#i just have a lot of thoughts on them at the moment

[astonmartinii]

other side of the moon: interlude - a tango in barcelona | formula one imagine

interlude: a tango in barcelona

pairing: fem retired formula one driver reader x ??? fem retired formula one driver reader x platonic!kimi antonelli

dancing around her teammate on and off track, y/n looks to boogie her troubles away.

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR | PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE

may 2020, spain.

life at mclaren hadn’t started the way y/n had hoped. the days were long and surprisingly quiet, the latter mostly due to her teammate and his aversion to acknowledging her existence. she was tired already this weekend and they hadn’t even raced yet.

the barcelona heat was making her race suit stick to her already just walking to the grid for the national anthem. “it’s hot as balls” y/n whined as she slipped between max and george while the choir set up ahead of them.

“oh my sweet summer child, we haven’t even gotten to singapore yet,” max said taking off his ice vest and fastening it to y/n.

“ugh don’t remind me,” y/n wiped more sweat off of her brow, “i think singapore might kill me.”

george laughed, moving his umbrella to the left so it covered y/n as well, “singapore is a baptism by fire, but you’ve done well so far this season so i don’t think you’ll have too hard a time.”

y/n smiled up at the taller brit, “thanks georgie, maybe if you’re such an expert in singapore you’ll be able to catch me.” she punctuated it with a wink, george nearly dropping the umbrella in response.

“do you mind? you nearly took my eye out with this thing!” max hissed at george, flicking the umbrella. george lifted the umbrella to get it out of eye range of the dutchman, who in turn saw it as an invitation to seek refuge in the shade.

“no way verstappen, this umbrella is for pretty people only,” george grabbed y/n’s hand and moved them a couple steps away.

“if that was so, only y/n would be allowed under it beanstalk.”

“if my height is the only thing you can think to insult me about, i can live.”

“oh believe me there’s a lot more stored up, i just wouldn’t want to give you any inspiration for when you take out a backmarker and blame everyone but yourself.”

y/n sighed dramatically, “already? i thought you two were going to cool it down this season. i don’t even understand how you have a rivalry, you’re nowhere near him on track george…” george let out a scandalised squeal, “oh my bad george, you know what i meant.”

“i think what y/n means is that she doesn’t rate you ‘mr saturday’”.

as george went to bite back but the loud horns of the national anthem cut their quarrel off early. y/n fought to keep her laugh in throughout the national anthem, seeing george seething in her peripheral vision. he was so easy to rattle it was practically a pastime of half the grid at this point.

before george could get a dig back in, y/n and max were back in deep conversation, discussing their approach to turn two with just minutes until the formation lap. he yearned to be the one that y/n spilled her tips, tricks and secrets to but like most of his life, the dutchman had beaten him to that honour. now he knew how lando felt.

lando, george and alex had bonded long before 2018, but their three-way title fight in formula two brought them closer rather than forcing them apart. george cherished that friendship, he found it invaluable to have two of his closest friends with him as they entered the cutthroat world of formula one - he just wished he could’ve been that person for y/n.

lando didn’t often articulate it well, but george understood his curly-haired friend’s struggles. lando had gushed all off season about having y/n as his teammate, chatting animatedly about potential roadtrips, shared flights and sleepovers before it was all snuffed out in a moment. george always suspected that lando felt more about their friend than he let on (or thought he let on). once he had thought it was a victim of circumstance, teenage boys discovering what these new hormones were doing to their body did tend to fixate on the one girl in their midst. but as they grew up, that puppy love crush didn’t seem to wain, not that anyone else around them seemed to notice.

a single comment from one max verstappen crushed that. a late night discord call between the rookie trio and max had naturally seen the topic of y/n arise. lando, as usual, started to wax lyrical about the season ahead, with his vision for their teammate relationship constructed in his head.

“mate, we’ve already started.”

“huh?” lando’s voice stuttered over the call, he cleared his throat, “what do you mean?”

“y/n and i,” max continued, “we’ve already started doing sim runs together, watching onboards and all that jazz.” the dutchman said it so casually, unaware of lando’s imminent heartbreak - george’s too, he just hid it better.

“but why? i’m going to be her teammate, not you? why would she even use your sim, she’s racing for mclaren next year not red bull.”

not noticing the path they were hurtling down, max dug his foot in, “no offence lando, but if y/n wants my tips, i’m going to give it to her. it’s noble for you to want to look out for her, but realistically what tips could you give her that are better than mine… i am the only one here who has actually won a race.”

alex loudly coughed, stopping max before he could continue. “it’s getting late, maybe we should call it a night?”

“it’s nine o’clock?” max questioned.

“no, i’m tired,” lando let out an undoubtedly fake yawn, “i think it’s time for bed.”

“okay suit yourselves,” max said, going back to his iracing, “lando, don’t take it too personally that she chose me. we’ve been friends for so long, we don’t know anything but each other.”

“i’ve known her just as long as you!”

it was starting to get a little heated and despite alex and george trying to interject, the two kept going.

“you may have known her just as long, but you don’t know her. we’ve been there for each other at our lowest and our highest. it’s not a competition. i honestly hope she comes to you next season, i don’t trust your team as far i can throw them. it will be good to have someone in her corner.”

“oh well if you’re that magnificent then why can’t you be her white knight all the way from red bull, huh?”

“you know what lando, we’ll talk about this again once you’ve shaken off this weird primal urge you have to ‘claim’ her. a piece of advice, she won’t like that.”

“oh you insufferable little shit-”

“goodbye everyone!” alex interjected, kicking max out of the call.

“what the fuck was that lando?”

“you heard him, posterising, peacocking and then having the gall to say that i’m being territorial over y/n.”

george sighed, his affection for the same girl was going to have to be buried even deeper after this. “max wasn’t peacocking about y/n, lando. if anything he was showing off his wins rather than her,” alex tried to reason.

“no! he can’t let us - can’t let me have anything. it’s always been this way and with y/n it’s like he knows deep down that i want her so he has to have her instead. he’s clinging on to her and shoving it in my face - it’s not my fault he has a shit dad and he attached himself to her because she was the only one not afraid of him - so why am i being punished for it?”

lando’s outburst rendered alex and george silent. the older one was horrified to say the least, the season hadn’t even started and lando’s jealousy was already out of hand.

“lando, that was too far…” alex said softly.

“no! he thinks that because he has a shitty sob story that he can just claim her? she’s her own person!”

“right. i’m going to stop you there before you say something that’ll make me hate you for real. you need to get over what ever the fuck this is so you can be a normal fucking human being next season,” alex tried to reason with lando.

“i am in love with her!”

“are you? or are you in love with the thought of what could happen? have you actually stopped and wondered whether y/n likes you or even likes men? for someone so protective over her, you haven’t considered her feelings too much.”

lando has the foresight to look a little guilty. george stayed silent, he knows alex is suspicious of him too, but that can of worms can wait until another day.

“you need to get a life and calm down. max is one of your best friends and i know deep down you didn’t mean a word you said tonight but you need to get a grip before you say any of that in front of him or y/n because i’m sorry but i won’t be stopping them if they try to hit you.”

lando doesn’t say anything, but the guilty look on his face says enough.

“goodnight.”

the call ended there and was never brought up again. george watched y/n waltz back towards the mclaren garage, a big gap between her and lando. there had been no more outbursts since that night but if what george overheard from daniel, lando had still managed to completely screw himself. was george that angry at that news? not really.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

the race was pretty uneventful, barcelona usually was. y/n started in sixth and managed to pip charles to fifth after ferrari screwed up his pitstop once again. despite her deep love for sangria, y/n didn’t really feel like leaving her hotel room after she had scrubbed all of the sweat and grime off in the shower.

she was pleased with her points haul, smiling to herself in debrief as they analysed lando’s first lap incident with pierre gasly that lando just insisted was no fault of his own…

her ring tone invaded her peaceful evening, the name ‘albono’ flashing up on her phone. pressing accept,

“how can i help you on this fine evening, mr albon?”

“well i find myself in this fine dancing establishment, looked around and thought it was crying out for a little y/n y/ln action.”

“dancing you say?”

“i’m 100% serious, sebastian of all people has dragged also to a bar where they’re attempting to teach us the tango…”

“oh i love the tango! it’s my favourite dance on strictly…”

“so what i’m hearing is that i should get a tequila sunrise in preparation for your arrival?”

y/n sighed, “yes you may.”

“score! i’ll send you the address and an uber. see you soon.”

so there goes her quiet night in, but who wouldn’t love the chance to tango with your close friends in under the stars? and she had packed her little red number… maybe the y/n who packed that suitcase all those days knew something current y/n didn’t.

y/n elected to skip most of her makeup routine, her skin sensitive from all the sweat in her balaclava, swiping on some mascara, lip gloss and a healthy dose of blush. like alex said, the uber was waiting for her outside the lobby.

the outside of the bar looked closer to a college dive bar than somewhere you’d expect to find a group of formula one drivers, but she suspects that’s why sebastian chose it.

“buenes noches senorita,” fernando alonso gave her a spin on entry.

“gracias nando,” she curtsied in front of the spaniard, drawing a laugh out of the elder driver, “i am sorry to cut this short, but i am tired and i fear i have already promised my one dance to another.”

“how will i ever recover?”

“i think you’ll find a way old man.”

“you wound me, but alex is waiting for you by the bar.”

y/n made her way through the bar, spotting several drivers caught up in their dancing lessons from the locals. she tapped alex on the shoulder, with the tall driver turning, wielding her tequila sunrise.

“nice of you to turn up at last,” alex teased, handing her the drink.

“i’ll have you know i was snuggled up ready for some netflix action before you called.”

“you came all this way for a dance with little ol’ me?”

“of course, alex. i have missed you.”

“i have missed you too, the red bull stuff is piling up and i have been neglecting my big brother duties, i’m sorry. not that it seems to be effecting your rookie season too much.”

“don’t worry about me alex, i’m proud of you and what you’re doing at red bull, even if they’re being unreasonably hard on you.”

alex led her to the middle of the dance floor and put one hand on her hip, the other on her shoulder. they started to move to the music,

“i just miss when it was more laidback. i barely have time to stop between sim sessions and media duties and performance meetings. i miss sitting in your driver room laughing at your instagram private messages and watching stupid adam sandler movies.”

alex spun her and as she came back to him she said, “we can still do that alex! you don’t have to be alone, we can still watch adam sandler movies and ignore calls from helmut.”

alex smiled at her as the music slowed down.

“i wish i was here for you more in your rookie season,” alex laments but y/n interjects, “it’s only the fourth race. you’re focused on you and i wouldn’t want anything else. there’s time for us to find our way back to each other. you're a brother to me, like blood, there’s nothing that can destroy that bond.”

“i’m sorry lando is being a prick.”

“it is what it is.”

“no it’s not. we had each other last year, he should be there for you.”

“it’s whatever, i have max, i have you, i’ll survive.”

the music came to an end. the two embraced but when they broke apart y/n started heading for the exit, picking up max on the way through, the dutchman having already booked them an uber. y/n turned and waved to alex, she meant it when she said it was just one dance. she made a ‘call me sign’ and mouthed ‘adam sandler’ before rushing out of the bar with max.

alex turned and made his way to george who was still nursing his first drink at the bar. george didn’t respond when alex prompted him. the thai man nudged george laughing about how ‘y/n knows how to make a short and sweet appearance’ but still got nothing.

“you’re not seriously angry about a tango are you george?”

“no.”

“you’re a terrible liar,” alex whispered, “not as bad as lando but terrible nonetheless.”

“at least i’m not taking it out on her like lando.”

“no, you just use max as target pratice on your dart board for shits and giggles.”

“whatever.”

“fine, deal with it how you wanna big boy, but if you turn out like lando right now, i’ll be down two best friends and up two murder charges.”

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

fin.

note: my first interlude! @deviltsunoda and i came up with these ideas so i could write shorter things while i have work and you guys still get fed! so enjoy this lil exploration into y/n and alex's friendship (they are so precious to me!) and why lando is being such an asshole... enjoy! the weekend should bring chapter four.

taglist: @folkloresreputation @hc-dutch @shimmermotorsport @96mcobo @eclipsedcherry @formulaal @czennieszn @gothicwidowsworld @emily-b @suns3treading @henna006 @kazgirl20 @anotherapollokid @littlegrapejuice @daemyratwst @annimausi @yawn-zi @lulu-1998 @xsilkesworld @justaf1girl @daddyslittlevillain @evans-dejong @abq654 @elizamoe133 @wierdflowerpower @t1nkerbel1 @okcurran @raizelchrysanderoctavius @skepvids @multilovebot @fernandoalonso14 @jules-kup-172 @m4xgirlie @rorabelle15 @minkyungseokie @formula1-motogpfan @peterholland04 @miureiz @freyathehuntress @lighttsoutlewis @aleatorio1234 @chaosandevelyn @blueberry648579 @dog-and-cat-person230 @fastandcurious16 @obxstiles @cosmicwintr @becca388510 @savagittariuspy

[ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat]

juno - spencer reid x afab!reader

reader finds out how good spencer is with kids and can't keep the thoughts from pouring in

genre: fluff, smut wc: 2179 warnings: established relationship, daydreamer!reader, talk of pregnancy, p in v, unprotected sex(duh), brief breeding kink, i love yous, reader has hair?

my first time ever writing smut!!! keep your pitchforks to yourself please!!!

You've known for a long while of your boyfriend's affinity for the young souls out there. Perhaps he was one of them. Perhaps he was just an overgrown one of them. It was something spoken about early on, his love for kids. He mentioned that he's the godfather of his coworker's little boy and how he's always wanted one of his own. A boy or girl, it doesn't matter. As long as he got to raise one with the fatherly love he never quite received.

That was all fine and well to know until you actually got to see Spencer with a child. Babysitting Henry was supposed to be a way of letting JJ and Will have some fun for once. It turned out to be much more confusing. He was sweet, gentle, and spoke in a soft tone that drove you oddly insane. When he started doing card tricks, you thought your heart would explode.

That's why right now you're sitting in the car completely silent. You've never been one to shut up so it's no surprise that he knows something is off. It's not your fault that you're suddenly lost in an alternate reality in which you're in a large house with a small baby. Maybe two. It's not like you wanted to get started right away. Nonetheless, something about the idea was appealing.

"Are you okay?" Spencer asks softly, eyes narrowed.

Technically, yes, you're fine. Too many thoughts but fine.

"Yeah, of course," you hum. "You were really good with Henry today."

A bright smile breaks out on his lips as he lets out a breath that's just barely a laugh. "You think?" his brows furrow, glancing over at you almost nervously.

You nod, shoulders loosening. "I do." While fiddling with your necklace, you add, possibly with too much meaning, "you'll be a really good dad."

His face turns red and he focuses on the road. Before long, the thoughts swarming in that head of his refuse to stay inside and he speaks gently, "is that what you're thinking about?"

A topic you've talked about—your tendency to daydream. It's not a thing you've kept hidden. In fact, it's your favourite pastime. However, it's a little awkward to tell your boyfriend that you're imagining him getting you pregnant.

But you were never a good liar.

"Yeah," you admit, fingers still at the pendant on your chest, eyes watching the passing scenery and streetlights.

"And?"

To that, you're not sure there's any response that doesn't seem insane.

"And what?" you ask cautiously.

After a quick glance in your direction as if he's testing the waters, he clarifies, "are you opposed?"

"To what?"

"Kids."

Oh. Well, no, not in the least. The idea of raising a family with Spencer is thrilling and you believe it's something you do want. You've always liked kids and kids have always liked you but the thought of seriously settling down has never truly crossed your mind. Until now, you suppose.

You shake your head, eyes lingering on his jawline. "No. You know that," you mutter softly.

"I do... but we've never talked about it. Just because you like children doesn't mean you necessarily want them," Spencer says like it's the most simple thing.

"True." The singular word is almost impossible to hear. You add gently, "but, I do."

He nods, turning his head to look at you in a way slightly different than all the other times. You can't quite place it, though. What you do know is that it definitely caused some major butterflies in your stomach. Then again, that happens a lot. But when his right hand moves from the steering wheel to your thigh, you're sure that look meant something. Something good, you think.

You're even more sure when, the moment you get to his apartment, he kisses you deep, lips parting to make way for his tongue. It's not rough at all. Loving, mostly. Like he's ensuring that you know you're cared for. You smile wide, unable to stop the giggle from leaving. Pulling back with an equally lovesick smile, he laughs, "what?"

Hardly a second later, you place another peck to his still grinning lips before answering with a bright, "what's going on?"

His eyebrows raise. "Nothing... I don't know what you mean," he says in easily a whole octave higher than usual. Your eyes narrow as you search his eyes.

You beg dramatically, "tell me."

He sighs then runs his fingers through his hair, unsure if he wants to bring it up. "About what you said... in the car... you meant it?"

"What I said...? About kids?"

Spencer nods. "Yes."

"I meant it, yes." It's spoken hesitantly. You're not positive where this conversation is heading.

"I just... like the thought," he shrugs, leaving you to walk towards the bedroom.

Really confused and a little intrigued, you follow, watching him start to unbutton his cardigan. "The thought?" you hum, crossing your arms in an attempt at nonchalance.

"Of you... pregnant," he mumbles like he doesn't want you to hear, letting the piece of clothing fall to the ground before picking it up to put it in his laundry bin.

