, everything clicked. i laughed so hard because i knew i wasn’t doomed. we have to give names to things, and now shifting, since it has a name, seems somewhat less... normal. but this is not something i read one day on the internet, is something that i always knew. i always felt like it. and my life experiences always proved to me that, at the end of the day, i should always trust my senses. so, i realized that shifting is not this internet trend, but it’s just my human experience. i understand that while one day i wake up to go to school, in that same moment i was in bed. i realized that me acting on my thoughts was just a life-variant of another life-variant.

realizing that i right from the start is a big fuck you to everyone who said that my dreams are impossible since i was a kid. i may not grow wings in the literal sense but having infinire possibilities is just as liberating as flying in the sky.

young children aren’t conditioned by society, they only know what their soul already knows.

[harryspet]

rough hands, soft chains [4] r. cameron

[warnings] dark!rancher!rafe x bimbo!cowgirl!reader, arranged marriage, rancher au, manipulation, size difference, jealousy, DUBCON, oral sex, rafe is HUGE, little editing, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+

a/n: I posted this drabble about readers' state of mind at the end of chapter 3 if you'd like read it before this chapter :)

In which everything is perfect, it's you and Rafe’s wedding shower, and nothing could possibly go wrong.

word count: 5.5k

rough hands, soft chains masterlist

“I hate this shit,” Rafe grumbled, fumbling with the engraved silver buckle that adorned his belt. You thought he looked handsome. His shirt was crisp and white, his leather blazer a deep charcoal with subtle western embroidery, and his dark-wash jeans looked expensive but well-worn enough to look natural on him. He looked like the perfect cowboy to you. He’d sat his deep brown hat on the edge of your freshly made bed before he plopped down next to it, “We should stay up here. Have Wheezie bring us food.”

"But it's our wedding shower," you murmured absentmindedly, your focus fixed on the precise sweep of your mascara wand. Each coat was deliberate, just enough to make your eyes stand out, but not so much that it overwhelmed the rest of your look.

“I never would’ve agreed to let Rose plan this if I-I …. if I knew there had to be an engagement party, bridal shower, wedding shower, and a rehearsal dinner before we even got to the actual wedding.” 

“But you only get married once, right?” 

“Yeah, yeah, baby,” Rafe continued, waving a hand dismissively, “But that’s not the point.”

You spent another five minutes adding blush and bronzer, then you spent a full ten minutes doing your lips, and you topped it off with a fine mist, locking everything into place. Your armor for the day. Rafe had begun pacing but that wasn’t out of the norm, “How do I look?” You asked when you finally revealed your carefully designed look to match the dress you and Sarah had bought together. 

The dress was made of delicate lace, an ivory color, that gave a hint of the skin beneath. The bodice was fitted, hugging your curves, strapless and the skirt flowed softly from your waist, ending above your knees. It was completely romantic, in your opinion, and Sarah had begged you to get it. 

At first, Rafe said nothing. His expression shifted, his brow knitting together, lips pressing into a firm line. His eyes locked onto you, dark and unreadable. He scratched at the back of his head, shifting his weight from foot to foot, a sign that something was brewing beneath his surface. 

“Uh,” Rafe started, his eyes going wide, “Fuck …yeah, baby, you look fucking gorgeous.” 

You couldn’t help the smile that formed on your face, glossy lips pulled into a curve. You walked closer and Rafe placed his hands on your hips, “You think so?” You batted heavy eyelashes up at him, placing your hands on his chest. You felt his heart beating fast beneath your palm. 

“Don’t do that,” Rafe smirked, leaning down until his breath was fanning over your face, “I’ll keep you up here, I will. Tie you down to the bed.” 

“That will mess up my makeup.”

“Well, I was going to mess up your makeup either way. You can decide if it’s before or after the party.”

He didn’t wait for your response, leaning down to peck your lips. It was brief but soft and warm. You giggled when you opened your eyes, finding his lips glossy in the same shade of pink as yours. 

You liked the version Rafe you’d gotten to know over the last two weeks. It made your heart race with anxiety to even think about him pinning you down on Ward’s desk. But your heart filled up when you thought about laying next to Rafe everyday after that. You felt broken, barely able to pull yourself out of bed, but he stayed with you. He made sure you ate, kept Rose from prying into your business, and brought you flowers nearly every other day, filling the surface of your antique dresser. You did your best to care for them, but only now were they beginning to wilt.

He wiped his lips with the sleeve of his suit jacket and you saw a bit of blush rise in his cheeks. 

You pulled from him, crossing the room to your closet. You picked out the strappy heels that you’d also bought with Sarah. You came back to sit on your bed, leaning down to lace them onto your feet. Rafe rounded your footboard, hand hanging on the wood and upholstery. 

“I’m excited,” You admitted, “I’m, like, nervous still. But it’s exciting.”

You glanced at him, finding his eyes fixed on your exposed legs, his eys trailing up to your thighs. It was a hungry look. He’d grown kinder but his appetite was still there. Part of you worried that his darker side might return, that he couldn’t contain his true nature, and it was a matter of time before he snapped. He held you tight at night, his fingers slipped into the front of your panties, oftentimes when you were still drowsy in the morning. He took your orgasms from you, as he always did, but he hadn’t pushed you again like that day two weeks ago. 

“You should be excited,” He said, “We’re very close to life being exactly as it should be.” 

You gave him an agreeing look. A honeymoon in Florida and then you and Rafe would have a whole house to yourself. A home. You didn’t know what you wanted from life before you met Rafe. You knew you wanted your Dad back but since you couldn’t have that, following his wishes would the next best thing. Maybe this was the best thing your father could’ve done for you. 

“I’m excited to meet Kiara,” You said, finishing strapping your feet into your heels. You stood, taller than before, but still much shorter than Rafe. 

“Kie?” Rafe’s brow raised and your heart stumbled, afraid that you had made a mistep, “What do you mean?”

Sarah had explained that Rafe didn’t necessarily like her friends but you also understood that Rafe didn’t like many things in general.  You'd thought hard about it once. He liked you and Wheezie. He liked whiskey. He liked movies where guys raced fast cars. He liked riding his horse and working with his Dad. You couldn't come up with anything else.

"Sarah’s bringing her as a date," you said, your voice turning a little unsure. "And, um, I think her family is, like… catering the wedding? I think?"

You could feel him thinking deeply, “Interesting.” Was all he said. 

That sounded neutral, right? Neutral was good. Safe.

You smiled, encouraged. "Oh! I was thinking it’d be fun if she came to my bachelorette too! So it’s not just me and Sarah."

“What about Wheeze?” He asked, voice deep and concerned. 

“Oh,” You started, “Sarah thinks she’s too young.”

“Sarah,” he spoke his sister’s name like it was a cruse, “You know she’ll be pissed. And I don’t think Sarah should be planning anything for your day that isn’t appropriate for my little sister. I thought you guys were going to the spa or something.”

You took in all his words, beginning to feel guilty about not including Wheezie, “I can talk to Sarah,” You said, “I just don’t know what most girls do. Sarah seemed to have good ideas about fun things to do. And she said the spa ideas was, um, boring.”

“Sarah’s idea of fun should not be your idea of fun.”

Your brows furrowed. Now you were confused, “But …” Despite the time you had spent with him, you’d yet to learn how to successfully argue with him, “What’s my idea of fun then?”

Sometimes you liked when Rafe filled in all of your blanks. It kept you from thinking too much and overthinking always led to shallow breaths and watery eyes. 

Rafe exhaled, like he’d already worked this all out in his head. “Something that involves Wheezie.”

It wasn’t a suggestion. It was an answer. You nodded automatically. “Okay.”

It was a simple enough request. You’d just have to tell Sarah. And really, what was there to do in town, anyway? It wasn’t like you had a million options.

The backyard stretched endlessly, turing into rolling hills, and groves of towering pines. Edison bulbs twinkled above your head, shining light down onto long, wooden banquet tables. Dinner was over. Everyone was standing now, drinking glasses of wine, and talking in small groups. The Cameron’s knew a lot of people. People you didn’t even recognize from living here all your life. Rafe explained that they were business partners. A live band, one man with an acoustic guitar, the other with a fiddle played softly from a wooden platform. 

You were at Rafe’s side for a majority of the night. A photographer also seemd to follow the two of you everywhere. Under Rose’s direction, you took posed photos under a floral arch with white roses, Montana wildflowers and fresh greenery. In one, Rafe tilted your chin up, kissing you so deeply that you thought your heart might explode. 

The sky had darkened, the party continued to stretch into the night, and Rafe’s attention began to wander. He’d made it to his fifth bud light and now he was loudly talking into his friend, Kelce’s ear, his hand having left your hips moments before. 

You decided to look for Sarah, slipping away because Rafe wasn’t paying attention to you anyways. Some people walked up to you to congratulate you, some to offer condolences, and some just stared. 

You weren’t sure what to say to any of them. The words tangled somewhere in your throat, so you just smiled. Small, pretty, vacant.  You scanned the crowd, searching for Sarah’s familiar silhouette, but all you found were unfamiliar faces, whispering in hushed voices as their eyes lingered on you just a second too long.

Once you made your way back inside, shuffling through servers in their bright white shirts, you found Wheezie standing in the foyer, her eyes fixed down on her phone, “Wheezie, have you seen Sarah?” You asked and she barely looked up. 

“She left.” 

You stomached dipped, “What do you mean?”

“Kiara and her walked out like twenty minutes ago. Think they went to the barn.”

“Oh," You tried to hide your disappointment with a small grin, “Why?”

“I don’t know why Sarah does anything she does,” Wheezie tilted her head, studying you, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna go look for them.”

“Alone?” She inquired, “Rafe’s gonna come looking for you.”

“He’s busy, I think,” You said, “I’ll be back in like ten minutes anways!”

Although Wheezie didn’t look convinced, she didn’t stop you either. She simply hummed, shifting her focus back to her phone. You walked out the front door, feeling the cool night air on your skin. You decided to leave your heels behind, knowing they’d just get stuck in the mud. Rafe would notice you were gone, eventually, but still your feet carried you forward. 

You recalled the first night you were here, when Rafe walked with you to the barn, and spread your legs on the floor of it. The other building, farther off in the distance, was the ranch hand’s quarters. You remembered that too. 

You heard them before you saw them. Laughter. Sarah’s was unmistakable and you’d gotten used to John B’s voice as well but you hesitated at the barn’s open doors when you heard an unfamiliar male voice. Slowly, you peered inside. You spotted Sarah sitting on a bale of hay next to a girl with light brown skin and curly hair. Sarah had an entire bottle of wine in her hand and sipped from it casually. 

Across from them stood John B. and a dark-skinned boy with a lean build and soft, deep brown eyes. Next to him was a boy whose sun-kissed blonde hair was kept in check by a weathered white cowboy hat. His skin was tanned and his smile was wide with mischief. 

A strong smell hit your nose too, earthy and smoky. You assumed it came from the cigarette in John B.'s hand, or at least, you thought it was a cigarette. 

It was too late to abort, because the blonde had spotted you and, in turn, all eyes turned to you. You wandered into the light of the barn awkwardly, your eyes meeting Sarah’s, her brown one’s lighting up with excitement, “Y/N!” She shouted, handing the wine bottle over to Kiara, and crossing the space to get to you. Her arms wrapped around your waist as she pulled you forward, “Guys, this is Y/N! Y/N, these are my friends I was telling you about.”

