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[lvrclerc]

✶ THE EX EFFECT

summary: being oscar piastri's pr manager is... uneventful, to say the least. that is, until your most recent ex winds up the mclaren garage. in an attempt to prove him something, the arm you end up grabbing is oscar's. now the word is spreading around the paddock that you're his (fake) girlfriend and it turns into a beneficial pr opportunity for him and a perfect cover up for you. except oscar gets a little too good at it, and all the reminders in the world are not enough for you to keep in mind that this is fake.

F1 MASTERLIST | OP81 MASTERLIST

pairing: oscar piastri x pr manager!fake gf!reader

wc: 19.2k

cw: not proofread, past toxic relationship, annoyances/colleagues to lovers, fake dating, he falls first, sort of third act breakup, oscar is slightly ooc, very light angst, season timeline is fucked but who cares! romance! clichés! drama!

note: requested here, i know nothing about pr, this was supposed to be short but i couldn't stop myself so you have this monster of a fic! i kinda hate this. anyways, enjoy!

WHEN YOU FOUND out you’d aced your interview, you thought to yourself, the sleepless nights carrying group projects every other member had procrastinated were worth it. The number of social events you passed on to finish top of your class─valedictorian, Communications major with a Journalism minor─had paid off because you had just landed a job as PR manager in Formula One. Not just in any team, either: McLaren. You were ready to dive into the glamour, the glitz, and the hardships of the sport. To thrive in the pressure, the politics, the media storms. You were ready to shine.

Except you were managing Oscar ‘No Emotions’ Piastri, and nobody thought about telling you that.

Oscar Piastri, a quiet semi-rookie when you first crossed the headquarters’ threshold, who gave you five words max per interview, had a sarcastic comment to every command the team social media manager threw his way, and disappeared at every media opportunity like a ghost, deadpanning instead of showing enthusiasm. Needless to say, there wasn’t much for you to manage.

It’s not like you didn’t try. You nudged him gently at first: helpful suggestions, friendly reminders to loosen up a little. Be more engaging. Play the game. But every time you did, he looked at you as if you'd sprouted a second head and proceeded to swiftly ignore you. The first time it happened, you were offended, and maybe a little concerned. You complained to Charlotte, Lando’s PR manager at the time, and she gave you the wisdom of a woman who had seen some things: “Assert yourself,” she’d said.

It was your first month on the job. You were fresh out of university. You didn’t even know where the best coffee machine was. How were you even supposed to do that?

Still, you decided to try again.

During a long and taxing car drive to the McLarens’ HQ, one you were sharing with Oscar after a last-minute driver swap and a logistical disaster, you figured it was now or never. Assert yourself, Charlotte had said. Be firm. Be confident.

You went for humor instead. A joke. 

Terrible idea, in hindsight.

“You know,” you said lightly, breaking the silence that had stretched across three roundabouts, “you’re kind of boring.”

Oscar simply glanced at you, expressionless, so you clarified. “I mean, you’re not even letting me do my job. Throw me a bone here.”

And it was supposed to be playful. Oscar was supposed to quietly snort, asking how he could finally help you, and boom, you’d finally get to apply all that polished knowledge you’d studied for years.

Instead, he tilted his head slightly, puzzled, as if you’d just spoken in Morse code aloud, and said, “Imagine being boring and still more interesting than your ex.”

“What?” You blinked. Saying you’d been taken aback would have been a euphemism.

He didn’t even look away from the road.

“You talk in your sleep. Don’t nap in the common room again.”

Silence fell again, but this time it wasn’t peaceful. It was personal.

That was the moment you decided, with startling clarity, that you very much disliked Oscar Piastri.

You didn’t know you talked in your sleep. You didn’t even know he’d stumbled upon you squeezing a thirty-minute nap in the common room of McLaren’s headquarters. And you certainly didn’t remember the dream you’d had─ or why exactly it had featured your ex out of all people. All you knew was that, no matter what he heard, it was a low blow.

Especially when it came to the one man who somehow slithered his way into your heart just to shatter it from the inside out.

Disliking the person you were assigned to manage wasn’t unheard of in the world of public relations. It was practically a rite of passage. Most of the time, it came with celebrities who were a walking headline: strippers, drugs, arrests, rumors of twins with three different people. That, you could’ve handled.

Oscar wasn’t like that at all. Oscar was just… rude.

Not loud rude, or messy rude. Just… quietly, unbotheredly rude. He was unreadable, dry, and too clever. Not a PR nightmare, just a PR black hole. Just to you.

And if there was one thing you happened to be very good at─besides the job you weren’t even getting the chance to do─it was holding a grudge.

After that episode, you kept your interactions with Oscar to the bare minimum, or as much as you could without being fired. The paycheck was just too good, especially as a fresh grad still recovering from student debt.

Any advice or directions you had for him came during team meetings, always surrounded by enough people that he couldn’t hit you with his usual blank stare. When he messed up during interviews, which was sometimes inevitable, and you followed up with a politely scathing email, bullet points and all. Face-to-face convos were reserved strictly for emergencies… or if you happened to be seated beside him, in which case you communicated via foot. Strategic, silent, and sharp. You’d step on his sneaker under the eyes of all, and he’d keep smiling at the camera like nothing happened. Except for the tiny, throbbing vein on his temple─ oh, you lived for it. 

It was a perfect arrangement. Passive-aggressive peace, mutually tolerated detachment. It worked for both of you.

Sometimes, you caught him glancing your way, wondering why you were still here. But you didn’t care. You had a system, and it was stable. It would’ve stayed that way for a long time, until your or his contract expired, whichever came first.

But then your ex decided to show up, and that messed everything up.

It was a very nice Thursday, dare you say. The kind of morning that made you think the season wouldn't be so bad.

You’d expected Bahrain to be hotter, considering the furnace it had been last year during the start of your first season with McLaren. But today, the air was warm without being unbearable, a soft breeze threading through the paddock and playing with the loose strands of your hair. Your cardigan slipped off one shoulder, but it didn’t cling or suffocate─ just draped like it was meant to be styled that way.

Oscar had just rolled out of the garage, off to log laps and data and whatever mysterious things drivers did during testing, which meant you were officially off-duty for the next three hours. You had time for yourself, maybe for a proper coffee and a chocolate croissant. Eventually, a little conversation with Lando, if you ran into him.

Yeah. This was a good morning.

You should have known it wouldn’t last.

It should have hit you when the coffee machine didn’t work, so you had to walk all the way to Lando’s side of the garage to fetch yourself a cup. It should have hit you when you didn’t even see Lando, and they were out of your favorite chocolate croissant. It should have hit you when you passed by grown men in their forties gossiping like schoolgirls about the new additions to Oscar’s car engineering team, you never heard anything about. It should have hit you when the feelings in your gut made you hesitate near the orange-colored walls.

But it really, really hit you when he grabbed your elbow.

“Y/N?”

Your body locked up like someone had flipped your off switch. The voice was familiar in the worst way─ like a nightmare you thought you’d finally grown out of. You didn’t even need to turn around. Your body already knew. Still, you did, as if asking the universe for confirmation.

And there he was. Theodore Silva, in full McLaren uniform, lanyard slung around his neck. Dark brown hair, messy, tied up in a bun, with his characteristic three o’clock shadow. Your ex-boyfriend. Your heartbreak origin story that, somehow, had the nerve to smile.

You would have backhanded him if the shock didn’t make your mind go blank.

“Wow,” he said, and you felt like a funny coincidence. “Didn’t expect to see you there. Always knew you were the ambitious one.”

Oh, you knew that tone. That patronizing little tone he used when he wanted to seem impressed while reminding you he could always do better. As if you hadn’t told him a million times about your fascination with motorsports and all of its scandals. You weren’t 19 and easily diminished anymore.

You slapped on a polite, seething smile. “I could say the same. I wouldn’t have guessed they hired people with so little… experience. Or the grades to back it up.”

Theodore Silva wasn’t the richest man alive. No, that title was reserved for his father, who owned a few businesses that took off in the early 2010s and left him with an outrageous amount of money and too much to do with it─ including sending his incompetent son to a prestigious business school even though he could barely manage to keep up half of the average required. Even his father’s money couldn’t get him to graduate the same year as you.

But after another year, it could apparently get him a job at McLaren.

Yet, Theodore still chuckled, brushing off your remark as if it were just another inside joke you two shared. “They just brought me on- engineering for Piastri’s car. Funny how life works out, huh?”

He was on Oscar’s team. You’d be obligated to see him, be near him, every day. You didn’t answer, just stared at him blankly, too busy cataloguing every sharp object in the vicinity, trying to ignore the twist of your heart.

“Small world,” he added to your silence.

You tried to smile again, but you knew it came out weird when the words that came out of your mouth sounded more like a screech than anything else. “Smaller than I’d like.”

Theodore tilted his head, studying you with calm eyes, as if he hadn’t watched you, arms dangling near his side, as you broke down in his apartment’s parking lot. “You look good,” he said softly. “I’m glad you’re doing well.”

You stared at him.

Hell no. He had that voice, wearing guilt like an optional accessory, looking at you like he was the one that got away. The nerves. You hated how your chest tightened, the smell of his cologne, and how he thought he could just waltz in, throw some compliments around, hoping to win you back.

Fuck him. “I’m doing very well, Theodore. Loving my job. How’s Anna?”

That landed. He physically winced, scratching his neck. “We, uh─ We broke up, actually.”

How surprising.

“So─”

You weren’t about to let him finish. You weren’t about to let him think he even had the sliver of a chance. He wasn’t about to wreck the life you built for yourself by simply being here, no. Instead, you did the sanest thing anyone would have done in your place.

You lied.

“I have a boyfriend, actually.” The words came out so fast you almost flinched, not registering them yourself.

Theodore paused, eyebrows lifting. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” you smiled, wildly too sharp for the context. “He’s great. Amazing, supportive. Emotionally available. You know─ faithful.”

He blinked, and his fake-casual mask slipped for a second. “What’s his name?” He asked, all lightness gone from his expression. 

That’s when it hit you. Unspoken panic rose in your throat because, believe it or not, you didn’t have a boyfriend. You barely even had a social life─ you spent most nights in bed with a sheet mask and Youtube videos. If you hesitated now, even for a second, Theodore would know. And he’d never let go, flashing you his smug little grin of his, strutting around the garage for a season, thinking he had a chance.

Not today, Satan.

The garage door behind you creaked open and footsteps echoed in your direction.

You didn’t look, didn’t think. You just grabbed the first arm that brushed against yours.

“This is him!” You said, an octave too high. “My boyfriend.”

And Oscar Piastri, your emotionally repressed, sarcasm-saturated PR headache of a driver, froze mid-step. As much as you wanted it, there wasn’t any way to back out now. His eyes dropped to your grip, white-knuckled, around his bicep. Then to you. Then to Theodore.

“... Sorry, what?” He said under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear.

“Babe,” you hissed between your teeth, eyes still set on Theodore and smiling like your life depended on it. “Go with it.”

Finally, your ex managed to speak up. He was frozen, mouth half-opened in shock. “This is your─ You’re dating─ Oscar Piastri is your boyfriend?”

Oscar opened his mouth, definitely to ask what was going on, but you beat him to it. “Yes! Yep. It’s, um─ it’s very new. A few months.”

You finally turned to face him fully.

His brown eyes, sharp and unreadable as ever, flicked across your face─ first your eyes, then your mouth, then down to where your fingers were still digging into his arm. There was confusion there, definitely, but also a kind of calculation unique to him.

“This is Theodore,” you added, swallowing thickly. “He’s one of your new engineers.” You hesitated. “... and my ex.”

That’s when something clicked.

You felt it. The subtle shift in Oscar’s expression─ the way his shoulders straightened or the brief flicker of understanding behind his eyes. He glanced at Theodore just once before looking back at you. You pleaded silently. With your eyes, with your fingers brushing lightly over the sleeve of his fireproof top, even with the part of your lips that whispered please without making a sound.

But the longer you stood there, the more the panic crept up your spine. Oscar didn’t owe you anything. The man barely liked you. He could’ve thrown you under the bus without blinking, called you out right there and made your life ten times harder.

Which is why you almost jumped when his hand, much larger, reached up and gently settled above yours.

“Ah, Theodore,” Oscar said, like the name physically bored him. “Nice to meet you. Sorry about my reaction,” he added, fingers tightening just slightly over yours. “I just didn’t expect… this.”

He turned to glance at you. An innocent smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth.

“Y/N’s told me a lot about you.”

Theodore snapped out of the shock that froze him into place, and his smile flickered. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Oscar said casually. “All the highlights.”

You blinked up at him, heart in your throat, unsure whether to laugh or sob. Was Oscar Piastri helping you?

“The highlights?” Theodore asked, dumbfounded.

Oscar hummed, thumb absentmindedly brushing over your hand─ just once, like punctuation. You weren’t dreaming, he was playing along. And the look on Theodore’s face was worth every single of it.

“Funny, she never mentioned you, or the fact she was dating an… F1 driver, as a whole.” As if you even talked to him anymore!

Oscar shrugged, way too relaxed. “That’s all right. We’re keeping it on the down low for now, I’m sure you understand. And we don’t do much… talking, anyways.”

Your jaw nearly hit the tarmac. You stepped on Oscar’s foot, a habit by now, and he barely flinched. Apparently, that was enough for Theodore. “Well,” he said slowly, eyes narrowing. “Guess I’ll see you two around the garage.”

“Guess I’ll see you around my car,” Oscar answered, a little too quickly.

Theodore just glanced at him before muttering, “Small world.”

“So small,” you nodded stiffly.

The second he was out of sight, you yanked Oscar by the wrist like a woman possessed, dragging him to the nearest utility alleyway─ dim, slightly greasy smelling, and blessedly empty. For how long, though? You didn’t know. “Okay,” you hissed. “Wow, what the hell was that line?! We don’t do much talking?!”

Oscar raised a condescendent eyebrow, arms crossed on his chest. “I don’t know, you tell me, Mrs. This Is My Boyfriend. I just followed along. You’re welcome, by the way.”

You groaned so loud it echoed, looking up to the ceiling, hoping answers will fall off it and solve your life, simultaneously pacing a short line across the floor. “I know what I did, alright? I just─ I panicked! That guy─ he… he cheated on me. With my best friend. In my own bed. And I just─ he looked so smug and self-satisfied standing here like I’d run back to him. I needed to shove something in his face, show him I’m fine. Better. And I didn’t look and you were there and your arm was right there and now I’m going to have an aneurysm─”

Oscar blinked. “Wow. Okay. That’s… a lot of information, considering we barely know each other.”

“Thank you so much for the support, Oscar. I wonder whose fault that is, exactly!”

“I’m just saying. That was a whole soap opera act in thirty seconds,” he snapped back, rolling his eyes.

You exhaled harshly. “Whatever. I didn’t actually mean to drag you into this, okay? I’ll fix it. I’ll… tell him it was a misunderstanding or… I’ll figure it out. I’ll PR my way out of this, because whether you like it or not, it’s actually my job─”

“It’s fine,” he said, cutting you off, eyes closing briefly like he needed to reboot.

You paused. “Huh?”

“I said it’s fine.” His eyes opened again, locking onto yours. “Now that he thinks you’re dating someone, his delusional ego’s going to spiral and he’ll leave you alone. Especially if it’s someone… above in station, let’s say. Not to stroke my own ego.” He tilted his head, tone flat. “He looks like the insecure type.”

“He is,” you aggressively agreed, pointing at him like he’d just cracked the Da Vinci code, and you swore you saw his lips pull up. “So we just… leave it alone?”

“Let it die down,” Oscar continued with a casualness you could only hope to replicate. “Maybe have a conversation here and there for consistency, but that's about it. It’s not like he’s going to go around bragging that his ex-girlfriend is dating the guy he’s working for.”

You snorted. “I think he’d rather die.”

Oscar’s mouth twitched, trying not to smile. “Exactly.”

You sighed, finally letting your shoulders drop as the tension bled out of you. The adrenaline was still rushing through your veins, waterfall-like, but slowly softening, giving way to a quiet panic that you could make do with until the end of the day. It’s fine, you told yourself, it’ll be fine. “Okay,” you murmured, giving him a small nod. “Thank you. Seriously.”

“Don’t mention it,” Oscar replied, already turning away. “Literally.”

“Deal,” you said. “Never again.”

The plan was to return to your regularly scheduled programming─ distant and professional. With the way Theodore worked (or more accurately, didn’t), you were pretty sure he wouldn’t last long in the McLaren garage anyway. Life would go back to normal soon enough. You were sure of it.

Rule number one of PR management: never assume anything. Certainty was a myth. Because as long as there was even a sliver of doubt, it could all go wrong. Maybe you’d gotten complacent in your ways, Oscar never gave you anything to work with after all, but you really thought that this time, it would be fine. You slept like a rock that night, the kind of sleep where your mind recharged so hard it forgot you had responsibilities in the morning.

That’s probably the reason it took you so long to notice. First, it was the way people lingered as you passed. How engineers muttered behind their coffee cups and went dead silent when you got too close. You weren’t used to this level of attention─ as a whole, you were a pretty discreet presence in the paddock, so when the smiles came and the knowing smirks got thrown your way, you started becoming suspicious.

“Morningggg,” Lando sing-songed as you entered the McLaren hospitality tent.

“Good… morning?” You muttered, narrowing your eyes as you plopped down next to him. “What’s got you in such a good mood today?” You asked as you bite into the chocolate croissant you’d been craving since yesterday.

Lando studied you. Waiting.

“Do I have to guess, or…?”

The curly-haired man sighed dramatically, as if your question alone had aged him. “No, but I thought we were friends. Guess I was wrong, since I had to hear it from my race engineer. During briefing.”

You blinked. “Okay, what the hell are you on?” you admitted. “Have you been doing crack? Is that it?”

“Whatever, keep your secrets, Y/N,” Lando conceded, a smug little grin on his lips. “You’ll talk to me when you’re ready. Or I’ll just get the truth from Osc’. He seems… chatty, lately.” 

You couldn’t imagine Oscar Piastri being chatty to save your life. “What? What does Oscar have to do with anything?” But Lando was already up and walking off.

Alone with your chocolate croissant and your detonated sense of peace, you scanned the room, eyes darting in panic.

Across the tent, Oscar stood by the coffee station, talking to a staff member with his hands-in-pockets casual disinterest. His eyes met yours, and he paused mid-sentence, one eyebrow raised in that really? kind of way that made you want to slap him. There was a silent question in it. 

One you didn’t have an answer to.

The answer actually came knocking that night─ quite literally. Loud, incessant, unforgiving knocks at your hotel room door.