He didn't need to say it like that. He could've said the thought of starting a family, of having a child. You're not a profiler but the way he decided to word the sentence makes you think something bigger has been revealed. Freudian slip or intentional, he's not telling you everything that's on his mind.

"Pregnant. Really?" You picture it and, perhaps it's because you'll be the one carrying it, but all you seem to be able to picture is chubby ankles, morning sickness, and mood swings.

Simply, Spencer nods, eyes finally meeting yours. You smile up at him sweetly as his hands come to cup your face. "There's just—I don't know... something appealing about it. About being the one to..."

Now, you get it.

"Oh. Like—oh! So, that's what...?" you babble purely out of shock.

Who knew Spencer Reid had the fantasy of impregnating you floating around in his brain?

His hands drop to your shoulders, squeezing gently. "Does that make you uncomfortable? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—just forget—"

To his surprise, you cut off the soon-to-be-ramble with your lips on his. It takes a second for him to understand what's happening but he does, mouth moving against yours eagerly, his hands sliding up to your face. While smiling, you drag your hand down his neck and to his tie, tugging it loose. Once he clues in to where you want this to go, his fingers slip under your shirt, gripping your waist firmly. The tie comes off, dropping to the floor and, soon enough, your shirt's gone, too.

He takes a few steps to the bed before lowering you onto it carefully. As if handling glass, he glides his hand down your stomach, to the button of your jeans.

"Can these come off?" he pants against your lips.

Nodding desperately, you whisper, "yeah."

With a nod back, Spencer unbuttons the jeans and pulls them down your legs. His palms slide up your thighs as he presses another kiss to your mouth. "Go lay down?" he suggests softly.

You comply immediately, moving up on the bed and laying your head on the pillows to watch him undo his shirt one button at a time. Next, his belt comes off. And then his pants. When he's left in only boxers, he positions himself above you before kissing down your neck. Your back arches and he uses the opportunity to move his fingers to the clasp of your bra.

You aren't at all unfamiliar with his skill but, every time, it continues to catch you off guard how, in a few minutes, you're at his mercy, willing to do anything he asks of you. Then again, when are you not?

He tosses the bra aside to join the rest of the discarded clothes on his bedroom floor. His attention is, of course, then drawn to your chest, one of his hands grabbing at you while the other suddenly starts small circles over your underwear.

"Spencer, I don't need that," you mutter breathily. You don't really want his hand at the moment.

His head lifts from your neck, placing a sweet kiss to your cheek. Spencer asks quietly, "are you sure?"

There isn't much you're capable of doing at the moment so you nod. He takes the answer and hooks both index fingers into the waistband of your panties. His eyes fall directly to the newly revealed area the same way they always do, adoration spilling out of him at the sight of the collecting wetness. A small smile on your face, your hands drift down to take off his boxers.

With the last barriers removed, your lips connect again and his hand moves to line himself up with you. The kiss breaks when he looks down to watch himself push into you, a whimper leaving you and a shaky breath leaving him. He quickly bottoms out and you whine.

Softly, he murmurs, "you okay?"

"Yeah, just," you laugh, "...full."

Spencer breathily chuckles with you, nodding like he's trying to get himself together. "Right."

After a deep breath, his hips start slowly, letting both of you adjust to the feeling of each other again. No matter how many times you do this, you still always need a minute to get used to him. Your breaths come out in gentle pants and occasional whimpers until he speeds up and you can't contain yourself. Desperate moans of pleasure spill from your lips as he moves.

"Doing so good—feels so good," he mumbles, eyes now screwed shut.

"Really, really good," you nod eagerly, voice soft. Your hands paw at his back in search of anything to hold on to.

The sensation is almost too much you think you might burst. Although, when he starts to whimper, that's when you really lose it. The way he sounds and the way his face scrunches up, it's intoxicating. You need more of it.

You cry with want, "harder... please."

Like always, he attempts to give you everything you need and desire. He nods, hips quickening and lewd sounds coming from your bodies. A small gasp leaves you. Your legs wrap around his waist, allowing him to hit your deepest point. It's a feeling you'll never quite get used to. The moment he reaches that spot, it's never long after that it's over.

Letting out a gasp, you clench around him, causing his movements to falter and become more frantic. A breath quickly leaves him before he's asking, "inside, right?"

You whine, "mhm," dangerously close to slipping off that ledge. Your mind brings you to images of you pregnant, his baby growing inside you. This time not so scary. You imagine this moment in a very different time, when his release will signal a new start and not just an end.

His mouth finds your shoulder, pressing careful kisses to the skin. The hand not holding his body weight finds the sensitive point between your legs, eliciting a loud moan from you. Desperately, you cling to him, arms wrapping around him for any more contact. That familiar feeling builds deep in your gut and you whine, finding your eyes rolling back.

It happens quickly, the finish line getting closer and closer until it's gone and you're in another universe of pleasure. Your hips try to escape but Spencer doesn't let that happen. His hand moves from your center to your hip, holding you down with little force. The fog clears just in time to watch him reach that very same ecstasy. Lips parted against your shoulder, he whimpers, movements becoming even sloppier until they slow.

The odd warmth spills from you. His breaths come heavy as he relaxes against you and pats your head—an interesting choice of affection after sex but somehow suitable. When he pulls out, you sigh shakily, watching him go to the bathroom. Before long, he's back with a damp cloth. He opens your legs again, running the fabric over you with a tenderness you couldn't possibly describe.

He joins you after discarding the cloth. An elbow holds him up so he can look at you, looking so perfect, lips swelled and hair splayed delicately over the plush pillows. He's staring. Mind wandering, he pictures a world in which you're rounder and perhaps with a ring on your finger. You're deep into pregnancy, probably grumpy with him but he doesn't care because you're his. Only his, forever.

Again, not today, not now, but someday. When the funds are appropriate and you know it's the right choice. Not that he ever doubted.

Just above a whisper, he says, "so... that doesn't mean I want—"

"I know. I'm glad," you grin, still quite dazed but completely content.

A kiss is pressed to your forehead and he sighs. "I love you."

"I love you," you mutter back.

As previously stated, Spencer Reid is a man that's good with kids. You presume he's even better with you, though.

[formula-ghost]

Wildflower (OP81 x fem!reader x LN4)

Chapter 1

SERIES SUMMARY: You’ve been best friends with Oscar Piastri since you were seven, far before the dream of Formula 1 even seemed possible. You’ve been with him from the very beginning—due, in no small part, to the fact that you’ve been in love with him since you were a teenager. But when a breakup and championship battle rattles the very foundations of your friendship, you begin to question if you ever really knew him. (Best friends to lovers, based on the song Wildflower by Billie Eilish)

WORD COUNT: 11.1k

WARNINGS: Oscar is not a very good boyfriend to Lily and Lily is not a very good girlfriend to Oscar. Potentially changed some dates (I think Oscar and Lily started dating when they were 17 or 18, but I’m making them 18 for the sake of the flashback scenes). Reader is “the girl he told me not to worry about” through no fault of her own. This story has a lot of complex character dynamics and everyone is flawed! References to sex but no actual smut.

A/N: Ah new series! I hope this is good—I’m trying some new stuff with the flashbacks and story layers, so I hope it doesn’t read too confusingly! Also, I’m trying to be more intentional with showing instead of telling with my dialogue and such, so hopefully that is an improvement. I always welcome constructive criticism, but either way, I hope you all enjoy this.

“Lily left me.”

He only needed those three words to convey the gravity of the situation. On the other end of the line, you were silent. He was too. What was there to say?

No, it couldn’t be real. Oscar and Lily were inseparable. The dream couple of Formula 1. Your best friend had been in love with her since the pair were 18, attending boarding school in the UK together while Oscar pursued his dreams of making it to F1. 

They were each other’s everything. At least, that’s what the world thought.

But you had seen this coming for a while now. It was just a shock for it to actually happen. 

Finally, after an eternity, you spoke, still too shocked to formulate a coherent thought. “What do you mean?” you asked.

“I mean she fucking left me. What else do you want me to say?” You could hear the quivering in his voice, giving away the sadness behind his abrasive response. You weren’t offended one bit. 

“Shit, Osc, I’m so sorry. I… don’t know what to say. Do you want me to come over? Or you can come to mine?” 

“I’m outside yours right now. In the car park.” 

“I’ll let you in,” you said. The mental image you conjured of Oscar outside your apartment crying in his fancy McLaren would have been comical, if not given the circumstances.

He let himself in only a few moments later, hoodie covering his tall and muscled frame. He was soaked from the rain outside—he must have come directly from the confrontation. 

“Oh, Oscar,” you said, pulling him into a hug, cringing at the contact with his soggy hoodie, but knowing that there were far more important things to be worried about. 

You rubbed your hands up and down his shoulder blades that now heaved with sobs. His entire body shook with the fervor of his tears, and you just held him, gently shushing him and promising that everything will be okay. 

“I don’t know how she could do this to me,” he said, gasping out the words between haggard breaths. “The championship—I can’t do it without her.”

“I know,” you assured him. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“No it’s not, YN, it’s not gonna be okay. I love her. And she just threw away so many years.”

“I know.” You just kept assuring him, tightening your grip on him as his sobs became more intense. “Just breathe.”

“Why would she do this to me?” he asked. “I don’t understand. I don’t know what I did to deserve this.”

You knew. And deep down, Oscar did too. That was a conversation for another day. But he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t seen this coming. 

You didn’t have it in you to lie to him. You had always been the type to pride yourself on being honest, even when the truth hurt, but you couldn’t bear to do it now. You changed the subject.

“Oscar, you’re soaking wet. I’ll find you something else and warm that up in the dryer, yeah? Just sit down, take a deep breath, and let me get this figured out.”

He sat down on your couch and took off his hoodie and t-shirt underneath, revealing his toned body. It wasn’t anything you hadn’t seen before—you’d been friends with him since you were seven, growing up together. He almost felt like a brother to you, sometimes.

Maybe it wouldn’t be weird at all, except for the fact that you’d been in love with him for over a decade now. 

But right now that didn’t matter. He had plenty of old hoodies over in your apartment, which you carefully folded every time he forgot them. Placing his wet clothes in the dryer and setting the temp on high, you reached to the shelf above you and grabbed a random one. You unfolded it—an Alpine hoodie from back in the day, before his time at McLaren. You smiled at the memories that flashed in your mind, before quickly returning to Oscar with the garment. 

He had moved from your couch to your bedroom, holding a pillow on his lap, hunched over where the top of it met his chin. He was staring off into space, not breaking his gaze at the plain white wall.

You sat next to him, handing him the hoodie, and he mumbled a small thanks as he grabbed it. He didn’t put it on, instead just holding it with the pillow, as if filling his arms with the plush material would fill the hole now left in his heart.

“Oscar, I… don’t have anything profound to say. I’m so sorry.”

He didn’t respond at first, instead just silently letting the tears well up in his eyes. 

“I guess I should have seen this coming,” he said quietly. 

You paused, unsure whether or not you should agree with him. But you were nothing if not honest.

“Yeah,” you said, “it’s been a rough few months.”

“I guess we just both fell out of love.”

“I mean… how did the conversation go?”

It would be stupidly easy for Oscar to lie and say he didn’t remember Lily’s every word. But he knew better, and so did you. As he explained, the memory replayed in his head.

“I can’t do this anymore, Oscar,” Lily said, a simple yet devastating statement.

“What do you mean? What’s wrong?” His confusion was genuine, much to the chagrin of his angry girlfriend.

“The fact that you even have to ask that proves my point.”

“Lily, talk to me. I don’t know what you’re trying to say.” Oscar stood up, now understanding the full gravity of the situation he found himself in. 

“I’m trying to say that I’m not happy anymore, and neither are you. I wanted to at least give it until the end of the season, but I can’t keep pretending that everything is okay when we both know bloody well that it’s not! Don’t you want something better than this, Oscar?” Lily pleaded. 

“I just want you. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“Don’t lie to me. You say that but you put everything else before me. I’m not a priority to you. I haven’t been in a long time.”

“I’ll quit F1. We can go back to the UK and live a normal life.”

“No. We both know that you wouldn’t do that.” Her tone was incredulous, twinged with a slight anger at the mere suggestion. 

“Yes, I would. I’d do anything. Don’t do this, Lily. Not now, not when I need you the most.”

Lily grabbed his hand, leading him to sit down on the couch next to her. “Oscar,” she began, “we had a good run. You made me so, so happy for so long.” She reached up to gently cup his cheeks and wipe away where tears were now forming at the edge of his eyes. “I saw you achieve things that neither of us ever thought were possible. But…I can’t stay any longer. Not when there’s no place for me in your heart anymore.”

You sighed. You knew every word that Lily had said was right. But you also knew you couldn’t get that through to Oscar, at least not until the shock wore off.

The words remained unspoken. You had been there for all of it. Lily was his first love, his only girlfriend, and everyone assumed that he’d marry her one day; you included. 

“I just…I don’t know how I’m supposed to go on acting like my life didn’t just fall apart. How did you do it?”

This was Oscar's first breakup, but you had been through too many, it seemed, since he was asking you for advice on how to handle them.

The truth? It was very easy to get over a breakup when every partner you’ve ever had was a feeble attempt at denial. When they all inevitably failed, you just went back to bask in Oscar’s platonic love. It was enough. 

“I won’t lie to you, the first one is always hell. You feel like you’re going crazy for a while. You lose hope that you’ll ever feel happier, because everything reminds you of them. And then one day it just…doesn’t. The only thing that heals it is time and finding love around you, you know, friends and family.”

“No offense, but that doesn’t make me feel any better.”

‘Well, I’m not going to lie to you and say it’ll be easy, because it won't. But it will be okay—not today, but someday. You’ve got something to focus on with the championship. And I’ll be here.” You gave him an empathetic smile. 

Maybe you weren’t the most comforting friend to most. But you and Oscar had a bond that was very different to most friendships. You understood each other’s idiosyncrasies in ways no one else could. So when shit hit the fan, it was always each other that you went to.

You continued, “You can stay here as long as you like.”

“Thank you.”

There was only one problem: your apartment only had one bed. And to the dismay of fanfiction writers across the world, you all would not be sharing it. 

You distracted Oscar by cooking a meal and watching a comfort movie—Cars, a classic. You could tell he was exhausted by the way his head on your shoulder sloped just a little too heavily downwards as the credits rolled. 

“Okay, let’s get you to bed,” you said, gently pushing him awake. He sleepily stumbled back into your bedroom and collapsed on the bed, almost instantly falling back asleep.

You took the couch, but despite the money you spent splurging on the extra cushioned sofa, no sleep came to you. 

It wasn’t any physical discomfort that fueled your insomnia, but rather, the events of the previous evening. Lily had actually left Oscar. She had finally pulled the plug.

Yes, in some ways, it was expected. But at the same time, you couldn’t imagine a version of your best friend that wasn’t madly in love with his girlfriend. 

From the outside, though, you couldn’t blame Lily one bit. You wondered what had been the last straw. 

You could think of three possible moments. First: The Apartment. 

“I’m moving to Monaco,” Oscar began, and you felt your heart drop in your stomach. Of course, one day he’d make it to Monaco. That was the dream of every Formula 1 driver, right? The beauty of the French Riviera and tax evasion. And you’d be left at your aging flat in the UK, waiting for those precious few days a year where he was free to grace you with his presence. 

“That’s amazing!” you said, only half believing it to be true. 

“In a few weeks I’m gonna go look at condos. Come with me? Lily can’t get off work.”

“Of course,” you replied. You’d already been to Monaco before for Oscar’s races, but you wouldn’t turn down any reason to get out of the constant dreary rain of the UK. 

You felt like a celebrity as you coasted through the Monte Carlo streets in the passenger side of Oscar’s McLaren, on your way to tour fabulous properties for your best friend (the actual celebrity). You breathed in the saltwater breeze, fresh and tinged with the air of wealth and splendor.

But it hurt your heart to know that you were helping your best friend leave. You imagined him getting up and doing his morning runs along the harbor, the sun blazing down the strained muscles on his back. Then you laughed to yourself at the thought of Oscar, the pastiest Aussie you knew, getting sunburnt. 

At the first property you met the realtor, who (after mistaking you for Lily; not the first time, and certainly wouldn’t be the last) took the pair of you to different condos throughout the day. 

Oscar decided on the final one you saw; two bedrooms, plenty of natural light, and a great view. Elegant, refined and practical—just like Oscar himself. 

The realtor handed him the paperwork and left as you stood on the balcony, looking at the beauty of the city before you. You were quiet, unusually so, and Oscar noticed. 

He sat the paperwork on the kitchen counter and walked onto the balcony next to you. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” you said, your voice lowered. “You’re gonna make such beautiful memories here.”

“Are you getting sentimental on me now?”

You smiled and laughed. “A little,” you admitted, “I can’t help it. I’ll miss you all.” 

“You could always come with us. You seem to like it here,” he teased, tilting his head toward the edge of the balcony.

“You’d have to give me a raise if I was gonna afford Monaco rent prices.” You’d been running Oscar’s merch store and social media for the past few years, making a great wage, but nowhere near the immense wealth you’d need to call a place like this home. You joked with him, knowing Oscar actually had nothing to do with how much you got paid. 

“I would if I could. But, I mean, if you had a place to stay it wouldn’t really be that bad.”

“Are you suggesting I move into your guest room?”