The group looked you over with curious eyes, their smiles friendly but tinged with cautious skepticism, as if still unsure of what to make of you.

She pointed them all out. Pope, JJ and Kiara. John B., you knew, of course. “Welcome,” John B. said. 

“Hi,” You waved. 

“You look so good!” Sarah exclaimed and you smelt the wine on her breath, “I was telling everyone how beautiful you are!”

“Thank you,” You smiled faintly, glancing over at Kiara, who gave you a soft, welcoming wave, “...Um, how come you guys didn’t come to the party?” 

“Oh–” JJ started but Pope quickly interjected. 

“It was a little too crowded,” Pope said, offering you an apologetic smile.

You nodded, accepting it, but your eyes couldn’t help but find JJ’s. His gaze was intense, but not in the way Rafe’s could be. It was the kind of stare that took you in without any hidden motive, no pressure. Just curiosity.

“Yeah,” Sarah chimed in, trying to ease the moment. “But I’m glad you came out here.”

“Rafe didn’t follow you, did he?” Kiara asked and you felt the tension that grew between the five of them. 

“No,” You shook your head, “I didn’t say anything,” you assured them, looking at each of them with wide, innocent eyes.

“Good,” Sarah said in approval and your mood lightened. 

JJ, however, seemed unfazed by the tension. He pushed past Pope, whose gaze had hardened slightly, as if issuing a warning that went unnoticed. JJ’s eyes were back on you, and his voice was playful as he moved closer, his grin widening. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Really?” You blinked, feeling a little taken aback.

“Yeah, word gets around,” JJ replied, his eyes scanning you again, like he was memorizing your every detail. You fidgeted with the edge of your lace dress,  “And now I see why. You're hard to miss.”

“JJ,” John B. and Pope spoke at the same time. 

“What? I was just about to offer our guest some refreshments,” He turned to look at them but his gaze was fixed back on you soon. He gestured to the makeshift bar sitting on top of one of the stall gates. A bottle of clear liquor, a six-pack of beers with only two beers left, and a dirty shot glass, “She’s the bride. Gotta make sure she has a good time.”

“You don’t have to drink anything,” Sarah said. 

“She should at least have a shot,” JJ argued, “It’s her party, after all.”

You hesitated, but something about JJ’s easy confidence made the thought of refusing feel wrong. You didn’t want to come off as boring. 

“JJ, don’t be weird,” Kiara spoke, sounding annoyed, “That’s Rafe’s fiance.”

“Don’t you think I know that? Big, bad, Rafe. I’m shaking in my boots,” You didn’t understand and your eyes darted between all of them before they landed back on JJ, “What do you say, Y/N? Celebratory shot?’

It was just a shot. Nothing crazy. Except you’d forgotten to eat in all the commotion and attention, and the alcohol immediately went to your head. Plus, it burned your throat. You coughed but JJ’s smiled wider, making you think that you’d done something right. Everyone else was watching you with interest. 

Moments later, he was pouring you another and cracking open the rest of the beers, handing one to Kiara and then to Pope, “To new friends?” He raised his glass and you glanced around as everyone raised their respective glasses. 

“To new friends,” The others answered reluctantly and tilted back their drinks. You downed the second shot, wincing as it went down, smoother than the first one but still awful. 

Surprisingly, you heard Kiara laugh, “You’re brave for drinking out of that glass, girl.” 

"You’re more fun than I expected, cowgirl," JJ said with a teasing grin, his voice low and smooth.

“That’s mean, JJ.” Kiara said.

“Seriously, you’re cool, how did you end up engaged to Rafe?”

"JJ," John B. warned, his voice a little sharp as he glanced at him.

To your surprise, Pope, who’d been mostly quiet up until now, chimed in with a serious look. “No, I think it’s a valid question.”

You froze for a second. It wasn’t like you could just come out and say, well, it’s complicated and totally a mess. You didn’t even know what was going on with Rafe half the time. You decided to shrug it off, “I’m still figuring things out,” You tried to sound casual, though your heart was pounding, “I mean, we’re figuring things out together.”

“Enough interrogating, guys,” John B. said and you were grateful.

You’d been gone for too long, anyways, “I should get back to the party. It was really nice meeting ya'll.”

“We’ll see you around then, Y/N,” Pope smiled at you and you couldn’t help but feel warm. Or maybe that was just the alcohol.

“Yeah,” you agreed. You turned to Kiara, “Kiara, I hope you can come to my bachelorette.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” She spoke in a way that made you think she might be coolest girl you’d ever met. 

“Alright,” As you walked pass, Sarah grabbed your hand and gave it a squeeze. The warmth of her touch felt like a promise, like you’d just been accepted into something new, something different than what you were used to.

When you were back in the night, clear of the barn doors, you heard Pope’s voice loudly erupt, “Are you a fucking idiot, JJ?” 

Back inside the house, you searched for Wheezie, wanting her to break the news to Rose that you wanted to retire for the night. The party could certainly go on without you seeing as you knew barely anyone here. Your eyes felt tired, and honestly you felt a little bit wobbly, “Wheezie,” You whispered, as you peaked around corners and opened all the downstairs doors, hoping to find her on her phone, “Wheeeeezie.”

You made your way upstairs next, deciding to check her room. The teenager’s room was completely empty and you let out a tired huff. You just needed to lay down for a second. As soon as you turned on your heel, Rafe appeared, tall legs hurrying up the stairs. 

“Y/N,” His voice boomed as heavy as his steps, “Where you been?”

You tried to steady yourself but you stumbled backwards, “What’s going on, baby?” He caught you quickly, his voice softening. He held your waist, pressing a kiss to your forehead. You leaned against the wall, “I’ve been looking for you.”

“I just …wanted to get away from the party,” You spoke slowly, your head swimming, “I’m fine. Just sleepy.”

Rafe studied you for a moment longer, his brows furrowing as if piecing something together. He looked down at your feet, “You went outside. Where’s your shoes?” 

“Downstairs somewhere. I guess I lost them,” You smiled weakly. 

“Hmm,” He leaned down to kiss your lips and you accepted, your tongue dancing with his.  

He pulled away, his eyes darkening, “You taste like vodka,” he murmured, his voice low and quiet. “Cheap vodka.”

“It’s a party, right?” You asked softly, “Our party.”

“I know they weren’t serving whatever you’ve been drinking. Tell me, what have you been doing? And with who?”

“I feel like … I don’t want you to be mad at me.”

His hand reached up, cupping your face with surprising tenderness. “I won’t be mad at you,” he said, his voice reassuring, though his eyes betrayed something darker. “But I need to know, darlin’. And I need you to be honest.”

You faltered, struggling with your words. “I don’t want you to be mad at anyone else either. Can we just go to bed?”

His jaw tightened, his patience wearing thin. “Sarah,” he muttered, his voice low. “She gave it to you, didn’t she?”

“Wha–” You froze as Rafe’s jaw tightened, “It wasn’t her–”

“And you smell like fucking weed,” His face scrunched up and his voice turned low and painful. 

"I smell like... a weed?" you asked, confused, the words coming out in a dazed haze as you tried to process his words.

“Fucking Pogues,” Rafe cursed and you yelped when his fist pounded against the wall beside your head, “Stay here. I’ll deal with this.”

You reached out to grab his arm, your fingers trembling against tense muscles beneath his skin, “Wait. No, no, no, stay here with me.” 

He grabbed you next, and lifted you off your feet as he dragged you across the hallway. You tried to pull away, to get him to let you go, but his grip tightened. "Rafe, please!" you cried, struggling to free yourself, but it was futile. His hold on you was ironclad.

"Stay the fuck in here. I’ll be right back," he commanded, his voice colder than ice as he forced you into his room. The door slammed shut and then there was a wall between the two of you. The click of the lock followed and you stumbled back, your heart racing. 

You heard his footsteps retreat, a few heavy thuds followed by the faint sound of him calling out to someone. You pressed your ear against the door, straining to hear anything, but it was quiet for a moment.

You hurried towards the window, pressing your palms against the cool glass as you looked down toward the front of the house. Through the dim light spilling from the porch, you could see a trio of men walking in a purposeful, determined line away from the house.

He’ll be right back. You doubted that. You should’ve laid down then. But you did your best to undo the zipper of your dress, needing more room to breathe, before you wandered into Rafe’s closet. You pushed a mountain of clothes to the side, settling in the corner, and cried your makeup away. 

How did you manage to mess up everything with Sarah, her friends, and Rafe all in one night? Why did you have to ruin everything?

It wasn’t the first time Rafe had blown up at Sarah. She often stood in the way of everything he wanted in life. Ward loved her more than him, for some unknown reason that baffled Rafe the more he tried to understand it. This night was about him and you and yet Sarah and her pogue friends had to crash their party. Rafe couldn’t have one thing that was just his. Now she was trying to corrupt you, his sweet and clueless bride. 

“Where’s the rest of your friends?” Rafe asked when he and his friends found just John B., Kiara and Sarah in the barn, “They run? Huh?” 

Sarah rolled her eyes, hard, “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t mess with me, Sarah.”

“What? Did you snort too many lines tonight?” 

Rafe imagined his hands around her throat. He squeezed his fist tight, examining the scene before him, assessing what exactly he could get away with in this moment. Soon, someone would notice that both Rafe and his future bride had disappeared from their own party. He was on thin ice with Ward already.

Kiara shifted, stepping in front of Sarah like some kind of shield. “Back off, Rafe.” Her voice was steady, but he could see the way her hands clenched into nervous fists.

Rafe let out a cold laugh, pointing straight at his sister, his gaze razor-sharp. “I’ll make every last one of your little Pogue friends miserable, you hear me?” His voice was low, dangerous, a promise rather than a threat. “I’m gettin’ the company, the money, the influence, every goddamn thing. Cameron Ranch pays all their fucking bills, and you know it. You think Heyward’s could run without us? Kie, your parents buy their beef from us, same as every other rich asshole in this town. Y’all survive because we let you…and you …”

Rafe turned towards John B., “You know better. No one else in this town would have you on with your history. And your friend, JJ, if I find out he put one finger on her. I’ll fucking kill him.” His voice dropped to a whisper, seething with a quiet rage. 

It was a promise. His blood boiled at the idea of JJ’s eyes on you. He would’ve killed him if the pogue hadn't been smart enough to run. That’s why he left you in his room, he knew he wouldn’t be able to control himself if he saw him. 

“That’s enough!” Sarah shouted, her expression twisted in frustration, “Stop, Rafe. You got your point across.”

“Nothing even happened, asshole,” Kiara said. 

“Like he should believe that,” Topper scoffed, speaking up, “Dirty pogues.”

“Let it go,” John B. said, “Before you do something you regret, man.” 

Rafe nodded, jaw tight. He considered them lucky. Damn lucky. They were on his property, his land, trespassing, he had every right to go after them, “Keep your friends away from Y/N,” Rafe said to his sister, “I’m serious.”

“You can’t control who she’s friends with!”

“I promise you won’t like it if you push me on this one, Sarah,” With one last glance at Sarah, he turned on his heel, heading back toward the house, back toward something far more important, back towards you. 

Rose ripped into him, of course, after the happy couple completely abandoned their own wedding shower. He would’ve preferred his father’s yelling over hers. She cornered him in the foyer, before he could climb the stairs, and Rafe started to feel a headache coming on. It was then he remembered the beers and the fact that he was not even close to sober. It wasn’t his fault the night ended in disaster. He’d done his part, networked, kept up appearances, and even posed for a million photos. The Pogues showing up and manipulating his fiance into getting drunk was out of his control. 