You were in the middle of taking off your makeup, cotton pad in one hand and dabbing at your under-eye concealer like it personally offended you. “Seriously?” You audibly commented, exhausted. It was nearly 10 PM. You’d done your job, answered more emails than anyone should in one day. The very least the universe could offer was twenty-four uninterrupted minutes of peace.

But the knocking didn’t stop, so you opened the door with a groan and a complaint on your tongue, only for the sound to die the moment you registered who was standing on the other side.

Oscar Piastri. In a hoodie, track pants, socks that did not match, and looking far too calm for someone who’d just banged on your door as if the apocalypse was tracking him down. You stared in confusion, words refusing to come out of your mouth no matter how hard you tried.

“Sooo… we might have a problem,” Oscar finally spoke in the silence stretching between you.

He walked in your room with no hesitation, without you even inviting him in─ the audacity! Sure, yeah, come on in, ruin my night, you thought. He glanced around, sizing your room and seemingly expecting paparazzis behind the mini-bar, before turning to face you with a flat look.

“What’s this problem that has you acting so dramatic for─”

“You’re trending on F1 Twitter. Well, we are,” he said simply, tone measured. “Someone took a photo. You holding my arm next to your ex. In the garage. And the caption is─”

He pulled out his phone. A screencap of big, red, capital letters: IS OSCAR PIASTRI SOFT-LAUNCHING HIS PR MANAGER?

It took a while for reality to set in. 

You stared at the screen blankly, eyes flicking from Oscar to the headline, erratic. Soft-launching. Soft-launching. You tasted blood in your mouth. Oh, no─ it was actually just your soul leaving your body. “This is not happening,” you mumbled, blinking rapidly. “It’s fake. This is fake. I’m hallucinating.”

Oscar hummed. “Want me to read you the quote tweets?”

You pointed a finger at him. “Don’t you dare.”

He shrugged and put his phone down. You sat down on your bed, hands flying to your temple. “Okay, okay. No big deal. I’ll just tell the team we were talking about… a car issue. A steering problem. Brake pedal feedback. That sounds fake, right? Like, real-enough fake.”

Oscar gave you a look. “You could try that,” he said slowly, “but your ex has apparently been sniffing around the garage asking people if we’re actually dating.”

“No way.”

“I overheard Lando’s race engineer telling him. He asked five different people.” A beat. “He’s not subtle.”

You could feel your eyes twitch. “Jesus Christ.”

Oscar crossed his arms, leaning back against the mini-bar, staring at you. “So I don’t think your little oh it was just a brake issue! excuse is going to cut it.”

“I’m going to end it all,” you said, dropping your face in your hands. “I’m going to crawl into my media kit and live there forever.”

He raised an eyebrow at you. “I’ll bring you snacks.”

“How are you not freaking out? Like, at all? It’s your face on every headline, and my job on the line!” You didn’t want to think about the repercussions this would have on any future jobs you might want, or your actual one. Future employers were going to Google you and find dating rumors about a fake relationship with a driver you were managing.

“Oh, I freaked out,” Oscar cut in smoothly, walking toward you. “Trust me, I had a whole mini-existential crisis in the elevator.”

“That’s good for you, Oscar. Why aren’t you still freaking out?”

“Because I figured this might be a job for my PR manager,” he said, toned laced with sarcasm. “Who also happens to be the cause of the PR disaster in the first place.”

You opened your mouth just to close it, and to open it again. “That’s fair.”

“And you said I was too boring.” Oscar gave you a dry smile, and weirdly, that was the moment it clicked.

You were his PR manager. This─whatever mess the universe had decided to dump in your lap─wasn’t just a disaster. It was an opportunity. A viral, narrative-controlling opportunity. The kind of chaos you could work with. You’d complained that Oscar gave you nothing: too quiet and acidic. Well, he certainly wasn’t that anymore, or almost.

You straightened up, the panic slowly morphing into focus. Your heart was still pounding, but now to the rhythm of the plan puzzling itself in your head. No one had trained you for what to do when you were the story but if anyone could improvise, it was. Your idea was wild, unhinged, even. But you knew better than anyone that the line between unhinged and brilliant was just the execution. And if you played this right, it could be exactly what the both of you needed.

You turned to Oscar slowly, the corner of your lips twitching into something almost insane. “Oscar,” you said carefully. “What if we didn’t let this go to waste?”

“Come again?”

“I mean, this,” you gestured vaguely toward his phone, screen down on the counter. “Oscar Piastri’s mystery romance unveiled, blah blah blah. It’s a mess, but it doesn’t have to be.”

Oscar’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “... You’re about to say something crazy.”

You got up from your spot on the bed to face him fully. “Fake dating.”

“There it is.”

“No, seriously, hear me out,” When he started taking a few steps back, you rushed toward him, hands animated. “People are already talking. We can’t undo the articles or stop the whispers, but we can own the story. It’s simple PR strategy: if the narrative’s out of our hands, we grab it back, shift the focus and make it work for us.”

“And what, exactly, would we be gaining from this?” Oscar looked deeply, deeply unconvinced.

You got closer to him and his eyes widened discreetly, quickly shifting from your eyes to your lips, and to the one finger you were holding up in front of his face. “One, you get press engagement. You’ve been called the human spreadsheet by more than one person─”

“Never heard of that.”

“Okay, maybe it’s only me, but my point still stands. This? It gives you dimension. Warmth. Personality. More people of all age groups rooting for you.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “Because I’m dating you?”

“Don’t flatter yourself too much. Two,” you continued without missing a beat, “I get a break from Theodore. He’s more likely to leave me alone if he thinks you’re in the picture long-term, or as close as we can get to it.”

“Isn’t that the reason you picked me in the first place?”

“I was desperate. You were here and tall.”

Oscar shrugged at your words, quietly agreeing with you, which egged you on for the last point of your argument. “Three, if this all goes up in flames, we just say we broke up. That wouldn’t be the ideal outcome until Theodore’s out of the picture, but if push comes to shove, we do this quietly. Classic ‘we ask for privacy during this time’, then ghost the media. End of story, and we go back to our ways.”

The silence stretching between the walls of your hotel room seemed to last a lifetime too long as the Australian studied you carefully, arms crossed on his chest. “You’ve really thought about this.”

“Actually, I just did. I’m that good.”

He exhaled loudly at your comment, dragging a hand down his face in exasperation, and you tried your best not to let a little quip past your lips. “And how long would this have to last?” Oscar asked, voice muffled by his palm.

“Until Theodore goes away, which shouldn’t be more than a few weeks knowing his talents. Enough to let the story peak and settle and it would include a couple public appearances, some social media crumbs─ low effort, maximum payoff for you.”

Hope swirled in your chest with the intensity of a storm when he dropped his hands, his dark eyes locked onto yours.

“And your ex leaving you alone would be the only thing you’d gain out of all this?”

You didn’t hesitate a single second when you answered. “That, and peace. Maybe a little petty revenge over him and honestly? A challenge.” Because this is what you’ve been dying to do ever since you stepped foot in the paddock a year ago.

And maybe Oscar saw the hellfire of determination in your eyes as he scanned you, either that or you sold your reckless idea with the confidence of a politician, because after long, skeptical minutes. He held out his hand, and the overwhelming weight pressing against your shoulders seemed to evaporate in the flight of a hundred butterflies.

“Fine, count me in,” he said, voice a little hoarse, “but if it all goes to shit, you’re taking the blame.”

You hastily took his hand, his rough palm fitting into yours, and you blamed the electricity rushing in your spine and the powdery pink of his cheeks on the ridiculous situation and the relief coursing through your body. “Deal, but it won’t go to shit if you keep up with me.”

The ghost of a smirk pulled at his lips, which made you smile. Your heartbeat was thundering in your chest and the heaviness of what you’d just agreed upon settled over you like a second skin.

Fake dating Oscar Piastri. How hard could it be?

First thing you did the next morning was to warn a handful of team members: there was no world in which running a fake dating scheme in secret wouldn’t come back to bite you and frankly, your job and reputation were already hanging by a thread due to yesterday’s PR earthquake. You and Oscar pulled Lando, Zak, and a few key staff members─social media, comms, and PR support─into the smallest available hospitality room you could find, locking the door behind you.

You explained the situation as fast as you could, hands raised in surrender under their gazes. How the rumors were technically true but not real, what conclusions you came to in such little time, and the thought process behind your idea, carefully excluding Theodore’s implication.

“Wouldn’t lying to the public make it worse?” Someone from comms piped up, deadpan.

You winced. “Damage control isn’t always about truth. It’s about optics, controlling the narrative before it controls us. We’ve assessed the risk, this buys us time to refocus headlines onto the cars, not the garage drama all while boosting Oscar’s popularity.”

Zak blinked at you as if you’d grown a second head. “You assessed the risk?”

“With me,” Oscar added from his chair, facing you. “I see the strategic upside. I’ll blow over in a few weeks, it’s fine. No harm done.” You sent him a silent thank you, holding his eyes just long enough for him to notice.

“Soo, when’s the wedding?” Lando piped up, leaning forward. “Or do we just have the break-up arc planned?”

You ignored him, preferring to explain the conditions of you and Oscar’s little agreement: no posts unless you greenlit them, no press comments and if anyone asked, yes, you were together. Happy. In love, but still casual. Social media staff were already scribbling notes or rapidly typing on their keyboards, and Zak looked like he might die of a heart attack.

So were you. Still, when you glanced at Oscar during one of McLaren’s CEO's silent breakdowns, you couldn’t help but share a silent laugh.

The following days were catastrophic, to say the least. Navigating the Bahrain paddock for the last of testing and media obligations for the first Grand Prix of the season the week after had turned into a minefield of knowing looks and suspicious stares. You and Oscar were learning how to walk the tightrope of fake affection with the grace of two toddlers. A few shared smiles, a shoulder brush, but every interaction felt rehearsed, taken off a badly written script. By some given miracle, it did work on some people but not all, and especially not Theodore. You could feel his eyes on you everytime you walked through the garage, narrowed as if waiting for a slip-up, but you’d rather die than prove him right.

By the end of the first few days, Oscar’s social media manager handed you a photo of the both of you to approve for Instagram─ one where Oscar had his arm slung around your shoulder awkwardly while you stood next to the car, all too aware of the massive lens pointed right at you. It was…

“It looks like we lost a bet,” you muttered, horrified.

Oscar leaned in over your shoulder to look at the picture. “Oh. Yeah, that’s bad.”

You threw your hands in the air, movements more powerful than words to transcribe the frustration elevating your blood pressure. Before a flurry of complaints and insults could slip past your lips, Oscar spoke.

“Okay, maybe it’s not very convincing, but it’s also because we haven’t figured out how to sell it correctly.”

“What a revolutionary thought.” He shrugged your comment off. 

“Well, I figured since we skipped the whole dating part and went straight to the whole madly-in-love thing, maybe it’s time we… backtrack?”

You felt the lightbulb switch on in your mind, eyes widening in realization. “Backtrack… like a backstory?”

Oscar nodded solemnly. “A timeline, yeah. How it started, how it’s going, first dates and everything. The whole fake fairytale.”

You couldn’t argue with that. You hated to admit he was currently beating you at your job, but Oscar was right. People were already speculating about the two of you a week in your fake relationship; everyone, including you, needed some foundations to be settled and fast. “Okay, alright. We can figure this out tonight, preferably in my hotel room since it apparently became the headquarters of this,” you made circle hand gesture between the two of you, “operation. Also because nobody will bust us in there.”

Oscar showed up at an ungodly hour of the evening─ the clock showcased numbers that hurt your sleep cycle, but nothing made the press talk more than going to your girlfriend’s room in the middle of the night, right? He knocked once before letting himself in, dressed in the same sweats and hoodie as a week ago, and holding a suspiciously large energy drink. “I come bearing poison,” Oscar announced, lifting the can.

You squinted at him from your spot on the bed-your hotel room lacking a desk-surrounded by a battlefield of notebooks and your wheezing laptop that was one short breath away from the grave. “Perfect, that’ll keep us up. We have work to do. Welcome to the Ted-talk-slash-lie-building meetup.”

Oscar kicked off his shoes, walking toward you. He eyed the chaos with a low whistle. “Oh wow, you weren’t kidding.”

You handed him a purple glitter pen without even glancing in his direction. “Sit your ass down and write with honor, Piastri.”

“Glitter? Really?”

“Don’t patronize me. I love glitter gel pens. Better memorize that if you want to be a good fake boyfriend.”

Oscar snorted but didn’t protest as he took the pen, sitting down next to an open notebook on the edge of your bed. He cracked the energy drink open with a hiss, and you took it from his hands before he had the time to bring it to his lips. “Jesus, you’re bossy.” You shot him a look. “Alright, alright. Where do we begin?”

You exhaled, eyes settling on your computer screen. A bright, pink page was showcasing Date Idea: Where To Take Your Beloved For A First Date? “With the basics. When we started dating, how we met, how many fake months we’ve been in fake love, which side of the bed you sleep in for continuity purposes.”

“Right side.”

“Wrong answer. It’s mine.”

You gradually settled in a surprisingly comfortable rhythm. Between the quiet clicking of the keyboard, the buzzing of Chinese nightlife outside your window, and the rhythmic scratch of the glittery ink on paper, you and Oscar brainstormed.

Ideas came slowly at first, awkward and stilted the way two kids forced together in a group project would work─ which it was, in a way. It didn’t take you long to realize you didn’t know Oscar at all, and he didn’t know you either, and the recognition of that fact put a certain strain on your interactions, as much as there already was. Yet, the tension softened as the minutes from midnight trickled away. You found yourself building a history out of thin air, questions after questions and jokes after jokes─ inside jokes that didn’t exist and justified why you laughed so hard at ‘soft tyres’, a first date that involved a tragically undercooked lasagna which Oscar and you had to fight over because neither of you wanted to look like a bad cook. You chose May 21st as the anniversary date because it sounded cute. Oscar protested, “How can a date even be cute? It doesn’t make sense.” He still settled on it.

Snorts, teasing looks as you drew a clumsy timeline in the middle of your designated ‘Relationship Basics’ notebook. “What about our first kiss?”

“Mmh, that’s a good one. People are going to ask.”

“Duh,” you fought the smile on your lips with little effort. “C’mon. You were wearing that hideous orange puffer, it was raining, and I was mad because you didn’t share your umbrella.”

“Oh right, and you were soaked and… okay, you said I owed you a kiss for compensation. Sounds like something you’d do,” Oscar replied, leaning forward in mock seriousness.

You made a sound, halfway between a gasp and a laugh. “You do remember!”

He laughed. A real one, warm and easy, going right through your chest. You quickly joined him, and his eyes lingered on you a second too long after the joke faded. “I made it up with hot chocolate later, though,” he added with a lazy smile that didn’t belong in any scenarios.

You scribbled that in your notebook. “Ew. We are sickeningly cute.”

And somewhere between a fabricated ski trip and the great debate of who said ‘I love you’ first, something shifted, just a little. Oscar had moved from the edge of the bed to sit beside you, arms behind his head against the headrest, legs stretched on the covers. His knees bumped yours every now and then, but you didn’t flinch away. The notebooks laid abandoned now, pens scattered across the duvet. Your laptop screen dimmed after an hour of neglect and your limbs were heavy with the sweet stickiness of fatigue that only came when you laughed too much and too hard.

You glanced over at Oscar and his hair was a little messy, eyes a little sleepy, softened by the light of the space. He was already watching you. “You know,” he spoke up. “For a so-called meeting, it suspiciously looks like a sleepover.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at that, tiredness winning over your resolve. “It’s almost four,” he continued,  voice lower in the hush of your hotel room. “We’ve officially survived our first week of fake dating. Well, we did four hours ago, but…”

“And we haven’t accidentally gotten married in Vegas like they do in movies. I’d call that a win.”

“Oh yeah, that’s definitely not because of our amazing chemistry.”

A huff escaped you again, and your head fell back against the pillows. Shanghai still hummed outside the window, quieter this time, and the city lights threaded through the thin curtains you pulled. The room was just as still, if warmer─ you could feel the tired blush on your cheeks and the heat of Oscar’s thigh against yours. “You know, you’re not as annoying as I thought,” you said, a lazy sigh curling into your words.

It came out like an offhand casual observation, but you didn’t meet his eyes. Truth be told, you were ashamed. The whole year you’d convinced yourself Oscar Piastri was a nuisance and a stain on your work life had been shattered in the shine of glitter pens and the drafting of a romance novel-worthy story. Because he was actually kind of funny, and even though he delivered his jokes like he was bored half the time which you used to interpret as condescance, they still made you laugh. He listened when you spoke. He had a dry, understated charm you were starting to recognize as very authentic.

And he hadn’t complained once tonight. Not when you made him pick an anniversary date for the third time, or reenact a fake first meeting with your best friend. He was just… there.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” he replied, but his voice melted at his usual edges. “You’re alright too. Surprisingly.”

When you turned your head, you found he was already looking at you for the second time, and a moment passed. You gave him a smile, barely there, and he looked away. “Guess we do make a decent team,” Oscar mumbled.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” you mimicked him. He snorted.

You walked him to your door after an exchange of soft chuckles and breathy goodnights. Fake dating Oscar would be harder than you thought, but it definitely wouldn’t be as bad as you made it out to be.

You weren’t sure what it was between the sleep deprivation, the amateur acting, or the emotional whiplash of building an entire relationship with a guy you were only acquainted with, but something about it shifted the rhythm you’d gotten used to. Whatever happened during that night, being Oscar Piastri’s fake girlfriend became easier after it.

It started with texts. You couldn’t remember which one of you sent the first non-work related one, but it became a daily occurrence of linking the other pictures the press took of the both of you.Oscar would often comment something along the lines of Do I look like a man held hostage or a man in love? Be honest. You’d roll your eyes everytime, answering: All I can say is that I’m not flattered. At first, it was mostly logistical─ scheduling photo ops, making sure neither of you veered your scheme off the track. But somewhere between sarcastic captions and oddly flattering candids, the conversations grew longer. It became a way to kill time, a habit.

Oscar was easy to talk to, which was a thought that would’ve originally terrified you. Except the conversations carried off screen, and you found yourself enjoying them an awful lot.

Along the lines of your ruse, you started saving seats beside each other during lunch breaks or waiting up for the other to go back to the hotel together─ not for the cameras or Theodore’s heinous stare, but for a reason as simple as the enjoyment of the other’s company. Oscar was more than a colleague by that point, he became something else that you couldn’t quite call a friend the way you called Lando one. You stopped overthinking every step you took beside him, every glance and sentence. You had your script, sure. But more than that, you had a quiet kind of understanding. He knew when to press his hand to the small of your back when it was needed, and you knew when to lean in just enough to sell the look of something intimate. 