Now he laughed. “No, but I’m just saying, if you had an apartment, you could make it work.”

You raised an eyebrow, confused, but trying to go along with the joke. “Well, sure, but apartments don’t just appear out of thin air.”

“You never know.” Oscar scratched the back of his neck and looked away, a sign of the awkwardness that now blanketed your moment on the balcony. 

“What are you getting at?”

“Well, theoretically, if someone were to have a spare apartment that they weren’t using, you could live there and Monaco would be a reasonable place to live, no?”

You didn’t answer his question, instead just giving him another confused glance until he gave up whatever he was trying to say. He still couldn’t meet your gaze. 

“Look—I don’t want to live so far away from my friend. Is that such a bad thing?”

“Oscar, you…”

“I got you an apartment.”

“You… bought me an apartment. In Monaco.” It came out more like a statement than a question, evidence of your shock. He reached into his pocket and dug out a key, holding it out to you.

You just looked at him with an incredulous expression. “Oscar, I can’t accept that.”

“Why not?”

“How much was it?” 

“I have more than enough money.”

“Answer the question.”

He pursed his lips and shrugged. “About 4 million?” 

Your eyes widened in shock. “Before you say anything,” he began, “I made over 30 million last year. I have more money than I’d ever know what to do with, so why not just spend it all on the people I love?” 

“Oscar… I can’t, that’s too much.”

“Will you at least go look at it with me? Actually, I’m driving, so you don’t have a choice,” he joked, walking back into the apartment. “Let’s go.”

You sighed, smiling to yourself. There was no way you could let Oscar buy you a 4 million dollar apartment, but also, how could you not? The wind whipped through your hair as you rolled down the window of his McLaren, drinking in the beauty of the city around you. 

The apartment was smaller than the one he had picked for himself and Lily, but you didn’t mind one bit. It was perfectly cosy, and God, the view was spectacular. You could see the whole city from his apartment, but here, you could see the water. You stepped on the balcony and took a deep breath, taking in the sound of the ocean waves beneath you. 

Oscar followed you. “It’s a bit small, but I figured you’d like the view.”

“Oscar…”

“If you really don’t want it, I can rent it out. But I’d much rather have you close.” He held out the keys again. “What do you say?”

You could have told him you needed more time to think about it, but deep down, you already knew what you wanted. You took the keys. “Thank you. Thank you so much, Oscar. Seriously.”

“No need to thank me.” He smiled.

Back in the UK, he showed Lily the photos he had taken of the condo he had chosen for them as they went over the paperwork one last time.

He grabbed the pen to scratch out one of the boxes Lily had checked, hoping she wouldn’t notice. 

“Oh, did I mess something up?” Shit. She leaned over his shoulder, reading the paperwork aloud. “Please indicate if you own any additional properties in the principality of Monaco.” She looked at Oscar. “You already have a property there?” 

“Oh, erm, yeah,” he said, hoping the conversation would end there. 

“How come I never heard about this?” 

“Um, I just got it a bit ago.”

Lily could sense her boyfriend’s hesitancy. “Is this something I wasn’t supposed to know about?”

“Oh, no,” he said, “it’s not like that. I just didn’t think to mention it.”

“So, what is this property?”

“An apartment.” 

Lily hated feeling like she was having to interrogate Oscar, but clearly there was some piece of the puzzle missing that was causing his reluctance. 

“An apartment?” she questioned. “You got another apartment?”

“Yeah, I, um,” he looked at the ceiling while scratching his neck, a clear sign of his nervousness, “I was planning on giving it to YN.”

“You bought YN an apartment in Monaco? When were you planning on telling me about this?” 

His walls of defense had finally broken down. “It’s not a big deal. I made more than enough last season, I could afford it.  And it’s just easier to have her there for the brand shoots and media stuff. Plus, I mean, she came to London to support me after graduation, even though I know she hates it here. I just figured I should repay the favor.”

“...Okay,” Lily began, her voice tinged with skepticism. “So, you do realize what this looks like, right?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, my boyfriend bought an apartment for his “best friend” and tried to hide it from me. That’s the kind of thing cheating husbands do in movies, buy an apartment for their mistress for her to keep it quiet.”

Oscar wasn’t sure what annoyed him more, the air quotes Lily placed around “best friend” or the insinuation that he had been unfaithful. 

“Lily, seriously? I’m not cheating on you, I love you and you know that.”

“When were you going to tell me about this?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t think it was that big of a deal. You know YN and I have been friends forever, it’s not like I did this for some random woman. I don’t appreciate being accused of lying.”

“But you were lying by omission.”

“Lily—”

“You know, nothing against her, but one of the reasons I was looking forward to this move was having more…us time. Without YN.” 

The statement brought a bitter taste to his mouth. Despite what she had said, it seemed like Lily did have something against you.

“You know, this kind of thing is why I was putting off telling you about it.”

“What are you saying?” she asked. Oscar knew he was tempting fire, but he didn’t care.

He continued, “You’re freaking out because I did something kind for a friend. I’m allowed to do whatever I want with my money.”

“I never said you weren’t, and I’m not freaking out. But I guess I’m just such a horrible person for saying I want to spend more time with my boyfriend.”

“If you’re putting down my “best friend” to do it,” he said, mocking her air quotes, “then yeah, that’s not cool.” 

“Oscar, you’re being so…weird about all of this. I’m not insulting YN. I just want to spend more time with you.”

“We’re literally going on vacation in February!”

“With friends. You invited your friends to our romantic getaway, Oscar.”

“You know I only have so much time off during the off season, and I’m spending most of it with realtors and accountants and eight thousand other people preparing us for this move. God forbid I want to invite my friends to Italy with us. Not everything can be just us, Lily.”

“Okay,” she sighed. “I’m done with this conversation.”

The second next instance you could think of happened on the trip.

It was a beautiful getaway to the Amalfi Coast, your dream destination that you’d somehow never made it to.

The group of Oscar’s friends, including you and Lando, had plans to come and go, with everyone being gone before the fourteenth so that Oscar and Lily could have their Valentine's Day date. Of course, you knew nothing of the arguments they’d had in the past about this, but you had common sense enough to not be a third wheel. Oscar thought this was a good enough compromise. 

Well, he thought. 

From the moment he picked you up from the airport, you could tell that the energy was different than usual. He blamed it on jet lag, but you knew better. You knew your best friend too well.

It didn’t take you long to figure out the problem was between him and Lily. She was colder towards him; not enough for anyone but you and him to notice, but still there and undeniable. 

Even weirder was Lily’s…preoccupation, it seemed, with pointing out single and attractive men to you. It wasn’t a hushed reality that you were single, and had been for some time. You'd given up on dating a long time ago—you knew that you had already found the love of your life, and he just happened to be Lily’s boyfriend.

But, of course, you’d never tell anyone this. Lots of people were confused because you seemed so fine being single. But you thought that Lily, one of your best friends (at least, by association), would know that you weren’t really interested in meeting anyone. 

You sat with Lily in a restaurant overlooking the coast, the balcony having been rented out by Oscar for one of your last dinners. You all were waiting for him and Lando to join you, passing the time by ordering wine and appetizers.

“He’s cute, isn’t he?” Lily said, gesturing her head to your waiter that was walking back into the main restaurant. 

You didn’t really know what to say. You glanced at him through the glass wall. “Lily, he most definitely plays for the other team, if you know what I mean,” you joked, reaching for a slice of bread on the table. “I didn’t know that was your type.”

“Well I don’t mean for me, I meant for you.”

You chuckled. “For me?”

“Well, yeah. Don’t you want to get yourself a hot Italian man?”

“I’m perfectly happy being single.” You tried to diffuse the awkward conversation, keeping a kind tone in your voice as you ate the bread and looked into the distance at the coastline.

“Oh, come on. We’ll get you someone, don’t worry.”

“I really am fine being single.”

“You know who else is single?” she asked, clearly ignoring your protests. “Lando!”

You laughed aloud. “Oh God, no. If I wanted to be cheated on, I would have stayed with my ex. Besides, Oscar would kill him.”

A curious fact: Oscar had never approved of a single person you had ever introduced him to. You had to spend hours talking him out of running over your ex with his F1 car after you found out about his infidelity. 

“Oh, who cares what Oscar thinks? I think you should go for it,” she said, watching as the waiter returned to pour your glasses of wine. 

“Lily,” you said, holding your glass, ready to take a sip, “I don’t want to be in a relationship, like, at all. It’s just…not for me.” You sipped the wine, but through the reflection on the glass, you could see that Lily had pursed her lips in an expression you couldn’t quite read.

“If you want me to stop third-wheeling you and Oscar, you can just say so,” you joked as the boys made their way to the balcony to join you. 

You didn’t know it, but your joke cut deep in Lily’s heart. 

Nothing was said about it during the dinner, but Lily’s strange energy continued. It quickly became uncomfortable how much she was pushing Lando and you to interact. 

And when you all made your way to a local nightclub after the dinner, it didn’t get any better. Lando quickly got himself lost in the crowd, and you were once again left to be the third wheel. 

You could tell that Lily was getting annoyed, but to be fair, she was also annoying you. 

“Go dance with Lando!” she shouted over the thumping bass. She gestured to the opposite corner of the small club, where Lando was currently making out with some random Italian woman. 

You pointed this fact out to Lily, who just grimaced. 

“Do you just want me to go away?” you joked.

“Yes!” she said, and you were taken aback, because she was definitely not joking. 

Oscar was at the bar getting drinks, far enough away that he couldn’t hear. To be honest, you didn’t even want to be in this club anymore. 

So you snuck out and began your walk home without telling any of them.

As you walked along the cobblestone streets, Oscar handed Lily a drink, pausing when he noticed that you weren’t there to receive yours. “Where’s YN?” he asked.

“She wasn’t feeling well, so she headed back,” Lily said. 

“By herself? Should we go check on her?”

Lily wanted to roll her eyes. “No, she’s just tired. C’mon, let’s go dance!”

Oscar obeyed, but couldn’t ignore the feeling inside him that something about this whole night had been odd. 

The next time he saw Lando, he decided to say something about it. 

“Hey mate, are you going back soon?” he asked. Lando nodded, clearly tipsy. “Can you check on YN? Lily said she wasn’t feeling well.”

“Sure,” he said, annoyed at the mention of you again.

He did come back to the house soon, but with an equally drunk and giggly woman on his arm, the same girl he had been making out with in the corner of the club. 

You didn’t expect any of them for a long time, so you sat in the living room of the AirBNB, watching the waves cascade into the shore, romanticizing this complicated feeling that coiled itself inside of you. 

That was, until Lando stumbled in. 

His eyes got wide as dinner plates upon seeing you. The girl on his arm giggled and walked off into the nearest bathroom. 

“Hey YN,” he slurred. “Are you dying?”

You laughed. “I’m fine.”

“Lily said you were sick.” 

“Nope, I’m good.” 

He looked to the closed door of the bathroom. “Sorry about that,” he said.

“You’re fine. I’m…uh, not interested, anyway. I don’t know what Lily’s been on about today.”

“Oh, thank God,” he exhaled. You laughed, despite the sting of rejection in his relief. “Well, I’ll keep it quiet.”

“I’ve got headphones.”

You made your way to your room and put on your noise cancelling headphones, passing the time by scrolling and catching up on work emails, before falling asleep.

You didn’t sleep through the night, instead waking up in the early hours of the morning, when the sun was just beginning to round itself along the golden coast. You left your room to get a glass of water, not expecting to see the rest of your friends in the kitchen.

Lily looked hungover as hell, leaning her elbow on the counter, her hand resting uncomfortably on her forehead. Oscar was leaning against the counter on the other side while Lando sat at the bar next to Lily, drinking something out of a mug. His flight home was going to leave soon. 

You nodded to your three companions as you sipped your water glass, feeling the tension around you like an oncoming migraine. 

“You feeling okay?” Oscar asked. “Lily said you weren’t doing well last night.”

“Ah, just tired,” you answered. Lily had lied to both Lando and Oscar. That was a conversation for another day. 

“Well rested now?” Lily asked, her voice tinged with anger and fake sympathy.

“I’m fine,” was all you could answer. You glanced at Oscar, who gave you a knowing look. You had no idea what had gotten into her.

“Are you feeling okay, Lily? You look like you’re about to throw up,” you said, a more genuine concern in your voice.

“I’m fine too,” she said, clearly not fine.

Lando’s Uber pulled up, and you took the opportunity to help him transfer all his bags in one trip.

“Do you have any idea what’s going on with her?” he asked as you heaved the suitcase up into the trunk.

“No idea,” you answered. “Before you all got to the restaurant last night she was being…weird. For the record, I didn’t put her up to any of that.”

“I figured as much. You’re not the type.” Lando was right—it was common knowledge that you were happily single. 

“I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable. For the record, it made me uncomfortable too.”

He exhaled. “Eh, we’re cool. No hard feelings, yeah? I’m sure she’ll snap out of it.” 

“I hope so,” you said, giving him a wave as the car disappeared into the winding roads of the coast.

Back in the house, you could hear Oscar and Lily whispering to each other. You wanted nothing more than to disappear and act like this weird night and morning had never happened, but unfortunately, you had to cross through the kitchen back to your room. 

A hush went through the room when you entered. You walked as quickly as possible through the kitchen, but were stopped by a voice.

“YN,” Lily called. “I think you should leave.”

“Lily—” Oscar interjected.

“I was just going back to my room anyway,” you explained.

“That’s not what I meant. I think you should go home.”

“Lily, don’t do this—” Oscar pleaded. You just stood in shock.

“Actually, let me clarify,” she continued. “YN, I don’t want you here. Go home.”

“Lily!” Oscar interjected. “Don’t say that.”

“No, it’s fine,” you said, even though it was definitely not fine. “Let me pack and I’ll be on my way.”

You turned and continued back to your room, fully prepared to do as you had just said. But Oscar followed you.

“YN, wait. Stay,” he said. 

“Oscar, it’s fine.”

“I am so sorry that Lily said that, but I want you here.”

“Look, I don’t know what’s going on between you two or why she’s so upset at me, but if someone tells me to go, I’m not going to overstay my welcome.”

“Still, that was so rude.”

“I’ve got thick skin. I won’t cry myself to sleep over it.” You looked out the window to the coast. “Look, I’ll just find someplace else to stay. A hotel for a few nights is cheaper than trying to reschedule my flight, anyways.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t worry about me, Osc,” you said, patting his shoulder. “Go talk to her, figure out what’s wrong.” 

He sighed, scratching the back of his neck. “I already know what’s wrong. She’s mad that we don’t spend enough time together.”

“Then go spend time with her.”

“That was the plan! But, I mean, I’m pissed that she said that to you. And she spent all day yesterday trying to set you and Lando up, which was fucking weird.”

“Yeah,” you exhaled with a twinge of laughter. “Look, with my record I can’t exactly give you love advice, but I don’t mind leaving. You all clearly need some space, anyway. Just text me if you need anything, okay?”

Oscar gave you a flat smile and nod. 

You packed and quickly booked a private room at a local hostel for the next few days, planning to enjoy the last few days as a solo trip. You truly didn’t care, but in the back of your mind, you hoped that everything would be okay. You never received that text from Oscar. 

Back at the house, Oscar and Lily were alone. And neither of them were happy.

“Just fucking go with her if you’re that mad,” Lily said, egging Oscar on. He had always been slow to anger, but he couldn’t deny that he was pissed.

“What is wrong with you?” he questioned. “Why would you say that to her? Do you understand how rude that is? And not to mention the fact that you were being fucking weird with her and Lando all night.”

“Oscar, I’m not having this conversation right now.”

“No, I’m pissed!”

“And, as usual, it’s all about your feelings, hm?”

“What are you talking about?” 

“Don’t act stupid. Do you know how much I’ve put up with because I don’t want to hurt your feelings? Every vacation, every race weekend, she’s always there. And I put up with her because she’s your friend, but I don’t like her, Oscar.” 

“What did she do to you?” he asked. But Lily couldn’t answer. It wasn’t like there had been a specific incident or falling out; in fact, you had always been kind to her. Lily’s silence was all the answer that Oscar needed. 

“You knew that YN and I were a package deal from the beginning.” 

Tears came to Lily’s eyes. “But this was supposed to be our trip. Just us.” 

“Lily, they were only here for a few days. I specifically set it up so that we’d have 2 weeks to ourselves after they left. Is that not enough?” 

She was silent, at first. Then came a question out of left field. 

“Were you going to propose?” she asked.

Oscar made a face. “Propose?”

“I thought the point of the trip was that you were going to propose.” She looked away, trying to hide her tears. “I’m tired of feeling like an outsider in my own relationship. I’m sick of YN third wheeling, so I thought if I set her up with Lando, maybe she’d leave us alone for a while.” Her voice was tinged with an angry mocking. 

She continued, softer, “Oscar, I want to be your wife, I want to grow old with you—”

But Oscar had little sympathy for her. “That’s really what all this was about? Lily, I’m not proposing any time soon.”

“We’ve been together for nearly five years.”

“I know. But with the season starting soon—”

“There’ll always be another season, another race. Is your plan to just marry me when you retire?” The sarcasm had returned to her voice. “Do you even want to marry me?”

“Of course I do. But we’re young, we have time. I’m in no rush.” 

“I feel like you don’t care about what I want at all.”