From the corner of his eye, he saw Wheezie peaking from the bannister upstairs. She was eavesdropping, of course. He apologized to Rose instead of raising his voice. She continued. He apologized five more times. She didn’t accept, he didn’t expect her to. She threw up her hands in exhaustion, said she was going to talk to Ward, and then stormed off. 

With a heavy sigh, Rafe climbed the stairs.

His nosy little sister asked, “Why is Y/N crying in your room? She sounds like a kicked puppy.”

Rafe’s jaw clenched. Great.

“Ask Sarah,” Rafe spoke curtly, annoyed. He reached into his pocket for his keys. 

“Sarah?”

“Goodnight, Wheezie.” Was all he said before he unlocked his bedroom door, pushed inside, and slammed it shut. 

He understood immediately what Wheezie meant by you sounding like a kicked puppy. You weren’t where he expected you'd be but it didn’t take long to narrow down where you were. He gave himself a few minutes to collect himself, bracing for your torrent of emotions, bracing for the anger you probably felt towards him. 

Being mad at him would be useless in the end. Rafe had decided the two of your belonged together. He certainly didn’t believe in soulmates but he understood ownership and possession. Whatever it was, the two of you would work for it, because you belonged to him. 

He found you, head in your hands, shaking like a leaf. He kicked off his boots, lowered down to the ground, and moved next to you, “Y/N?” 

“I’m sorry,” You said immediately, your voice pitiful. 

“You’re sorry, baby?” It wasn’t the reaction he expected from you but he leaned into it, “You’re sorry for what?”

“I’m sorry for,” You hiccuped, “For drinking. I don’t know why I did it. I just …” 

“You want Sarah to like you,” Rafe filled in your often incomplete thoughts and you finally looked up. Despite the streaked mascara and smudged lipstick, he thought you looked gorgeous. 

“Yeah … I shouldn’t, right?” You asked hesitantly, "You know, sometimes it feels like everyone knows what’s going on except me. I think she thinks I’m stupid and she’d be right.. I can’t even take care of myself.” 

“Look, I’m not happy with Sarah but I know she doesn’t think that,” Rafe assured you, but made sure to add on, “And you shouldn’t care what she thinks. She hangs out with a bunch of lowlifes. She’s going nowhere. You, baby, have so much potential. So what, you don’t know everything, but you don’t need to take care of yourself. How many times do I have to tell you? That’s my job.”

Rafe watched you nod your head, eyes still watery, “My Dad wanted it.”

“He did,” Rafe agreed, “I don’t like to see you like this …things will be better when we have our own house. Our own family. I know it will.”

“Was she upset?” You wiped your own tears, “When you went out there…” 

“You’re too sweet for your own good.” 

He was watching you closely now, scanning your body language, gauging whether you were on the verge of a panic attack. This moment, it was an opportunity for him. Somehow, despite everything, he wasn’t the bad guy in this situation. Maybe it was the trust he’d built with you over the last two weeks, maybe it was something else entirely. Either way, he wasn’t about to let it slip through his fingers.

“C’mere,” He reached for you, fingers wrapping around your wrists, guiding you toward him. You shuffled forward onto your knees, letting him pull you closer. His hands slid to your hips, gripping firmly as he positioned you over his lap, your legs straddling his. Now, you were right where he wanted you, face to face, eyes locked, nowhere to hide.

“She was upset,” he admitted, his thumbs smoothing slow circles against your sides. “But not as upset as me.”

You blinked, lips parting slightly.

“It wasn’t just the drinking,” he continued, voice low and steady. “It was who you were drinking with. You were with them. Without me.” His jaw tensed. “Knowing that those dirty Pogues got to look at you, be near you-” He inhaled sharply, shaking his head. “You’re the most beautiful thing in my life. I don’t think it’s selfish to want you to myself.”

Shame flickered across your features. 

“I wasn’t thinking,” You murmured and part of Rafe’s mind, the sick part, rejoiced, “I’m so sorry.”

A weak smile tugged at his lips, “I forgive you, baby. I’m not mad anymore. At all. “

He kept his voice reassuring, his words gentle, but his touch was anything but. 

“What makes them so bad, Rafe?” You asked curiously, your voice barely above a whisper, “They didn’t look that dirty to me.”

“Not tonight, I don’t want to talk about them,” Rafe ran his hands over your thighs, traveling beneath the skirt of your dress, before he gripped a handful of your ass in his hands, “I wanna teach you something.”

“Mhm,” You hummed as Rafe leaned into your neck, kissing you softly. You were so responsive, even in this fragile state. 

“I know how you can make it up to me.”

Rafe felt you tense when you felt it, the growing hardness that was currently being restrained by his zipper. Barely contained. He leaned his head down, just as he moved his hands to your breast. He squeezed tightly, savoring the handful, “Rafe …I-I–I don’t know.” 

He did wonder how far he could push you before you couldn’t take it anymore. But he remembered how much further he’d gotten with you being a little more gentle, “Don’t worry,” He assured you, “I’m going to teach you how to use your mouth on me. It won’t hurt at all.”

“It won’t? But …. But  it can’t fit in my mouth.” 

Patience, he reminded himself. 

“I’ll show you,” Rafe pressed his thumb against your soft lips, “Open, baby.”

Rafe saw it in your eyes, the hesitance, the fear but he kept his touch soft. He brushed your tongue, “Suck on my finger,” You closed your mouth around his finger and when he felt your teeth scrape his skin, he added, “But don’t bite. No teeth. That’s lesson number one.”

He moved his thumb slowly in and out of your mouth, allowing you practice. The way your wide eyes were fixed on him, looking for his approval, was probably the sexiest thing he’d seen you do. And you were his, “Good girl, darlin’” he praised, and your lashes fluttered at the words.

He promised to take it slow and was a man of his word. He gave you plenty of practice before the real thing. You were right, he couldn’t fit inside your mouth. Most of him. But he taught you how to hold him, how to stroke him, how to keep touching him in the moments where your mouth got too tired. That was lesson two.  Just the tip this time, you could handle that. He had been holding off for two weeks, and it wouldn’t take much.

And when the moment finally came, when his release spilled hot and thick onto your tongue, Rafe taught you lesson number three.

“You never spit, baby,” he murmured, his thumb grazing your swollen lips. “My cum is your reward for all your hard work. You swallow all of it.”

And when you did, although your face scrunched at the unfamiliarity of it, Rafe pressed a slow, claiming kiss against your lips.

hope you enjoyed!!

[y3sterdaysproblem]

they said speak now - m.s.

summary: you and matt had been best friends since the moment you were born, rarely doing anything without him by your side. your families have always expected the two of you to end up together, but when matt gets a girlfriend that hates you and desperately attempts to destroy your relationship, you’re forced to confront the truth about your feelings for him. will your bond survive the test, or will the pressure of love, jealousy, and change push you apart?

wc: 2k

series masterlist

Part five

Matt called you that night, once everyone was home safe and he was in bed, guilt still rushing through him from the state he left you in. He felt awful, completely at fault for what had happened, knowing he should’ve stood up for you and let you sit next to him, but the way his new girlfriend stared at him expectantly, like she was owed the front seat now that they were a couple, there was no way he could deny either of you what you wanted.

In his mind, it was stupid. Everything from the passenger seat to the way you and Amber treated each other, it was all dumb. Just because he had a girlfriend now didn’t mean he couldn’t care for both of you, at least in his mind. He didn’t see why you had such an issue with each other, especially if both of you made him happy in your own ways.

You wanted to ignore his call, a part of you wanting him to feel worse than he already did about everything, but the part of you that loved him, even as your best friend, couldn’t hurt him like that. As soon as you answered, Matt whispered your name softly, like he was afraid of scaring you off. “I’m sorry,” he breathes, voice quiet and calm.

“For what?” You ask him. Your stomach was still turning slightly, your body not fully recovered from the nausea that consumed you about an hour ago in the car and you knew you wouldn’t feel better until the morning, but you couldn’t ignore the way Matt’s voice calmed you and made you feel slightly less sick.

“For everything, I guess. You getting sick, the way Amber talked to you, making you feel like I’d forget about you… I could never forget about you and I wish you knew that.” Matt sounded sincere in the way he spoke to you, his smooth voice triggering goosebumps on your skin.

“It’s just how girls are, Matt,” you tell him honestly. “I know how girls are which is why I’m so… apprehensive. She knows how girls are, too. Not saying she’s necessarily right about any of it,” you lie. “But girls don’t like when guys have friends that are girls. It’s just how it is. What hurts me is you let her have an attitude with me and you don’t defend me or tell her to stop and that’s what makes me so sure that you’ll choose her over me in a heartbeat.”

“Why does it always have to be about choosing? Can’t I have separate relationships with you both without having to change how I talk to either of you?” You hated how he had a point and you couldn’t really further explain your jealousy without exposing your feelings towards him, which in your mind would definitely ruin your relationship with him for good.

“I don’t know,” you sigh, eyes locked on your ceiling above you, room illuminated by the moon shining in the window. “I’m just used to having you all to myself. I don’t have any other friends except you and your brothers.” Your nose burned from the onset of tears filling in your eyes, the thought of being lonely overwhelming you.

Matt’s quiet for a few beats, noticing the way your voice pinches towards the end of your sentence. “Do you want me to come spend the night?” He asks finally, tone serious. You sniffle and bring a hand up to wipe a tear that slips from the corner of your eye. “Yes,” you whisper back to him.

It’s not even ten minutes before he makes it to your house, climbing in through your window as to not disturb your sleeping family by opening the front door. It was something you guys had been doing for years at this point, ‘sneaking’ Matt in through your bedroom window on nights when it was a little too late to make noise by walking through your house to let him in, or just on nights when you had school the next day and he really shouldn’t have been spending the night in the first place.

You’re just watching him from your bed, curled up on your side and facing him as he slips his shoes and sweater off. “Why are you crying so much lately?” He asks in a quiet voice with a teasing undertone, trying to cheer you up. It does bring a small, wet giggle out of you, your hand wiping your nose as you sniffled.

“I don’t know. Too much change, I guess.” You tell him, scooting backwards on your bed as he comes closer and pulls the blanket back to slide in next to you. “Too much change?” He clarifies and you nod slightly. “You mean like me and Amber?”

The smile fades from your face and you shrug your shoulders slightly, staring over at him as his cheek rests against the pillow, his body facing yours. You always seemed to find yourself in this position with him, laying side by side in bed, facing each other as you spoke quietly, almost as if you hoped nobody else could hear you. “You and Amber, graduating, being eighteen… it’s just a lot right now and I don’t even know what I want to do. Part of me is just scared you’re figuring things out and I’m not.”

Matt chuckles at this, rolling his eyes slightly. “Are you kidding? I have nothing figured out. Just because I got a girlfriend doesn’t mean anything.” You sigh and reach over, shoving his shoulder at the way he rolled his eyes. “No, but it changes things. She’d never let you live with me, she probably won’t want you hanging out with me, I’m gonna have to spend all my time with… with Chris!”

“Oh, stop,” Matt laughs, grabbing your hand and pulling you into him, slinging your arm around his waist so he could wrap his own around your back, staring down at you now. “I’m gonna tell Chris you don’t think he’s good company.” You pout up at him and shake your head slightly. “He’s great company but he’s not you.”