It wasn’t perfect, but it was practiced. Comfortable, even. Maybe, just maybe, a little fun. Which is why you couldn’t tell when the little things started to feel not as little anymore.

Rare were the times you arrived late to a team briefing, but a late-night spiral reviewing articles about your little charade had stolen more sleep than you’d expected, and for the first time since you started out at McLaren, your alarms lost the battle. You slipped in your seat next to Oscar, a movement you barely thought about anymore, breathless, cheeks warm from your run across the paddock and the drizzle misting your hair. Your pants were drenched, there was a pounding behind your eyes and you were thirty minutes away from biting someone’s head off if they even dared mention your tardiness.

Oscar didn’t say anything at first, just glanced your way as he often did, eyes flicking up and down once. You braced for a comment, a joke, preparing to hold yourself back from doing something you’ll regret doing to your fake boyfriend in public.

Instead, he leaned down, reaching for a paper bag next to him, from where he pulled out a steaming paper cup and a chocolate croissant that he slid toward you without a word. Your name was scribbled across the side of the wrapper along with your very specific order, down to the temperature.

You looked at Oscar. At your breakfast. Then at Oscar again. “How─”

“You weren’t answering my texts,” he said, still looking forward. “Figured you’d be late, so I got you this. You get cranky with no sleep or caffeine in your system.”

“I don’t get cranky,” you muttered, wrapping your cold hands around the hot beverage. “You get sassy when you don’t sleep.”

“Sure,” Oscar said casually, meeting your eyes for the first time since you sat down. “There’s extra vanilla, by the way.”

You didn’t answer, just rolled your eyes, but his gaze was still on you when Zak burst through the door. The fact he remembered that you took extra vanilla syrup in your extra hot latte and that your favorite pastry was a chocolate croissant should be nothing, because you’re sure you told him at some point during your many one-on-one briefings. Except it wasn't. Not really.

Then, there was the flight. There was nothing the fans and the media loved more, and Theodore despised just as much, than couple apparitions at airports, which led to Oscar’s social media manager to nudge you into the believable. That’s how you found yourself catching the same flight as Oscar, Lando and a few others on their jet. It had become recurrent in the past few weeks and you’d never admit it out loud, but there were non-neglectable perks: fewer crying babies, more space, and the occasional poker game where you absolutely obliterated Lando’s ego. You know I’m just that good at acting, you’d said, throwing a cheeky smile at Oscar that he gave you right back.

This time, though, none of you had the energy to talk, let alone play cards. It had been an exhausting and emotional race weekend─ back-to-back media obligations underneath the fire of reignited on-track rivalries, rain delays, and disputes amid the team you couldn’t legally disclose. The jet was unusually quiet as it took off into the night sky, everyone slipping into their respective silence.

You hadn’t meant to fall asleep. You usually didn’t in airplanes, they stressed you out too much─ you’d just leaned against the window for a little moment, eyes fluttering closed. The buzz of the engine and the soft cabin light blurred the world into static and you drifted away in a split second, as soon as the city was turned to insignificant holes in the black tapestry underneath you.

After a while, you felt a warmth, subtle at first. There was something solid against your shoulder, enough to make you crack one eye open.

Oscar’s head was resting against yours, and you were tucked comfortably against him. At some point, he’d dozed off too, and the both of you had slumped toward each other in your sleep. You could’ve moved, you know you would have a few weeks back, but you didn’t. You let your eyes close again and let yourself drift in and out of sleep along the quiet sync of your breath. His arms wrapped around your waist, your legs rested on his knees, and you weren’t quite sure how long you stayed like that─ten minutes, an hour─but when you finally woke up again, it was to the obnoxious flick of Lando’s phone camera and his barely contained laughter.

It was the accumulation of those little things, the seemingly insignificant moments that, piled together, made them bigger than they should have been. It was when Oscar took the habit of sleeping in your hotel room after qualifications to watch a movie under the pretense of simulating ‘passionate encounters’. It was when, one morning, bleary-eyed, you accidentally threw on his hoodie with his number printed on the back, and his hands lingered on the small of your back a little more possessively that day. It was when you were running low on your orange glitter gel pen and a full set was mysteriously delivered to your door, even if you didn’t need one. In the way his pupils dilated ever so slightly when you caught him staring, when he pointed right at you after his podiums, how your skin fizzed with heat for hours after he kissed your cheek in front of the cameras.

But what really blurred the line was the night in Spain.

It hadn’t been a particularly thrilling race─ tame from lights out to chequered flag. Oscar had finished P3, Lando snagged P2, both holding their qualifying positions with sharp determination. But the crowd had been wild, the champagne flowing and before you knew it, Lando dragged you and Oscar into Carlos’ plans for the night. All that happened after was a blur of neon lights and ear-shattering singing.

The walk back to the hotel was your idea- just a short stroll through warm cobblestone streets, the air sweet with late night chatter and the slow beginning of summer. You and Oscar snuck out the back entrance of the club, the latter clearly not fitting in the Spanish nightlife, your heels dangling from your fingers and his cap pulled low to hide the flush of his cheeks. Both of you were just tipsy enough to feel invincible, shoulders brushing as you exchanged anecdotes and very real inside jokes, something about not-much-talking, laughter echoing against the dead of the night.

It was quiet for a moment after that, the comfortable kind that sometimes settled between you. Oscar decided to break it.

“You know,” he started, softer than usual. “I’ve been meaning to ask─ why didn’t you like me at first?”

You turned your head up slowly, the reality of the question dawning on you. You raised an eyebrow. “What made you think I didn’t like you?”

“Come on.” Oscar gave you a look, and in the dark of his eyes you swore you saw the polite, Shakespearean insults you sneaked in your emails, the harsh tap on your foot on his, flashing in the quarter of a second. You couldn’t help but laugh.

“Okay, maybe I didn’t. At first.” 

He kept his eyes on you, waiting. You sighed, tipping your head back to look at the night sky─ no stars were visible, but it didn’t take away from the beauty of it. “You were just─” You paused, choosing your words carefully. “Honestly, you were rude, smug and condescending. I felt like you were trying to make my job harder than it should be by just- not doing anything. People were talking about you as this nice, quiet boy and I secretly wanted to bash your head against a wall.”

A beat. “Wow. That’s brutal,” he simply answered. “I don’t get how I gave that impression. I always thought you were the one being rude to me.”

Your head whipped in his direction and you could physically feel the disbelief splashed across your features. “Me? You started it!”

“How?”

“That one car ride in my third month,” you deadpanned. “You made a very snobbish comment about a dream I had about my ex. You said, and I quote─” you cleared your throat dramatically, dropping your voice to the flattest Oscar impression known to man, “‘Imagine being boring and still more interesting than your ex.’” Oscar was half-laughing by that point. “Oh, don’t you dare! You also said something about how I shouldn’t sleep in the HQ again, but for the record? It was my first triple-head─”

He held a hand up in mock surrender, mouth agape in stupor. “Is this what started this whole… passive-aggressiveness?”

“Uh… yeah? It was unnecessarily arrogant!”

Oscar made a face. “Unnecessary, sure. I get it. But you know what was also unnecessary? The intimidating, pretty new girl at McLaren─who also happened to be my new PR Manager─calling me boring to my face.”

The words hung in the air between the two of you. Your froze, caught off-guard by the ease with which the compliment slipped out. Oscar was continuing with his rant, either completely oblivious or choosing not to care. You cut him off. “... You thought I was pretty?”

That’s when he faltered, his lips parted in a half-word as if he hadn’t realized what he said before you pointed it out. Oscar’s gaze flicked to yours, then away, suddenly far more interested in the cracks of the sidewalk than anything else. “Well, yeah,” he took off his cap and brushed a hand through his hair like it might undo the sentence. “I mean, you still are. It’s not like that changed.”

It would be lying to say you had considered the possibility that you caused the tension between you and Oscar in the first place. While your sad attempt at humor might have been the catalyst, something must’ve already been simmering under the surface for things to go cold so quickly after it. Your heart gave the tiniest, traitorous jump, chest pulling in a reluctant way, at the thought he’d noticed you then. You despised how easy it was to smile, to fall into the warmth of the possibility.

“Oh,” you said softly, and it explained everything and nothing all at once.

“I’m just saying,” Oscar added quickly, flustered, “it didn’t feel great.”

You couldn’t tell if the red of his cheeks was from the heat, the alcohol, or the embarrassment, but what you could tell was how hopelessly cute you found him in this moment. You tried to play it cool, despite the fact your heartbeat had skipped a full chord. “Noted. And for the record, now I know you aren’t boring,” you added, teasing, playfully nudging your shoulder with his. “You’re just… private. Or mysterious. A sardonic brick wall, if you will.”

It successfully had him looking up, a light-hearted scoff slipping past his lips - you could see the relief in his facial traits. “I’ll take mysterious. It’s better than boring.”

When you got into your hotel room, Oscar slipped past your door as he normally would, and you collapsed onto the bed with your legs tangled together like always─ but something was different now. The air around the mattress was slower, stuck in time, warm in the way his breath ghosted over the nape of your neck when he settled beside you, eyes already fluttering shut.

For the first time since this whole agreement began, you had to consciously remind yourself that it wasn’t real. The comfort in your chest wasn’t made to stay. The steady rhythm of his breathing next to yours, the way your body naturally molded into the other─ it was all pretend. 

At least, that’s what it was supposed to be.

Like silk curtains flowing with the breeze, the change was discreet but there nonetheless, in the shared silences that felt less like pauses and more like instances captured with a polaroid. There was hesitation, once again, but unlike the one you chased away before─ in how you touched, how you laughed, how you glanced at each other and closed the gap under the bright flashes. You were both tiptoeing around something fragile and new.

Neither of you said anything, but it was something too heavy not to notice─ at least, you hoped Oscar did as well: the reluctant awareness of how hazy the lines had started to get and the stunned realization that maybe they’d never really been that straight to begin with after Oscar’s tipsy confession in Spain. You were still doing everything to showcase your relationship to the media, Theodore’s presence in the paddock still overwhelmingly present and Oscar’s popularity sky-rocketing. You were still holding hands and tucking yourself to his side in the garage between two meetings, carefully weaving the continuation of the story you made up together. Yet, when no one was watching, it didn’t feel as plastic. Not when Oscar whispered in the crevice of your ear in a crowded room, or when your heart jumped at the sound of his laugh. When it started to hurt, just a little, when he pulled away.

The day he called you at five in the morning from Canada was confirmation enough. The switch from the heat of Spain to the rainy weather of the United Kingdom for work had taken its toll on you, and you had to call in sick for the Montreal race weekend. Tucked in your covers with a cup of coffee and an inability to sleep due to your clogged nose, you watched your phone screen lit up with his name. You answered with a hoarse, “Why are you awake?”

Oscar chuckled, his voice slightly muffled by the hotel air conditioning in the background. “Why are you?”

“Respiratory betrayal,” you said, dragging your blanket further up your chin. “What’s your excuse? The race’s tomorrow.”

You talked about everything and nothing for a little while. Oscar told you how the track felt a little underwhelming, how the social media team messed up with their main Instagram account, and of Lando’s endless complaining about the lack of your presence─ apparently, the paddock was too quiet now. You nodded in your pillow with a smile like he could see you.

Eventually, the conversation drifted away, like it always did now. Oscar asked what you were listening to lately and you told him of a song that sounded like spring and reminded you of long drives at night, especially the instance when he drove you home after Monaco. He said it sounded like something you’d play to get out of your own head. You said it was. He told you about this stupid childhood habit he had of organizing cereal boxes in alphabetical order and you laughed so hard it triggered a coughing fit.

Oscar’s voice dropped. “I wish you were here.”

It wasn’t dramatic or purposeful in the slightest. He said it as if he was realizing it at the same time he pronounced the words. It was your case too when you answered, “Yeah, me too.”

Your chest ached, because there was no camera to capture the softness of the moment and you just found out you preferred it that way.

And then you came back for the Austrian Grand Prix. You didn’t see Oscar much that weekend. You’d barely touched the ground before you were swallowed whole by emails, debriefs, documents you missed during your sick leave and Theodore side-eyeing you every time you so much as coughed next to him. There was no time for soft moments, not even time to stop and just glance at Oscar even if you wanted to.

He crossed the line in P1 that day. You were mid-conversation with Zak, animated with excitement even during your lengthy talk about the following media duties, when arms pulled you in so strongly you lost track of what you were saying. You recognized him by touch alone: Oscar was wrapped around you, body sweaty and warm from his maddened laps. He held the helmet in his hand, still catching his breath when his head dropped on your shoulder. 

“You’re back,” he said, voiced laced with something a lot like relief.

“Of course I’m back,” you whispered back, fingers twitching on the back of his race suit. He sounded like you were gone for years and somehow, it really did feel like it. You could’ve stayed there for hours, you thought, until Zak obnoxiously cleared his throat next to you.

Oscar pulled back, eyes brighter than his usual post-race exhaustion, the glint of something you couldn’t name just yet dancing in his pupils. His hands came to rest on your wrist, barely brushing your hands. “Stay with me?” He asked, and your heart might have stopped just there. Realizing how it sounded, Oscar quickly corrected, “For the interviews. I’ve been dodging the media since you weren’t there.”

“I will,” you smiled. Your feet were already moving anyway.

He kept glancing sideways everytime the journalists asked about strategy and pace, and the little tug in your guts told your mind you were enjoying it, even though shamefully missing the feeling of the circle his thumb drew on the inside of your hand. When the interviewer asked about the less than discreet glances, making a comment on the obvious chemistry you two shared and how well you worked together─as colleagues and as a couple─Oscar didn’t laugh it off like you always practiced. He nodded, bashful and sure.

The sentence kept blinking in the back of your head like a warning sign: this was all fake. But even telling yourself that wasn’t enough anymore because your heart apparently didn’t get the memo. The touches and the sleepovers made your dreams spiral and your cheeks warm. You became his phone wallpaper for authenticity and his picture became yours as well without as much as a second thought, every little attention as natural as the cycle of seasons.

You were falling for your own fake dating ruse. Which meant you were quietly, miserably falling for Oscar Piastri in the process, in the realest and most literal way known to man. That was terrifying.

Never, in your short but hectic PR career, had you ever experienced that.

Not the newfound feelings you were harboring for your fake boyfriend, no. You tried your best to think about that as little as possible─ if you didn’t look at them, maybe they wouldn’t look back. Right now, you were talking about the diplomatic ambush you and the F1 grid and staff just walked into. The hotel hosting the drivers and half the sport’s staff for the Silverstone weekend had decided to organize a charity gala. Last minute. Mandatory, if you had any desire to keep your reputation intact.

It was a smart move─ brilliant, even: Host a fancy event for a cause, pick a night when the entire motorsport world is under your roof, and leak just enough information to the press so no one can afford to skip it. Declining? Not donating? Refusing to schmooze with the hotel owners? You’d be crucified online by breakfast. Genius, really. You respected the play. 

But damn, give a girl some warning. You didn’t have anything to wear.

Apparently it was the case of everyone else as well, which made you feel less self-conscious. When you walked out your hotel room the morning of FP3 and qualifying, the hallway wasn’t buzzing with race talk but with chaotic murmurs about last-minute outfits, shoes emergency and the drama of Max Verstappen only packing team merch─ which, much to his dismay, was absolutely excluded from the dress code.

You were promptly swept away by a group of female staff members from different teams, mostly working in comms or PR, determined to save you from showing up in jeans and a prayer after a heated conversation around the breakfast table. It turned into a surprisingly wholesome mission: shared complaints, budding friendships, and a chorus of tender laughter when you found the dress. “Your boyfriend’s going to be a happy man!” one of the older women teased, earning cackles from the others and a fiery blush from you.

You were, admittedly, very lucky─ as much as someone in a fake relationship could be.

Especially when Oscar knocked on your hotel door later that evening, fresh from his post-quali shower, hair a little messy, still buttoning up the blazer of his suit and eyes flickering with something unreadable when you opened the door, ready.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t expecting a reaction. When you were tearing down your skin with your scented body scrub and carefully smoking out your eyeliner in the mirror, you told yourself it was for you only─ but faced with Oscar’s eyes roaming over you, you knew you were clearly lying to yourself.

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. He silently took you in, and you feared that maybe you didn’t achieve the effect you hoped for. Maybe a hair was out of place, or the dress looked awkward on you. But Oscar’s lips parted in a discreet intake of breath and the way his mind blanked out was painfully visible on his features. Quietly, “You look…” He trailed off, clearing his throat and rubbing the back of his neck as if he could try to scrub off the red climbing out of his collar. “You look really nice.”

Really nice. That wasn’t quite what you expected, but his reaction was telling enough for you and knowing Oscar, you knew you weren’t getting anything more unless he was under a copious amount of alcohol or sleep-deprivation. You rolled your eyes at him, biting back a satisfied smile. “You don’t look half bad either.”

And he did. Devastatingly so. His suit was tailored within an inch of its life, cinched right at the waist and the lapels hugging his chest, his frame striking in the color. It was all very James Bond of him, minus the reckless charm─ though tonight, he seemed to be toeing the line. Your gaze dropped to his tie, and your fingers twitched at your side when you realized the shade was an exact match to your dress. You hadn’t said anything about your outfit ahead of time so you didn’t believe it was on purpose, but when your eyes met his again, there was a flash of something knowing and boyish─ almost proud that you noticed.

“Come on,” Oscar finally broke the silence. “You’re setting the bar too high. Everyone’s going to think I’m the lucky one tonight.”

“That’s because you are.”

The hallway was quiet as you two walked down together. You could feel it again─ that invisible thread pulling tighter, a weightless tension lodging in your chest and the incessant smile pulling at your lips. This was fake. Totally fake, you repeated to yourself again as you stepped with Oscar in the elevator, arm slithering around his bicep, ready to make your entrance.

The hotel hall was drenched in gaudy decorations, shimmering chandeliers and overly sparkly dresses, the kind of excessive elegance that only made sense in photoshoots and unnecessarily overpriced galas. Everywhere you looked, sequins caught the light and laughter echoed over the clink of crystal glasses. You weren’t in your element at all, Oscar wasn’t either and clearly, none of the drivers or the team principals who showed up wanted to be there. But in the name of keeping up appearances, you spent the evening with Oscar and a glass of champagne, stepping on his foot from time to time for old time’s sake. You knew how to mingle, after all it was everything you studied for four years.