“Lily, I’m trying. But I feel like you want me to cut off my best friend and settle down at 22. You’re asking things of me that I can’t give you.”

“Then why are we even doing this?” Lily asked.

“Because I love you, and I want this to work! But Lily, you can’t treat my friends like that. If you’re angry at me, talk to me, but don’t take it out on them. YN is an important part of my life, too.”

“I’m well aware.”

Oscar sighed. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“I’m going back to bed,” Lily announced, leaving the conversation altogether. 

When she woke up, her head was pounding. Oscar was asleep beside her, his back towards her, no warmth even in his unconscious state. She had slept through the entire day—the moon hung high in the sky. 

As she quietly made her way to the kitchen and got some water and a snack, the memory of what had happened came back, rushing over her. She felt horrible. 

The sleep and food had reset her mind. Make no mistake, she was still upset at Oscar, but what he had said was right—she shouldn’t have taken it out on you. She needed to make it right. 

She texted you. Hey YN, are you awake? I’d like to talk. In person, if you can. 

Only a few minutes later you responded, affirming that you were available and sending the address of your hostel. Lily got there quickly, quietly walking through the rooms to your private room in the back. When you shut the door behind you and you both sat on the bed, she broke down. 

“YN,” Lily began, “I am so sorry about this morning. Truthfully, I was upset at Oscar and I took it out on you, and I shouldn't have. I was so rude.”

“It’s okay,” you assured.

“No, it’s not,” Lily interjected. But she seemed at a loss for words. “I just… sometimes, I feel like I hardly get any alone time with Oscar anymore.”

“Because I’m always there?” you joked, not knowing how close to the truth you really were. Lily didn’t respond. “Look, if you want me to take a step back, I can do that.”

Her response was quiet. “Would that be too much to ask?”

“No.” But it was, in a way. You felt your heart shatter into a million pieces, but your expression gave away nothing. “I understand.”

“I don’t think he loves me anymore,” Lily confessed. You normally didn’t want to know the details of their relationship, because the truth was too heavy to bear. But it seemed cruel to cut her off. “I feel like he never wants to be around me, like he prefers his work and his friends over me. I want to get married and he doesn’t. He keeps saying it's too soon and he’s busy, but it’s been nearly five years! I mean, how long does he want me to wait?”

You felt uncomfortable, not sure how to comfort your best friend's girlfriend. So you were honest. “I don’t know, Lily. I don’t know what goes on in Oscar’s head any more than you do.”

“Yes you do,” she replied. “You’ve known him longer.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I think he’s in love with you.”

“No, no, no,” you said, wrapping Lily in an embrace as she cried. “No, he’s not. He loves you so much.”

“No,” she echoed. “He doesn’t.”

You didn’t know how to respond. You just held her. 

At one point, your phone buzzed, illuminating the screen. Some unimportant notification, but you noticed the date and time more than that. It was past midnight; Valentine’s Day. 

The third instance was during the first weekend of the 2025 season; the Australian Grand Prix.  

You hadn’t heard from Oscar since the trip. You didn’t really know what to say, and part of you was dreading having to speak to him, knowing that your mere presence was now a strain on his relationship.

Of course Lily wanted more time with him. It made sense. You were present at…most things, actually. But Oscar always invited you, and besides, they lived together. If you had known that you had overstayed your welcome, you never would have gone in the first place.

But on the other hand, you and Oscar had been a part of each other’s lives for nearly double the time that Lily had been around. It wasn’t a competition, but you couldn’t shake that sour feeling that rested in your stomach, that if given the chance, Lily would want you gone for good. 

Regardless, between the trip and the grand prix, life went on as normal. It was odd, since your job was literally running all the official OP81 media pages and merch website. You couldn’t not be a part of his life—you made your living by posting memes about him on the internet and organizing all his merch sales.

So, naturally, you went to nearly all the races to take photos of fans, the paddock, and the garage. It was one of your favorite parts of the job. 

But Australia was different. It was Oscar’s home race, and a place full of memories for you. 

Your family had moved to Australia when you were only seven, having absolutely no friends, except the sweet boy next door in your cul de sac. At first he was cold. You thought he hated you. But you were nothing if not stubborn. 

You remembered it like it was yesterday; for Christmas, you asked for a pink motorized jeep, just like the black one that Oscar—the neighbour boy, back then—had. You squealed for joy when you got it. And the very first thing you did was challenge him to a race.

He ignored you. So you rammed your car into his, causing both of them to break. Ever since, somehow, you’d been inseparable. 

Your parents traveled a lot for work, so instead of constantly going with them, you found yourself staying with the Piastri family for months at a time. Nicole truly felt like your second mom, and Hattie was the sister you never had. And Oscar was…Oscar. It was impossible to describe the bond between you. 

Your parents were never too keen on Oscar, though. They kept it quiet when you were little, but as you grew, their dislike became more outward.

He was 14, leaving for boarding school in the UK. When he told you, you cried. That’s the only time he ever saw you cry.

You wanted to go with him, but your parents couldn’t afford it. He promised he wouldn’t let your friendship die, and he was true to his word. When he got into the higher formulas in racing, he helped you get your job so that you all would never be that far from each other again. 

But your parents always said he was using you, stringing you along, exploiting your labor. Though you’d never admitted it to another soul, they knew you well enough to understand that you loved him. 

You cut your parents off a long time ago. 

Sometimes the fans were worse. Half of them loved you—the half that understood that you could give them access to your idol—but the other half of them called you a beneficiary of nepotism, a gold digger, or a homewrecker. You learned at a young age to develop thick skin. 

And it was how you both behaved on race weekends that really exemplified the difference between you and Lily. 

You liked to be everywhere at once—in the garage trying to interpret the engineers’ technical jargon, in the grandstands taking photos of fans, in the pitlane shooting the shit with the race stewards. You always wore Oscar’s merch, and you wanted to be in the middle of all the action.

Lily, in contrast, was more reserved. She always looked put together, and frankly stunning, at all her appearances. She preferred to watch the race from the comfort and privacy of McLaren hospitality, and when she did interact with fans, she was respectful but short, very conscious of her space.

Neither of you were better or worse than the other. But no one could deny that you were polar opposites. 

You got to Australia before Oscar himself did, having been invited to spend a few days with your surrogate family before you’d have to stay in the hotel, per F1 employee policy. Nicole had told Oscar, who you assumed had told Lily, and when you didn’t hear anything for a few days before you were meant to fly out, you thought everything was fine.

Of course, you thought wrong. 

You spent 3 days with Oscar’s family, relishing the warm feeling of belonging that you’d missed. The Piastri guest room felt more like your own childhood bedroom. Of course, Nicole asked how you’d been, but you were politely distant, wanting to respect the fact that Oscar and Lily’s relationship was none of your business. 

When the pair finally landed in Australia and made their way to Oscar’s childhood home for the night, though, things worsened. 

When Nicole got back from picking them up from the airport, you were in the kitchen prepping dinner. Hearing the front door close, you looked up and smiled, greeting the group.

“YN! What are you doing here?” Lily asked, her voice tentative. 

Nicole answered for you. “Oh, she’s been here since Sunday. I’m so happy to have all my kids under the same roof again,” she joked, turning to Oscar to reach up and pinch his cheeks.

Lily just gave a pained smile. 

You didn’t know what to do. You hadn’t talked to Oscar in nearly a month. You wanted to honor her wishes—but it seemed like her wish was for you to vanish into thin air. 

The rest of the night you were unusually quiet, trying to blend into the background. It wasn’t difficult for Nicole to notice that something was up, but she knew better than to bring it up in front of the whole table. 

After dinner she wanted everyone to gather in the living room and watch a movie, which you quickly bowed out of, complaining of exhaustion. 

As the credits rolled, Nicole leaned over to whisper to Oscar, “Is everything okay with YN?” 

Lily overheard and interjected, “She’s fine.” Nicole raised an eyebrow. 

Oscar responded, “The home grand prix is always busy for her.”

The answer wasn’t sufficient enough to crush Nicole’s suspicions, but she didn’t have any more time to pry as her son and his girlfriend quickly decided to retire for the night themselves. 

The next morning, as everyone was packing to get to the hotel, Nicole decided to ask you herself if everything was okay. But predictably, again, you just said that you were fine. And the morning was so hectic that she didn’t really have the time to interrogate you.

Once you all got settled and to the track for media day, work mode took over, and you forgot all about the tension at the Piastri family home. Though you quite literally were paid to follow Oscar around all day, you felt more like the paparazzi than his friend, hardly ever speaking to him.

And as you went back to the hotel room alone to edit and post for tonight, you felt like a stranger in your own body. 

You didn’t want to do this anymore. You missed your friend, but more importantly, you missed being yourself.

But what were you supposed to do? You loved Oscar. Oscar loved Lily. Lily hated you. 

You were stuck between three impossible choices: stick around and be forced to subdue yourself into a shell of your true personality until Lily decided she wasn’t upset at you anymore, lose everything you’d ever built by quitting and moving away like you knew she wanted, or continue being yourself and possibly cost Oscar the love of his life. 

Yeah, this was a wonderful predicament you found yourself in, through no fault of your own.

You moved like a zombie through the free practices and qualifying. When it was finally time for the grand prix, you assumed your usual place in the McLaren garage, for work if nothing else.

But then, Oscar won. 

No team rules. No convoluted strategies. Just Oscar doing what he did best.

You couldn’t hear your own thoughts over the shout of the garage and the crowd in the distance, cheering out for their hometown hero. You ran out with everyone to the barricades to greet your best friend.

Though he still had his helmet on, you could see the effects of his smile in his squinted eyes. He pumped his fist in the air, cheering to himself before running to the barricades to jump into the waiting arms of the crowd. You cheered with them, overwhelmed with pride. 

Oscar locked eyes with you, cupping your face with his gloved hands and pressing the top of his helmet to your forehead. “I did it, YN!”

“You did!” you yelled, smiling ear to ear. 

Of course, people took photos. Photos that Oscar posted later that night. 

Lily didn’t like it—the sweet intimacy of the moment, front and center on Oscar’s Instagram page. Why would you post that? It was like you were taunting her. 

Lily sat on the edge of the hotel bed while Oscar showered, both of them preparing to meet you, Lando, and a few McLaren team members to celebrate his win. 

When Oscar emerged from the bathroom, Lily asked him, “Osc, can you do me a favor?”

“Hm?” he murmured as he dried his hair. 

“Can you take down that picture that YN posted?”

“YN posted something?” he questioned, grabbing his phone. As his social media manager, you had access to all his accounts, but occasionally he’d post something himself, too. “I don’t see what you’re talking about.”

Lily pursed her lips. “The first picture from the post she made an hour ago.” 

“Oh, this?” Oscar held up his phone. “I posted that.” 

Lily was silent. 

“Why do you want me to delete it? It’s a good photo.” 

Lily just looked at him. Oscar sighed and archived the photo. “There, happy?”

His tone was much harsher than he intended, but to be honest, he was getting tired of the constant fighting, and his patience was wearing thin. 

Lily kept quiet, just silently going into the bathroom to start doing her makeup.

In the lobby of the hotel an hour or so later, you awkwardly stood with Lando waiting for the couple to arrive. Once again you were torn—should you miss out on celebrating with your best friend on his first ever home win, or should you go and strain his relationship further? 

You were just going to say screw it and go back up to your room when you saw Lily and Oscar walking towards you. Though there was no tension between them, there was no love either. They both just looked…tired. 

Everyone had decided to keep it relaxed for tonight, just doing a nice group dinner with Oscar’s family. It was fine, albeit a tad awkward, because you were sitting between Lando and some McLaren employees you didn’t know, at the opposite end of the table from Lily, Oscar, and his family. 

You knew this couldn’t continue forever. Something had to break. And it did, when you and Lando ended up back in Oscar and Lily’s room, drinking your way through a bottle of nice champagne. 

The alcohol seemed to have calmed Lando’s nerves, as he was actually normal with you. And Oscar was a blushy, smiling mess and he and his teammate laughed at something you couldn’t remember. 

You opened your mouth to say something, but the mood was ruined by Lily’s drunken slurring. “Oh my God, YN, just shut up! Go away!” she giggled and grabbed Oscar’s arm. 

Usually, you were calm, letting any infraction roll off of you like waves on the beach. But the alcohol emboldened you. 

“Lily, what the fuck is your problem with me?” you asked.

The mood shifted, and Lily gave you a look of disgust. “I was just joking, God.”

“No you weren’t.” 

Lando chimed in. “Well, I think I gotta call it a night.” He got up and patted Oscar on the back. The two men stood up to walk out, leaving just you and Lily alone in the hotel room. 

“I don’t know what the fuck your problem is with me, but don’t act like there isn’t one. It’s obvious that you don’t want me around, I don’t know what I ever did to you.”

Lily had clearly been sobered up by your seriousness. Still, she burst into tears. 

“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I keep doing this.” 

You sighed, unable to keep your anger in the face of her cries. She continued, “I just… Oscar and I were each other’s first everything. First love, first kiss…first time. I love him so much.”

“I’m not trying to steal him from you.” 

Lily was quiet, and so were you. Something she had said gave you pause. 

They were each other’s first everything—no, that couldn’t be true. 

Because you were Oscar’s first. 

It had been many years—you were both 18—and you had never spoken about what happened. But you remembered. 

He came back home for Christmas from the UK. It was before he had even met Lily. 

You welcomed him home with an embrace—even with the frequent phone calls you had, you couldn’t help but miss your best friend, now here before you, in the flesh.

Neither of you could sleep that night, and somehow you both found yourself in Oscar’s childhood bedroom, quiet in the early hours of the morning.

Though it was warm outside, Nicole had a habit of keeping the house frigid, so you and Oscar huddled together under the handmade quilt that decorated his bed. The moment was tender and quiet, together in the soft darkness. 

“Do you like it in the UK?” you asked him, your question searching for a genuine answer. 

“It’s okay, I guess. It’s what I have to do for the races.”

“But do you ever get…lonely?”

He paused. “Yeah. Sometimes.”

You traced small circles on the skin of your leg. The closeness of the moment was uncomfortable. 

“But you have friends, right?”

“Yeah, but they’re not, y’know, friends for life.”

“I get you.” You really did, not having many friends of your own since Oscar left. “But you must have a ton of girls, though. They all want the cool race car driver.” You smiled, trying to use your humor to lighten the intimacy of the moment. 

“No,” was all he answered. “And if I had a girlfriend, you’d be the first to know, anyway.” In the dark of the room, you could only see the outline of his features, but you could feel the pull of his eyes looking at you. “What, do you have a boyfriend? Is that why you’re bringing this up?” he asked. 

“Of course I don’t.” 

“What do you mean, of course?”

“I mean, why would I have a boyfriend? I have no friends and half the people at school think you don’t even exist.”

“What?” he laughed.

“Well, yeah, when I say my best friend drives race cars in the UK, most people think I’m making you up.” 

“Shit,” he laughed. 

“So, yeah, it doesn’t exactly get me dates,” you laughed. You felt your throat stiffen. “I haven’t even had my first kiss or anything.”

The silence in the room was thick. “I haven’t either,” Oscar confessed. 

You found it hard to believe. Oscar was handsome, funny, everything a girl could want. Neither of you had ever been social butterflies, though. 

Under the blanket, Oscar reached for your hand, placing it in his. Your heart was beating out of your chest; you had never even held a boy’s hand. 

“We could just…do it now,” he said. “Just to get it over with.” He feigned his usual nonchalance, but you could feel the increase of his heartbeat and the ever so subtle tremble in his voice. 

It would be easy for you to laugh it off like a joke. But you knew it wasn’t. And you wanted him. 

“Okay,” you said, your voice breathy with nervousness. 

You sat up on the bed, and saw the dark outline of his figure leaning towards you, gently tilting your head. 

And when his lips met yours, it felt like home. Like everything in your entire life had left you up to this moment, here in the warmth of your best friend’s childhood bedroom.

The kiss lasted longer than you anticipated, but when he did pull away, it was too soon. You were grateful for the darkness that hid your expression. But even without the light, Oscar could see the truth behind your eyes.

“We could…keep going.”

“Okay,” you repeated. 

One of his hands found your waist now, pulling you closer, as his other hand pushed back your hair that had fallen in your face.

Once again his lips met yours. It wasn’t like a spark within you—more like a calming, a sense of peace and safety. Of all the boys you’d crushed on before, Oscar was different. You trusted him with everything. 

And you showed him so. 

He slipped his tongue past your teeth, tentative, as if he was scared to do the wrong thing. But you let him close the gap, your own tongue gliding along his, goosebumps going down your back the closer you got. 

He wanted to put his hands all over you, but he was nervous.

He pulled away. “I…don’t really know what I’m doing.”

“I don’t either. Is it actually your first time?”

“Yeah. You don’t mind me being your first?”

“I trust you.”

So you both took it slow, taking each other’s hands where you wanted to be touched, not focusing on anything but the other. 

The love you made was quiet and simple, beautiful yet imperfect. But you didn’t need perfect. You just needed him. 

The next morning, you slipped out of his room before anyone was awake, afraid of what would happen if they found out.

But no one ever did. Oscar never said a word about it ever again, and neither did you; after the holidays, he went back to school and met Lily, and the rest was history. 

But you remembered. And as you sat in that hotel room years later waiting for him, you felt numb. 

By the time he got back Lily had calmed down, but you couldn’t stand to be there anymore. You announced your departure, but Oscar decided to walk you out, too. 