Matt can’t ignore the way his stomach turns when you say that, unable to place the feeling of the skipping in his chest. His smile fades as he looks down at you, trying to focus on his breathing as his eyes lock onto yours. “Matt?” You say softly, hearing him suck in a soft breath as you break him out of his thoughts. “Yeah?” He responds at the same volume, shooting you a gentle smile.

“I dunno, you looked.. out of it,” you laugh, scooting a bit closer and grabbing the blanket to pull it higher up on your guys’ bodies. “Sorry,” he apologizes sheepishly. “Just thinking. Nothing important.”

You feel a comment itching to be spoken sitting on the tip of your tongue, and it has to be the late hour that makes you confident enough to say it, knowing you’d never say this without the comfort of the dark room you’re in. “Looked like you wanted t’kiss me,” you say teasingly, wiggling your eyebrows up at him.

A laugh rips out of him, his body shaking underneath your arm at your accusation. “Kiss you?” Matt giggles, pulling you closer and turning onto his back, shaking his head as he turns his gaze towards the ceiling. “Nah. You wish.”

You giggle as he pulls you with him, now tucked into his side as he turns over, cheek resting on his shoulder. It was funny, the interaction, enough to make you forget about whatever it was you were upset about, but it was true. You did wish.

-

In the morning when you wake up, Matt is still sound asleep, sprawled out on his back with one arm slung out to his side where you were presumably laying at one point, his other arm lazily resting over his face to hide his eyes from the sun shining in your room. You let out a sleepy sigh and stretch out on your bed, arms high above your head as your eyes squeeze shut momentarily.

It’s been a while since you’ve woken up in the same bed with Matt, the pleasure becoming a rarity now with Amber in the picture. Truthfully you understood where she was coming from to an extent. If you were a girlfriend, you wouldn’t want Matt spending the night at another girl or doing the things you guys did together, but it was all you and Matt knew. Spending time together was like second nature.

Matt could sleep forever if you let him, a heavy sleeper to the point where you’ve laid fully on top of him and he wouldn’t wake up, so once you look at the time and realize it’s already afternoon, you groan and turn to face him, reaching forward to remove his arm from his face. He doesn’t stir, in fact a small snore leaves his parted lips, seemingly slipping further into sleep as you move him.

“Matt,” you say groggily, shoving his shoulder gently. Your stomach was already grumbling, begging for food after your night of nausea. “Wake up.” He shifts and rolls onto his side to face you, away from the sun, eyes still closed. You huff and grumble something under your breath, moving your hand up to his nose and pinching his nostrils together.

It’s only a couple of seconds before Matt’s hand comes up to grab your wrist, pulling it away from his face quickly. His eyes peel open and lock on you, puffy and unfocused as he looks at you. “Why?” He asks plainly, voice laced with sleep. The raspiness makes your toes tingle and you have to fight the girlish giggle that bubbles up in your throat. “I’m hungry,” you inform him, your wrist still in his grasp as he holds it close to his chest. Matt sighs and closes his eyes again, nuzzling his cheek into the pillow. “Okay,” he sighs. “What do you want?”

You smile wide at his instant willingness to get food with you, scooting a bit closer to him. “Do you have any plans today?” You ask him, pulling your hand out of his so you could bring it up to trail a finger over the stubble growing on his jaw, your touch light on his skin. “No,” he replies, yawning loudly. He finally opens his eyes for good this time, the ability to fall back asleep slipping from his grasp. “Amber’s at some family member’s house like an hour away and you’re my only other friend.”

“Can we go to that new cafe in the city?” You ask excitedly, already pushing the covers off of both of you and sitting up. Matt groans and runs both hands over his face, rubbing harshly before he turns his head and sniffs under his arm, grimacing slightly as he pulls away and looks at you again. “Sure, but I need to go home and shower first.” He sits up next to you and swings his legs over the edge of the bed, his back facing you. When Matt stands up and stretches his arms above his head, you can’t help but stare at the sliver of skin that becomes exposed due to his shirt riding up, his underwear visible from how low his sweatpants were slung on his hips.

He spins around and smiles at you as his hands slap down onto his thighs and you clear your throat and meet his eyes as quickly as you can, trying to make sure he doesn’t realize you were staring at a sliver of skin like a man starved of physical contact. “I’ll pick you up in thirty minutes?” He suggests as he slides back into his shoes and you nod your head, shooting him a smile. “Sounds perfect. I’ll be ready.” You agree.

Thirty minutes later when Matt pulls up in your driveway just like he promised, already playing your current music fixation when you climb into the car with a wide smile on your face, excited to spend your day with your best friend, alone.

You just hoped Amber wouldn’t find a way to ruin it for you.

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[powderpinkprincess]

Irresponsible [Lando Norris x reader]

description: Lando has an irrational fear of a cab driver kidnapping you once- Or something like that.

Lando usually didn’t mind when you went out without him. You had your own group of friends in Monaco, and as long as your best friend, Sasha was there, Lando didn’t worry much. He really liked her because she was nice and responsible even when she drank, keeping you away from trouble.

What he did mind, however, was you taking a cab home alone. It didn’t matter how safe Monaco was or how many times you had done it before - just the thought of you, possibly even drunk, sitting in the back of a stranger’s car made his stomach twist. What if the driver wasn’t who they seemed? What if something happened, and he wasn’t there? Lando knew it was probably just in his head, but that didn’t make it any easier. It was the one thing he hated about your nights out - waiting for that text saying you were home safe, hoping that nothing had gone wrong.

At least now that Lando finally had a whole week at home, he didn’t have to worry about that, and he could just pick you up himself. Besides training, he still had tons of work to do on his laptop, so he was busy, but he was available.

He didn’t mute his phone when he went to sleep as he usually did, so you could reach him whenever you wanted. However, when you left you noticed how exhausted he looked, so you didn’t want to bother him. At 2 a.m. you were more than ready to leave, and that was when you noticed your credit card was almost empty. You had two credit cards, one to use in your day-to-day life and another one for clubbing.

You didn’t want to wake Lando, but eventually you had to. He was fast asleep when his phone rang. He picked it up half asleep when he saw your number come up. Sitting up, he wiped his eyes and yawned. “Hey babe, is everything okay?”

 “Uhm, hi, sorry to wake you up,” you started.

 “No, no,” he said, slowly coming to his senses. “It's okay,” he added with a yawn. “What is it, love?”

 “Could you maybe send some money to my blue card?” you sighed. Lando knew exactly what you meant as he used the same method when going out. If the card got lost or stolen, it was a much better situation when it was not the majority of your money disappearing.

Lando stifled a sigh as he turned the light on. “Why, did you forget to transfer money again?” he asked while he opened the bank app on his phone. Lando was a bit annoyed at you for being careless with your stuff again, but he sent some money to you anyway.

 “I’m sorry,” you replied, noticing the tone of his voice immediately.

 “Don’t apologize, just try to pay attention the next time.” He suppressed another yawn. “Are you guys going to stay out?”

 “No, I was just about to call a cab,” you explained.

He was silent for a minute, then you could hear the soft ruffling of the sheets as he moved. “Why didn’t you call me before? I would have come to pick you up.”

 “Cause you needed rest,” you mumbled. You knew he didn’t like it when you took a cab, so you expected the question.

 “Well, I'm up now, so I don't think it matters anyway,” Lando said with a hint of sarcasm. “I would have come to pick you up at any time for you, love, you know that,” he added, trying to sound sincere. He didn't want to pick a fight now that he was awake, but it was a bit of a sensitive spot for him. Lando didn't like that you would just jump into a car with a stranger. He worried about your safety more than you realised.

 “I know,” you sighed.

There was a brief silence on the line. Lando knew you were being considerate by not calling him earlier, yet he couldn't help but feel a bit frustrated. He wanted to voice that but held back, knowing it would lead to a pointless argument. “Where are you, anyway?” he asked instead.

  “At Aurora. We're still inside at the smoking area cause it's quiet and warm here,” you added. “Why?”

 “Just wondering. Aurora is on the other side of the city, and at this time of night I'd rather not send you in a random cab,” Lando replied, his concern growing. “Are the girls with you?”

 “Yes, they are. But you really don't need to come,” you pushed.

Lando knew you were trying to not bother him, but he also knew that this was pointless to argue about. Besides, he would be restless if he just stayed home now that he was up. “I'm coming,” he said with a finality in his voice.

 “Baby…” you sighed.

Lando was already getting up and putting on some clothes. “Stop protesting, Y/N. Half of the cab drivers barely even speak English here,” he retorted. “You’ve been drinking, you’re wearing that small dress, and you’re- You’re not going to call a cab. Just stay inside. I’ll be there soon.”

For a moment, you didn’t know how to reply. You could hear the frustration in his voice, but it somehow warmed your heart. “I love you,” you spoke eventually.

 “Love you, too. See you at the club,” he added before he ended the call.

He didn’t know how to explain what he felt. It was just that- So many things in his life could be taken away within a second. And he barely had anything stable to hold onto, considering how much he had to travel. He knew what people and social media were capable of, and he was just so afraid of you getting hurt. You’ve been dating over three years now, so his followers knew who you were, and he was also aware that people didn’t always have good intentions.

Twenty minutes later he was parked outside the club. He called you, so you quickly grabbed your belongings, hugged the girls goodbye, and then hurried to his car. You sat in and closed the door behind yourself.

Lando winced at the sound. “Hey, careful.”

He had taught you not to smack the door of his car, but apparently you were too drunk to notice or remember.

 “Oh, sorry,” you bit on your lip when you realized what you had done.

You checked your phone to see the time, and that was when you saw the notification of your bank application. You frowned and checked your account. Lando sent you money despite that he decided to pick you up, but you only expected an amount that would cover a cab ride. You huffed when you saw the numbers.

 “Baby, I wanted to call a cab for a ride home, not to buy the driver with the car,” you glanced at your boyfriend, who had just started the engine.

 “Consider it as a precaution,” he replied, his eyes never leaving the road as he started driving. He was still a little frustrated. “Better safe than sorry. And you know I don’t like you being in cabs with strangers at night.”

 “I know, but this is extensive. Did you think I’d have to pay a ransom for myself or what?” you sighed. “You know I have my own money, right? Just not on this card.”

 “I know,” he said, with a hint of annoyance in his voice. “But sometimes you can be irresponsible when it comes to money, like leaving your card behind or not checking your balance,” he said, recalling past incidents.

You just hummed. That was right.

 “Besides, this most likely wouldn’t be enough for a ransom,” he added.

 “I was just joking,” you mumbled. He wasn’t in a funny mood tonight.

 “I know,” Lando sighed. He stepped on the break at a red light and looked at you. “Y/N, I don’t even know how to approach this anymore. I’m not saying that I would pick you up because I’m trying to be nice. I’m saying it because I’d much rather pick you up by myself than wait until some creep kidnaps you. I know, you’re a strong, independent woman, but can’t you just let me have it my way for once?”

Your eyes widened slightly at his words. “No one is going to kidnap me.”

 “Y/N,” he pressed. “Please. Seriously.”

You couldn’t force back a small smile. Even though he could annoy you to death by being overprotective sometimes, he was still very cute.

 “Okay,” you replied, shrugging your shoulders. Meanwhile, the light has turned green again.

 “Okay?” he glanced at you again quickly before looking back at the road.

 “Yeah. Okay.”

His shoulders visibly relaxed and he sent you a small smile back. Oh, how you loved him.