You drifted through conversations in tandem. His hand stayed on the small of your back, occasionally brushing lower in ways that felt more unconscious than performative, or maybe it was just wishful thinking. When you’d lean into him to talk, he always dipped his head to hear you better on instinct. When Lando started tagging along, he was quick to complain about third-wheeling.

The whole evening was spent like that: finding amusement where you could in the middle of obligations, which was often spent sending sharp comments Oscar’s way, which amused him greatly, or Lando’s with Oscar’s help, which definitely amused him less. But gossiping could only get you so far, and soon enough the height of the heels you chose and the weighty ambience was enough to uncomfortably tighten your ribcage. You were quick to excuse yourself to the empty entry of the hotel, where you collapsed on a chair with a sigh.

You took a slow sip of your almost empty glass, letting the fizz of the bubbles distract you from the uncomfortable twist in your chest. Oscar would have followed you if you didn’t ask for some alone time, and God knows you needed some away from him. You were trying to find a distraction, anything to make you stop thinking about the brush of his fingertips or how you could have sworn his gaze lingered a second too long on your lips when you laughed at one of his jokes.

You didn’t expect, and especially didn’t want, Theodore to be that distraction.

His voice cut through the fog. “Tired?”

The glass nearly slipped from your fingers. Your body tensed, and you jumped to your feet out of reflex, ready to leave at any given moment. “Oh wow, didn’t mean to scare you like that,” he raised his hand in mock surrender. You rolled your eyes.

Theodore had the same haircut, same smug face, same cologne that lingered like melted plastic. The longer you looked at him, the longer of an eyesore he became─ nothing about him stood out: not his suit, the false casual way he was holding his blazer in his hands, and certainly not his demeanor. You couldn’t help but draw a silent comparison to Oscar.

That’s when you realized: you hadn’t seen much of Theodore the past week around the paddock. You hadn’t paid a lot of attention to his presence in general, too caught up in Oscar and the torment of your own conflicting feelings to even grace him with acknowledgement. You voiced the first part of your thought, casually sipping your drink.

His expression tightened as he forced a smile. “Ah. Yeah, well, they… they let me go. Budget cuts, you see.”

It took all your will and decency not to explode in laughter. Budget cuts. Ah, yes. Incompetence must have had a change of definition in the Oxford Dictionary recently. “So… why are you here?”

“My dad knows the hotel owner. I got an invite last minute.”

“Oh,” you said with a mocking tilt of the head. “So nepotism and unemployment. Got it.” The fake niceness you sported on during your first interaction at the start of the season had vanished out of thin air─ you weren’t going to put up with this pathetic excuse of a man any longer than you had to, precisely now that you had no reason to anymore.

Theodore laughed. Your hand prickled with the need to punch him in the nose. “You know, it’s not even that important that I lost my job at McLaren.” Said no one ever, you thought. How far did his privileges go? “I─ well, I only took it up because I learned you were working there. I thought… maybe if I was around again, we could fix things.”

You must have hit your head, this had to be a fever dream. The words reaching your ears made no sense to you whatsoever. 

“Fix─?” You scoffed, eyes widening. “That job was supposed to be your redemption arc? Is that it? Oh my god, Theo. You slept with my best friend and you thought I’d fall back in your arms because you barged into my career?”

“I made a mistake─”

“You made a choice,” you spat.

“I didn’t think it would matter this much to you!”

“Did I not cry enough the first time or do you want me to reenact it? Were you really hoping I’ll welcome you with open arms, open legs and a memory loss?”

“Well─”

“Don’t answer that. Actually, stop talking.”

Theodore threw his arms in the air, taking a step forward as he hurled his jacket on the chair you sat on a few minutes ago. “I just thought maybe seeing me again would remind you of what we’ve had!”

Rage and indignation alike rose in your throat like vomit, and your hands shook imperceptibly as you answered. “It did. It reminded me that what we had was never good enough to keep me from building something better. So thanks for the little nostalgia trip, but I’ll pass.”

Something in Theodore’s gaze darkened, dangerous and petulant, and before you could step back, he leaned in. “Oh, I get it now,” he snarled at you, voice dropping into something bitter. “It’s because of Piastri, isn’t it?”

“Back off, Theodore.” Your back had straightened instinctively. Discomfort crept under your skin like cold water─ you didn’t like the way he hissed his name and how close he was getting.

He didn’t back away. Instead, he took another step. “Didn’t realize you’d fall for the first man who gave you attention after me. Guess I underestimated how lonely you─”

“Everything alright there?”

His voice, warm and familiar, sliced through the tension and your shoulders slumped in relief. Oscar.

He was standing just behind Theodore, who turned around comically slow. Oscar’s expression was unreadable. You never saw him angry, but you did know how to recognize the calm before a storm.

“Yeah,” Theodore answered, too fast. “Just… catching up.”

Oscar’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Well, I think you’ve done enough catching up for tonight.”

He walked toward you, and you subtly stepped to his side, his heat grounding in the absurdity of the situation. He didn’t look at you─ his eyes were locked on Theodore’s, cold and measured. “If you’ve said your piece,” he started, “I think you should head back to whatever table your father pulled strings to get you to.”

Theodore scoffed, his features twisting into something ugly, but he didn’t push his luck. He wouldn’t be winning this fight. After a beat of tense silence, he turned and stormed off the entry hall, muttering something beneath his breath you didn’t bother catching.

The moment he was out of sight, you could feel the rigidity in your body melt away. You hadn’t even realized how tightly you’d been wound until now, standing frozen in place. You reached out instinctively, gripping Oscar’s sleeve in order to keep you on your feet. “Shit,” you whispered. “I didn’t expect him.”

Oscar’s hand closed gently over yours and how thumb drew slow circles across your knuckles. You could feel his eyes on you attentively. “You okay?”

You sniffled, breathing fast as a breathy, nervous laugh slipped past your lips. “God.” You wiped your cheek, pausing when you saw the glint of moisture on your fingers, “I didn’t even realize I was crying.”

Oscar didn’t say anything right away─ he reached up with his other hand and brushed your tear track, cradling your cheek with the gentlest touch, like you’d break if he pressed too hard. “He’s a real dick,” he murmured, brows drawing together. “Trust me, he’s never coming near you again.”

That made you laugh─ quiet, and undeniably tired, but real. You looked up at him, something vulnerable sitting openly between you now. “Thanks for stepping in,” you breathed out. “You know, you’re awfully good at being a fake boyfriend. You nailed the attitude down.” You tried to make light of the situation, but the words stung when you got them out. You regretted uttering them as soon as you felt the frail openness in the air retract. Something in Oscar’s eyes dimmed a little, but they didn’t move from yours. 

“Always, that’s my job,” his tone dripped with a strange kind of acerbity. “Now, let’s get you to your room. I think we’re done for the night.”

You couldn’t agree more.

The way to your room was spent in silence, apart from the click of your heels on the carpet and the faint sound of breathing. The quiet was now oppressing, seeping with an anxiety that took you back to when he shook your hand in a similar hotel room a few months ago. When you released his arm as you reached your door, you half-expected him to mutter a polite goodnight and disappear at the end of the hallway.

Instead, Oscar leaned against the doorframe, hands shoved in his pockets. “Can I ask you something?”

You gave a small nod.

“What made you say yes to him?” He asked. Faced with your confused expression, he clarified, gaze flicking down. “Theodore. Why did you date him?”

There wasn’t a trace of judgment in his voice, just a searching sort of curiosity. The answer sat heavy on your tongue, unfamiliar and painful, but still, the question pulled something sharp through your chest─ you didn’t know why you were suddenly so self-conscious about it. 

“I’d like to say I don’t know but…,” you leaned back against the wall next to him, folding your arms to hold yourself together and eyes fixed on a point somewhere past his figure. “I think… I was tired. I used to put everything into school, so much that I skipped out on everything else. I didn’t even know who I was beside the pressure and achievements, and Theodore… just happened to be there during that confusing time of my life. My roommate’s, and ex-best friend’s, friend. I thought he was charming, in his own sort of way. He was persistent, used to leave flowers by my dorm room every morning.” You chuckled sadly. “They weren’t even my favorite - turns out they were hers.”

You heard Oscar exhale. “It still made me feel noticed, like I mattered to something outside of studies. Like someone actually saw me, you know? So I fell in love. And turns out he didn’t see me at all─ he sure as hell doesn’t now either, if he thought showering Zak with dollar bills and side-eyeing me across the paddock would be enough to win me back. That’s without mentioning the cheating.”

The silence of the hallway was deafening, your words echoing against the walls. It wasn’t uncomfortable, just dense. Until Oscar broke it.

“I don’t get it,” he murmured, “how anyone could cheat on you. It doesn’t make sense.”

It made you look at him. You’ve gotten used to turning around and finding his eyes already on you; it shouldn’t have been much of a surprise, but your chest still tightened when you met the darkness of his irises. You waited for him to reply, lacking any explanation yourself of why it couldn’t meet the simple principles of logic in his head, why he couldn’t find the flaws in you that lead Theodore to another woman.

Oscar’s answer came under a different form. “For what it’s worth,” he said, gaze steady. “I like to think I see you.”

You blinked. “Do you?”

The question slipped out before you could stop it, and the moment it did, the answer came rushing in. He did. You knew it in the way his head tilted slightly to the side, like he was still trying to see more of you, even now.

Oscar knew your coffee order by heart, the temperature and how much milk to ask for when you were too tired to speak it aloud. He knew which bakery carried your favorite pastry and what time he had to sneak away from media duties to grab it for you─ especially when the paddock version tasted like cardboard. He noticed when your hands got cold before you did, kept spare hand warmers in his bag in colder countries because “you’re always freezing.” He sent you stupid memes during long flights because he knew take offs made it hard for you to sit still. He carried spare glitter gel pens in his bag, and never teased you about it─ just handed you another one when you absentmindedly noticed yours was running out.

He remembered that you always got motion sick if you sat in the backseat of a car for too long. That you needed silence when thinking. That you hummed when you were concentrating and tapped your pen when you weren’t.

And suddenly, you weren’t just asking if he saw you the way you’d always wanted to. You were asking if he’d always been seeing you, even when you weren’t looking.

“I do,” he answered, barely above a whisper.

You nodded. There couldn’t be anything more true than that.

Just like that, the air tilted. Toward him, engulfing you both in a fragile, sacred space. Everything narrowed down to Oscar and the small buzz between your two bodies─ dense and electric, full of every feeling that had been lurking beneath the surface. His eyes flickered to your lips for the briefest of seconds. Back to your eyes. 

He moved subtly, like he wasn’t sure you’d let him, the idea of losing the moment scarier than not having it at all. Your body was still, breath hitching and heart racing, as his hand reached up to cup the side of your face, thumb brushing softly over your cheekbone, memorizing the shape.

And when he finally leaned in, he hesitated just inches from your lips, close enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath and the tremble in yours. “Is this okay?” He whispered.

You closed the space.

The kiss was gentle at first─ careful and tentative. The gentle, kind sweep of two people trying to find their footing, but the electric shock of the feeling brought everything back to you: the months of tension, the stolen glances, the fumbled excuses to stay close. Your mouths crashed over each other, deepening in the split of a second, slow and aching in the pants you let out and the touch of roaming, curious hands. You breathed into his mouth, seeking his air to make it yours.

Oscar’s other hand slid to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer and your back flush against the wall as your fingers curled into the lapels of his jacket. You could feel his heart hammering under your palm, fast and desperate, mirroring yours. His tongue demandingly slipped past your lips, and he kissed you like he had wanted to for a long time, and there was no denying he had. Raw and needy, you felt stripped bare by the small whine he let out when you bit down on his bottom lip.

You thought, the world could fall apart tomorrow and this would have been everything you needed to go peacefully.

When you finally pulled apart, both breathless, he didn’t move far. You wouldn’t have let him anyways, the heat of his body too comfortable, the weight of his mouth branded on your own. His forehead rested against yours, eyes closed and lips swollen.

“You have no idea how long I wanted to do that,” he whispered, voice hoarse and rough with honesty.

You fingers tightened in his jacket, and you brushed a strand of hair off his forehead. “Trust me, I think I do.” He laughed against your lips and you kissed him again. Because after all of it─all the pretending, the teasing, the overthinking─you didn’t have to lie to yourself anymore, to convince yourself. You couldn’t make up the way he was kissing you back.

Yet, you still went to bed alone.

You hadn't planned on it─ well, not exactly. After the emotional whirlwind of the evening, the kiss, the honesty, the confession, you’d invited Oscar into your room without really thinking. It had been an instinct, comfort-driven by the nights already spent together, even if everything was entirely different─ including your intentions and his. But Lando had to barge in, clumsily looking for his room next to yours, doing a double-take at the sight of you tucked into Oscar’s side, your makeup smudged from tears and kisses like a hormonal teenager, Oscar looking all too rumpled and embarrassed next to you.

“Jesus,” Lando muttered. “I’m just─ you know what, we’ll unpack that later. Good night. Please don’t make too much noise.”

Oscar laughed, arms wrapping tighter around your waist when your friend disappeared, whispering, “I’ll come back tomorrow. After I take you out on a date. A real one, this time.”

You’d smiled. “You better.” He kissed you again, quick and soft and annoyingly perfect, more than your dreams made it out to be, and you went to bed glowing, with his name lighting your phone screen with sweet nothings and promises of conversations tomorrow.

But tomorrow never came, because the knocks that woke you up were giving you a sickening déjà-vu. They were urgent, a trumpet announcing the complete turning of your world just like they had done a few months back, in February, and loud enough to slice through the sleepiness in your bones along with the drowsy haze of your mind.

You got up with difficulty and barely had the time to wrap a blanket around yourself before answering the door. You half-expected to find the Grim Reaper himself waiting on the other side with how early it was for anyone else to be knocking. Instead, you were faced with Oscar. Your heart gave a small, automatic jolt when you saw him. After how last night ended, he should have been the best thing possible to wake up to.

The expression on his face stopped you cold.

Oscar, who rarely wore his emotions so plainly, looked visibly shaken. The sharp lines of his face were pulled tight with worry, brows furrowed and jaw clenched. And that─more than the hour, more than the knocks─was what stopped you from throwing yourself into his arms.

You opened the door wider to let him in, which he did with hurried steps. “What’s happening?”

“Can you close the door first?” You did without much of a question.

Oscar sat on the edge of your bed, phone cradled in hand. He looked up at you, and distressed wasn’t enough to describe it─ he looked wrecked. “Have you checked your phone this morning?” He asked.

Dread pooled in your stomach. “No, I─ I just woke up,” you answered. “Oscar, I─”

“Someone leaked it. Our agreement, the fake dating. It’s all out.”

The world tipped.

The air in your lungs vanished and, for a moment, all you could hear was the blood rushing in your ears. His words repeated like static, a taunting echo getting louder and louder the more you realized what it meant. “What?” You whispered, eyes locked on his. The truth could have looked different there, but didn’t.

You sat down next to him, every limb leaden, cinching the blanket tighter around your shoulders. “How─? Who even─? We were so careful and─”

“Nobody knows, they’re searching for it right now,” Oscar replied, but it came out strained. “Everyone's trying to trace it now, but it landed on DeuxMoi and basically everywhere after that. They’ve got… receipts. Pictures, testimonies, photos- and a very incriminating audio recording.”

His throat bobbed with a swallow. “Of you. Saying something like… how good of a fake boyfriend I am. From last night, before we went up.”

Your stomach flipped. “But─ we were alone.”

Different scenarios flashed in your mind, engulfing you both in a spiral of questions and worry. Someone could have been filming you, and the lights were too low to spot the silhouette. Maybe Theodore’s jacket, draped over the chair you’d sat on, had a recording device on it in an attempt to prove himself something, or to get revenge on you. But how would he have guessed? There were so many possibilities, and Oscar’s silence didn’t help you feel any better about any of them─ not knowing burned hotter than the betrayal itself.

He took your hand in his, your intertwined fingers resting between the two of you. The contact made you flinch.

Your breath came out in a shaky exhale. “I mean… it was going to end anyways, right?” Oscar’s frown deepened, so you pushed forward. “The whole relationship. Theodore left. That was the plan, wasn’t it? It wasn’t supposed to last past him. It’s a very shitty way to end, sure, but… you can work with it.” You were tearing up by the time the last word left your lips.

Oscar winced. His grip on your hand tightened. “Don’t say it like that.”

“But it’s true, isn’t it?” You let out a wet, pathetic laugh. “It’s over.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” he said, and it sounded a lot like a plea. “We can figure something out─ Zak, the rest of the PR team-someone will know what to do, there-”

You scoffed─ not at him, never, but at the cruel absurdity of it all. Your incapability of keeping something good for yourself. “You don’t get it, Oscar.” Your voice wavered. “Apparently, we’re everywhere. There’s an audio recording. People feel like they’ve been made fools of. They won’t forgive that so easily─ they’ll turn on you. They won’t believe in something that’s already been exposed as fake, even if─”

You couldn’t finish your sentence. Because that was the worst part, wasn't it? You weren’t faking it anymore. Neither of you were, and hadn’t been for a really long time. You could have stumbled around, trying to figure out what it meant, searching his mouth and holding on to the feeling long enough to put a name on it, but the headlines didn’t give you that chance. They took it from you, carved it out of your hands before you even got to claim it as yours.

A beat.

“It was real for me,” Oscar said. “It is.”

You looked at him, the details of his eyes that made promises you were sure he could have kept under different circumstances. You tried to smile, but your face cracked under the weight of it, tear tracks shining under the early morning light. “They don’t know that,” you whispered. “They won’t care.”

Oscar’s gaze fell on the floor, and you shook your head gently. “You still have a career to protect. Just say it was my idea, you were helping me out and I got you into all of this─ which is the truth, technically. You just got too caught up. They’ll forgive you eventually, they’re here for the racing.”

“And what about you?”

The silence spoke for itself, heavy with the undeflectable nature of the situation. Carefully, as to not startle him, you took back the hand he was holding and folded both of them on your lap. There would be no other outcome to this story. “I’ll figure it out. It’s my job.”

He didn’t believe you, you could see it in the lopsided curve of his mouth, the prominent vein near his temple you traced with your eyes before falling asleep. You realized you never had the opportunity to pass a night in his arms.

“You go get ready for your race, Oscar. Don’t worry about me.” Your chest ached as your mouth shaped the words, barely hearing them yourself. The only thing that mattered was the low lights in the Australians’ eyes, how his mouth opened and closed around something. He never said whatever was pending at the edge of his tongue, but he closed his eyes when you put your lips on the skin of his cheek.