You closed the door behind you, but Oscar pulled you to not leave so quickly. 

“Hey, is everything alright with you and Lily?”

“No. It’s not.” 

He sighed. “I don’t know why she’s being like this.”

You just stared at him, your face blank. 

“What,” he asked, “don’t tell me you’re mad too.”

“Was Lily your first?”

“Huh?”

“You heard me.” 

Oscar looked over his shoulder. “I’d really rather not talk about this in the hallway…”

“So do you want to go in the room and talk about it? In front of her? Because you lied to one of us. Which one was it?”

“YN, it’s—”

“Which one of us did you lie to, Oscar?”

He let out a sharp exhale, knowing there was no way to escape your line of questioning. He leaned down to whisper to you. “I didn’t lie to her. She just…assumed, and I never corrected her.”

“That’s still lying.”

“You really think I should go in there and tell her the truth?” His voice dripped with frustration.

“Yes. She deserves to know.”

“You know why I never told her? Because I knew this shit would happen, she’d get jealous and try to push you out of my life. If I tell her now, she’ll make me choose between the two of you.”

“Do you blame her?” you asked, astounded at how Oscar could be so clueless.

“Seriously?” he retorted. “You think she’s justified in doing all this to you? The entire reason she’s mad is because she knows if she tries to make me choose, I’m not choosing her.”

“Don’t say that! Oscar, she’s your girlfriend. You should love her.”

“I do. But things just…aren’t the same anymore. It’s like she wants me to change my whole life for her. I can’t do that.”

Unbeknownst to you, Lily got up from the bed and walked to the door, pressing her ear to it, where she could faintly hear you and Oscar arguing. 

“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her,” Oscar continued. “And if you don’t want her to split us up, just let me handle it.”

“Oscar, she deserves better than this. I’ve missed spending time with you, but… you’ve got to tell her the truth.”

Lily opened the door. “I knew it,” she said, her eyes full of tears. “I knew you were cheating.”

Your eyes were wide as dinner plates as Oscar cursed to himself. “Lily, I swear to God that is not what happened—”

“Don’t. Don’t even try,” she said, but Oscar pushed his way back into the room anyway. He looked back to you, and even without words, you knew it was time to go. You needed some sleep.

Unfortunately, Oscar would not be getting any sleep tonight. 

“Oscar, just stop lying to me! I’m tired of this!’ Lily cried, curling her legs to her chest as she sat on the bed.

“Lily, I swear, I have never cheated on you. What YN and I were talking about was something from a long time ago.”

“We’ve been together for five years!”

“Can I just explain myself? Please?”

Lily just broke down in sobs. “Do whatever. I don’t care anymore.”

Oscar sighed. “Look, I…I have lied to you. You weren’t my first. YN was.” He looked at his girlfriend, who was still just silently crying. “It was before we even met, and it was just once, and we’ve never done anything since. I would never cheat on you, I love you and—”

“When and where was it?” Lily asked, cutting him off with her statement more like a command than a question.

“The December before we met, when I came home for Christmas.”

“In your bed?”

He nodded.

“Oscar, I slept in that bed next to you the other night.”

He said nothing. 

“Why are you doing this to me?” she asked, her voice cracking. “Haven’t I been good to you?”

“Lily, I promise, I love you more than anything.”

“Then why would you lie to me for five years?”

Oscar took a deep breath and said, “Because I was afraid you would be upset. People don’t understand that me and YN are just friends. I mean, we were raised together, she’s like my sister.”

“You had sex with her. You took each other’s virginity.”

“It wasn’t…like that.”

“How can it not be like that? Do you even hear what you’re saying?” 

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say.”

About an hour after you left, you heard a knock on your hotel room door, and you answered. It was, of course, Lily. 

“Tell me whatever Oscar wouldn’t,” she said. Her eyes were still puffy and red. 

You welcomed her in, beginning to tell her the entire truth. “Oscar and I had sex when we were 18, before he met you. We never talked about it afterwards. After you met I didn’t want to bring it up, I just assumed he’d do the right thing and tell you. I didn’t want to pry into your relationship.”

So, your stories matched. And Lily knew that you were nothing if not honest. 

“Do you love him?”

“Of course I do, he’s my best friend.”

“No, I mean, are you in love with him?” 

You didn’t answer immediately. What were you supposed to say?

Tears fought their way to the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away. “I don’t know,” you began, but that was a lie, you did know. “I guess…I have a special type of love for him. We grew up together. When we were younger, yes, I wanted to be his girlfriend. But then he met you, and… Lily, he was so happy! I just…I realized that I wanted him to be happy more than I wanted him to be mine. So I made peace with the fact that this is how it had to be.”

Lily was overwhelmed with your honesty, in the face of so much deception. 

You continued, “I don’t blame you for being upset at me. Oscar should have been honest about what our friendship was like from the very beginning instead of lying to you. But I swear, we haven’t done anything while you all have been together. I’ve been cheated on and I know how much that hurts, I would never do that to anyone else. I’m so sorry it ended up like this.”

“No,” Lily said, “You’re the only one who’s been honest with me throughout all of this. Thank you.”

After that, you hadn’t heard from Oscar after that for a long time. Or, at least, a few weeks felt like a long time to you. But you had other pressing matters—your workload was through the roof with Oscar’s wins. Lando had snatched himself a win too, setting up an early battle for the championship. It was too early into the season to call it, but you knew Oscar was feeling the pressure with the possibility of his first championship dangling so close in front of him. So you kept your distance, not wanting to be a distraction.

That was, until he called you, saying just those three painful words.

“Lily left me.”

The sun was cresting over the horizon, illuminating the thick glass of your balcony and flooding light into your living room. You hadn’t gotten an ounce of rest. 

From your bedroom, you could hear Oscar snoring. You just let him sleep. 

God knows you both needed it. 

[manic-quinn]

i once had to break up with someone while we were still in love. i was going through a rough patch and they needed more than i had to give. right person, wrong time

they tried to get back together with me on 3 separate occasions in the following month

the first time they sent me this long text about how

“we could work together so that it’s different this time. you didn’t let me help you with your issues and i never communicated mine. i just can’t shake the feeling that we made a mistake”

i missed them dearly and i almost went back…but they hadn’t changed and neither had i. as much as i wanted to pretend we could work on it, i knew that it would just be a matter of time before we broke up again. breaking their heart once almost killed me and i simply couldn’t risk doing it again. so i wrote a heartfelt paragraph to say

“i wish you the best and i want to make you happy, but it’s only been a week and nothings changed. im sorry but no”

it hurt, but it was necessary. i hope they understood where i was coming from. then a few days later, they texted me again and said

“we had something special” (and we did) “i take all the blame. you were always enough, all i need is you”

again, i thought about it for a moment…but the truth is that if they didn’t have needs then we wouldn’t have broken up. i knew i was just as much to blame as them. they just wanted the grief to go away and would say anything to make it happen. if we got back together, id let them down again so i wrote a few short sweet sentences telling them that

“you have a lot to offer and you’ll find someone else. ill always be rooting for you. im sorry, but no”

the third time they insisted on calling. i told them I wouldn’t change my mind, but they insisted things would be better if we could talk over the phone. for 45 minutes, they repeated everything they ever said. trying to find anything that would change my mind.

“ive never felt like this before”

i tried to be gentle with them but there are only so many ways you can say

“im sorry but no”

eventually they ran out of words. they apologized and said they’d leave me alone, but ill never forget what they said before we hung up

“i wish i could’ve written this off like you did”

they thought that I had just moved on and what we had meant nothing to me i didn’t know how to explain that every time i said

“im sorry, but no”

what i really meant was

“i love you enough to let you go”

[menagerofmischief]

Hi, I absolutely love your piercer!Lando series! Could you maybe do a part where the reader gets to tattoo something on Lando, maybe like on a more intimate part of his body?

hi, tysm! let me tell you, this was delicious. icymi piercer!lando saga

"Let it be known, I still think this is absolutely crazy." You said, ghosting your fingers over the stencil on Lando's skin, right above his dick.

Lando sighed at the feeling, his eyes piercing into yours. "Why?" He asked, his voice teasing. "Afraid I'm gonna scream?"

"More like afraid I'm gonna mess you up!"

He laughed, his hand moving to squeeze your shoulder. "I'm sure you won't. Just trace the stencil, no harder than a coloring book."

"This is going to stay on your skin for the rest of your life," you argued, the rational part of your brain screaming at you not to give into his idea.

When Lando first suggested that you do a tattoo on him, it was safe to say you thought he was crazy. A part of you still did. And honestly, you don't even remember how he got you to accept, or rather, you do. With lots of sweet whispers and even sweeter orgasms.

"And I'll wear it proudly even if it looks ... funky."

You look at him for a long silent moment before you sink down onto your knees in front of him, finding the position to be the easiest way to get full access to him and have enough space to move around.

You can't help yourself, sneaking a glance at his already hard dick, sitting right there, just inches away from your face. Without much thinking, you lean forward, pressing a kiss against the leaky tip and Lando groans.

"You gonna reward me if I'm good, princess?" He asks, his voice slightly raspy when he speaks. He stretches his arm towards you, offering you the tattoo gun in his hand.

"Of course," you replied, flashing him a smile as you attempted to turn the machine on. "It's your turn to be a good girl, come to daddy."

The two of you looked at each other for a silent moment before you both burst into laughter, bodies shaking with giggles. "Just start the tattoo, you muppet!"

He hissed at the first contact of needle with skin, but afterwards remained completely still. You hadn't expected anything less from him, not with how much experience he has with this and the small collection of tattoos already decorating his body.

You did your best to concentrate, putting all willpower you had to steady your hands in order not to mess up the lines of the tattoo. It wasn't anything complicated, Lando had designed it himself and chosen the place, declaring he wanted it above his dick with a cheeky smile on his face.

"There!" You exclaimed, your tongue running over your lips to wet them. You looked up at him, your lips stretching into a smile as you turned the machine off and did everything he usually did when cleaning your tattoos up.

Lando looked down at you, mirroring your smile. He set the tattoo gun aside and then his hand was on the back of your head. "Have I been good?"

"Amazing," you replied, kissing his thigh. "Let me reward you."

You moved forward, wrapping your lips around his tip, red and leaking pre-cum. He groaned, his fingers tangling into your hair, not pushing but holding you, for now.

You worked your head down his length, taking more of him into your mouth and Lando moaned at the feeling of your warm mouth around his cock.

"Fuck princess, so good." He groaned, his hips thrusting upwards lightly, pushing himself deeper into your mouth and feeling your throat contract as you gagged around him.

His hand in your hair helped you guide your head as you tried to follow the rhythm he wanted, alternating between hollowing your cheeks and sucking him and bobbing your head to slide him trough your mouth.

You pulled off, using your hands to play with his balls as your tongue pressed against the metal balls of his piercing, the metal still warm from the heat of your mouth.

"Gonna cum, please!" He babbled, trying to push your head down and you let him, opening your mouth to take him deep into your throat, your tongue gliding along the underside of his throbbing cock.

It only took a little more work until he was moaning and spilling his release right down your throat. You pulled off his slowly softening cock and swallowed, the taste slightly bitter on your tongue.

Lando didn't waste time to pull you up and kiss you desperately, like he was trying to steal all the air from your lungs. Like there was much left to steal after focusing so hard on blowing him you almost forgot to inhale.

He pulled away, his face flushed and lips a bit swollen. Lando's eyes met yours and he smiled, "Come on, I wanna see my girl's artwork!"

want more piercer!lando? send your filthy thoughts and I'll answer them!

[moonlight-alexia]

17 years old | a.p.

alexia putellas x teen!reader | 1.3k | you make your senior debut for barcelona

ˏˋ°•*⁀ this is part of the pollito universe. i hope you enjoy it :)

Standing on the sideline, waiting for your number to be put up on the board, you felt like your heart was about to beat out of your chest. You’d been ready for this day to come since you’d been invited to train with the first team. Though it still feels like time has gone by so quickly. It felt like just yesterday you were in the stands watching your mami on this very same pitch.

But that was four years ago now. Now you were older, your siblings were older, you weren’t that 13 year old watching her mami play. You were 17 now, about to step onto the same pitch that you had only dreamt about playing on. A world of responsibility was about to unfold the minute you stepped out, you weren’t just playing in the youth teams anymore, but about to play with the same players you’d grown to idolise.

It was a surreal feeling but one you were sure you were ready for. You’d watched your mami for years and everyone knows Alexia would’ve done everything she could to make sure you were as prepared, mentally and physically, as you could be for this moment. 

You knew you’d be making your debut in this match, despite having been on the matchday squad list for a fair few matches before this one. You also knew that your mami had been told as well, considering that you’d overheard her trying to get as many people as she could to come support you today. Your Tia Alba on the phone asking your mami what was so special about this match and then your mami’s hushed whispers were a dead giveaway to anyone who was overhearing.

The club saved Alexia’s number just for you, everyone knew you would definitely make your way through the teams to the first. There was never any doubt. Your passion for the game and your work ethic was identical to Alexia’s. There was a moment where you had second thoughts about taking the number eleven. But it was your mami’s legacy and you couldn’t stand the thought of anyone else wearing that number at this club.

Standing on the sideline, the number eleven with your name this time on your back, it didn’t feel as daunting as you always imagined it would. You were nervous, yes, but you knew no matter what happened today your mami was proud of you. Your family, your teammates, your mami’s teammates, the club, they were all already proud. Yes you had some big shoes to fill, you knew the expectations of the fans were going to be high, but you are a Putellas and you know you can do it.

You almost missed your number being shown on the board, being brought back to reality when arms were wrapped around you tightly, ‘Show them what you got kid. You’ve got this,’ Whispered in your ear during the embrace. A little nod of your head and a smile plastered across your face you ran onto the pitch. 

‘Pollito! Pollito!’ You didn’t need to look back at the stands to be able to hear Mapi’s voice over everyone else's.

‘Pollito, one day they’ll be chanting like that for you here,’ Mapi leaned over, pointing at the crowd that was chanting your mami’s name, ‘And I’ll be the first one,’ 

Coming on in the 80th minute, you really didn’t expect to be able to add a whole lot of importance to the match. You were just happy to be stepping onto the pitch, getting your first senior appearance. Though whoever was in charge of your script had other plans for you. Not many 17 year olds making their first appearance would have the confidence to take a shot like you did. 

Intercepting the ball midway between the half and 18 yard box, one quick glance up to see the keeper off their line and you didn’t take a second to think about taking the shot. Everything was a massive blur, your first touch was a goal and you hardly had any time to even think about it before you were being pulled into hugs and head pats by your teammates.Finishing the match with two goals in twelve minutes, a debut that no one was going to forget. 

‘Ale, watch out our little pollito already starting her goal count. Coming to take your top spot away from you if she keeps going like this,’ Mapi slung her arm around your shoulder bringing you in for a side hug. You laughed a little, shaking your head playfully. Your mami rolled her eyes. They’d all made their way down after the match, not wasting a second to come see you. You who was still in shock and not believing everything was real and ready to wake up realising it was all a dream. Eventually it would sink in.

‘You suck at celebrating,’ You laughed at your little brother, ‘All the time you seen me and my celebrations, I’d thought you’d learn a thing from me,’ Your brother was just like you and your mami, going through his own La Masia journey now, and you’d often found yourself practicing and playing football in the backyard together. You were both quite competitive with each other and Alexia has had to break up her fair share of fights and arguments between you both. But your closeness never faltered.

‘Hermano, you gotta teach me how you backflip,’ You smirked looking mostly at Alexia when you spoke to your brother within the group. You knew that if you even thought about trying something like that it would send your mami into a slight panic, the look in her eye now and the slight falter of her smile. You liked winding her up. A backflip celebration was definitely in your future, already planning it for a match you know your mami would be at.

‘Sí, celebrate in style pollito,’ Your tía Alba encouraging it, anything to annoy her sister

‘Eh, you’ll figure it out,’ Your mami pulled you in for a hug, you could see just how proud she was of you, ‘Maybe a less dangerous one, por favor,’ You laughed but made no effort to promise your mami that.

‘Hmm, I guess can’t have you growing more grey hairs,’ You playfully squinted while looking at your mami’s hair, Alexia gently slapping your hand away before you could point any out. 

‘If any, you lot are the reason for them,’ Alexia pointed towards the entire group that surrounded you. You all laughed, and somewhere during all the banter and the teasing you realised just how lucky you were. Seeing them all here together, you wouldn’t have made it this far without them.

Your mami turned you around so you were looking at her now front on, her hands gently holding the side of your head, ‘I’m so proud of you pollito,’ Words that you often heard from your mami but this time it felt different hearing it. A good kind of different. Alexia gave you a kiss on your forehead before, reluctantly, letting you go. Your mami still wishes you were that four year old who still fell over every time you tried to kick a ball, you grew too fast for her liking but she’s excited to watch your journey. She knows you’ll go far, mother’s intuition as she likes to tell you when you call her biased. 

Your little sister tugged at your shirt and you picked her up, she was small for her age so she still sat nicely on your hip just like she always has. You eventually broke away from your family, still holding your little sister while you went back to your teammates and went to some of the fans that were trying to get your attention.