[woso-story]

Better Boyfriend Than Him - Part Nine

Alexia Putellas x Reader - Other Parts

The soft glow of the morning sun painted the sky in hues of pink and orange as you stirred awake. The apartment was silent, the city still slowly coming to life outside. You turned your head, your gaze landing on Alexia.

She was still asleep, her breathing slow and steady, her features relaxed in a way you had never seen before. She looked peaceful. Beautiful.

You exhaled quietly, sinking deeper into the couch.

Last night had been overwhelming. The heartbreak, the uncertainty about the future, the way everything seemed to be falling apart. But amidst the chaos, Alexia had been a grounding presence. Her words, her reassurance—they had helped you sleep. She had made you feel like maybe, just maybe, things wouldn’t always feel this awful.

You wanted to believe her.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t notice Ingrid standing in the kitchen, watching you.

When your eyes finally landed on her, you felt heat rush to your face. You had just been caught staring at her teammate.

But Ingrid didn’t look at you with judgment. Instead, she smiled knowingly, lifting her coffee mug in a silent question.

You nodded quickly and stood up, walking over to her.

As she started making you a cup, she asked softly, “How are you feeling?”

You wrapped your arms around yourself. “Not good… but it could be worse.”

She nodded in understanding, watching you carefully.

“Mapi still asleep?” you asked, desperate to change the subject.

Ingrid chuckled. “She won’t be up for a while. You know she’s not a morning person.”

You smiled, shaking your head. “Yeah, she never was.”

The two of you fell into easy conversation, speaking about everything and nothing at all as you prepared breakfast. The normalcy of it was comforting, a much-needed distraction from the storm inside your mind.

About an hour later, you heard the sound of footsteps, and when you turned around, you saw Alexia rubbing her eyes as she walked into the kitchen.

“Morning,” she murmured, voice still thick with sleep.

“Morning,” you and Ingrid responded at the same time.

Ingrid excused herself to go wake Mapi, leaving you and Alexia alone at the kitchen table.

Alexia glanced at you, tilting her head slightly. “You sleep okay?”

You gave her a small smile. “Yeah. Thanks to you.”

She returned the smile, a softness in her eyes that made your stomach flutter.

---

A little while later, Mapi finally stumbled into the kitchen, grumbling under her breath about how Ingrid was evil for waking her up.

Breakfast was filled with easy conversation, the four of you laughing and chatting like things were normal.

For a brief moment, you almost forgot about the pain.

But then, you sighed.

Mapi immediately caught it. “What’s wrong?”

You hesitated before answering. “Just thinking about everything I have to do now.” You ran a hand through your hair. “I need to get my stuff from Luis’s apartment. I need to find a new place. A hotel for the next few days.”

Mapi scoffed. “That’s nonsense. You can stay here.”

You chuckled. “You should probably check your guest room before saying that.”

Mapi frowned before realization hit her. Right. Their guest room was still full of moving boxes, and there was no bed yet.

Ingrid laughed at the dumb look on her girlfriend’s face. “We can make it work if you want to stay.”

You shook your head. “It’s okay. I’ll figure something out.”

Then, a voice spoke up—calm, steady.

“You can stay at mine.”

You turned your head so fast you almost gave yourself whiplash. “What?”

Alexia shrugged, as if she hadn’t just said something that caught you completely off guard. “I have a guest room. It’s ready to use.”

You blinked at her. “Alexia, I—”

“You don’t need to waste money on a hotel,” she said simply. “I’m barely home because of football, so I won’t be in your way.”

You stared at her, completely unsure of what to say. “I’d be the one bothering you, not the other way around.”

She rolled her eyes. “You wouldn’t.”

The two of you went back and forth for a few minutes, you insisting that you’d figure something else out, Alexia insisting that it wasn’t necessary.

Finally, you sighed. “…Only for a few days. Until I find a place.”

Alexia smiled, and for some reason, that made your heart race.

“Good,” she said.

Mapi clapped her hands together. “Alright, now that that’s settled, we’re coming with you to get your things.”

You exhaled, your chest feeling a little less heavy. “Thank you.”

At noon, they left for training, and you agreed to meet at five to go to Luis’s apartment.

You weren’t looking forward to it.

Seeing him again.

Letting him see you like this.

You felt sick just thinking about it.

[sthilarions]

I keep thinking about Edwin claiming he’s never been kissed, because, like… really? He’s been running around getting into hijinks and shenanigans for effectively 70 years (given that he doesn’t take breaks to sleep, eat, pee, etc) and he’s never encountered a ghost from a culture that greets with a lip-kiss? Or one old enough to still do the ‘holy kiss’? Never met someone unacceptably pushy that Charles couldn’t shove off in time? Never encountered magic mistletoe? Never been next to somebody with eyes on New Year’s Eve? Really?

And my conclusion is that logically he must mean he’s never experienced something that he counts as a kiss.

Which then leads me into the wonderful world of what may have happened between him and Charles that he didn’t count as kissing.

They’ve been doing disguises together as different genders for decades and you’re telling me they never told someone they were married and had to prove it with a kiss? I don’t think so.

On New Year’s, and under that magic mistletoe - who else would be next to him but Charles?

Please consider the first time that Charles was doing a bit and told Edwin “bye honey, have fun at work, I’ll have dinner ready when you get home” and got a little too caught up in it and didn’t realize he’d pecked Edwin on the lips until several minutes later. And by god neither of them is ever going to mention it.

…but then a similar situation happened again, several years later, Edwin laid up ghost-sick on the sofa and Charles forced to leave to deal with the case and bending over Edwin to fuss at his blankets and pressing a quick kiss to his lips before standing and promising he’d be back as soon as - wait, back up, he pressed a quick… what… to… who… SHIT.

But the thing is over time they gradually realize that the other genuinely does not care. Like, they’re not going to get homophobic or weird about it. Sometimes you just lip-kiss your bro, you know. It happens. And the fact that they now know it’s not going to cause issues means it happens increasingly frequently, and they progressively lose track of the idea that it might be unusual. Because it doesn’t count as kissing, right?

And eventually it’s 2024 and Crystal’s in the office about to leave with Charles when Charles casually leans over, kisses Edwin, who barely bothers to look up from his book, says “back soon, luv,” and then walks off like absolutely nothing out of the ordinary has happened, while Crystal’s standing there going WHAT. THE. FUCK. Charles I thought you said you weren’t with Edwin. Charles. Charles WAIT UP WHAT THE FUCK, CHARLES,

[cressidagrey]

Home Sweet Home

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Summary:  Oscar Piastri is just happy to be home with his girls. Lando Norris meets Felicity and Bee Piastri.   

Notes: Part 3 of The mysterious Mrs. Piastri verse...

Warnings: one mention of a past eating disorder, also mention of toxic parents.

(divider thanks to @saradika-graphics )

Oscar had made a terrible mistake.

Somewhere between takeoff and now—now being hour six of their flight home—he had underestimated just how relentless Lando Norris could be.

Six hours into the flight, and he was still in shock. Staring at Oscar like he had personally committed the greatest act of deception known to man.

“A wife,” Lando said for what had to be the hundredth time. “A WHOLE WIFE.”

Oscar exhaled slowly. “Yes, Lando.”

“And a child,” Lando continued, voice rising. “A WHOLE ACTUAL HUMAN CHILD.”

“Yes, Lando.”

Lando sat back in his seat, shaking his head. “I—I just—I don’t even know you, mate. You’re a stranger to me.”

Oscar rolled his eyes. “Oh my god.”

“All this time—all this time—I thought we were friends, Oscar,” Lando went on, pressing a hand to his chest like he was delivering a monologue. “I thought we were bros.”

Oscar stared at him. “We are friends.”

“Oh, are we?” Lando scoffed. “Because usually, friends tell each other when they have a wife and a child.”

Oscar pinched the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t not tell you on purpose.”

“That’s even worse!” Lando cried. “You just forgot to mention it? Oh yeah, by the way, I have a whole family—DO YOU HEAR HOW INSANE THAT SOUNDS?”

Oscar sighed. “I wasn’t hiding them, Lando.”

“YOU WERE OMITTING THEM.”

Oscar turned to him, unimpressed. “Would you like an apology?”

“Yes,” Lando said immediately. “Yes, I would.”

Oscar deadpanned. “I’m sorry.”

Lando gaped. “You are the worst.”

Oscar just shrugged, unbothered.

Lando groaned, dragging his hands down his face. “Alright, you know what? You owe me now. I get to meet them.”

Oscar blinked. “What?”

“Felicity and Bee,” Lando said firmly. “I get to meet them. You owe me that.”

Oscar tilted his head, considering. “…Fine.”

Lando froze. “Wait, really?”

Oscar nodded. “Yeah. Come over for dinner.”

Lando gasped. “Oh my god, this is HUGE. Okay, wait—what do I bring? Do I bring Bee a gift? What do kids even like? What does Felicity like? Should I bring—”

Oscar sighed, closing his eyes. This was going to be the longest flight of his life.

Lando was still talking.

Oscar was certain he hadn’t taken a single breath in the last five minutes.

“Okay, okay, do they like chocolate?” Lando mused, half to himself. “Or—oh! Maybe I should get Bee one of those cool toy cars? Like, you know, start ‘em young and all that.”

Oscar cracked one eye open. “She’s three, Lando.”

Lando scoffed. “So? Max probably had a go-kart before he could walk.”

Oscar sighed. “Yeah, well, Bee’s not Max.”

Lando waved a dismissive hand. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Okay, but—Felicity. What does she like? Should I bring wine? Is she a wine person?”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “Lando, you’re coming over for dinner, not a royal banquet.”

“But I need to make a good first impression!” Lando insisted. “I need her to like me, Oscar.”

Oscar snorted. “Felicity is going to like you just fine.”

Lando narrowed his eyes. “You say that, but what if she thinks I’m an idiot?”

“Well,” Oscar said, sipping his water, “she’d be correct.”

Lando smacked him on the arm.

Oscar just chuckled, shaking his head. “Seriously, Lando, you don’t need to overthink this. Just bring yourself. Felicity isn’t going to grill you like a job interview.”

Lando still didn’t look convinced. “I just—I wanna be cool Uncle Lando, you know? I feel like I’m already behind since you didn’t even tell me about Bee—”

Oscar sighed. “Are we still on this?”

“Yes, obviously,” Lando shot back. “I am traumatized by the betrayal, Oscar. I am scarred. I am—”

Oscar rolled his eyes. “Oh my god.”

“—I am a victim of your deception,” Lando finished dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest.

Oscar just stared at him, unimpressed.

Lando huffed. “Fine. But I will win over your wife and kid.”

Oscar smirked. “We’ll see.”

***

Grid Group Chat

Lando: EVERYONE SHUT UP. IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT.

Charles: Oh no.

Pierre: This can’t be good.

George: If this is another meme, I swear—

Lando: I AM MEETING OSCAR’S WIFE AND DAUGHTER FIRST. ME. BEFORE ALL OF YOU.

Carlos: WHAT???

Pierre: NOOOOOOOOOO.

Charles: HOW??

Max: Bold of you to assume I care.

Lando: DON’T LIE, MAX, YOU CARE.

George: But HOW did you manage this???

Lando: I annoyed him into submission.

Daniel: That is both impressive and unsurprising.

Carlos: I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS.

Lando: You should have seen him on the plane. He was suffering. He had to agree to get me to shut up.

Pierre: I AM SO JEALOUS RIGHT NOW.

Lewis: Lando, if you don’t report back with every single detail, we will never forgive you.