Oscar just left quietly, in the imperceptible click of a hotel door. You couldn’t watch him go─ if you did, you might not have had the strength to let him.

You were let go by McLaren before the race even began.

The decision had been clear from the get-go. Still, it didn’t make sitting in that sterile room any easier knowing the lanyard around your neck would be up to grab for someone else in seconds. It wasn’t cruel or personal─ it was just business.

You spent over three hours with members of staff, going over the facts and projected damage. You nodded along and asked questions you could predict the answers to, but the conclusion was written into the walls: the scandal was too loud, and you weren’t quiet enough to survive it─ at least, not with a badge that read McLaren on your chest.

You gave it back, sliding it over the table to the chief of staff. They booked you a flight home as discreetly as they could manage and it wasn’t until you stepped in your apartment, suitcase dropped by the door and keys shaking in your hand, that the overwhelming silence caught up with you.

And with it, everything else.

Your face was headlining the front pages of multiple websites and you’d just lost the best job you’ll ever have─ if not the only one, because a simple search would now lead every possible employer to the failed scheme you tried to put up.

You collapsed onto your bed, entirely dressed and only one shoe off, still wrapped in the airport chill. They made you hand-over your team-issued phone, along with the contacts of everyone that mattered back at Silverstone. You didn’t even have a chance to explain yourself or to say goodbye.

Oscar would finish the race and find out you vanished, and you had no way of telling him 

You let the weight of it all crash down on you.

If you had to estimate, you’d say you let yourself rot in your own misery for about a week, give or take. You weren't counting the days, but you knew you hadn’t opened your curtains since you got home. Your eyes were red, rubbed raw every time another wave of emotion struck you, and you hadn’t so much as looked in a mirror. Instead, you moved through your apartment like a ghost, sidestepping your own reflection as if it might reach out and confirm what you already knew─ you’d lost something you didn’t realize mattered this much until it was gone.

The past year had been everything. You successfully worked your way into a world that worked too fast for second chances where you found a rhythm, built friendships and connections. As tiresome as the lifestyle could sometimes be, you fell in love with what you were doing and what you came to be. In the past months, your life had mirrored the tracks─ swift and brutal, with enough turns to break a few wheels. Now, you were left with nothing but the emptiness in your stomach and for someone who always strived for more, the bitter aftertaste in your mouth was enough to keep you from wanting.

Your wake-up call came in the form of your rent.

Turns out heartbreak didn’t pause rent or the cost of groceries rising due to inflation. McLaren paid well, but not well enough so that you could afford to disappear off the grid and wallow in self pity with your last check. So you did what you always did, reminiscent of your past college superhuman efforts: you opened your laptop and got to work.

You applied to everything you set your eyes on─ LinkedIn, obscure websites, Facebook Ads, no one was safe. You didn’t dare touch anything remotely F1 related, or even F2, F3 or F4, the wound was still fresh and your name was probably too much of a touchy subject for you to be accepted anywhere near. You stuck to motorsports-adjacent companies, agencies, development programs, even local circuits. Just… something, anything that would let you keep your toes in the world you loved.

Eventually, it came.

A small karting company in the Netherlands, of all places. Barely enough to fill a spreadsheet on a good day, but they had promising talents and were expanding, so in need of someone to help build their communications structure from the ground up. Preferably someone who knew how to handle press and build narratives, connect people to stories. They were desperate, which means they probably didn’t even look you up when they interviewed you. You took the opportunity with your first real smile in a minute.

It wasn’t as glamorous. The office had flickering lights, and you hadn’t come with the most adapted wardrobe. But it was something─ so you got to work.

You were surprised by how much you ended up loving it.

The people were awkward but nice, you went out with a few of your colleagues by the end of your first week, and the kids racing under your name were awfully sweet and their parents just as kind. The work wasn’t overbearing, but you put every ounce of your attention in building its perfect image with your team. Your new apartment was small and comfortable, and the city you settled in a neverending discovery of wonders. You felt fine─ which was a step away from the state you had been in not so long ago.

But even though you tried to build yourself another life, you still couldn’t shake the memory of Oscar. He was still there─ not in person, but in every memory you were not capable of erasing just yet. You caught yourself ordering his coffee order alongside yours as a force of habit, and accidentally took the notebooks with the overly precise details of your fallacious history with you to work. There was so much of him in you now, you had trouble picking apart the pieces. You scanned articles for his face but skipped race reports in case his name hurt more to see.

You tried to bury the ache in your schedule and the excitement of the company’s mediatic expansion, you wrote press releases, attended networking events with a tight smile and let small wins feel bigger than they were. Yet you knew your heart was sitting in his hands, thousands miles away- and you refused to wonder if, without knowing, you were still holding his. It was a hope you couldn’t entertain, all in the name of letting go. It was an act of healing of some sorts. Putting Oscar behind you was growth, not grief, and letting go of something that had no chance of being anymore was the most adult thing you’d ever do.

Except you have a history of your past catching up with you─ deep down, you should’ve known this time wouldn’t be any different.

It happened when you bumped into someone on your way out the café, hands full with the Communications team’s comically large coffee order. It was the end of August, and your mind was anywhere but on the street─ mostly focused on not spilling anything. Of course, that’s what made the crash even more cinematic.

Cold drinks flew in the air, splattering across the pavement and down your pants in dramatic, sticky rivulets. You were halfway into a curse when someone said your name in an all-too-familiar voice.

“Y/N?” You looked up from your drenched legs, and there he was.

Lando Norris in the flesh, unruly mullet and all. “Oh my god,” you muttered, halfway between disbelief and horror. “Hi?”

He stared at you like he was trying to convince himself he wasn’t hallucinating. You’d feel offended if you couldn’t understand where he was coming from- you did disappear suddenly, those two months ago. “You’re─ holy shit, what are you doing here?”

You awkwardly wiped your hands on the napkin that came with the order, glancing at the wasted money on the ground. “Clearly failing my duties. I work for a karting company just outside the city. Communications consultant.”

“No way, seriously? In the Netherlands?” Lando asked, eyebrows shooting up. “That’s… kind of awesome.”

You gave him an awkward smile. “Yeah. It’s not McLaren, sure, but I like it there.”

The mention of the team brought an icy breeze to the conversation and had Lando shuffling on his feet before you changed the subject. “And what are you doing here?” You asked, too enthusiastic for it to be spontaneous.

“Zandvoort race this weekend,” he answered with a slight grin.

“Oh, true.” With the drastic changes in your life and the newfound popularity the company had gained, you’d forgotten all about the fast-paced calendar you had become so accustomed with. The fact there was even a race taking place in the Netherlands, despite Max Verstappen being Dutch, had completely slipped your mind.

It should feel like a win, but your heart twisted to punish you.

Faced with another silence, Lando spoke up again. “You know, it’s not the same without you there, Oscar’s new PR manager is an old man.” That made you chuckle, although bittersweet. “We miss you. A lot.”

You didn’t miss the implication in his words. The air suddenly felt a bit thinner in your lungs than it did a few minutes ago. “He shouldn’t,” was all you could manage to reply in the tightening of your throat.

“Why not?”

You shrugged, forcing your voice to stay level. “It doesn’t matter anymore. It ended. He has to focus on his career.”

Lando opened his mouth, then seemed to think better of it, only giving you an hesitant smile in return. “Well… I’ll tell him I saw you. If you want.”

“No,” You shook your head with a soft laugh. “No. Just… good luck, alright? For the Grand Prix.”

It got Lando to smile wider, at least, something warm in the spreading of his lips. “Thanks. And Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m really glad I bumped into you. Let me make up for the spilled coffee.”

He did. Brought the entire order again and handed it over with a sheepish shrug, reminiscent of the friend you had two months ago, before disappearing down the cobblestone street. You stood there a bit too long, dazed by the improbability of it all. The universe decided to shake you a little, but somehow it had to be just when you made peace with the fact it had moved on without you.

You went back to the karting center where reality demanded your full attention. The rest of the day passed in a blur of last-minute adjustments─ tomorrow, you were hosting a little event in order to showcase the rising talents driving in your colors, which needed your immediate attention, no matter how divided by the episode this morning. You didn’t even notice everyone else leaving until the sun dipped below the horizon, painting gold across the windows and casting long shadows on the now-empty space.

You exhaled slowly, closing your computer and feeling the soreness in your back from being hunched over too long. The cons of being a workaholic, you guessed, but you’d done your part. You gathered your things, slid your jackets over your shoulders, and stepped out into the cooling evening.

You could have missed him if you hadn’t hesitated a second too long in the doorway, but you could also recognize Oscar anywhere, eyes closed or blindfolded.

He was leaning against a car, parked a few meters away from the entrance, hoodie loose around his shoulders and hair tousled by the breeze. His gaze was distant, unfocused as he was watching the distance. The second the door thudded shut behind you, the sound cutting through the quiet evening, his eyes snapped up, finding yours.

He looked lost, beautifully so. It froze you in your tracks. It didn’t seem to have the same effect on Oscar, as he pushed off the car and took careful steps forward.

“Hi,” was all he said, soft and steady.

You hadn't realized how much you missed the silken casualness of his voice before it reached your ears. It hit you harder than you’d expected. “How─?”

“Lando,” Oscar cut in gently. “He said you worked at a karting company near the city. I… looked it up. Thought maybe, with a little chance, you’d still be here.” He scratched the back of his neck and he looked away for a second, just one, before his eyes snapped back to yours.

Neither of you moved, unsure how to cross the canyon that had cracked open between you.

“I wasn’t expecting…” You trailed off.

“Yeah,” Oscar breathed out a humorless laugh, rubbing a hand over his mouth. “Me neither. It was, uh, pretty impulsive. But I couldn’t just…” He trailed off too, shaking his head.

You nodded, even though you didn’t understand. This whole conversation made no sense. “How’s it going? Life, I mean. At McLaren?” you asked, desperate to ignore your heart clawing at your ribs.

Oscar’s lips thinned. “Fine. Busy.”

“That’s good.”

He took a step closer, so very little you could have missed, and so slow it gave you the opportunity to step back. You didn’t take it. “And you? How’s─ all this?”

“It’s… something. I like it. I do.” You laughed, and it came out wrong.

“I’m glad.”

Silence fell, weighty on your shoulders. You didn’t know what to do, and you couldn’t guess how to act when Oscar looked so closed off, out of reach─ something he hadn’t been to you in a long while. You chose to let it stretch, unsure of what else.

Finally, it came down to Oscar. “You left.”

The words stung with the strength of a slap, and heartbreaking enough to put you back in front of your apartment door, two months back. You gripped the hem of your jacket, bringing it closer to your body in hope to substitute for the warmth his tone lacked. You inhaled sharply, fighting the sting behind your eyes.

“I didn’t have a choice. They made it very clear there was no place for me anymore, and it would be the better option for one of us to come out unscathed.” Your voice faltered despite your best efforts. “I didn’t want to leave that way, Oscar. Not without saying goodbye.”

You couldn’t help the comment that bordered on your lips. “But I figured you weren’t too concerned. You didn’t look too hard to reach me either.” Not an e-mail, no nothing. You were deprived of his contact information due to your work phone being taken away, but he wasn’t. 

Oscar’s hands curled into fists at his side. “I couldn’t. If I did, they assured me it could make everything worse if someone leaked it again, for the both of us.” A scoff escaped him. “Told me I had to wait until they found the person who took the audio recording in the first place before I could try anything.”

“And did they?”

“No,” he admitted. “But I don’t really care.”

Again, he took a step forward. Oscar was close, not overly, but close enough for you to see the wild and desperate edge etched in his delicate traits, regardless of how much he tried to hide it. “I wanted to reach out. Every day. I just─” He ran a hand through his hair. “I guess I thought that’s what you wanted. I kept thinking that maybe you hated me for how it ended, or─ maybe you regretted it.”

Your laugh broke out sharp and ugly, more hurt than anything else. “Hated you? Regretted it?” You shook your head in disbelief. “Oscar, how could you even think-?”

He didn’t interrupt you. You had to do it yourself, because Oscar just watched as if waiting for a confirmation between the lines. “You really think I’d regret you?”

He still didn’t move. “I mean…,” he finally rasped out, barely carrying over the wind, “it cost you your career in F1. I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”

“I cost me my career, Oscar. Not you. The fake relationship was my idea. I told you from the beginning I’d take the fall if it came to it. You were just helping me.”

You watched his jaw contract with the need to argue back, but you wouldn’t let him. Oscar was wrong on all accounts in his reasoning, blinded by whatever had been clouding his mind during your disappearance, and you were making sure it stopped there.

“I couldn’t hate you even if I tried. Well, not now at least- you were pretty insufferable at first.” His shoulders shook in the semblance of a laugh. “And if there’s anything I regret, it’s not realizing that it stopped being fake a lot sooner.”

There it was, the hefty topic you had been dancing around─ the kiss, gentle in its unearthing, and the whispered promises of explanations in the morning. Something that had been stolen from you and was now coming back to the surface for a last gasp of air. You could either take it or let it drown.

Oscar’s eyes searched yours, and for a second you believed he’d apologize and leave.

But that’s not what he did.

“It was never fake for me,” he said. “When- When you walked in and introduced yourself as my PR manager, and you were all smiles and nerves and─” he huffed, breathless, shaking his head, “and I was gone. I didn’t know how to act around you or what to do with myself.”

He got so close, you had to tilt your head to look up at him. “I kept thinking it would pass,” he continued. “That it was just a stupid fixation. But you kept being you, and you got close to Lando, and you stuck around. It just kept getting worse. Or better, I guess, depending on how you looked at it.”

“Then there was your ex,” He said, breaking into a soft laugh. “You took my arm and called me your boyfriend and all I could think was, yeah. I’d like to hear that again.” His fingers grazed the inside of your wrists, a ponctuation in his confession. “I didn’t fake a single thing. Not once. It’s been real from the beginning.”

Almost delirious, you broke into a cackle that had your hand flying to your mouth─ a half-sob, half-choke ripped from your chest. “So you were a douchebag… because you liked me?”

Oscar’s mouth quipped, sheepish. “Yeah.”

“And you acted like an idiot because you didn’t know how to show it?”

“... Yeah.” Now he sounded embarrassed.

Another watery laugh bubbled out of you, and you wiped at your eyes with the sleeve of your jacket. “Oh my god, you’re such a man,” you said, voice wobbling between amusement and heartbreak, and Oscar’s smile cracked wider at the sound of it. You sniffled, rolling your eyes to try and hide the hopeful pain in your chest as you asked, intertwining your hand with his. 

“So… what do we do now?”

The pad of his fingers trailed up your arm, sending shivers down your spine. He cupped your elbows gently, steadying you like you were at risk of breaking at any minute. “Well,” Oscar murmured, the ghost of a demand parting his mouth. “Now that we got everything out of the way, I’m here for a reason. Only if you’ll have me.”

You didn’t need any more convincing, the days spent in his company during the tired mornings  and warm nights gave you ample amounts of reasons not to deny him.

As if you had the strength to even think about it.

You surged up, and your mouth caught up with his in the same way a puzzle piece would fit into another. It felt like homecoming, how the weight of his lips balanced against yours. Oscar hands went up your sides, painfully slow, wrapped around your waist and pulled your body flushed against him. You curled your fingers in the air at the nape of his nec, tugging slightly, and he sighed into your mouth─ broken and hopelessly in love.

The world shrank to just this: the press of his chest to yours, the warmth of his skin and how intensely Oscar Piastri kissed you back.

When you broke off contact for air, Oscar chased after your mouth. You tried to contain a giggle, unsuccessfully. “I can’t believe it took a whole fake relationship, messy break up and all, for you to do and say all that,” you teased.

He rolled his eyes and before you could react, the hands resting on your hips pinched your sides. You yelped, stepping on his foot. Old habits die hard, apparently, no matter what may have transpired in between.

“Well, I think you wouldn’t have liked me as much without that fake relationship.”

“I wonder whose fault it is, Oscar.”

“I’m just saying, I─”

You kissed him again. And again, and again, until the sun was well gone and stars were the only witnesses.

That night, you made sure to take Oscar back to your apartment. There was no awkwardness in the small talk made in the car, no hesitation in your movements. It was a slow series of quiet laughs against skin, not rushed or frantic in the slightest, whispered confessions tangled between languid kisses. You were curled up against him, a blanket thrown haphazardly on your legs and you talked. The way you wanted and needed to.

He murmured you might need to lay low for a while into your hair, eyes already closing with tiredness, in order to let everything die down and you agreed, brushing his knuckles with the featherlight touch of your lips. You could always come out with the truth later on, and you were content with your life in the Netherlands─ even more so if Oscar could share it with you in some hidden place in his heart. Your palm rested over his heart, feeling his heartbeat slowing down by sleep and lulling you into Morpheus’ arms just the same.

He kissed you one more time. The taste of home and future lingered in your mouth. Oscar will be there in the morning, when the sunlight will shine through the window. And then you could discuss it, about you, more in detail around a cup of coffee, when he’ll drive you to work before disappearing in his orange car, feelings less raw and more authentic.

Real didn’t have an expiration date. You had all the time in the world to figure it out.

©LVRCLERC 2025 ━ do not copy, steal, post somewhere else or translate my work without my permission.

[jungwnies]

f1 grid (1/2) | forgetting their birthday

୨ৎ : featuring : max verstappen, lewis hamilton, george russell, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris, oscar piastri (click here for part two) ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by @holycastles) : pretending to forget their birthday but actually having a huge surprise for them planned

୨ৎ : genre : romantic comedy ୨ৎ : word count : 3719

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : god FORBID you forget one of their birthdays... i fear everyone but verstappen and piastri might overreact a tEEEEENY bit...

ʚ・max verstappen

you knew max didn’t love big birthday celebrations. he wasn’t exactly the cake and balloons type. but still, he deserved something special. and if you had to fake forgetting the day just to throw him off? so be it.

it started that morning. he came into the kitchen, hair sticking up on one side, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. you were already at the stove, flipping pancakes like it was any other tuesday.

“morning,” he mumbled.

you glanced back over your shoulder. “morning.”

that was it. no ‘happy birthday.’ no mention of it at all.

you saw the subtle twitch of confusion in his brows, but he didn’t say anything. just grabbed a mug and poured himself some coffee.

you didn’t feel bad. okay, you felt a little bad. but it would be worth it.

by the time afternoon rolled around, max was quieter than usual. he’d disappeared into the simulator room for a couple hours, re-emerging only to plop onto the couch and scroll aimlessly on his phone.