Your mami watched from afar. Her little pollito wasn’t so little anymore, ‘The world is yours pollito,’

[polarisjisung]

ꨄ YOU ARE MY ROCKSTAR

LATE NIGHTS IN THE STUDIO W/ MARK

wc: 0.7k warnings: none yet! notes: been on a mark listening streak, still think golden hour is one of my favourites | LIBRARY

The clock on the wall reads well past midnight, but really it doesn’t feel that late.

The warm hum of the recording studio surrounds you, the soft glow of the lights casting a mellow ambiance in the room. It feels cosy. All moments with Mark did, but something tonight feels especially comfortable.

Mark sits behind the mixing console, headphones perched on his head as he carefully adjusts sound levels. You don't really know what all the switches and dials in front of him mean, but you do know that they mean a lot to Mark, and that's enough for you.

He’s in his element. It's obvious from the way he narrows his eyes down in front of him. But there’s something about the way he moves that tells you he’s more focused on making the track perfect than anything else in the world right now.

You’re sprawled out on the couch across from him, with a spiderman blanket he'd placed over your lap earlier, as you watch him.

His usual cheerful, easygoing nature has shifted into a quiet, intense concentration, the mark of someone who cares deeply about their work.

It was one of the things you loved most about Mark, how much he cared, not just about his work, but about you, about everything.

Mark's loves in life were few, but his dedication to them was immense. He loved rarely, but entirely.

His brows furrow slightly as he listens to the beat, adjusting a few knobs here and there, nodding to himself in approval.

You smile to yourself, almost feeling a little self-conscious about how much you’ve been admiring him lately. You can't help it, though.

The way his hair falls over his forehead, the way his fingers move so effortlessly over the dials, the way his voice takes on a slightly deeper, more serious tone when he's in "work mode." It’s moments like these that make you fall for him all over again.

“Hey, you okay?” Mark’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts, the soft crackle of his mic cutting through the air. You look up, meeting his warm gaze. His hair is an absolute mess, falling over his eyes and sticking out in all sorts of different directions— somehow Mark’s never looked better.

“Yeah, just… watching you. You’re really focused, huh?”

He grins, pushing his headphones off one ear. “Yeah, I get like this sometimes when I’m working on something that matters. You know, the kind of thing where I want everything to sound just right. But you’ve been quiet. What’s on your mind?”

You chuckle, lifting a hand to rub the back of your neck, just a touch embarrassed. “Nothing, just… you. I love watching you work. You’re amazing, Mark.”

His eyes soften, a faint blush creeping up his neck. He reaches over and taps a button on the console, stopping the track. “Stop making me all shy. You know I get embarrassed when you say things like that.” He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms as he looks at you with a playful smirk. “But I’m glad you think that. It’s nice to have you here with me.”

In your books, that was a win, considering the number of times you'd been reminded just how much Mark hated to be disturbed during his solo studio sessions. But like most things, the rules were different for you.

You sit up, suddenly feeling a little braver, and slide off the couch, walking over to him. “Can I sit with you while you work? I promise I won’t distract you too much.”

Mark presses a soft kiss to your hand, gentle, reassuring.

“Of course,” he says, already pulling the chair next to his, his fingers drumming lightly on the armrest. “You’re my favorite distraction.”

taglist: @yizhrt @suzayaaa @nanawrlds @sinisxtea @dearlyminhyung @flaminghotyourmom @jisworlds @jenobubbles @nctdreamchaser @lotties-readings @mystverse @chenlezip

[basicallyjeankirschtein]

jjk men x streamer!reader hybrid smau

╰┈➤ Collab?

chapter one

ೃ⁀➷ you start your stream with gojo, your childhood best friend who happens to be internet famous. you’re surprised to see how people react to your presence on his live.

masterlist. prev. next

you were nervous to answer the call that rung from your pc, shaking for godsake. it was not that serious, you tried telling yourself over and over in your head.

but the thing is, it IS that serious! how did gojo already have five hundred thousand viewers, the stream just started???

you joined the video call after a moments hesitation, waving shyly at the screen. no way were you having internet anxiety, was that even a thing? online-anxiety.. the dsm-5 definitely doesn’t categorize that as a disorder.

“hi,” you spoke in a much smaller voice than usual, one you use towards your professors or customers at work. gojo mustn’t have caught on to your shy and anxious behavior, considering he immediately started screaming about how excited he was to introduce you to stream and how excited he is to play with you.

his personality was overwhelming. it’s what drew you to him all the way back to when you were seven. it could be a lot at times- but it’s what made him so enjoyable to be around. if it were anybody else, it would give you a migraine.

“chat, stop acting weird.” you heard gojo say in a disgusted voice as you booted up your own stream and game, greeting all your fans and letting them know you’re streaming with gojo. they were all so excited for you! it warmed your heart, easing your anxiety. you’d just focus on your audience, not gojos almost one million- oh my god, one million?

you were going to question gojo on what was happening in his chat, worried they were making fun of you, but when you noticed he had one million viewers you almost passed out. this was terrifying.

you discreetly opened his stream chat, making small talk with gojo and your audience while you took a look at what people could possible be saying.

you were fucking shaking. this was NOT that serious- but you had such bad self consciousness, you just had to see what they were saying… were they calling you ugly? weird? oh no- where his diehard fangirls mad that he was streaming with a girl-

to your surprise, all you saw were nice comments. they were all complimenting you, asking gojo why he didn’t introduce you sooner. you were shocked, a small smile tugging at your lips as you continued to read.

GOJOMARRYME: EEE SHES SO CUTE! how does she only have 50k?!? GUYS MAKE HER FAMOUS!

gojosleftnutsock: is she dating gojo? love her already, im going to live vicariously through her

gojoandgetostan68: yn can i be your lap dog

sugurugetotv ✅: why have you never introduced us, gojo?

you had to stop yourself from reading before your face went bright red. no wonder gojo called them out, some of these messages were so weird. but the majority were sweet! you were glad you had a good first impression on everyone.

however, one message in particular caught your eye. he’s verified, you recognize his name from gojo. he’s talked about geto a few times, talked about how he’s going to play games with him but it’s not the same as playing with you. gojo just said that to guilt you, though.

“yn, who are you gonna play?” gojo asked, reeling you out of your thoughts as you realized you’ve already loaded into a match.

“i’ll play cloak and dagger,” you insisted, preferring to play support over any of the other roles. “how about you?” you asked, though you received no response.

“gojoooo?” you called out, eyebrows furrowing together as he went silent, still haven’t chosen a character. you wondered if the call bugged out, but when you looked at your video chat, he was still very much there. he looked upset about something, a look of… jealousy(?) on his face. you weren’t quite sure why he looked mad.

“you okay?” you asked, which seemed to snap him out of his trance. his face immediately twisted into a wide smile, “yea! my friends just being weird..” he muttered, though you could tell his tone was far from friendly. did geto make him mad? you weren’t sure, it wasn’t your place to ask so you just stayed silent.

gojo finally put his phone down, sighing as he looked at the character lineup. you were playing cloak and dagger, your teammates consisted of a solo player who chose doctor strange, while the other three were in a party and all played dps.

gojo was clearly upset this party of three stole his dps role, cursing about how a good team should have two of each role and then immediately also picking dps. well, you were totally losing this game.

toji never cared for his view count. he only streamed to play games with his friends, and get some money along with it. he was naturally successful and never cared how many viewers he had or lost.

until today.

he lost 16k viewers in the span of fifteen minutes. he thought he got cancelled for a good minute there, until his friends brought him into the loop of things.

sukuna of all people even tuned into gojos stream, what the hell? just for some random? it made no sense. sukuna and choso assured him the hype was for a reason, but until he saw you, he wouldn’t believe it.

toji scoffed, rolling his eyes when his friends finally joined his call and began naming off excuses as to why they were late to chat.

“right, just get on the game bro.” he spoke in his usual cold tone. those who don’t know him would think he was being harsh to his friends, but this was just how he spoke.

toji invited them to his party, the three of them queuing up for a match. toji was happy to see someone instalock support- cloak and dagger at that- usually nobody wanted to play healer. he was making small talk with choso when sukuna suddenly spoke up,

“chat told me we got matched with gojo and his friend.”

first chapter is up!! i’m so sorry, i know i said this would be an smau but clearly there’s more writing than pictures.. i want to do an equal amount of both but i have to add context for some things ):

tag list

@estella-novella @ourfinalisation @definetlythinkimanalien @fuckisthatahotghost @m-0ona @sillybillylamb @ayla-1605

[asidian]

Edwin is a fascinating character for a lot of reasons, but one I haven't delved into very deeply yet is the juxtaposition between the fact that he is genuinely, earnestly kind while also simultaneously being unsure of how to express that kindness.

He was raised in a time when physical affection and emotional conversations were avoided if not actively discouraged. On top of that, he's had 70 years in hell in survival mode that did not help him hone his people skills at all.

But we see him try, again and again, especially for Charles.

The most memorable instances are, of course, when Edwin offers Charles comfort after his breakdown at the beach, the two separate offers to talk if Charles needs to, the hug, and their meeting in the attic with the lantern.

But there's one small moment that isn't as obvious; I didn't notice it at all on my first few watch-throughs.

It's just after the Devlin house, when Charles has had a truly awful night. Edwin has just started to understand the scope of how upset he is by what happened there, and why.

And then we get this remarkable exchange:

While Charles is lost in his thoughts somewhere behind that thousand-yard stare, Edwin gives Crystal a straightforward, earnest, not at all backhanded compliment. It's the first time he does; compared to the one he offers her in the episode with the sprites, this is practically effusive.

By itself, it's a very sweet moment between the two of them as their relationship develops.

And it is that.

But it's something else, too. Because this is how Edwin follows it up:

Crystal hearing it isn't enough.

He wants Charles to hear it.

In fact, he wants Charles to hear it so badly that he pauses, waits for Charles to react, doesn't get a reaction, and asks again.

Yes, this compliment is meant for Crystal, but it's meant for Charles, too – in a different way.

This is Edwin playing nice, like Charles has been wanting him to do since episode one. This is him giving Charles what he's been making puppy dog eyes over for days now.

This is Edwin pulling out the thing he thinks will make Charles the happiest. This is Edwin, fumbling to figure out what will help.

The hug that Charles needs so desperately isn't for some episodes yet – and these boys do get there eventually.

But I dearly love this first uncertain step on the path to Edwin figuring out what Charles needs from him.

He may not have the best instincts when it comes to handling social situations, but by god, he's so very kind, and he's trying, and there is something unspeakably sweet about that.

[buck-star]

Te iubesc

Bucky, your best friend, has to confess something. But instead of just saying it out loud, he uses a little trick to help him say it.

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Wordcount: 1.337 Words

Warnings/Tags: fluff, friends to lovers, mutual pinning, love confession

Authors Note: Beta’d by my favorite person @thevillainswhore. Te iubesc, thank you so much. Also for the editing of the photos! You’re the best!❤️❤️

Events: Bucky Barnes Bingo [BO23 | K4 | Avengers | @buckybarnesbingo], Marvel-OC-Hub-Bingo [Row Two-Three | It was always you | @marvel-oc-hub]

Masterlist | Bucky Barnes Masterlist

The sun is shining beautifully down onto the white snow that covers the ground like a fluffy blanket. It reflects the warm yellow of the sun brightening up the living room. You watch Steve and Tony talking to Thor outside of the big building, probably planning the next mission - or waiting for one of them paying less attention to land with the force of two other men in the snow.

A soft smile plays at your lips, causing the corners of your lips to twitch with amusement. Who might be the first to get a bunch of snow in their face or fly into the soft fluffy coldness you wonder?

“They will throw Tony into the snow first, dragă mea,” Bucky’s soft voice comes from behind you. You turn slowly around, watching the broad super-soldier standing in the door-frame of the living room. His ocean blue orbs are focused on you, softness and love visible in them while he has the most beautiful smile plastered on his handsome face.

You laugh softly, leaning back on the couch while you let your eyes roam shamelessly over the muscular body of your favorite super-soldier. Bucky pushes himself off the frame and walks closer to you, his steps surprisingly quiet for the wall of muscles he literally is. Your best friend lets himself fall down next to you on the couch, leaning back while he automatically spreads his thick thighs.

“Poor, tiny Tony,” you giggle, turning to the windows again to see if they already started to throw one another into the snow and the moment you turn, you see the smaller man flying into the snow. Thor and Steve give one another a high five, before Steve is the next who lands with his face first in the snow. “Steve got face palmed by the snow.”

Bucky bursts out laughing next to you, something so bare and innocent. Two years ago, you never would have thought that this man, who was only known for his PTSD and staring problem, would actually be such a soft man, who has the most beautiful and heartwarming laugh possible. But there he is, laughing like his past doesn’t exist; his nose scrunches slightly and the freckles around his eyes are more visible, making him so much cuter.

“Face palmed by the snow,” he chuckles, shaking his head. His blue eyes settle on your face again when you turn toward him, nodding softly. The brunette's metal arm slides behind your head over the backrest of the couch and he shifts in his seat. “I thought about something, dragă mea.”

“About being face palmed by the snow too?” You ask, giggling. Bucky shakes his head, letting his cold digits run over your shoulder to your neck and back down your shoulder. Goosebumps erupt on your skin and Bucky’s smile widens when he notices, letting his fingers trail south along your collarbone. His touch is light and tender, feeling like a feather tickling you slightly.

“Not really, but if it would make you happy,” he chuckles. His eyes glisten softly as he leans closer to you. Of course, he always wants to please everyone, he would agree to a lot just to make others happy — to make you happy. “You always look so excited when I speak Romanian, so I thought since it's just you and me, I could teach you some things.”

The grin on his face and the mischievous glint in his eyes has your attention for a moment. It's not just because you're excited when he does it, it's something that lights the fire of desire deep inside of him. But you nod, agreeing to his offer. Not just because you want to get to know more about the sparkle in his eyes but also because of the opportunity to listen to him speaking in Romanian for you.

He crosses his legs, keeping the soft motion of his fingers along your collarbone and up and down your shoulder. “First one, it's an easy one. Te iubesc.”

His voice sounds even softer when he speaks in another language and you enjoy the syllables echoing through your mind for a moment longer. You clear your throat. “Te iubesc.”

Bucky's heart flutters, knowing you have no idea what you just said but hearing those word makes the butterflies in his stomach go crazy. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, before he leans his head back and closes his eyes. It sounds perfect when you say it, maybe he should make you say it more often — of course, he should. He needs to hear you say it, over and over again. Bucky knows he could never get tired of it.

“Şi eu te iubesc, lubirea mea” he replies, waiting for your reaction. You narrow your eyes, titling your head slightly in confusion. Bucky chuckles, leaning closer, his warm breath against your neck and you shiver slightly. The brunette blows softly against the soft, warm skin of your neck, noticing the hitch of your breath. “I love you too, my love.”

You pull back slightly, looking at him with widened eyes. Bucky studies your expression for a moment, a flash of concern and uncertainty visible on his face. He keeps his hand on your shoulder, wanting — needing — to feel your warmth underneath his fingers. You keep staring at him, slowly bringing your hands to capture his face. Your tips brush the soft stubble on his face and a soft smile forms on your lips again.

“Do you mean it? I mean, do you—” you interrupt yourself, searching for anything in his eyes that it was just a joke. But there is nothing but honesty and love, not a hint that it was a joke or just some lesson in Romanian. “You really mean it?”

Bucky nods. He chuckles softly, wondering if it wasn’t obvious before. “Didn't you notice? Everyone called me out that I was so obvious,” he chuckles, leaning closer again. “I was afraid to tell you, didn't know how. You know me from the very start after being the winter soldier, I was afraid you see nothing but a victim in me.”

He takes a shaky breath, moving a strand of your hair out of your face and tucking it behind your ear. For a moment his eyes move around, settling on the scene of Steve, Thor and Tony throwing snow at one another. He then brings his ocean blue eyes back to yours, a soft sigh escapes his plump lips.

“Steve and Nat assured me that you don't see me as just that. And I—” Bucky mumbles softly, his fingers stroking your cheekbone, while he leans further into the soft touch of your hands still capturing his cheeks. “I still didn't know how to tell you. But I thought when I make you say I love you to me then I could say I love you too.”

“Şi eu te iubesc, Bucky,” you whisper, leaning closer until your lips are only inches away from his. Bucky’s smile grows and he breaks the distance between the two of you, pressing his plump, soft lips against yours. Your heartbeat increases and a low chuckles rumbles through Bucky’s chest.

He traces his thumb along your jaw, pulling slightly back after a moment. “Înseamnă că te iubesc mai mult decăt orice pe lumea asta,” he whispers against your lips with a soft smile. Bucky then leans closer once again, pecking your lips. “Before you wonder, it means, I love you more than anyone or anything in the whole universe.”

“Şi eu te iubesc mai mult dec—” you stumble over your words, huffing with frustration. Bucky chuckles softly, pulling you closer again.

“I know,” he mumbles, his lips touching yours. “Let me enjoy the sweet taste for a moment longer and then we can face palm the snow,” Bucky laughs before he kisses you once more. And the soft feeling of his lips and his smell surrounding you lets you feel like you’re home — definiția ta a casei.