Lando: Oh, don’t worry. I will have a full debrief ready.

Charles: If you get to meet them before us, you have to ask all the questions.

Lando: Already planned.

Oscar: …I hate all of you.

Lando: Love you too, mate. Can’t wait for dinner!

***

The house was quiet when Oscar finally stepped inside. The kind of deep, settled quiet that only came when the entire world was asleep.

He toed off his shoes by the door, rolling his shoulders, exhaustion dragging at his limbs. But instead of heading straight for bed, he turned toward Bee’s room.

Oscar moved through the dark house quietly, socked feet barely making a sound on the wooden floor. 

He was exhausted—jet lag weighing heavy on his limbs, the long day of interviews and racing chaos still ringing in his ears—but none of it mattered now. He was home.

And he wanted his daughter.

Bee was curled up in her bed, one arm flung over her stuffed koala, her hair a messy halo of dark waves against the pillow. She looked so peaceful, so content, that Oscar hesitated for a moment, feeling guilty for disturbing her. But then she stirred, smacking her lips in her sleep, and his heart clenched. He needed this.

Gently, he scooped her up, her tiny body warm and pliant against his chest. She barely reacted, only making a sleepy little noise before burrowing into him. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, inhaling the familiar scent of her apple shampoo.

“Missed you, Bumblebee,” he whispered, holding her close as he made his way back to the bedroom.

Felicity was curled up on her side, the blankets tangled around her. She stirred as Oscar climbed into bed, blinking blearily at him. “You stole our child,” she mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

Oscar huffed out a quiet laugh as he gently settled Bee between them. “Missed my girls.” 

Felicity let out a quiet huff, but her gaze softened as she reached out to brush a strand of hair from Bee’s forehead. “You okay?” she murmured, eyes flicking up to his.

Oscar let out a breath, sinking into the pillows. “Yeah,” he admitted. “Just… tired.”

Felicity studied him for a moment before shifting closer, her hand finding his under the blankets. “Long day?”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Kind of a life-changing one.”

Felicity smirked. “Yeah, well, you did let the entire world know about me.”

Oscar winced. “Sorry.”

She squeezed his hand. “I’m not mad.”

His gaze flicked to her, surprised.

Felicity smiled, small and a little tired. “I mean, I wouldn’t have minded a bit more warning, but…” She exhaled. “I guess it was bound to happen eventually.”

Oscar nodded, his thumb brushing absent circles against her palm. “Yeah.”

They lay in silence for a while, the weight of the day settling between them. Then Felicity shifted, resting her chin on his shoulder. “So… how bad was it?”

Oscar let out a quiet chuckle. “Lando is deeply betrayed. Charles nearly had an aneurysm. Daniel screamed.”

Felicity snorted. “Sounds about right.”

Oscar hummed. “They’re all asking about you.”

Felicity sighed. “I bet.”

He turned his head to look at her. “Lando’s coming over for dinner.”

She groaned, burying her face against his arm. “Oscar.”

He grinned. “Too late now.”

Felicity muttered something against his skin that sounded suspiciously like a curse. But she didn’t pull away.

Instead, she just sighed, pressing a sleepy kiss to his shoulder. “Fine,” she murmured. “But if he starts asking about the chickens, you’re handling it.”

Oscar smirked, his hand tightening around hers. “Deal.”

Bee stirred between them, letting out a tiny sigh before settling again. Oscar closed his eyes, exhaling slowly as Felicity’s fingers curled against his palm.

***

Oscar woke up to something warm and small sprawled across his chest, a weight that shifted every few seconds as tiny fingers poked at his face. He groaned, cracking an eye open to find Bee hovering over him, her dark curls a wild mess and her face barely an inch from his.

“Papa,” she whispered dramatically, her eyes wide with delight.

Oscar hummed sleepily. “Mmm.”

“You’re home,” she declared, as if it had just hit her all over again.

A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “I am.”

Bee gasped, like this was the most shocking revelation of her tiny life. “I missed you.”

Oscar reached up, ruffling her curls. “Missed you too, Bumblebee.”

Bee, clearly not satisfied, wiggled up onto his chest and threw her little arms around his neck, squeezing him as tight as her small limbs allowed. “SO much,” she emphasized, snuggling into him like she was afraid he’d disappear again.

Oscar chuckled, wrapping his arms around her. “That much, huh?”

Bee nodded against his shoulder before pulling back slightly. “Did you bring me something?”

Oscar huffed a laugh, brushing a hand over her wild curls. “I did, actually.”

Bee gasped, eyes wide with excitement. “Really?”

Oscar nodded. “It’s in my bag, but you have to let me wake up first.”

Bee considered this for a moment, then grabbed his face with both hands, squishing his cheeks together. “You are awake.”

Oscar let out a muffled laugh as Felicity snorted into her pillow.

“Okay, okay,” he relented, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll get up.”

Bee grinned triumphantly and immediately wriggled under the covers, snuggling into his side. “Not yet. Cuddles first.”

Oscar didn’t even hesitate. He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close as she tucked her head against his chest. Felicity, still half-asleep, sighed and shifted closer, draping an arm over both of them.

Oscar let his eyes slip shut again, exhaling slowly. He was home. And nothing in the world—no podium, no trophy, no race win—could compare to this.

***

Lando had seen a lot of things in his life. He’d seen Max Verstappen get emotional about a cat. He’d seen Daniel Ricciardo take out an entire row of people with a space hopper. He had, unfortunately, witnessed Pierre Gasly getting far too competitive over a game of Uno.

But he had never seen anything like that. 

This was insane.

He had thought he knew Oscar. That he had at least an inkling of what made his teammate tick. 

And instead…instead…

“This can’t be right,” he muttered, checking the address again. 

It was right.

When Oscar invited him over for dinner, Lando had assumed it would be at some sleek, modern place in the city—something minimalist, maybe a bit boring, like Oscar himself. But instead, his GPS had led him here: A farmhouse.

Not just any farmhouse—a whole-ass, fully refurbished, picturesque countryside dream, complete with a long gravel driveway, stables, and, unless Lando was hallucinating, actual chickens. And a long stretch of land that looked like it belonged in a movie about a grumpy farmer learning to love again…

Lando was still hung up on the chickens.

Chickens.

Lando sat in his car for a full minute, just staring.

Then he exhaled sharply and dragged a hand down his face. 

The front door swung open at that moment, and Oscar appeared, looking far too casual for someone who had just been exposed as a secret farmer.

Lando took that as his sign to get out of his car.

“Hey,” Oscar said, like this wasn’t a completely insane situation.

Lando just gawked at him. Then at the house. Then at the literal barn behind it.

“What the fuck is this?”

Oscar blinked. “My house?”

“No, mate, this is a lifestyle,” Lando said, gesturing wildly. “This is—I don’t even know! When did you secretly become a farmer?”

Oscar looked vaguely amused. “I’m not a farmer.”

“You own a barn.”

“It’s just Felicity’s garage.”

Lando waved a hand wildly. “No. It’s a farm.”

Oscar shrugged. “It’s not a farm. We just have a bit of land.”

Lando gestured violently at the chickens. “THOSE ARE FARM ANIMALS.”

Oscar, ever unbothered, just nodded. 

Lando gestured wildly. “Why do you have chickens?”

Oscar sighed like he’d been waiting for this reaction. “Because they lay eggs, Lando.”

“Oh, brilliant, thanks for that. Why do you have them at all?”

Oscar shrugged. “Because they are cheaper than buying the amount of eggs my daughter eats,” he said drily. “And she likes chasing them.”

Lando turned back to the house. Then to the barn. Then to the fenced-in area where he could see a couple of chickens strutting around like they owned the place.

He squinted. “Oscar, is this a bit?”

Oscar frowned. “What?”

“This whole, like, farmer aesthetic—is this some Australian thing I don’t understand?”

Oscar just shrugged. “I just like it.”

Lando exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face. “I knew you were secretly an old man, but mate, this is—this is next-level. You bought a whole-ass farmhouse?”

Oscar nodded again, completely deadpan. “First McLaren paycheck.”

Lando’s mouth fell open. “You—what?”

Oscar just shrugged. “I bought the house with my first McLaren paycheck. It’s quiet, it has space, it made sense for us.”

Lando dragged a hand down his face. “Mate, I spent my first paycheck on a supercar. You spent yours on a farm.”

“I didn’t need a supercar,” Oscar said drily. “I needed a home for my family.” 

Lando opened his mouth, then closed it, because he had so many questions.

Before he could ask any of them, movement caught his eye inside the house. A woman stepped into view, and Lando faltered.

Felicity.

He had heard about her, of course.  What he hadn’t been prepared for was this.

Lando just… stared.

Felicity was tiny. Max had mentioned him. 

Still, it was something else to see her next to Oscar, when she didn’t even seem to reach his shoulder. 

She looked like she barely cleared five feet, and if she weighed more than one of his tires, he’d be shocked. But that wasn’t even the worst part.

The worst part was that she was startlingly pretty.

Like, really pretty.

Lando blinked, trying to reboot his brain. Felicity had long, dark hair that fell in soft waves down her back, sharp eyes that were both amused and assessing, and the kind of delicate features that made her look like she belonged in a historical drama—not standing in a farmhouse, wiping grease off her hands with a towel.

“Hi,” she said, smiling.

Lando blinked back to reality. He opened his mouth to say something—anything—but all that came out was, “You’re so small.”

Felicity blinked at him, then tilted her head. “And you’re very loud.”

Oscar sighed. “Mate.”

Lando ignored him, still eyeing Felicity. “Like, I don’t understand how you exist. You look like you weigh less than my helmet.”

Felicity just smiled. “Nice to meet you too, Lando.”

Lando was about to respond when he spotted the little girl peeking out from behind Oscar’s leg. Bee.

A spitting image of her mother. But her expression was all Oscar —down to the blank stare and the slow, assessing blink. She was clinging to Oscar’s leg, half-hidden, watching Lando like he was some exotic zoo animal.

Lando blinked. “Oh my god. It’s real.”

Oscar sighed. “Lando—”

Bee clung even tighter, burying her face against Oscar’s leg.

Felicity snorted in amusement. “Bee, sweetheart, do you want to say hi?”

Bee shook her head without looking up.

Lando sighed. “Brutal.”

Felicity just smiled, reaching down to gently stroke Bee’s curls. “She’s just a little shy.”

Oscar patted Bee’s back absentmindedly. “It’s okay, bumblebee. Lando’s alright, I promise.”

Bee peeked up at him, whispering, “Are you sure?”

Lando gasped. “Hey!”

Bee clung tighter.

Oscar just looked at Lando, deadpan. “You’re not making a great first impression.”

Bee just blinked at him.

Then she tugged at Oscar’s sleeve and whispered, loud enough for everyone to hear, “He looks like a poodle.”

Oscar pressed his lips together like he was physically restraining himself.

Lando choked. “Excuse me?”

Bee studied Lando with her big brown eyes, then nodded, fully confident in her assessment. “Yeah. A poodle.”

Lando stared at her, then looked at Felicity, who had pressed her lips together just enough to suppress her laughter. He turned to Oscar, who coughed into his fist. “She’s very observant.”

“I do not look like a poodle.”

Bee peeked at him again, considering, then gave a tiny nod, like she had officially decided. “A fancy poodle.”

“Why do I look like a poodle?” Lando demanded

Bee just shrugged. 

Oscar hummed. “You do kind of have poodle energy.”