“everything okay?” you asked, settling beside him.

he shrugged. “yeah. just… thought today might feel different.”

you leaned your head on his shoulder. “tuesdays are weird like that.”

he didn’t answer.

but when you stood up a bit later and said, “i’m just running out to grab some groceries, be back in an hour,” and kissed the top of his head, he nodded, not suspecting a thing.

what he didn’t know was that the "groceries" were actually a mad dash to finalize the surprise party you’d been planning for weeks. all his closest friends were already at the venue. there were red bull-themed decorations, his favorite food, drinks, and even a mini go-kart course set up just for him.

when you texted him an hour later, “hey, can you come meet me at this address? i need help carrying stuff,” he didn’t hesitate.

he pulled into the lot, looking around curiously. then walked inside.

and everyone yelled, “surprise!”

max blinked. for a second, you saw that classic verstappen processing face, the one he made when someone overtook him unexpectedly. then he turned to you.

“you little liar,” he said, breaking into a grin.

you shrugged. “thought tuesdays were weird like that.”

he pulled you into a hug so tight your feet almost left the ground.

“i really thought you forgot,” he murmured into your hair. “i was trying not to be upset.”

“i know,” you said, pulling back to smile up at him. “that’s how i knew it would work.”

max kissed you, soft and slow and a little overwhelmed.

“simply lovely,” he whispered.

and it was.

ʚ・lewis hamilton

you figured lewis wouldn’t throw a fit if you forgot his birthday. he wasn’t that type. but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t hurt him.

and that’s what made the plan a little risky.

the morning of, you played it cool. real cool. too cool.

“morning,” you said, breezing past him in the kitchen as he fed roscoe.

he looked up with a sleepy smile. “morning, love.”

you kissed his cheek, grabbed a banana, and scrolled through your phone. no ‘happy birthday.’ no card. not even a cheeky joke.

you saw the faint change in his expression. his smile dipped, just slightly. like he wasn’t even sure if he was allowed to be disappointed.

but he didn’t say anything. just nodded and went back to scratching roscoe behind the ears.

you left the house an hour later, saying you had errands to run. lewis stayed behind, probably expecting you’d come back with cake or something. but you didn’t. at least, not right away.

the rest of the day, he barely said a word. he worked out, took roscoe for a walk, sat out on the balcony with a tea. every now and then he checked his phone, like he was expecting someone, maybe you, to send a text. a call. anything.

nothing came.

you got home just before sunset, acting casual as ever. “you hungry? i was thinking we could order thai tonight.”

lewis looked at you, finally speaking after what felt like hours. “you didn’t… have anything else planned today?”

you tilted your head. “should i have?”

that hurt flickered in his eyes. he hid it well. but you noticed it, because you always noticed him.

he nodded slowly. “nah. just wondering.”

you stepped closer, and before he could pull further into himself, you said, “actually… yeah. i do have something planned. but i need you to come with me.”

he raised an eyebrow.

you handed him a hoodie. “put this on. we’ve got somewhere to be.”

the drive was quiet, but you saw the gears turning in his head. he was curious now. hopeful, maybe.

when you pulled up to the small venue you’d rented for the night, he looked confused.

until he walked inside.

there was soft music playing. his closest friends, family, and team were all there. dim lights, candles, vegan food lined up buffet-style, and roscoe’s favorite treats in little bowls around the room.

photos of lewis through the years played on a loop on a big screen. gp wins. childhood go-karts. that time he dressed up as batman for halloween. all of it.

he turned to you, eyes wide.

“you didn’t forget?”

you shook your head, stepping closer, arms wrapping around his waist. “how could i forget? you just had to let me lie a little first.”

he pulled you close, forehead pressing to yours, that quiet smile finally breaking through.

“you got me,” he whispered.

“i always do.”

lewis kissed you like he’d been holding his breath all day. and maybe he had.

later that night, after the crowd thinned and it was just the two of you swaying in the soft light, he said it again.

“i really thought you forgot.”

“i know,” you murmured. “and i’m sorry for letting you think that.”

he looked at you for a long moment, thumb brushing over your cheek.

“this… this was perfect.”

and you could tell he meant it.

ʚ・george russell

you knew george would make a thing out of it.

the man had a flair for dramatics. you loved that about him. but it also meant pretending to forget his birthday was going to be a test of your own acting skills.

you woke up early on purpose, slipped out of bed before he opened his eyes, and left a post-it on the mirror that said, “went out to run errands, be back later x.”

no ‘happy birthday.’ no breakfast in bed. not even a cheeky wink.

the silence from your end was deafening.

by the time you returned home mid-afternoon, george was sitting on the couch like a man freshly betrayed. wrapped in a blanket, arms crossed, tv playing some mindless nature documentary that he was definitely not watching.

you dropped your keys on the counter and glanced over. “hey. everything alright?”

he didn’t move. “oh, splendid. never better. just enjoying the slow decay of time.”

you bit your cheek to stop from laughing. “cool. i got almond milk, by the way.”

“oh, fantastic. we can toast to that instead of, i don’t know, birthdays or being alive another year.”

you blinked. “was it someone’s birthday today?”

he whipped his head around, lips parting like you’d slapped him.

“i cannot believe this,” he said, standing up and letting the blanket fall like a cape. “you’ve forgotten. i’m going to spiral. i’m going to become a menace to society. this is your villain origin story.”

“i think you’ll survive,” you said, barely holding it together.

he threw a hand to his forehead. “i wore the nice socks today. the ones with the tiny stars on them. i thought we’d at least go out.”

you walked over to him, leaned in, and kissed his cheek. “get dressed, drama queen. we’ve got somewhere to be.”

george paused. “wait. what?”

“no more questions. just put on something that won’t wrinkle when you sit down.”

still confused but too intrigued to argue, he changed into something sharp, because of course he did, and let you drag him into the car.

you drove for about twenty minutes before pulling into a private racetrack on the outskirts of town. george stared.

“you didn’t.”

“oh, i did.”

there was a single vintage aston martin waiting on the tarmac. helmet. keys. and a sign that read “happy birthday, t-pose king.”

he looked at you with the most ridiculous expression of glee and disbelief. “you made me think you forgot. you let me sit there in existential crisis mode, wrapped in fleece, contemplating my place in the universe.”

you nodded, smirking. “and now you get to race a car that costs more than both our kidneys combined. so… you're welcome?”

george burst out laughing. “this is evil. i love it.”

he pulled you into a hug, rocking you side to side like a goof. “you are insufferable. i was actually about to text my mum.”

“and say what?”

“that you were a monster. but now i take it all back.”

you handed him the keys and grinned. “happy birthday, george.”

he kissed your forehead and gave you the most dramatic bow he could manage. “best gift ever. even if you did emotionally traumatize me first.”

“adds character.”

and with that, he took off toward the car, already shouting something about lap times and not crashing it.

you just shook your head and laughed.

he’d never let you live it down — and honestly, you didn’t mind one bit.

ʚ・carlos sainz

carlos wasn’t the type to make a fuss.

he didn’t expect fireworks or a giant party. but a little something? a kiss, a card, maybe even just a soft “happy birthday, amor” in the morning? that didn’t seem like too much.

so when he woke up to an empty apartment and a quiet kitchen, he frowned.

you were already gone. no message, no balloons, no surprise breakfast. just a sticky note near the coffee machine that said “be back later <3.”

that was it?

at first, he tried to reason with himself. maybe you were planning something. maybe he was overthinking. he went through his normal routine — showered, made coffee, and replied to dozens of “happy birthday” texts from friends and family.

but with every hour that passed and nothing came from you, the more that quiet little sting in his chest grew.

you didn’t call. you didn’t text anything special. just a casual “need anything from the store?” and a “don’t forget to hydrate.”

hydrate? on his birthday?

carlos wasn’t mad. not exactly. just… disappointed. the kind that sat heavy in his chest and made everything feel a little dull.

by the time you got home that evening, he was sunk into the couch, arms folded and mouth pulled into that very specific pout he swore wasn’t a pout.

you walked in like everything was normal, bags in hand, smile in place. “hey. you okay?”

he didn’t look at you. “fine.”

he was not fine.

you sat beside him, and he barely shifted. “you sure?”

he shrugged, voice low. “i just thought maybe today would be a little different.”

and there it was. not angry. just honest. soft, but it hit you like a punch.

“i didn’t forget,” you said gently.

he turned his head, eyes meeting yours. he didn’t say anything, but his expression asked all the questions he couldn’t put into words.

“come with me,” you said, standing up. “just trust me.”

carlos followed. quiet, still wearing that guarded expression, like he didn’t want to hope just yet. like hoping would make it worse if he was wrong.

you drove for a while, and he didn’t ask where. he just stared out the window, wondering if he had overreacted. maybe he had. maybe he hadn’t. but it still kind of hurt.

and then you pulled up to the beach.

he recognized it immediately — the quiet spot just outside the city. no tourists, no noise, just the waves and a little stretch of sand. it was the place he told you once reminded him of summer nights in mallorca.

when he stepped out and saw the setup, he froze.

there were candles tucked into the sand. a low table, set for two, his favorite food already waiting. soft string lights swaying in the breeze. a bottle of wine. a tiny chocolate cake with “feliz cumple, mi campeón” written on top.

his chest actually ached a little.

you stepped beside him. “i wanted it to be private. just us. i thought you’d like that.”

carlos stared at you, overwhelmed in that quiet way only he could be. he ran a hand through his hair and shook his head with a small laugh.

“you really let me sulk all day.”

“i didn’t think you’d get that sad.”

“i had a full sadness, cariño,” he said, grinning now. “i almost went for a drive just to feel something.”

you laughed and leaned into him, arms slipping around his waist. “happy birthday, carlos.”

he kissed your forehead, arms wrapping tightly around you. the kind of hug that said thank you and i missed you and you know me better than i know myself.

“don’t think i didn’t notice the silence,” he whispered. “you were evil for that.”

“but you love me.”

he rested his chin on your head. “unfortunately for me,” he said, smiling, “yes. i really do.”

ʚ・charles leclerc

you didn’t mean to emotionally destroy charles. but, to be fair, you also kind of did.

because pretending to forget his birthday seemed like a harmless little prank. he was dramatic anyway. he overreacted if the grocery store ran out of his favorite chocolate mousse. he once said “this is betrayal” because you changed the netflix profile photo without telling him.

so yeah, forgetting his birthday?

he would be insufferable. but it would be hilarious.

and it was.

it all started when you woke up and kissed his cheek, said “don’t forget to take out the recycling,” and walked away. no “happy birthday.” no breakfast in bed. no gift.

charles blinked at the ceiling for a full five minutes like he was processing a national tragedy.

by mid-morning, he was fully spiraling. you ignored his very obvious attempts to fish for attention — him humming happy birthday under his breath, sighing deeply while scrolling through birthday messages, and dramatically opening and closing drawers just to see if you’d hidden something.

nothing.

at noon, he facetimed arthur and told him, loudly, “yes, it’s been a very lonely birthday, merci.”

you were in the other room.

by the time 4 p.m. hit, he was flopped across the bed like a man who had lost everything. face down. motionless.

you peeked in. “charles? you good?”

he didn’t lift his head. “i have been disrespected.”

you laughed. “come on. you’re being dramatic.”

“i am a monegasque man. i feel things.”

you rolled your eyes, fighting a smile. “put on something nice.”

he finally lifted his head. “why?”

“just do it. i’m taking you out.”

he narrowed his eyes. “out where?”

you shrugged. “it’s a surprise.”

he sighed, loud and exaggerated, but he got up. grumbling. mumbling something about emotional wounds. but he followed you anyway.

you drove up the hillside to one of his favorite spots overlooking monaco. he liked it because it was quiet. and because the view reminded him of home in a way that didn’t involve flashing cameras or team meetings.

when he got out of the car and saw the little table set up, the candles flickering, the box of pastries from his favorite bakery, and the tiny red-and-white checkered flag stuck in the cake… he froze.

“you didn’t forget?”

you grinned. “of course i didn’t forget.”

his mouth fell open like you’d told him you were actually a secret agent. he turned around in a slow, dramatic circle.

“you let me mourn. i was mourning.”

“yeah, i saw that.”

“i told arthur i was emotionally abandoned. you made me lie to my own brother.”

you handed him a fork. “eat your cake, romeo.”

charles laughed, stepping closer and pulling you into the tightest hug you’d ever gotten from him.

“you’re terrible,” he whispered.

“but?”

he kissed your forehead. “but i love you. even if you are a little monster.”

you smirked. “happy birthday, drama king.”

“never do this to me again,” he said, full pout back in place. “i aged five years today. emotionally.”

ʚ・lando norris

you didn’t actually forget lando’s birthday.

you just didn’t say anything right away.

why? because watching your boyfriend slowly unravel in quiet confusion while trying so hard to act like he doesn’t care? prime entertainment. especially when it’s lando and you know his first response to emotional distress is going live on twitch like a victorian child playing the piano in a thunderstorm.

you left him a kiss on the cheek that morning. said something casual like, “i’ve got errands today, might be gone for a while.” no happy birthday, no gifts, no hints.

he blinked. “okay… cool.”

then you walked out.

lando sat there for a while. fully dressed in his comfy hoodie, expecting a “surprise!” to pop out from the bedroom or kitchen or shower. nothing. the apartment was silent.

he gave it an hour. then opened twitch.

“yo,” he mumbled into the mic. “what’s up, guys.”

chat immediately popped off:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY KING!!!

WHERE’S Y/N??

ISN’T IT DATE NIGHT??

YOU STREAMING ON YOUR BIRTHDAY?

BE FR, ARE YOU OK

lando forced a smile. “yeah… nothing planned today. just thought i’d chill with you guys instead.”

he sipped his red bull dramatically. “no big deal or anything. just a regular day. like any other. i’m not sad.”

he absolutely sounded sad.

even his “poggers” had less energy than usual.

at one point he read a message and went, “no no, she didn’t forget, i don’t think… i mean, probably not. right?”

silence.

he died in-game two seconds later.

an hour into the stream, he looked directly into the camera and said, “if anyone asks, i’m emotionally strong. like… very mentally resilient. super fine.”

right on cue, your voice came from the door behind him: “hey, lan?”

he turned around so fast he nearly fell out of his chair. “yeah?”

you peeked in. “can you come downstairs real quick?”

“what for?”

you shrugged. “just come on.”

lando hesitated, told chat “brb maybe she finally remembered i exist” and followed you downstairs.

waiting outside was a surprise birthday setup on the rooftop deck of your building. pizza, cake, his favorite snacks, party lights, a mini projector set up to play shrek 2 (because of course), and all his closest friends quietly waiting with party hats on.

he blinked. then laughed. then rubbed his face like he was overwhelmed but also completely relieved.

“you’re evil,” he said, pulling you into a hug.

“you were really about to stream all night, huh?”

“i was playing the long game. guilt stream.”

“happy birthday, twitch boy.”

he looked around at everything, grinning like an idiot. “okay yeah. worth the emotional damage. ten out of ten.”

ʚ・oscar piastri

you weren’t actually going to forget oscar’s birthday.

please. you’d had the whole thing planned for weeks. the idea was simple: pretend to forget, act super casual all day, then hit him with a surprise dinner, a stack of his favorite snacks, and a handmade card that said “happy birthday, nerd <3” in glitter glue.

classic. easy. foolproof.

except there was one flaw in the plan: oscar literally didn’t care.

the day started normally. you woke up, kissed his cheek, got out of bed like it was just any other morning. no mention of birthdays, no presents, not even a wink.

he just stretched and went, “do we have any cereal left?”

you expected some reaction. a confused glance. maybe a suspicious squint. but nope. he poured cereal, sat at the table, and started talking about tire degradation in the australian grand prix like it was a normal tuesday in april.

you were still waiting for the shift. for the "heh… you forgot something?" moment. it never came.

by lunchtime, you started to panic.

you casually said, “nothing special going on today?”

he looked up from his sandwich. “nah. not really.”

no sarcasm. no hint of drama. just full, honest indifference.

that’s when it hit you: he actually didn’t care that you hadn’t said anything. not even a little.

and that made you spiral.

“oh absolutely not,” you whispered to yourself, already grabbing your bag.

by the time oscar finished his sim session, the apartment was unrecognizable.

the lights were dimmed. candles were everywhere. a blanket fort was in the living room, fairy lights tangled in the sheets. on the table: pizza, garlic bread, a mini chocolate cake, and a birthday card shaped like a tire that said “p1 in being born.”

he blinked. “uh.”

you appeared from behind the couch, slightly out of breath and holding a party hat. “sit down. we’re celebrating your birth. no arguments.”

oscar raised an eyebrow. “i thought you forgot.”

“that was part of the plan. but then i realized you didn’t even care, and that was way worse.”

“i really didn’t,” he said honestly. “it’s just not a big—”

you shoved garlic bread in his mouth. “it is. you’re my favorite person and you were born today and that is a top-tier event.”

oscar slowly chewed. then smiled a little. “this is ridiculous.”

“you deserve ridiculous.”

he sat down, pulled the party hat over his hair with zero resistance, and looked around at the chaos.

“i seriously didn’t expect this.”

you nudged the cake closer to him. “good. i wanted to catch you off guard. you never let people do stuff for you.”

he paused. “yeah. i guess i don’t.”

you sat beside him. “well, too bad. today’s not about what you think you need. it’s about me forcing love upon you in the form of carbohydrates.”

he let out a quiet laugh, eyes soft as he looked over at you.

“thank you,” he said. “really.”

you smiled. “happy birthday, oscar.”

and for a guy who “didn’t care,” he looked suspiciously close to being emotional.

but he just picked up a slice of pizza and said, “do i at least get to pick the movie?”

“absolutely, birthday boy.”