Taglist: @rogersbarber @loki-laufeyson68 @etherealdisneyvillainness @winterschildren8 @pono-pura-vida @kimmie113080 @sergeantbarnessdoll @sebastianstanisahotmf @mercurial-chuckles @holylulusworld @randomawesomeperson102 @looking1016 @multiversefanfics @kpopgirlbtssvt @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @iris-xoxo-juhu @fckedupandbeautiful @hisredheadedgoddess28 @casa-boiardi @blackhawkfanatic @mrsalexstan @thesarcasmqueen-22 @kandis-mom @peachy-satan00 @armystay89 @queen-honeybee-stories [add yourself]

[gravedwe11er]

Mecha AU Deadlock angst? Mecha AU Deadlock angst!

Or, I saw a post mentioning that someone is gonna have to explain human lifespans to the bots, and my brain ran with it. Based on the @keferon mecha AU.

CW: Discussions of death and mortality

Human and cybertronian lifespans are such wildly disparate things. Deadlock struggles with this newfound knowledge.

Forty local stellar cycles. Maybe fifty, if he’s one of the lucky ones.

Now, even before his crash-landing on this planet, Deadlock knew enough about organics to be aware they’re generally not as long-lived as mechanical species. Comes with being so breakable all over, if he had to guess, but-

That’s barely half a fragging vorn.

Even if he gets lucky, even if, for once, Deadlock doesn’t fail at keeping the people he cares about safe, the little organic medic is going to be dead in half a vorn. ‘That’s just how things are, for humans,’ Swerve said. ‘I’m sorry,’ Swerve said.

Slag, and what about Roddy? Deadlock’s pretty sure the pilot is younger than Ratchet, but still- that gives him, how long, a vorn? Less? Even the very thought of it just feels so damn wrong. The little guy’s so bright, how could anyone with an EM field like a fucking Prime have the lifespan of--

Deadlock desperately wants to shoot something.

Instead, he drives towards Ratchet’s workshop, transforming the moment he’s out of sight and heading straight for the doc once he finds him in the garage. It’s yet another testament to the man’s caring nature that he lets himself get picked up with only token grumbling, throwing a concerned look Deadlock’s way but not pushing the matter.

The human medic has always been scarily good at reading him. In moments like these, Deadlock can’t help but be overwhelmingly grateful for it.

Hugging the man to the side of his helm, he soon feels a small, calloused hand running gently down one finial. Deadlock wants to scream. The injustice of it all making his processor spin, his spark thrumming with pain and fear and overwhelming grief. How can he bear to lose all this so soon? He’s only just found him, the first glimpse of something like peace in eons, and he can’t deal with the thought of him gone, he can’t-

Ratchet grunts in his servos, knocking loudly on one of Deadlock’s fingers, and with a jolt he realizes just how tight he’s been holding the man. Immediately, he loosens his grip, gently petting down the doc’s back in silent apology. After a moment, a warm ser- hand pats his cheek.

“Feel like telling me what’s eating you, kid?” Ratchet asks, before lightly pushing against Deadlock’s face.

Responding to the wordless request, Deadlock pulls his cupped hands away from his helm, just enough so he can look into the human medic’s opti- eyes. He scrambles for a way to express his racing thoughts, vocalizer hissing with static, before abruptly spitting out, “Are you dying?”

To his surprise, the man bursts out laughing. “Shit, where’d you get that idea?” he chuckles, shaking his head. “Now, as much as I’m sure a bunch of my previous employers would love to dance on my grave, let me assure you that I’m perfectly fi-“

“But you’re not!” Deadlock almost shouts, engine growling. “He said- decay of organic components, and human lifespans are-“ his voice gets stuck in his throat, vocalizer jamming, and he offlines his optics for a moment. Tries to get his slag together, at least a little.

When he turns them on again, all the mirth has left his human’s face. The medic’s eyes are serious, a sad sort of expression on his face, and Deadlock wants to curl himself around the man and never let go.

“Right,” sighs Ratchet, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I was sort of hoping you knew about that already.”

The last flutter of hope he was harboring vanishes. “So he was right? You only live for- eighty, ninety of your years?”

“Afraid so, kid,” says the man, suddenly looking so fragile in Deadlock’s palms. “Look, I know it’s not a lot to your kind, but-“

“And there’s nothing to be done? Can’t you- figure something out?”

He’s reaching and he knows it, but the human looks so- accepting of it. Like it’s a perfectly normal thing, to barely get to live at all before your body breaks down and dies, just like that!

Ratchet shakes his head with a wry smile. “Not how that works. People have been trying, sure, but nobody ever really got anywhere. And even if we did manage to drastically expand our lifespans somehow, the psychological effects it would have… we’re just not made for that, Deadlock,” he says, patting Deadlock on the nearest finger; a ghost of a touch, but still comforting. “I, hah, appreciate your faith in me kid, but not even I can do miracles.”

“I just don’t- how the fuck can you be so alright with that?” Deadlock asks, feeling utterly miserable.

The man snorts. “What else is there to do? It’s not like worrying about it would fix anything, and I’m not going to waste my life thinking about my death.” Then the human’s gaze softens, and he stands up to be more optic-level with Deadlock. “Listen to me. I know this is a hard pill to swallow, but there’s nothing you, or anybody else, can change about it. The only thing you can do,” he says gently, reaching a hand towards Deadlock’s cheek, “is make the most of it.”

Deadlock exvents, suddenly feeling deeply tired. “Right. Right, I guess I just- gotta make it count, then,” he mutters, carefully leaning into the contact and the comfort it brings.

Ratchet smiles at him. “That’s the spirit. Have fun with Roddy- safe fun,” he quickly adds. “Take him on drives, or, hell, feel free to bum around my workshop as usual, if that’s what you want. You know I don’t mind the company, provided you behave yourself,” says the doc, his words punctuated by a mock-threatening look. “Just… try enjoy the time you have with us, okay?”

“Mkay,” he answers, voice still choked with static, before pulling the little medic to his chestplates. This close to his spark, he can read the human’s odd, tiny EM field with perfect clarity – concern, quiet affection and a deep kind of care rolls off of him in waves. Sometimes, Deadlock wishes he could tangle their fields together properly, synchronizing their frequencies in an embrace only possible for his kind, but- this is good too. More than good, really – it’s something unique to the two of them, and that makes it perfect as far as he’s concerned.

“Now, I’d really like to know which tactless bastard just dropped all this on you,” jokes Ratchet, the vibrations of the man’s voice tickling pleasantly against his plating, “so I can go brain them with a wrench for it.”

Despite himself, Deadlock snorts. “I think Swerve might be a little outside your size class, doc.”

“Oh, don’t you underestimate me, kid!” the medic grumbles, but he’s laughing too, and the return to the usual banter eases some of the weight on Deadlock’s spark.

Forty stellar cycles, maybe fifty.

He’ll make those years count.

He’ll make them be enough.

(Maybe, if he repeats it a few hundred times more, he’ll make himself believe it, too.)

[tritoch]

one thing I find neat about Emet-Selch is that his chauvinism is so intense that it actually prevents him from making the strongest possible case for the unique moral goodness of the ancients, and that this same mental distortion ties into his classic final fantasy need to turn into a Horrible Final Form Monstrosity for your final fight

(for my part I think any minor unique moral goodness the ancients possess they have due to their status as demigods living in eden before the fall. even if they really are morally/intellectually/spiritually/magically/etc. superior to every modern eorzean on a 1:1 level it still doesn't change anything because 1) they are mythical and impossible, that's the whole point and 2) even if they weren't, they still have no particular claim to existence that is superior to anyone else's, no matter how good they are. but the point here is the case Emet-Selch is trying to make, which is that they are more "worthy" of life.)

when he's setting you up for the final amaurot sequence, Emet-Selch hits you with this one:

it's a solid line! stops the party cold for a second.

it's also...not that impressive. do I think if we called a big world meeting that half of everyone would just jump up to be chosen? maybe, maybe not. but, sorry: we're having a big world meeting? are we also demigods with their every material need fulfilled in this version? do we have a one world government that almost everyone seems to fully trust telling us that it knows for real a way to stop the meteor heading towards earth? because honestly i think as soon as we start creating structural similarities like that, it becomes a lot more likely. and every step you take towards making the comparison happen on level ground makes the idea that the ancients were possessed of some unique moral fiber that made them capable of this sacrifice (as opposed to the undeniable abilities in magic and global governance that actually enabled it) seem less and less likely.

and especially if you consider it in the context of what actual people are like. human (and presumably eorzean) history is replete with examples of people sacrificing themselves to save others, even though none of us are immortal wizard philosophers. i don't know how the white-room thought-experiment "will half of you die to save the others???" turns out. but do i think, across a grand rolling catastrophe, that half our population would sacrifice itself to save the other half in a million individual acts of sacrifice to save a parent, a child, a lover, a friend, a stranger? that seems significantly more plausible. altruism and sacrifice for others is even pretty frequent in animals! it's not a very unique moral behavior!

(stanford encyclopedia of philosophy on biological altruism)

but that's not the only sacrifice the ancients made. roll the tape, hythlodaeus!

...Yet oh how the star had suffered. So many species lost. The land was blighted, the waters poisoned, and even the wind had ceased to blow. Once more did our people give of themselves to Zodiark. Another half of our race sacrificed to cleanse the world; to ensure that trees and grasses and myriad tiny lives would sprout and grow and flourish.

(every time I read this speech and hit the ff1/3/5 ref about the land and waters and wind i become mylongestyeahboyever.avi)

this is the step beyond, and it's what separates the ancients from modern humans. they viewed themselves as stewards of the star and really meant it; whatever other criticisms you might level, you can't doubt the depths of their commitment. and this i think really does make them morally distinct from modern people, or at least raises that possibility in a much more compelling way than the first sacrifice. half of the living population sacrificing itself not in a moment of duress and apocalypse but in a moment of calm? when the sacrifice isn't for anything but plants and animals and some tiny proto-eorzeans? that kind of cold, calculated, long-term altruism, aimed at people and living beings that are nothing like you...that does feel like something a little more unique, more worth preserving. even in just the text of the game, we can say with real certainty that the ancients were at least more capable of facing their problems and had greater moral integrity and care for the world than, say, the people who made ra-la.

but emet-selch can't ever say that because rejecting and dishonoring the decision the ancients made as stewards of the star is his primary goal.

like, "my people were uniquely morally good. half the living population sacrificed themselves not for their loved ones or for the survival of their people but simply for the world. for the trees and grasses and the wind and the water. for the humblest insects and for the summer breeze and the tides." that fucks! damn, you got me there! i watch enough people throw aluminum cans in the trash on a weekly basis that i find this sincerely moving and beyond the seeming abilities of my own brethren! oh no, i'm being persuaded by the fascist immortal space wizard!

"and therefore, because they are uniquely morally good, we are going to sacrifice and kill the very things they gave their lives to save, so we can have them back :)" well, shit. i'm experiencing some dissonance here.

but you can't actually lie to yourself as long as emet-selch without distorting your understanding of the truth. you cannot choose to see the world falsely half the time and clearly the other half. in committing to self-deceit and willful ignorance regarding the value of the modern world, emet-selch blinds himself not just to the world as it is but to the ancients as they were. if he could describe accurately the ways in which the ancients were genuinely noble and benevolent, he would also have to able to see clearly how he has entirely deviated from that ideal. and he cannot do that and stay on the path he has chosen, so he simply chooses not to see things accurately.

i cannot help but link this blindness of his to his trial. here, at what seems to emet-selch to be the last stand of the ancients, he says to you "to be clear this fight IS a metaphor, and in that metaphor i stand in for the Entire Unsundered World."

and yet, in standing against you, he betrays both the customs of the ancients and his very title, itself a direct signifier of the mission he was charged with as one of the convocation of fourteen: "to ensure that all is right in creation, that our star may know a brighter future." contra elidibus, for whom remembering his duty to the ancients is one and the same act as remembering his name, emet-selch declares his own to be mere pretense. and that's before we even reach the matter of his transformation.

emet-selch believes the only way he can save the ancients is to betray their principles, forget their greatest triumphs, and abandon their trappings. he renounces almost everything of the ancients, save for his pale and sad and faceless amaurot, in the hopes of bringing them back.

i am reminded a little of borges's three versions of judas, a short story which uses the lens of fictional literary criticism (appropriate for a story as interested in competing narrative interpretations as shadowbringers is) to recast the betrayal of christ by judas not as the greatest of sins but as the greatest of sacrifices.

The ascetic, for the greater glory of God, vilifies and mortifies his flesh; Judas did the same with his spirit. He renounced honor, morality, peace and the kingdom of heaven, just as others, less heroically, renounce pleasure. With terrible lucidity he premeditated his sins.

and, in turn, the sardonic footnote to that very same line, which unsettles that sentiment as soon as it has been presented:

Borelius inquires mockingly: “Why didn’t he renounce his renunciation? Or renounce the idea of renouncing his renunciation?”

[dollyichi]

ILY = ? ᯓ★ bakugou katsuki x f ! reader. fluff / established relationship

katsuki never explicitly says “i love you” the first few months. he always has his own way to vocalize his affection—and i stress, in his own way.

where he gets annoyed and says “i want your heart to beat only because of me until you can’t feel it when i’m not there.” or when you guys make love and he says “every time you lay on our bed,” (your house, he came over) “you’d have no choice but to get reminded of me.” something like that. (it’s more extreme than those two examples) and you’d tease him because he says a lot of shit even though the meaning is very simple (though deeply felt).

sometimes those three words are manifested into simple actions. tucking your hair behind your ear while he looks at you calmly. helping you with your necklaces and leaving a kiss at the back of your neck after he connects the hooks. driving you to work even when it’s out of the way.

when he notices you’re feeling anxious and your hands start to twitch, immediately taking them in his own and peppering kisses until you calm down.

even remembering the tiniest details about yourself that you almost forgot until he reminds you himself.

then one day it just falls out of his lips so smoothly. in the middle of a tickle fight and when you both catch your breath you stop to look at one another for a brief moment.

“i love you.” he says with a smile while his chests continued to rise and fall.

that you kept asking him to repeat it over and over while the tips of his ears get redder by the second. (you trapped him against the headboard too)

still, his actions always proved more than those three words. you never thought you could feel something that’s even beyond love, beyond devotion.

it was entirely all possible because of your katsuki.

do not copy, plagiarize, translate, or repost my works

note : not proofread obviously sorry for the mistakes i wrote this bc idk it just fell out of me ><

[cupidhoons]

LOVE CLUB! ★   ࣪˖ ⌕  A YANG JUNGWON SMAU

SYNOPSIS ꪆ୧ ! After a bitter breakup in freshman year, you never thought you'd have to deal with Yang Jungwon ever again. But when you both end up joining the school's infamous LOVE CLUB—where everything is dedicated to studying and kindling romance—avoiding him becomes impossible. From planning Valentine's day events to hosting workshops on love, you and Jungwon constantly find yourselves thrown together. But as the petty arguments turn into unexpected moments of bonding, you start to wonder if there's more to your rivalry than meets the eye.

or in which . . . your love club officer friends find you and Jungwon's constant bickering both entertaining and annoying—prompting them to play the role as "cupid" to bring their two beloved friends back together (without yours or Jungwon's knowledge).

— ❝ the look of love hate! ❞ (pairing) ꒱ non-idol ex! jungwon x non-idol ex! reader

↳ featuring . . . all of enhypen, wonyoung & rei from ive, chaewon from lsfrm, julie from kiss of life, taerae & gyuvin from zb1 ++ more (?)

⌗ 💌 GENRE ! smau with written parts in between, exes to ENEMIES to FRIENDS to LOVERS (it's a lot i know 🥹), fluff, comedy, angst(??), highschool au, YEARNING!!!

WARNINGS ⓘ profanity, kys/kms jokes, sexual jokes (no smut), yoonchae from katseye as y/n's face claim

STATUS 〻 UPCOMING

★ LIZ'S NOTE am i crazy for putting out another smau right after i said im putting paparazzi on hold coz it's not my best......maybe but i promise u guys this one is well written and will #NOTDISAPPOINT!! also just wanted to get a head start on this since won month is coming soon hehe :3 also fank yew to kaia just because she saw me crash out through all this 🫰 larb yew @pshbites

TAGLIST IS OPEN . . . SEND AN ASK OR FILL OUT THIS GOOGLE FORM TO JOIN!

NOTICE ‼️ please avoid SPAM LIKING chapters & avoid COMMENTING to be added to the taglist. to keep things organized and easier for me to keep track of things, please fill out the GOOGLE FORM above or send an ASK ^^

UPDATES : every MONDAY, WEDNESDAY, & FRIDAY

PROFILES OO1 | OO2 | OO3 ( PLAYLIST 4 VIBES )

THE LOVE CLUB : A CHAPTER GUIDE ! 💌 MEANS SMAU + WRITTEN!

MEETING ONE ᰔ greetings and salutations, huzz

MEETING TWO ᰔ avengers assemble ahh

MEETING THREE 💌 opp o'clock

MEETING FOUR ᰔ operation: YNWON

MEETING FIVE ᰔ d1 crash out right here

MEETING SIX ᰔ HE WHAAAAAT.

MEETING SEVEN 💌 the (im)perfect pair

MEETING EIGHT ᰔ matcha slut crash out

MEETING NINE ᰔ I HATE HER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

MEETING TEN ᰔ suck it up buttercup

MEETING ELEVEN 💌 worst 45 mins of my Life.

MEETING TWELVE ᰔ unblock dat ho!

MEETING THIRTEEN ᰔ ONE civil conversation please!