Lando glared at him. “I do not.”

Bee just looked at him with the same deadpan expression Oscar always had.

Lando stared.

Bee stared back.

Lando turned to Oscar, absolutely horrified.

“Oh my God,” he whispered. “She’s you. She’s literally just you, but small.”

Bee studied him for a second, then looked at Oscar. “He’s weird.”

Oscar sighed. “Yeah, I know.”

Lando threw his hands up. “You raised another version of yourself. How was I supposed to prepare for that?”

Felicity finally lost it, laughing into her sleeve.

“Why don’t you come in, before the chickens decide to follow along?” Felicity suggested brightly. 

Dinner at the Piastri household was not what Lando had expected.

For one, he had pictured something normal—maybe a modern house, a sleek kitchen, a normal dining table with normal chairs.

What he got instead was a massive wooden farmhouse table, slightly uneven floorboards, and a cozy, lived-in feel that made him wonder if he had stepped into some alternate universe version of Oscar’s life.

Bee had climbed into her seat, still watching Lando like she wasn’t sure if he was friend or foe. Felicity moved around the kitchen with easy familiarity, and Oscar—who was supposed to be a ruthless, calculating driver—was helping her like some kind of domesticated husband.

Lando still wasn’t over it.

He leaned over to Oscar. “I have so many questions.”

Oscar, barely looking up from where he was setting plates, said, “I’m sure you do.”

Lando pointed at him, then at the house. “You live in a farmhouse. You have chickens. And you’re out here—” he waved vaguely at the kitchen “—playing house?”

Oscar gave him a flat look. “What did you think I did when I wasn’t racing?”

“I don’t know!” Lando gestured wildly. “Not this!”

Oscar just smirked. “I like it here.”

Felicity came over then, setting down a dish, and Lando took the opportunity to direct his bewilderment at her. “How did this happen?”

She just smiled, sitting down next to Bee. “Well, Oscar bought the place after he signed with McLaren. We liked the space.”

Lando shook his head, still trying to process it. “You realize you’re both, like, 23 and living like retirees, right?”

Oscar hummed. “You say that, but I don’t see you leaving.”

Lando scowled, mostly because Oscar was right. The place was weirdly nice. Comfortable. Like it had a soul, which was more than he could say for some of the cold, modern houses drivers usually bought.

Dinner had barely started when Lando noticed Bee glancing toward the back door. He followed her gaze and frowned. “You—uh, you guys actually have chickens?”

Felicity hid a smile behind her glass of water. “Yes.”

Bee perked up. “I named them!”

Lando raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh yeah? What’d you name them?”

Bee took a dramatic breath, like she’d been waiting for someone to ask. Then, with the confidence of a small child who knew she was right, she began listing them off.

“There’s Verstappen, Hamilton, Rosberg, Vettel, Raikkonen, Alonso, Schumacher, Lauda, Mansell, Fangio and Senna!”

Lando blinked.

Oscar took a sip of his drink, unfazed. Felicity looked like she was biting back laughter.

“…I have questions,” Lando finally said.

Bee tilted her head at him. “Like what?”

Lando ran a hand down his face. “For one, they’re all girls.”

Bee nodded. “Yeah.”

Lando waited for an explanation, but Bee just stared at him like that was a perfectly normal response.

He turned to Oscar. “Are you hearing this?”

Oscar shrugged. “What do you want me to do? She likes F1.”

Lando gestured wildly. “Yeah, but she named a chicken after Senna.”

Bee frowned. “Senna is the best one.”

Oscar nodded seriously. “She is the fastest.”

Lando sighed, shaking his head as he picked at his food. “So, what—you just wake up in the morning and Senna’s out there setting purple sectors in the yard?”

Bee nodded solemnly. “She always gets to the food first.”

Oscar, deadpan, added, “She’s got a killer apex around the water trough.”

Lando pointed his fork at him. “I don’t know if I’m impressed or concerned.”

Felicity finally took mercy on him, resting her chin in her hand as she grinned. “Bee likes to time them when she throws out feed.”

Lando let out a weak laugh. “Of course she does.”

Oscar, entirely unbothered, patted Bee’s head. “You get used to it.”

Bee nodded in agreement, then picked up her fork and continued eating like she hadn’t just destroyed Lando Norris in five words or less.

Lando groaned, rubbing his temples. “This was supposed to be a normal dinner.”

Felicity snorted. “I don’t think we do normal here.”

Lando sighed. “No kidding. Do you have any more livestock around here? I don’t know, a herd of goats? Some cows? A donkey?”

“Nope, just the chickens,” Oscar assured him. 

“And the stables?” Lando asked him pointely. Better make sure to actually ask Oscar specific questions so that there wouldn’t be another secret wife or baby disaster. 

“That’s where we fix Mama’s cars!” Bee said brightly. 

Lando blinked. “You’re what?”

“We’re fixing Mama’s Mustang!” Bee repeated proudly. “We took the whole engine apart and put it back together.”

Lando turned to Felicity, expecting some sort of clarification—maybe Bee had helped pass a wrench or something.

Instead, Felicity just nodded. “It’s a ‘67 Fastback. Needed a lot of work.”

Lando squinted. “Wait, you actually know how to fix cars?”

Felicity tilted her head. “Yes?”

“But you’re so—” He gestured vaguely at her small frame. “—tiny.”

Oscar groaned. “Here we go.”

Felicity raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“I don’t know! You just—don’t seem like the type to be under a car with an oil rag.”

Bee looked deeply offended on her mother’s behalf. “She’s really smart,” she huffed. “She knows everything.”

Lando held up his hands. “Alright, alright, I believe you.”

“She has a degree,” Bee added, as if that sealed the deal.

Lando blinked. “A what?”

Felicity smirked. “Mechanical engineering.”

Lando stared. “I—what?”

Oscar just sighed, like this was all very normal.

“He gets confused a lot,” Bee said sagely, staring at her father. 

Lando threw his hands in the air. “Oh my god, she’s just like Oscar.”

Bee turned to Oscar, beaming, like that was the best compliment she’d ever received. “I am?”

Oscar, laughing, kissed the top of her head. “Of course you are, bumblebee.”

Lando was still reeling.

Oscar—quiet, unassuming, serious Oscar—was a dad. Not in some abstract way, like oh yeah, I have a kid somewhere, but in a fully involved, real-life, cut-up-her-food-for-her-and-check-if-her-drink-is-too-hot way.

And it was weird.

Bee had curled up against Oscar’s side, her tiny fingers absentmindedly twisting the fabric of his hoodie as she listened to the conversation. Every few minutes, Oscar would lean down and automatically adjust her position, like he was making sure she was comfortable without even thinking about it.

And that was the weirdest part.

Oscar wasn’t trying to be a dad. He just was.

Lando stared as Oscar reached for Bee’s fork and started cutting up the last few bites of food on her plate. Without looking, he held up a piece of carrot, and Bee, still focused on the conversation, just took it like this was a thing they did all the time.

Which, of course, it probably was.

Lando turned to Felicity, wide-eyed. “He’s a dad.”

Felicity blinked, unimpressed. “Yes, Lando, I know.”

“No, like—” Lando waved a hand wildly in Oscar’s direction. “Like, he’s a dad dad.”

Felicity arched a brow. “What, did you think he was pretending?”

“No, but like—” Lando leaned forward, whispering like it was a big secret. “He’s doing dad things.”

Oscar, still cutting up Bee’s food, glanced up. “What are you on about?”

Lando pointed at him. “That! That right there!”

Oscar frowned. “Cutting food?”

“Yes! Like a dad!”

Oscar blinked, unimpressed. “I am a dad.”

Lando groaned. “Yeah, I know, but like—I didn’t expect it to be this real.”

Oscar just shook his head, muttering, “Unbelievable,” before turning his attention back to Bee.

“Okay, bumblebee,” he said gently. “Three more bites, then you can be done.”

Bee, still curled up against him, yawned. “’M tired.”

Oscar kissed the top of her head. “I know, love. Just a few more, then it’s bedtime.”

And just like that, Bee nodded and obediently ate another bite.

Lando turned to Felicity. “You see this, right?”

Felicity smirked. “Yes, Lando, I see my husband being a father.”

Lando gestured wildly. “But like, he’s good at it! Since when is Oscar good at dad things?”

Oscar rolled his eyes. “I have been a dad for three years, mate.”

Lando huffed. “Yeah, but I didn’t see it happening. Like, I blinked, and suddenly you’re cutting food and saying bedtime voice things.”

Oscar raised a brow. “Bedtime voice things?”

Lando pointed at him. “Yeah! That thing you just did—‘Okay, bumblebee, three more bites, then bedtime.’” He mimicked, pitching his voice softer, gentler, so annoyingly dad-like.

Oscar sighed. “You’re actually insane.”

“I’m just saying, I thought I knew you!” Lando snapped. “And then I come over for dinner, and suddenly you’re a real-life father figure.”

Felicity snorted. “Did you think she raised herself?”

Lando threw his head back. “I don’t know! I thought maybe she just appeared one day fully formed, and Oscar just followed her around making sure she didn’t fall into a drain or something.”

Oscar gave him a flat look. “Lando.”

“What!?” Lando turned to Bee. “Bee, did you know your dad does dad things?”

Bee, very unimpressed, blinked up at him. “...Yes?”

Oscar, smug, just kissed the top of Bee’s head again. “Okay, sweetheart, last bite.”

Bee, still sleepy, opened her mouth without argument, letting Oscar feed her like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Lando stared.

And then, finally, slumped back in his chair with a dramatic sigh.

“I can’t believe it.” He shook his head, defeated. “You’re a dad dad.”

As Oscar stood from the table, Bee still clinging to his hoodie, he shot Felicity a small look. “I’ll get her settled,” he murmured.

Felicity nodded, watching as he carried their half-asleep daughter toward the hallway, murmuring something soft that neither she nor Lando could hear.

Lando stared after them, still looking like he’d been hit by a truck. “I can’t believe he’s an actual dad,” he muttered.

Felicity huffed a quiet laugh. “You’ve said that at least ten times in the last hour.”

“Well, yeah,” Lando gestured toward the hallway. “Because he is! Like, full-time, dedicated, knows-how-to-braid-hair dad.”

Felicity smirked. “He does know how to braid hair.”

Lando groaned. “See? That’s exactly what I mean!” He scrubbed a hand down his face, shaking his head. “Like, when did that happen?”

Felicity shrugged, reaching for her water glass. “Somewhere between marrying me and Bee showing up, I suppose.”

Lando let out a strangled noise. “Yeah, about that! You got married at eighteen!”

Felicity took a sip, unbothered. “Yes.”

“You married Oscar at eighteen.”

“Yes, Lando, I was there.”

“How does that even happen? How do you just wake up one day and decide to marry Oscar Piastri?”

Felicity let out a soft hum, glancing toward the hallway where Oscar had disappeared. “It’s a bit of a long story.”

Lando crossed his arms, leaning forward. “Well, I’ve got time.”

Felicity huffed a quiet laugh, setting her glass down. “Alright,” she said, folding her hands in front of her. “I guess it started when I met him.”

Lando perked up. “Which was…?”

Felicity exhaled, eyes distant. “When I was 15.”

Lando’s brows shot up. “So you were actually childhood sweethearts?”

Felicity smirked. “Not exactly. I was miserable back then.”

Lando’s expression sobered slightly. “Miserable?”