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[araybiaaa]

❝ temptation.❞  ‎ elias ‘stack’ moore x black!fem oc

ooo. 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔… modern!au, tension, flirting, cunnilingus (cause every man in this movie is a muncher!) black!fem oc, explicit sexual content.

ooo. 𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔… where a good girl falls into temptation after she meets elias ‘stack’ moore.

ooo. 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔… soooo i wanted to try something different and do a modern!au with stack. (smoke’s still my favorite twin. the real girlies get it!) but i wanted to challenge myself a bit here.. this idea honestly came out of nowhere. i opened a03 and just started typing and somewhere down the line it became a one shot with 5k+ words?? 😭 also just wanted to say tysm for all of the love on my other fics. smoke and annie are near and dear to my heart and i’m glad you guys enjoyed my interpretations/writings for them. just a fair warning, the girl in this is very unserious but who wouldn’t be if you saw a vampire that looked like mbj! requests are open so send in something if you’d like — just keep in mind of my rules. anyway. likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated! ◡̈

“he’s dangerous. if you had any common sense you’d stay away from him.” their words seemed portent at first; a precautionary warning that had her wary of him. she didn’t know him but she’s heard enough stories about him to know that he was feared by everyone. his reputation was something akin of their town’s own boogeyman or freddy kreuger — he was dangerous, menacing and someone to be fearful of.

cleo hadn’t been in town long enough to know if his reputation superseded him or if the rumor’s held some weight of validity in them but her curiosity was piqued to meet the guy that had people hurriedly locking their doors when the sun went down and removing the welcome mats off of their front porches.

at first, she wondered if everyone in town had collectively decided to pull a prank on her as some sort of initiation or simply for their own amusement. because to her elias moore seemed more like a ghost than a vampire. she lurked outside after hours, even against their warnings — completely foolish and naive, but she never saw him around.

she doesn’t know why she wants to see him so bad, maybe it’s because everyone else has and she feels strangely left out. or maybe it’s because she needs to see for herself if there was a world where mythical creatures existed outside of the cheesy television shows she used to watch and the books that she read. but much to her dismayed defeat, time continued on with her being the only one who had yet to meet the feared elias moore.

“what does he look like?” she asked, feigning innocence behind her curiosity that her best friend, naomi easily sees through and narrows a pointed glare at her. “what? i just want to know in case i see him around somewhere!” she murmurs with a halfhearted shrug. it didn’t seem like an actual possibility with how she hadn’t so far, but she didn’t want naomi to know that she was willingly seeking him out.

naomi sighs, pursing her lips as she tapped her manicured fingers against her thigh. after a moment’s contemplation, she reveals: “i’ve only seen him around a few times. he doesn’t look like any of those sick looking vampire that you see on tv. he’s actually…fine.” at this, cleo’s eyebrows raise in amusement at her friend’s description. “he has this look about him that makes you weak in the knees whenever he smiles at you. it’s effortlessly sexy and his eyes — just don’t look in them too long cause you’re gonna find yourself wanting him to turn you into a vampire too just so you can spend the rest of eternity with him. i’m only telling you this because you asked, but don’t go around asking anyone else about him. you don’t want your daddy finding out about it.”

cleo nodded in agreement, but still found her mind wandering about him. she knows that naomi’s right, her overly religious father would have an aneurysm if he’d found out that she was asking questions about the town’s social pariah. but that didn’t stop her from visualizing him through naomi’s description.

she’s only ever heard of naomi speaking negatively about elias so for her to refer to him as fine despite her disliking of him had intrigued cleo. “yeah, you’re right. i was just curious but now i know.”

naomi’s pointed glare deepens, like she doesn’t fully believe cleo. “girl…stay away from him for your own good. trust me. i know another girl who was curious about him just like you are and she got turned.” cleo wonders if she’s just saying that to scare her away, but surprisingly it doesn’t.

“i hear you,” naomi hums in acknowledgment but thankfully doesn’t reprimand her any further about her curiosity.

…

sometimes cleo makes smart decisions.

when it came to school and her grades, everything was always calculated in her mind for her to choose the best possible outcome. she was annoying obsessive like that — always planning ahead, analyzing and assessing even the most mundane things that infiltrated her life. but other times, on seldom occasions, she makes not-so-smart decisions; one’s that has her acting impulsively and deviating from her normally pristine behavior.

she was supposed to be going back to her dorm room to get ready for a party that she was planning on going to with naomi. it was twelve o’clock and she had just finished an exasperating nine hour bartending shift with annoying alcoholics flirting with her and their heady, glossed over eyes staring at her ass in the tight fitted jeans that she was wearing.

her dad was less than pleased about her place of employment, but he knew that she needed extra money to pay for her clothes, shoes, hair and other miscellaneous items so he refrained from making any comments anytime she she complained about a customer or the minimal pay that she was getting.

cleo was closing the bar; wiping down the sticky counters, recounting the money in the register and overturning the chairs when she looks up and sees him. he’s standing across the street but even with the distance set between them she can feel the smolder of his gaze as he looked at her. cleo stands there for a brief moment just staring back at him until she mustered enough courage to make her way to the front door.

the overhead bell rings in a soft bellow as she pushes the door open. the humidity of the mississippi air sticks against her skin as soon as she steps outside. but even with its scorching temperatures, elias’ stare pierces deeper and has her skin burning. when she steps outside, she sees him making his way towards her — his gait was stealth and calculated.

she feels goosebumps prickle along her skin, air catches in her lungs and warmth curls around her neck as he sauntered closer. the first thing that she noticed was that although naomi had been right in her description of him, she had greatly undermined it. he wasn’t just fine; he was handsome and she could already feel her knees buckling weakly beneath her just at the sight of him. the second thing she notices is his eyes and the phosphorescent glow of red in his pupils. when he finally reaches her, he stands athwart from her and slowly drags his eyes over her body. his eyes find hers again and for a moment she wonders if she could hear the hastened beating of her heart.

“it’s kinda late for you to be out here ain’t it?” he posits and the deepened drawl of his southern accent somehow makes him more attractive.

cleo swallows a shaky breath, nodding. “i’m closing up the bar. we just closed about ten minutes ago,”

he raises his brows, trailing his eyes somewhere offside. “and they just left you to do it by yourself? don’t they know it’s dangerous people out here? vampires walkin’ about like they’re humans.” he says with sarcasm lilting in his voice and clicks his tongue against his teeth with a reprimanding tsk that follows.

cleo juts her chin outwardly. “i’m more than capable of handling myself.” she rebuttals, her hand perched on her hip as she looked at him.

his eyes find hers again and he smirks impishly, nodding his head. “i’m sure.” he says; and it’s something hidden in the way that he says it that has her cheeks warming again. a moment passes between them as he stares at her with an intrigued expression worn on his face. “you ain’t scared of me,” it’s more of a statement than a question, though she knows it’s intended to be the latter.

he sounds and looks surprised by this, that he’d finally encountered someone that didn’t run away when they saw him. “am i supposed to be?” she was more attracted to him than anything, unable to stop looking at his lips and his bared fangs that peeked out from his mouth.

he shrugs, “everyone else is.”

“well i’m not everyone else,” at that he doesn’t respond, only smirks at her again making the butterflies she feels in her stomach somersault deeper. cleo bites her lip as she looks over her shoulder towards the bar. ‘don’t ever invite him in anywhere, that’s how he gets you.’ she ignores her father’s words, pushing them to the back of her mind. “you wanna come in?”

he raises another brow, “you want me to come inside?” this time it’s her that shrugs and he only gives her a brief dubious look of contemplation before he’s following her inside of the bar at her open invitation. she could feel his eyes honed in on her ass and unlike with the drunken middle aged men from before, she isn’t repulsed at the realization.

“you know, at first i thought people were lying about who you are. it seemed like everyone knew what you looked like except for me.” she says, folding her arms against her chest and watching his eyes lower to her perked breast. she bites on her lip, intrigued.

“you were lookin’ for me?”

she nods briefly, “i wanted to know what you looked like.”

he walks towards her until he’s standing directly in front of her; way closer than he was when they were standing outside and it catches her slightly off guard. “well now that you have…whatchu think?” the remark is undeniably coquettish — the soft murmur of it accompanied by the lascivious look that he’s giving her has her pinned beneath his gaze.

“i think you’re not as scary as people make you out to be,” she responds; avoiding the answer that she knows he was truly searching for. but he settles for this one too, indulging in her retreat.

“you think you can make that assumption from a five minute conversation? what if i am like everyone says?” the air between them shifts into this palpable tension; hot and undeniable. he takes a few more steps forward until he’s hovering his heightened figure over her. she cranes her neck to look up at him, “i could bite you right now and you wouldn’t be able to do anythin’ about it”

“if you wanted to you would’ve done it outside,” she rebuttals, seeing the twitch of his curled upper lip.

“maybe i like playin’ with my food before i eat it.” and the innuendo behind his words has her breath hitching.

her skin pricks with goosebumps again at his teasing words. elias takes immediate notice of it; his nostrils flare as he inhales sharply with his heightened senses. and it takes a moment for her to realize that he must smell something radiating off of her body — arousal? excitement? — because he’s chuckling and licking his lips as he reached his hand out and brushed it over her hip. she shivers, not out of fear but of arousal. “and you sure as hell look and smell good enough to eat.”

cleo’s mouth gapes the only audible sound that comes out is a soft gasp. it’s the sound of her phone ringing that suddenly clefts through the tension hanging in the air. she jumps, startled, looking at elias whose eyes narrow at her phone like he’s inwardly cursing it for its intrusion. she reluctantly moves out of his grasp and walks over to pick up her phone that was sat at the edge of the counter.

picking up the phone she sees that it’s a text from naomi asking where she’s at. she’d gotten so distracted with elias that she forgot that she was supposed to meet naomi at their dorm room half an hour ago. she types a quick message in response, telling her that closing up took longer than expected and that she should go ahead to the party without her and that she would just meet her there instead.

she looks up from her phone at the same time elias is already walking out of the door, the sound of the bell ringing announces his departure as cleo stands there with her mind replaying their interaction.

…

a week passes before she sees him again. he’s standing outside of the door; staring, watching, waiting. she walks towards the entrance and holds the door open, beckoning him forward. “come in,” he walks inside as she closes the door behind him.

“you weren’t here the other night.” he says, catching her slightly by surprise. had he been looking for her this time instead of the other way around?

“oh, yeah. i was off. i don’t work on tuesdays and thursdays,” she explains watching as he nodded before looking away with a sheepish expression. after their last encounter, she spent the entire week thinking about him — how he looked at her, how his hand felt against her bare skin. cleo didn’t understand how she developed such a quick attraction for him, especially when she didn’t even give human boys any time of the day, but something about him was different.

naomi was right, all it took was one look from him and cleo found herself a fallen victim to his charm. “why aren’t you scared of me?”

she’s taken aback again, even more so than the first time. “why do you want me to be?” she challenges, noticing the pull of his jaw as he clenches it shut.

“your daddy’s a preacher ain’t he?” she furrows her brow, curious to know how he’d figured that out without her telling him. “how you think he’d react if he knew you were stayin’ behind after work to talk to me?”

ah, so that’s what this is about.

“well aside from me being grown and fully capable of making my own decisions, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” and she would definitely keep this secret from him for his sake and hers. “elias—”

“stack.” he interrupts to correct her.

“elias,” she says, unmoored by his correction. he gives her a look but listens as she continued. “i’m not talking to you because i’m trying to prove something to my dad or anyone else here.”

“then why are you?”

“because i want to.” she exasperates, frowning slightly. “why is that so hard for you to believe?”

“because you don’t know what you’re gettin’ yourself into,” elias retorts through a forewarning tone that sounded all too familiar of her family and friends who initially warned her away from him. he was right, aside from the fictionalized information that she got through old cw shows she used to frequently watch, she didn’t understand the depth and complications that came along with being a vampire. but her interest in elias made her want to know more — she wanted the truth and all its ugliness.

“then show me.”

…

elias stack moore had a tarnished reputation way before he got bit and transformed into a vampire. albeit he was the more level headed of the two, the smoke-stack twins were well known for their violent behavior and short fused tempers. their involvement with the notorious al capone and then stack becoming involved in a near ritualistic slaughter hadn’t done anything to ease anyone’s perception of him. his reputation expanded over the near century with people reciting tales of his life; often times dramatizing it completely.

but regardless of the half-truths or stack’s solemn search for penance — he still remained feared to the point where people would refrain from staying outside at night too long just to avoid him. he kept mostly to himself, only indulging in his sexual needs with a few other vampires that lived amongst the town. if he did leave his house, he made sure it was brief just to avoid any inadvertent run in’s.

he knew he was feared and had stories told about him that would give kids nightmares. but she was surprisingly the only one that didn’t tremble in fear when she saw him or tightly clutch her cross necklace and recite scripture from the bible in hopes it would protect them and keep him away like everyone else did. instead of running she gravitated towards him; accepting and intrigued by him in a way he hadn’t felt before.

he was wary at first of getting close to her.

she had a reputation as the preacher’s sweet and innocent daughter. he could only imagine the outcry that would erupt if anyone were to find out that she had been talking to him. but cleo insisted that she didn’t care and expressed interest in wanting to see/know him — all of him. so he invited her to his house.

she came over at work — still dressed in those tight jeans and that cropped shirt that accentuated her lithe physique — all wide eyed and innocent and fucking gorgeous.

as soon as she stepped over the threshold and inside, he felt something shift in the air as he realized that she was the first girl he’d ever invited into his house. he watches her as she looks around spectatingly, crouching over a bit with her hands on her knees to look at the display of photos that he had. “your brother?” she asks rhetorically as she looked at the candid black-and-white photograph that he had of him and smoke taken years back during the time of their youth.

stack nods tersely, pursing his lips in a moue.

and he’s grateful that she notices his reluctance and doesn’t prod any further because even though it’s been over a century since his brother’s death, it was still hurt carrying him around in his memories.

it’s stack who segues the conversation, now turning the spotlight on her. “you said you wanted me to show you, so what do you wanna know?”

cleo bites her lip in thought. stack’s mind is briefly distracted with how sexy she looks that he doesn’t initially hear her question until she asks it again.

“it took me a while to learn how to do it. i taught myself most of what i know, the guy who turned my ex that turned me didn’t teach me much. but it’s the first thing i taught myself.”

she nods, biting on her lip again as she lowered her eyes in a shy chagrin. “so that night at the bar…when you sniffed me what did you smell?”

“you really wanna know?” she looks up, almost contemplative, but nods. “lust. your hormones were all over the place.” her expression’s caught somewhere between mortification and a grimace. “my hearin’ is heightened too…i can hear your heart beatin’ fast as hell. you nervous?”

at her nod, he posits. “cause of me? why do i make you nervous?” he takes a preemptive step towards her, closing the distance between them. he hears her pulse quicken. smells the saltiness of sweat underneath the floral saccharine of her perfume.

she doesn’t respond, only looks at him underneath her lashes. “what else do want me to show you, cleo?” her breath hitches, eyes flit from his lips back up to his eyes in a quick maneuver. her heart beats louder and the smell of her arousal is so thick that he can almost taste it on his tongue. he inhales her scent; feeling his own arousal mix with hers.

he sees her throat stretch as she swallows.

…

it’s almost feral how he bares an arm around her waist and tugged her body closer to his. she gasps a bit at his onslaught — startled by the abruptness of his movements, but she’s immediately relaxing into his embrace the moment he brushes his mouth against hers. he kisses her with a ravenous vigor, sliding his tongue over the cupping of her lower lip as a terse plea for entry. she whimpers before she succumbs to his prowess, slacking her jaw wider as he intertwined their tongues.

his kisses are bruising and greedy to the point where he steals all the air that was in her lungs. it’s a slip of tongues and a crash of teeth messily colliding, through guttural groans and breathy whimpers. stack’s arms tighten their hold around her before lowering to her ass. he squeezes her through her jeans before giving it a firm smack; smirking at the way it ricocheted. he gives it another hard squeeze as his mouth nipped at the exposed flesh of her neck. “tell me what you want,” he rasps; gruff and throaty, his breath hot against her skin.

his lips pucker as he nipped at her skin; sucking deep, purple love-bites all over. (and it feels so good that she doesn’t even care that she’ll have to cover up the evidence of his markings with makeup to hide from her father and naomi.) she grips the back of his head, holding him against her as she fluttered her lashes and indulged in the pleasure.

“this,” she whispered, voice shaky, body trembling with an intense want. he groans against her neck; alternating between nipping and sucking. and he gets too into it because she hears a low sound that mimics a growl and feels the sharpness of his fangs grazing her clavicle. she gasps, taken back and he’s immediately recoiling — looking up at her with his swollen lips and lidded eyes.

“fuck. i-i’m sorry, i didn’t mean—sometimes when i get too excited it happens. but i wasn’t trying to…” he’s panicking, careening apologies to her. but she’s sliding her mouth over his and kissing him deeply with fervor.

“it’s okay,” she whispers, still pecking at his lips.

stack furrows his brow, “yeah?”

“just don’t bite too hard.”

he nods, lightly grazing his teeth into the softness of her flesh. he nibbles at her neck with the tip of his bared fangs biting deliciously into her skin. the pain is sharp but still pleasurable enough to have her eyes rolling to the back of her head. his hands make their way to the front of her body, sliding over her abdomen and hovering at the waistband of her jeans. she breathes softly through her parted lips, emanating a whimper when he bites into her lower lip. “you smell so fuckin’ good,” he murmurs, reaching his hands between the crux of her thighs and sliding his thumb over her slit — passing the pleasure over the seam of her jeans.

her underwear suddenly becomes sticky with her arousal and knowing that he could smell it on her was sending her over the edge. she feels this incessant pleasure building; coiling in her stomach and spreading through the heat of the place where she desired him the most. “can i taste you?” at her consenting nod, he maneuvers them towards the couch and eases her down onto the cushion.

he pries their wet lips apart with a ‘smack’, a string of saliva draws at their disconnection. she holds the smother head of his gaze, watching as he lowers to his knees. “lift your hips up for me,” he murmurs, already working at the buttons and zippers of her pants that loosen around her hips.

she concedes, arching her hips off of the couch just enough so that stack’s hands are able to tug the tight fitted fabric over her hips and down her thighs. “look at you,” he says; marveling at the sight of her arousal. the dark spot is visible against her pink underwear — soddening through the fabric. “already so wet and ready for me.” he kisses the inside of her thighs, nudging the bridge of his nose against her cunt.

she shivers through a moan, it’s just the barest of contact but she’s hypersensitive to his touch. his deft fingers pull at her ruined underwear, sliding them down her legs and absentmindedly throwing them aside so that she’s sat completely bare in front of him.

her cheeks warm at her vulnerability.

stack’s hand brushes against her calf as he gripped her leg and hefted it easily over his left shoulder. his eyes hone in on her cunt as she spreads open; staring in awe at the slick that’s gathered between her folds. he grabs at her other leg, barring it around his right shoulder until he’s got a perfect position of her cunt displayed in front of him.

cleo arches her hips slightly, holding herself upright as she rests the palms of her hand against the cushions. her heartbeat quickens at the desire that grows, palpable and thick in its emerging, sending another jolting throb directly into her cunt. she could feel the wisps of his breath as he leaned in. he brushes a teasing kiss against her thigh, humming softly at the way she shivers in response.

he nudged himself closer towards her cunt; pressing soft kisses against her skin in passing before he finally reaches the place where he could smell the the evidence of her want. he presses a kiss against it and she shudders, feeling the tension roll down her spine and curl into her toes. she doesn’t even have a moment to gather her bearings, because then he’s flattening his tongue and licking her up from the back of her perineum to her clitoris. “oh—fuck. s-stack,” she bellows a soft cry of pleasure, her hands grip into the couch to seek purchase.

and when he reaches the over sensitive bud, he puckers his swollen lips and sucks her into his mouth; skillfully using his tongue to massage her clit. she feels the texture of his tongue stimulating her clit, sending an overwhelming wave of pleasure burning through the crevices of her body. her breath catches in her throat and she’s shivering so hard that stack has to pull his mouth away to remind her to breathe.

she nods numbly, blinking through the fogginess of her vision. she parts her lips and exhaled shakily; attempting to lull her breathing. “grind your hips against my face,” she whimpers, reaching a hand up to hold the back of his neck to anchor herself as she slowly rolled her hips against his face.