MEETING FOURTEEN ᰔ killing myself (live on twitch.)

MEETING SIXTEEN 💌 not so hangout & not at all a date

MEETING SEVENTEEN ᰔ operation: YNWON (pt 2)

MEETING EIGHTEEN ᰔ do u still L word her be honest

MEETING NINETEEN ᰔ she won't go away!

MEETING TWENTY 💌 something fishy is going awn....

MEETING TWENTY-ONE ᰔ real or FAKEH???!!!

MEETING TWENTY-TWO ᰔ is she dumb

MEETING TWENTY-THREE ᰔ girl die

MEETING TWENTY-FOUR 💌 what slowburn romance novel is this

MEETING TWENTY-FIVE ᰔ wait he's Kinda.

MEETING TWENTY-SIX ᰔ stupid & stupid what a perfect pair

MEETING TWENTY-SEVEN ᰔ PROGRESS WE HAVE PROGRESS

MEETING TWENTY-EIGHT ᰔ to be added...

MEETING TWENTY-NINE ᰔ to be added...

MEETING THIRTY ᰔ to be added...

MEETING THIRTY-ONE ᰔ to be added...

MEETING THIRTY-TWO ᰔ to be added...

MEETING THIRTY-THREE ᰔ to be added...

MEETING THIRTY-FOUR ᰔ to be added...

MEETING THIRTY-FIVE ᰔ to be added...

END.

[chaoticwriting]

GOTHAM'S NEW ROGUE 4

Part 3

Danny looks at the guy skeptically. Last time someone approached him, they were Red Robin, Spoiler and Signal. This time, a dude that looks like an average office worker approaches him.

Trickster: Sure, why not?

???: Thank you.

Trickster: So, what do you want with me?

???: Let me introduce myself first. I am Clark Kent. A journalist from the Daily Planet. I would like to ask, is it true that you know Batman's secret identity?

Trickster: You mean those pictures I stole from his wallet? Yeah sure. Why do you wanna know?

Clark: As you know, I am a journalist. And it is our job to find out about news and share it with the general public. I am just thinking, what would you like to exchange for the real identity of Batman.

Trickster: Hmmm..... What price huh? Let me think for a moment.

Danny then continues to eat his food as he pretends to think about Clark's offer. Honestly, he doesn't give a damn about this Clark guy. He is also a vigilante once, so he knows the importance of their secret identities. While slurping away his last coke, Danny gains a very good idea (He thinks it is a good idea).

Trickster: Well, I don't think I would sell the pictures just yet since the card is still useful and I don't need money. However, I have a very interesting topic you can investigate.

Clark: Oh? What is it?

Trickster: Try searching for something called GIW. It is a government branch and I'm sure it will be a hit piece.

Clark: GIW? What is that?

Trickster: Well that's for you to figure out. Oh well. I'm pretty full now. Gotta go now. See you never.

Danny then disappears right in front of Clark before he can do anything. Clark can't even hear or see the kid anymore with his enhanced sense and x-ray vision further cementing that the kid probably has teleportation power.

Danny meanwhile is laying on his makeshift bed while watching the stars after he uses his power to clear the sky thinking what he just did is very smart. Unfortunately, he doesn't know this decision is as good as the previous time he thinks his idea is good.

-1 month later-

Danny is picking up scraps from the junkyard for his next prank. Collecting some toasters, some blenders and even some radios. Danny has spent a lot of time these past few months, tinkering with machines that he practically knows what component is in which appliances.

Suddenly, he sees a very familiar device among the junk. A sleek silver gun with a few green buttons on it. It doesn't have the usual designs that Danny used to see but Danny knows without a doubt in his mind that it is an ecto gun.

The problem is that, the gun is new. Very new. Like it is just created. And that means one thing. A GIW agent is here. Shit! Danny needs to run. But where? He has checked before this but the only place with enough ectoplasm to hide him is either Gotham or Amity Park. No where else in the world has as much ambience ectoplasm to hide him from the ecto detector.

But now that they are in Gotham, he might as well not hide since at such close proximity, the ambient ectoplasm can only hide him if they are not close. Danny is thinking very hard when his ears pick up something. A group of people is coming his way, and from the way they are all carrying heavy devices, they are probably GIW agents.

Danny against his better judgement turns invisible and flies high enough so that if the agents decide to shoot him, he will have time to dodge them. Danny watches quietly as the ecto detector bips faster and faster the more they go to where he is previously.

???: Damn it. I thought this is where Trickster is. But it's just the gun that you lost.

???: Hey, at least we don't need to file reports of missing weapons right? Also, didn't that thing already get set up by the Fentons to find Trickster?

???: It's probably them messing it up. It's not like them messing shit up is something new anyway.

???: Yeah. Let's just say it is a false alarm. I hear the higher ups are thinking of lowering our budgets next year if we don't produce any results soon.

???: Ugghh, don't remind me of that. Not only do they pressure us like that. I even heard that there is some guy that has been snooping around our base, taking pictures and stuff.

???: I hate those reporters. We are trying to do our job and save them from those savages, and yet here they are messing with us. Calling us genocidal maniacs and the second coming of Nazis.

???: If that is not bad enough, they even say that they feel like we should treat the ghost as if they are people. Ghosts are not people! They are merely beast pretending to be someone we used to know and love.

???: I would love to just punch those reporters to the face if not for the fact that Boss ordered us to stay put.

Suddenly their walky talky start to beep.

Walkie-talkie: Agent P, Agent Q. Return to the base of operation immediately. We are receiving visits from the higher ups.

Both of the agents reply with Roger and hurriedly run towards their van and drive off somewhere. Danny looks at them and decides, he has found what his next prank is going to be.

[reidology13]

we don't talk about it

Spencer Reid x fem victim!reader

cw: fluff, angst, attempted murder, drug use, drug addiction, hospitals, badly written withdrawal, bad parenting mention, gambling mention, set around season 4, that's it I think wc: 2.6k a/n: this is the first part of a fairly short series I have planned for the next while, hope you enjoy!

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

You registered the blood before you felt the pain. The beat of the music pumped the blood through your veins, sweat hanging in the air alongside the cloying scent of perfume.

You popped a pill into your mouth, unsure what it was or where it had come from, stumbling over to the bar for a shot of vodka to wash it down. You’d just made it to the bar when a man shoved past you, hitting you roughly in the torso. You could tell something was off by the way that the pressure lingered after he had walked away. Your hand reached for the feeling, trying to figure out what was causing it, and found an odd, slightly sticky liquid soaking your dress.

You cringed, pulling your hand back to look at it, expecting to see nothing, the clear remnants of a sugary cocktail spilt on your dress. Instead, you were faced with a darkness painting your palms, and even then it took you a moment to realise what it was, the coloured lights altering its appearance. When you did recognise it, the pain still lagged, and you wondered if the plethora of drugs in your system were acting as an anaesthetic. 

You stumbled outside, growing lightheaded from the blood loss, holding your hand over the wound to stifle the seemingly endless stream of blood that flowed between your fingers. You flipped open your phone, about to call 911, when, finally, the pain hit. Something between the blood loss, the drugs, and the excruciating pain you were in sent your head spinning towards the ground, and the last thing you remembered before you passed out was the thought that you were never going to wake up.

.*☆¸•

You did, however, and when you regained consciousness, you were lying down in a hospital bed, the sharp, sanitised smell instantly recognisable. You had spent enough early mornings recovering from exceptionally dangerous highs to know your way around most of the hospitals in the Upper East Side with your eyes closed. Which, at the time, they were. When you did open them, you regretted it immediately, squinting against the blinding whiteness of the room in an attempt to see your surroundings. There was someone sitting next to your bed, a blurry figure that you were sure you had never seen before. You blinked repeatedly until your vision cleared slightly, and you were faced with a greasy mop of hair, underneath which might have been a man.

“You’re awake.” He sounded too relieved to be a stranger, and you momentarily questioned if you were suffering from amnesia. Then you saw the badge attached to his belt, which made a lot more sense as a reason to be invested in your wellbeing.

“What happened?” You rubbed at your eyes with a shaking hand, trying to ward off the headache that was already forming in the harsh light. You were surprised by how fine you felt, given the fact that your most recent memory was of being covered in blood. 

“Well, you were stabbed two days ago by a serial killer. You’re lucky, he’d been shooting his victims until now. He needed to be closer to his victims, and he made a mistake.” The man leaned towards you, his features growing clearer with proximity.

“Oh. Who are you?” You weren't quite prepared to process just how close to death you had really been just yet. Changing the topic seemed to be the only way to postpone the impending interview that would force you to face it.

“Doctor Spencer Reid, I’m with the FBI.” The way his voice went up as he spoke was a little bit annoying, and wasn’t doing anything to help the steady throbbing in your skull. Scratch your original plan of postponing the serious talk, you wanted to get everything over and done with as fast as possible so that you could get some rest.

“Well, I didn’t really notice at first, he knocked into me. I didn’t feel any pain ‘cause, fuck-” You groaned, a painful shiver running down your spine.

“Yes, they found GHB, cocaine, methamphetamines, and alcohol in your system. That pain you're feeling right now is withdrawal, something I’m guessing you haven’t felt before.” Despite his words, his voice carried none of the sympathy or disgust you would have suspected from someone like him. It didn’t feel like a judgement, but an acknowledgement of how hard it was: it was understanding.

“That… that makes sense.” Your thoughts were foggy, stopping just before they were fully formed, leaving incomplete puzzles with a single piece missing, words without any vowels. Enough that everything you said or felt was left wanting.

“Since you’re the only person so far to survive him, you’re the best witness we have. You’re also the most at risk.” He paused, and you took the chance to butt in, asking the question that seemed the most pertinent before you could forget it.

“What do you mean, ‘at risk’?” You grumbled, the roughness of your voice doing its best to cover up the genuine curiosity in your tone. This was a negotiation, no matter what he said, and you knew negotiations. If your father had taught you one good thing, it was that you never showed anyone your hand. Technically, at the time that hadn’t been metaphorical, he had been teaching you how to play poker at the ripe age of six.

“There’s a fairly significant chance that he’ll come back, try and finish the job. If he finds out you’re still alive, that is.” He said it like it wasn’t anything at all, like it wasn’t the most terrifying thing you had ever been told, just common sense. To him, you supposed it was.

“He’s going to try and kill me again?” There went keeping your cards to your chest. Whose voice was going up now, huh? To be fair, he hadn’t just been told that he was the target of a serial killer who had just landed him in the hospital by stabbing him.

“If you’re willing to do exactly what I say, then no.” His tone had gained a seriousness that it had been lacking before, and maybe that was what had been annoying you, because it was suddenly mostly bearable.

“And so, your plan is for us to…” You trailed off, painfully aware of your loss of footing in the conversation. Again, only one of you was coming down from a high while also healing from a stab wound, and you felt that it was deeply unfair of him to use your circumstances to his advantage.

“You and I would stay in an FBI safe house, working on the case and reporting any breakthroughs back to my team until they find and arrest him.”

“Safe house?” You baulked, “Like, stuck inside with you all of the time, no going out, no fun? That kind of safe house?” The thought of it sent a shiver of anxiety and apprehension through you. For one, you didn’t know this man, and you would be locked in a small space with him for who knew how long, you could only imagine all of the gross habits he had. He probably didn’t wash his hands after going to the toilet.

To be completely fair, you had snorted coke off of a public toilet roll holder before, so you couldn’t really judge him when it came to hygiene. That brought you to your second problem with the propositioned arrangement: any time spent in the safe house was time where you would be fully, stone-cold, sober. It wasn’t a feeling you were particularly accustomed with, nor was it one you wanted to be.

“If by ‘fun,’ you mean what I think you mean, then yes. Personally, I’m sure that we, if you agree to help, will have plenty of fun while we’re there. More importantly, I’m sure we will solve the case.” He spoke like he was trying to sell you something, like you really had a choice at all in the matter. Death or time in a house with some guy. The answer was pretty straight forward.

“Okay, fine, I’ll be your witness.” You conceded, hoping that your agreement would be enough to make him go away for a while. If you were going to spend the next however long with him, you would like to take the short span of time you had as a free woman and keep it to yourself.

He did, standing up and silently leaving the room, as well as you to your own thoughts. You hoped that they would report you as dead on the news, that they wouldn’t tell your parents what was going on. A little bit because you wanted to scare them, make them care about you for a moment. Mostly because it sounded fucking hilarious.

.*☆¸•

You didn’t have to wait long for your answer, depending on what we’re going to consider a long period of time. It was only a few days that you spent in the hospital, but they were painful, and to be completely honest, fucking terrifying. It was like a four day fever, but with added muscle spasms, constant paranoia, and anxiety unlike anything you’d ever felt before. No matter how stretched out those days felt, the moment the time came to leave, it felt as though you’d only been given a few minutes to prepare yourself mentally. Spencer walked into your room on the third day, bringing with him two other people, one was a man you had never seen before, while the other was a woman you’d seen outside your room on your first day at the hospital. Well, technically, your third. Spencer introduced you, although you were sure they both already knew your name, and probably all of your darkest secrets. Then he turned back to you, gesturing to the duo as he introduced them.

“This is Aaron Hotchner and Jennifer Jareau. They’ll be our point of contact while we work on your case.” Aaron nodded simply, and Jennifer offered a wave alongside a short greeting.

“Hi.” You waved back weakly, your arm aching with the movement. Jennifer gave you a kind, if not slightly pitying, smile as you dropped your arm with a wince. She seemed nice, but you were glad that it wasn’t her you were sharing the safe house with.

“Call me JJ, I’m the media liaison with the BAU, so I’ll be in charge of keeping the media from endangering you by reporting your survival.” She took a few steps forward, standing directly in front of you, and you could tell she was expecting you to ask questions. Luckily for her, you actually had one.

“What will my parents get told?” You tried not to sound too anxious for an answer, knowing that she would assume you wanted them told the truth of your circumstances.

“Due to the fact that you're not a minor, we have no legal reason to tell them. So unless there are any extenuating circumstances we’re unaware of, they will be told that you are dead. I know that might be hard for-” You cut her off before she could continue to believe that either party cared about the situation.

“Good, I don’t want them to know.” You spoke bluntly, a clear statement, leaving no room for questions or misunderstandings. JJ stepped back, taking your words as her sign to leave.

The man didn’t speak, simply standing beside Spencer as the number of people in the room dropped from four to three. There was silence for a while, none of you willing to speak and break it. Eventually, Spencer must have decided it had been long enough, clearing his throat in that pointed way people think is subtle, and glanced over at the man – Agent Hotchner, you reminded yourself. 

“We’ll check in on you via phone calls regularly, so that you can update us on the case and tell us what you need delivered to the safe house.” Spencer had already told you that, but you didn’t say anything, just nodding and thanking him, “Please write down a list of things you want to be moved to the safe house from your apartment.” He handed you a notepad, along with a pencil, and you wrote down all of the basics you could think of, as well as a few less necessary items—well, that depends on the definition of ‘necessary’ we’re using, you value your sanity—including makeup, your violin, books, and a few other hobbies. You gave him the notepad back, before grabbing it again, scribbling down to include your iPod and your headphones. He looked over it, nodded, and walked out of the room without another word. You liked him.

When it was just Spencer and you left in the room, he came and sat on the edge of the bed, smiling at you softly.

“How are you? You look a bit better than you have for the past few days.” He was being ridiculously nice and understanding, just like he had been since you’d woken up in the hospital. It made you feel even more guilty for yelling at him the day before when he had come into your room and asked how you were doing. You’d thought it was pretty obvious that the answer was ‘not good’ and made sure to tell him just that, in probably the meanest way possible.

“Yeah, I feel better.” You gave him your weak attempt at a grin, accompanied by a small wince because your whole body ached, that muscle deep ache that sinks its claws into your soul just to ruin your day.

“Good.” He smiled, tight-lipped and stilted, the kind that never appeared on a red carpet or magazine cover, but now that you’d seen it, you decided it definitely needed to.

“When are we going to the safe house?” You kept your eyes on him, waiting for an answer as you pushed yourself up in the bed, sitting with a soft grunt. 

“It should be fully set up by now.” He tapped his fingers against the paper thin sheets as he spoke, the constant movement slightly distracting. “Hopefully we’ll be able to go tomorrow after your personal items are moved in.”

“Perfect, this hospital is so not hot.”

“They do have a very good air conditioning system.” You tried—and miserably failed—to hold back a very ungraceful laugh at his words, deciding quite quickly that this was going to be an entertaining few weeks, if nothing else.

“That’s not what I meant.” You winced at the soft pain that reverberated through you alongside your laughter.

“Oh, um, what did you mean?” He was completely oblivious, and seemed rather embarrassed about the fact, you couldn’t help but attempt to comfort him.

“It means, like, something is bad. ‘Hot’ means it’s cool.” You figured any mentions of Paris Hilton would only further confuse him, given how pop culture blind he clearly was.

“Um, okay.” He gave you that awkward smile, waving as he stumbled towards the exit of the room. He looked like he was fairly used to not being in the know, and like that was something he was judged for fairly frequently. You felt a little bad, but more than anything you wanted to be alone, the headache from the previous days creeping back in. So you settled for just being as nice to him as you could, and letting him leave.

“See you tomorrow?” You smiled softly at the sweet face he made, halting on his way out the door to speak again, tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear.

“See you.”

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

tysm for reading!!

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