She nodded. “I was… one of those kids. You know, the ones who burn too bright, too fast. I did everything my parents wanted—ballet, violin, top of my class in school. I skipped grades, got sent to boarding school. I was gifted.” She said it like the word was a curse. “And by the time I was 15, I was burned out, miserable, and running on nothing but caffeine and the sheer force of expectations.” Her lips pressed together. “And I had an eating disorder I refused to acknowledge.”

Lando’s stomach twisted. “Oh.”

Felicity nodded. “Then I met Oscar.” A small smile played on her lips. “He was the new kid…and we were in the same math class. He stole my pen on accident,” she recounted with a smile. “And then suddenly…there was this boy who just—talked to me. Like I was a person, not just an academic achievement my parents could brag about.”

Lando swallowed. “Oscar did that?”

She nodded. “He was kind. Steady. The first person I ever met who made me feel like I wasn’t just a list of accomplishments. And, somehow, before I even knew what was happening, he became my best friend.”

Lando leaned back, blinking. “Wow.”

Felicity let out a quiet laugh. “Yes. And then, by the time we were eighteen, I think we both knew there was no one else we’d ever want.” She tilted her head. “So we got married.”

Lando just stared.

Felicity quirked a brow. “What?”

He let out a long exhale. “You married Oscar at eighteen.”

“Yes.”

“And two years later, you had Bee.”

“Yes.”

Lando rubbed his temples. “You’re twenty-three and you have a whole family.”

Felicity shrugged. “And?”

Lando groaned. “And I still forget to pay my electricity bill on time!”

Felicity snorted. “That sounds like a you problem.”

Lando threw his hands up. “I just—I can’t believe it! Like, I knew you and Oscar were… you know, married, but I didn’t realize it was this.”

Felicity tilted her head. “This?”

“You know!” Lando gestured vaguely toward the hallway. “This! You two, raising a kid, being all married and in sync and doing, like, real adult things.”

Felicity arched a brow. “Would you prefer if we were fake married and doing pretend adult things?”

Lando groaned. “You know what I mean!”

Felicity smirked. “Yes, but I like watching you struggle.”

Lando slumped against the table, groaning dramatically. “I need a moment to process this.”

Felicity just laughed, reaching for her water again. “Take your time, Lando.”

Lando sighed, staring at the ceiling.

Oscar Piastri. Married. A whole dad.

Yeah, he was gonna need a minute.

Lando was still staring at the ceiling when Oscar walked back into the room, his hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie.

“She’s asleep,” he said, then arched a brow at Lando. “What’s wrong with him?”

Felicity smirked. “Existential crisis.”

Oscar sighed, walking over to drop into his seat. “Because of what, exactly?”

Lando flailed a hand toward him. “Because you’re a dad, mate! A whole, full-time, actual dad!”

Oscar frowned. “Yes?”

Lando groaned. “I know that, logically! I know you have a wife and a kid, and I knew about Bee, but I didn’t really know until I saw you doing, like, dad things.” 

Oscar looked at Felicity, unimpressed. “Did you break Lando?”

She shrugged. “I don’t think it was very difficult.”

“Hey!” Lando huffed. “I just—mate, you’re married! And you’ve got this whole little family! And it’s weird because you’re Oscar Piastri.”

Oscar frowned. “What does that mean?”

“I mean,” Lando gestured wildly, “you’re so calm all the time. Like, completely unfazed, but then I come over for dinner and you’ve got a kid clinging to you, and your wife is explaining how she was some genius child prodigy who burned out at fifteen, and you married her at eighteen like it was no big deal—”

Oscar blinked. “It wasn’t.”

Lando groaned. “That’s exactly what I mean!”

Oscar just sighed. “Lando, it’s not that complicated.”

Lando gaped at him. “Not that—mate, you got married at eighteen!”

Oscar tilted his head, unbothered. “And?”

“And—!” Lando turned to Felicity for backup, but she was watching the conversation with obvious amusement. “And that’s not normal! That’s like, Hollywood teen drama levels of insane.”

Oscar just shrugged. “I don’t think so.”

“Of course you don’t.” Lando groaned, rubbing his hands over his face.

Felicity huffed a quiet laugh. “Do you need a moment?”

Lando threw his hands up. “Yes! Because apparently, I’ve been friends with a whole family man without even realizing it!” He turned to Oscar. “Like, how do you even do it? The whole ‘married with a kid’ thing while also being a full-time F1 driver?”

Oscar leaned back, thoughtful. “I just do.”

Lando groaned. “Why do I even ask?”

Oscar smirked. “I don’t know, mate. You seem to enjoy the pain.”

Lando sighed dramatically. “I think I need a drink.”

Felicity laughed. “We’ve got juice boxes.”

Lando groaned into his hands. “Unbelievable.”

Felicity smirked and got up, walking over to the fridge. She returned a moment later and slid a juice box across the table toward Lando.

“There you go.”

Lando looked down at it, then up at her, unimpressed. “You are messing with me.”

Oscar grinned. “Nah, mate, that’s prime juice right there.”

Felicity nodded seriously. “Apple juice. Bee’s favorite.”

Lando sighed, picking it up. “I hate both of you.”

Oscar just leaned back in his chair, completely relaxed, while Felicity looked thoroughly entertained. Lando stabbed the straw into the juice box and took a long sip, thinking.

Then he looked at Felicity. “Alright, tell me everything.”

She arched a brow. “About what?”

He gestured vaguely. “You. Oscar. How you met. How you ended up married at eighteen. Because no offense, mate,” he said, looking at Oscar, “you’re not exactly the whirlwind romance type.”

Oscar shrugged. “Yeah, well. It wasn’t exactly a whirlwind.”

Lando just stared at him.

“It wasn’t,” Oscar repeated. “We knew each other for three years by then. It was just logical.” 

Felicity shrugged. “It made sense to us.”

Lando looked at Oscar. “And you didn’t think this was insane?”

Oscar shook his head. “No.”

“Why?”

Oscar just looked at Felicity. “Because it was her.”

And the way he said that…like it answered everything. 

And Lando supposed…maybe it did. 

Lando blinked. He sat back in his chair, staring at them. “I—okay. Yeah. I get it now.”

Felicity smirked. “Good.”

Lando pointed at them. “But I reserve the right to be shocked for at least another month.”

Oscar rolled his eyes. “Fine.”

Felicity grinned. “We’ll allow it.”

***

Grid Group Chat

Lando: BOYS. You are NOT going to believe what I just witnessed.

Carlos: Do tell.

George: If it’s about Oscar, I probably will believe it by now.

Lando: I met his wife and kid for the first time.

Charles: Oh???

Pierre: And?

Lando: First of all, Bee is terrifyingly smart and also called me a poodle.

Alex: …She’s right tho.

Lando: SHUT UP.

Lando: Second. OSCAR HAS CHICKENS.

George: …What.

Lando: Not just chickens. F1 THEMED CHICKENS.

Pierre: Explain.

Lando: They’re all named after F1 legends. He has a chicken named Senna.

Charles: SENNA???

Carlos: Wait wait wait. How many chickens does he HAVE???

Lando: Enough to fill a grid.

Lando: I met Senna, Prost, Schumacher, and Alonso.

Pierre: Please tell me they have beef.

Lando: Alonso the chicken literally chased me.

Fernando: As he should.

Lando: NOT THE POINT.

George: Where does he even keep all of them??

Lando: Oh. That’s the other thing.

Lando: Oscar lives on a farmhouse.

Alex: ???????

Lando: A FULLY REFURBISHED FARMHOUSE. WITH STABLES. AND CHICKENS.

Carlos: How have we never known this???

Lando: BECAUSE OSCAR IS SECRETLY 90 YEARS OLD.

Lando: Instead of using his first McLaren paycheck to buy something normal, he bought a FARM. 

Charles: You’re telling me that Oscar used his first McLaren paycheck to buy a FARM???

Oscar: It was a good investment.

Lando: OH LOOK WHO SHOWED UP.

Pierre: Explain the chickens.

Oscar: Bee likes them.

Lando: AND SHE NAMED THEM AFTER WORLD CHAMPIONS.

Oscar: She likes racing.

Carlos: But they’re chickens.

Oscar: Fastest pecking order in the yard.

Lando: I CAN’T DO THIS.

Pierre: No but seriously, are we not going to talk about the fact that Oscar has just been living on a farm this whole time like some secret old man???

Oscar: I like the peace and quiet.

Pierre: With a kid AND chickens??

Oscar: You get used to it.

Lando: No. No I will not get used to this.

Lando: You have an entire WORLD CHAMPION GRID OF CHICKENS.

Oscar: And?

Fernando: He’s just committed to the sport.

Lewis: Hold on. Do I have a chicken alter ego?

Oscar: Yes.

Lando: YOU DIDN’T EVEN HESITATE.

Lewis: …What’s my chicken like?

Oscar: She’s a silkie. Very fast. Very dramatic. Squawks whenever she doesn’t get her way.

George: So…accurate.

Lewis: I’m not sure if I should be honored or offended.

Pierre: Who else is on this… chicken grid?

Oscar: There’s a Verstappen.

Max: Oh no.

Charles: THERE’S A MAX CHICKEN?!?

Oscar: Yes, there is. We call her Vera. She’s quick, always charging ahead. If there’s a race between the chickens, she wants to take part every time. And she’s not afraid to take out anyone who gets in her way. Pure aggression, all the time.

Charles: Sounds right.

Carlos: I can’t believe this is real.

Max: …You call her VERA?!

Oscar: Would you prefer me to start screaming VERSTAPPEN on the top of my lungs every time she bullies poor Tiana?!

Fernando: This is the greatest thing I’ve ever heard.

Lewis: No but seriously. Who else is on this grid?

Oscar: There’s a Vettel, but we call her Tiana. Very chill, keeps everyone in check…She’s always making sure there’s enough space for the young ones. She’s got a bit of a soft spot for them.

Oscar: Hamilton, aka Millie, of course. 

Oscar: Raikkonen but we call her Kim. Stands in the corner and doesn’t interact with anyone. She’ll go about her business and only makes a sound when she absolutely has to.

Oscar: Alonso aka Allie…she squares off with Vera every day like it’s 2017 all over again.She’s got all the drama, the charisma, and the attitude. Always the center of attention, whether she wants to be or not.

Oscar: Mansell aka Mandy who has tried to escape the Chicken Coop more than once and also once nearly drowned herself on accient because she does not know fear. 

Oscar: Schumacher aka Minnie. She's quick, she’s determined, and when she’s in the mood, she’ll show you just how sharp she is. Has a bit of that “never back down” attitude.

Oscar: Lauda who we call Niki. She’s all about precision and order. Doesn't do unnecessary things, and she’s very methodical. She only acts when she knows it’ll get results.

Oscar: Then there’s Fangio, or Farah. She’s got that quiet elegance to her. No rush, no drama, just pure class. 

Oscar: Senna, fastest chicken in the yard. 

Oscar: And Rosberg aka Rosie. She’s…a lot.

George: I NEED TO SEE THIS.

Charles: Mate. Same.

Carlos: When are we invited to the farm?

Oscar: …Never?

Pierre: Don’t be selfish.

Max: Yeah, let us see the chickens.

Oscar: If I let you come over, you’ll try to start a championship battle in the backyard.

Max: …No, I won’t.

Oscar: You 100% will.

Lando: MAX, WE COULD HAVE A WHOLE CHICKEN GRAND PRIX.

Max: …Okay, I’m in.

Oscar: I regret everything.