“ohmygo—” the added pressure of his nose and tongue assaulting her clit has her dizzy. his hands grip her hips, fingers dig into the meat of her thighs holding her against him.

he makes his way up her vulva; pausing right before he reached her clit and increased the pressure so that the base of his tongue was forced slightly under her clit. he slows his movements, unrelentingly in his ravenous feat as he holds the pressure there. she grinds against him again, shaky, still trembling through her movements as she buried his face deeper into her cunt.

she could hear the lewd stickiness of her slick as he licked up her pussy; could see it glistening over his face — a messy mixture of her arousal and his saliva dripping down his chin. she’s already shaking towards her release but then he grazes his fangs softly against her clit and she’s suddenly bellowing out cries of pleasure as she cums.

she pulsates around his tongue, the tension tugs in her lower belly. he slides his thumb through her slickness, watching as she haphazardly falls backwards against the couch cowering away from the overstimulation. stack pulls away, lapping his tongue around his mouth as he licked up the remnants of her slick. “you okay?” he asked through a rasped breath, watching as she laid there in a dazed stupor.

she nods, just barely, feeling the heaviness of her breathing begin to lull. cleo never thought that someone as smart as her would be drawn into the temptation from a vampire, but here she was — with her cunt still throbbing around nothing, legs and body completely spent, eyes looking at his face that’s covered in her juices, and it entices her.

and it’s then that she realizes that she was totally and completely fucked. he’d warned her that she didn’t know what she would be getting herself into if she became involved with him but with the way he ate her pussy out so good and had her wanting more, cleo realized that she was willing to test the boundaries of her restraint.

…

cleo didn’t like lying, she’s always prided herself about being a truthful person regardless of the repercussions that could follow. she didn’t like people lying to her so in return, she treated everyone with the same decency of respect and remained truthful about everything. it’s not until she starts dating stack that lying easily becomes integrated into her life.

she goes to church with her father every sunday, sits in the front pew and listens as he recites sermons and scriptures about demons and evils that plagued the world. it guilted her knowing that he was wistfully unaware of the fact that she was bedding with someone he referred to as one of the demons that walked amongst them, but the way he made her feel was better than anything she’s ever experienced before.

so she keeps the secret buried deeply, and listens halfheartedly at his preachings as she finds her mind wandering on stack again. it’s easier to hide behind her fib with her father, but naomi’s naturally pestering curiosity always gets the better of her and a simple response of “i already have something planned.” does not offer enough of a rational explanation for her.

“you’ve been acting weird these past few weeks…” she acknowledges with a skeptical brow and pursed lips. she narrows her gaze in on cleo who desperately hopes that she doesn’t look too hard enough to see the hickies stack sucked on her shoulder and breast the other night. “you’re here during the day, but always sneak out to go somewhere at night like you’re meeting someone,” she accents, her perception’s dangerously close to discovering cleo’s secret.

“i’m not.” the lie falls disbelieving to both of their ears. naomi gives her a narrowed look, tilting her head. she bites on her lip in contemplation, sighing softly as she concedes. “okay! but you can’t say anything to anyone especially not my dad.”

naomi gives her a bemused look but nods.

“i might be seeing someone,” cleo murmurs, averting her eyes to naomi to see her eyebrows raise. “i am seeing someone. but don’t ask who! because i’m not going to tell you who it is. i’m only telling you this because i know you wouldn’t stop hounding me if i didn’t.”

naomi stands there quiet, considering her words. “is he married?”

“what!?” cleo beseeches, frowning at her friend’s absurd accusation. “girl, no! i am not a fucking homewrecker!”

“hey, it’s a fair assumption!” naomi rebuttals, raising her hands in the air at her defense. “you’re being sneaky and sleeping over at his place at night… it made me think that you only go over there because that’s the only time that you’re allowed to.”

“no. i’m not fucking a married man.” cleo states. she continued to stuff her clothes in her overnight bag, avid to get to stack’s place. she could feel naomi’s he eyes still piercing through her, curiosity sits on her tongue wanting to inquire further about the guy’s identity. but she thankfully relents, only giving cleo a hum of acknowledgment when she grabs her bag and clamors a parting bye as she walks out.

when she arrives at his house, she’s greeted with a smile and kiss, his arm wraps around her waist as she melts softly into the embrace. he maneuvers her bag from her hands, allowing to to fall absentmindedly to the floor with a loud thud. his hands are groping her everywhere; sliding over her ass, squeezing her titties, palming her cunt through the flimsy pair of leggings that she wore. it’s almost feral how both of their bodies aligned with the same wanton desire.

she loves how the outside world becomes a distant memory for them as they remain secluded in the privacy of his house with no worries of interruption or ridicule waiting. “if you had any common sense you’d stay away from him,” had been a warning, but she found herself gravitating towards him despite their attempts of deterrence. and she had no intentions of letting go of this feeling or him.

[likelysobbing]

nah let reader get her lick back now cause I can’t have us going down like this. Reader needs to get with one of the team immediately but it’s not like no rebound things it’s fr serious and Paige cannot stand it but who cares anymore?

𖥻 STUNNED. azzi fudd x reader x ex!paige bueckers (for the streets 2)

synopsis: paige’s eyes are on other girls, so azzi’s eyes sure as hell won’t let off of you now—and they’re the loveliest you’ve ever had the honor to look back at.

notes: RAHHH here it is! FOR THE STREETS part 2 ! hi nonnie! this is lightly, lightly, lightly LIGHTLY based off a song called makasarili malambing by hev abi and kristina dawn. sorry this took so long i was receiving my education! also, 3k+ words. if u read this u better read it all the way…tell me what u think too. i love interaction hehehe. also, i tried not to make paige suffer VIVIDLY, because i feel like it hurts more for player!paige to just silently regret #EL EM AY OH. thank u. also i put emphasis on eyes (adoration), the color green (envy), and make a lot of references to the previous fic. it’s linked on this post so go on and read it if you haven’t already <3 also, tagging @elalfywhore as per request hehe. hope you guys like it.

cw: READER’S A BIT OF A BITCH AT FIRST, But ends up folding because no one resists azzi bro, readers sassy, azzi is insistent, paige has avoidant attachment issues, no distinct establishment of a relationship but there is an implication of azzi and reader being more and both parties being okay with that (except paige. paige didn’t consent), PLAYER!paige

azzi always watched you.

you ignored it, especially while you were with paige—but she always watched you. azzi’s eyes seemed to favor trailing down your body more than anything else. whenever you ran into her and paige, back when you were still a couple, you had always kissed paige on the cheek—and azzi nearly leaned in everytime you approached her for a hug; maybe she expected a kiss on the cheek too— that’s funny, actually. but that’s unlikely, right? you ignore it. there was no way. no way she could have had any sort of interest in you.

especially now that you’ve practically estranged yourself from paige and her friends; that includes the basketball team. you haven’t said anything to them beyond ‘hi’ , ‘bye’ and ‘have a good day’—and they know why. they understand why. who wouldn’t want to do the equivalent of bury themselves in a hole if their ex girlfriend who they were so intent on marrying ended it all through a phone call while getting head from another woman? come on. you were sure they understood.

included in this very obvious mass-in-real-life-ghosting phase was none other than paige’s closest friend, miss goo goo eyes, miss azzi fuckin’ fudd.

you really tried to get her eyes off you, but it didn’t matter in the end.

azzi always watched you.

or like, maybe it was watch over instead of simply watch. watching over was more akin to what she did—she always checked in on you, maybe when she thought you weren’t looking her eyes would end up somewhere on your body that wasn’t necessarily scandalous—more so the space between your neck and shoulder or a collarbone. regardless, she had her eyes on you.

but watching you or not, you’re sure azzi didn’t mind you distancing yourself. you’re 100% sure she understood you being a bit too far to look at now? there was no need to dwell on it. you’re sure. you’re 100% sure.

… okay, well, maybe you’re 99.99% sure.

azzi sat across from paige, eyes slightly narrowing and widening as she felt the burn of yet another shot. the bass boomed in both of their ears, and each beat rung through their brain, but all azzi could focus on was that paige had let you go.

you. sweet, lovely, you.

she knew she wasn’t being slick when she watched you—her eyes always seemed to rake down every one of your features, and she wasn’t embarrassed about it. you were beautiful, and in paige’s arms you found your place. azzi couldn’t trespass on that—not because of paige, but because of you. you genuinely believed paige was inlove with you—pathetic, unheard of, even—but with how paige treated you, azzi began to believe it too… or she would’ve, if she knew paige less.

azzi didn’t rain on your parade of delusions hemmed by paige’s beautifully sown in lies.

but she wouldn’t deny that you would look better with her.

“you’re thinking again.”

there it is; paige was never one to think a lot, so she always questioned why azzi did. her decisions spoke for themselves. azzi pokes the inside of her cheek with her tongue, tilting her head just enough to turn her nose up at paige, who grins like she knows what this look is. azzi always seem to come up with the craziest shit, and right now—paige’s excited to see what she comes up with next.

“what you thinking of?” uconn’s number five asks, that drunken lilt unmistakable as she balanced speaking to uconn’s #35 and getting a lap dance from the girl she beckoned over (she knew nothing about her besides the fact she had a nice ass). azzi shakes her head, one side of her lips quirking up. that mystery only serves to make paige even more curious—as always, she doesn’t think twice about digging deeper.

“nah, come on, there’s something—“

“no, paige,”

“there’s someone.”

well, azzi can’t deny that, can she?

so, she burrows deeper into her seat and looks away. paige points at her like she just connected all the dots, going “oh!” like a frat boy surprised that his hunch was even correct. “who’s she?”

“she’s a she.”

“she’s a she and her name is what?”

“she.”

“that’s not a name, bro—“

“how do you know she isn’t a name?”

“bro. don’t do this. i’m drunk.”

by this point, azzi’s (a little bit!) drunk too. there’s adrenaline in her veins; sprinkle in that crazy audacity that paige seems to have all the time, and she could simply say what’s on her mind right now. or, maybe she should just say it to get it off her chest.

“your ex.” azzi murmurs. paige’s eyes darken, flickering from the common deviousness azzi’s so familiar with to something genuine she can’t seem to place. her jaw tightens, smile faltering just enough to make azzi’s own quirk up.

the lights flicker from red, yellow, green and purple randomly. by this point, she’s used to the strain—shes even memorized the pattern. the lights are going from red, to yellow, green, purple— purple again. so why … is paige all green?

“sorry, i don’t mean to impose,” was what she said to you first. you couldn’t even register she was near you at all. why was she even here, sitting next to you in a nearly empty library she’d probably benefit more studying alone in? you weren’t even in the same major. if she had a test to study for, you’d be of no help.

it was stupid of you to even assume studying was on her mind.

she just… did her own thing. in silence. she didn’t push, didn’t press, didn’t— she didn’t do anything. she was just on her phone. why was she in the library if she didn’t have any work to do? she had a whole friendgroup—maybe she did it to get away from them? wait, but why would she need to get away from them? did she need to hide? was she annoyed? why would she be annoyed? well, you don’t suppose it was paige, paige would definitely be quite an annoyance—

“yes?”

her voice is soft. softer than a feather landing on your skin. yet, like a feather, amidst how light her voice is—you feel it. it’s one word, but it takes just that to make you feel the one feeling you know will lead to more than multiple disasters.

interest.

you are interested in her.

azzi fudd’s big brown eyes were something you (and anyone in your place) could only resist for so long, and with one bat of her eyelashes and the flash of her sweet smile that—oddly—didn’t leave a bitter taste in your mouth. atleast, not like it usually did. you never saw her as anything more than paige’s bestfriend who was kind of into you (but also simultaneously there was no way she was into you because she was so pretty).

“you’ve been silent for the past two minutes.”

you blink. “… sorry.”

azzi smiles, again, and this time— you can’t help but smile back.

but it’s not that serious, isn’t it? there’s no harm in introducing new people into your life. there’s no harm even if it’s your ex’s bestfriend who’s watched you with for so long, and with such pretty eyes. there’s like, literally no harm.

you wouldn’t let there be any harm. you could open your heart to her a little. deal with her presence if it’s constant. bite back when needed, push away when called for, right?

“that’s okay.” she replies to you smoothly, looking back at her phone. “—just haven’t seen you in a while, you know.” she offers, and you freeze up. she doesn’t stop speaking. “i kind of.. missed you being close. like i get why—i understand, too, i just— you know..”

“yeah, i know you know. paige wasn’t really subtle with the breakup.” you murmured, “did she send you here to check on me, azzi?”

azzi blinks, scandalized by the accusation. “what… no? i don’t—i would never. i’m not like her— i mean, not like that— i just.. wanna be here?”

you raise an eyebrow, skeptically. “at this specific library?” and azzi inhales, “please don’t make me say what i know you know already.”

“i know a lot of things. but i don’t know what you think i know.”

“don’t you?”

“do i?”

“i just wanna be with you.”

that was easier to get out than you expected. hm, okay. okay— you tilt your head. “you’ve been with me enough, with how much you seem to hang around paige.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?”

“it means i’ve only ever known you as one of her minions.”

azzi’s eyes widen, and she nearly gasps—once again— SCANDALIZED, by your statement—but she doesn’t. infact, you don’t expect what she does—because she takes your jab in stride.

“wooow, minions, huh? okay, well—why don’t you try to get to know me beyond it?”

“i’d actually rather not. i know who you hang out with.”

“just because i hang out with her doesn’t mean—“

you interrupt her with the zip of your backpack and the slam! of your books closing. “you’re all talk. you never act.”

azzi tries to cut you off with a little “hey, wait—“, her hand on your wrist, her eyes wide and pleading but you do not budge.

you shake her hand off your wrist when she tries to stop you from standing up. it’s the perfect picture of cold ruthlessness you know paige doesn’t believe you have—and you know what? if azzi is going to act like a messenger pigeon, which you assume she is, then you’re going to make sure she has a lot to say to paige when she comes back.

unbeknownst to you, azzi looks at what was once your chair and frowns. she feels your absence more than paige does. more than paige ever will.

and it stings. both for you, and her.

she comes to you again. this time, you’re in another library, and somehow she has enough devotion to presumably ruining your life that she finds you. she smiles when she sees you, waving with a tiny ‘hello’.

you place your bag onto the chair next to you and go back to work. you’re in the zone, there’s nothing stopping you— apparently besides the girl plopping your bag down onto the (dirty!) floor. how rude. how does she have the nerve to sit next to you? why does she still think you’re good? she may want to ‘be in your presence’ but who said anything about you wanting to be in hers? what the hell does she think shes doing?

“i think maybe you should let me tell you what i’m doing here.”

“i actually think you should leave.”

“i’ve only sat next to you twice.”

“twice too many.”

theres a silence on the other end and you think you won. you can’t help the smile on your face—the rejection felt good, in a sort of cruel way. azzi didn’t have any part in you and paige’s downfall, but she did stand by and watch it—you—burn.

so you’d set fire to whatever she was dreaming of in return.

“i always thought you looked better with me.”

record scratch.

“you’re crazy.”

“i am not.” she replies, “just a tad bit tipsy.”

“it’s nine pm?” you scoff, and she shrugs, “pre-game. anyway, i mean it. i always thought you looked better with me. you would, wouldn’t you?”

this time, you leave in a hurry. there’s literally nothing but ‘evacuate’ in your head as you rush to pack your bags, spouting whatthefuckwhatthefuck in your brain as azzi, realizing the utter stupidity of her actions, begins to flail her arms around directionless as she tries to stop you from leaving again.

“okay maybe that was a little bit uncalled for, i’m sorry let me rephrase—“

“no, i am not letting you— and no, i do not wanna find out. you got me fucked all the way up—“

“listen, okay, i just think you’ve always been out of her league—“ she tries to reason, and you look at her incredulously.

“you’re talking about paige bueckers.” you say, back now turned to azzi as you begin to walk out.

azzi shakes her head, already toeing behind you— “i’m talking about my close friend. one who couldn’t see your worth— please, will you let me try again? god, i’m sorry— you’re just so pretty, okay? and you’re so fucking sweet, you have such a pretty face and i just can’t help but look at you—“

“that is so creepy, azzi.”

“it is! i’m sorry!” she whines, obviously more than tipsy, “i’m sorry! just—“ she takes you by the hand, and you freeze up because it’s been quite a while since you’ve had physical contact that had even a smidge of romantic intent, and when you look back— god, there it is.

big, brown eyes.

looking right at you, a tad bit glossy—wide, and paired with by far the prettiest pout you’ve ever seen. “please.” she whispers, keeping in mind how you’re technically still in the library and she’s been looked at thrice for her theatrics—“please? just… let me hang around. i’m not going to force anything i just—want to know you.”

you’re stunned.

you’re in no state to properly answer; your mind is going a mile a minute, and so in desparation to just speak— you speak with your heart.

“nnn… okay.”

that was your heart. it forgot all reason, dignity, and self respect, apparently.

maybe azzi giving you a wide, toothy smile was worth it though.

“you’re seeing her?” paige repeated, some drink she forgot the name of swirling in her cup. azzi nodded, “figured she’d need something soft to land on.” she murmured, and though her words seemed casual—there was more meaning to them than paige could understand. azzi’s tone was expectant, hopeful—she wanted something to bloom between the two of you—something nice. pretty. good.

“and what is that? your chest?” paige’s reply interrupts her, and though she tries to sound teasing—she sounds more... irritated.

“maybe.” azzi grins.

“get outta here.” paige scoffs, taking another swig of her drink as she slumps back into her chair. “you can have her, it’s whatever bro. liter-ally whatever.”

“mhm.”

azzi’s nonchalance only bothers paige even more.

“i hope you understand i’m not ready yet.” was the first thing you said right after that awkward moment back at the library, “for a relationship, i mean. like, this fast.” you clarified.

azzi nodded, bouncing off you well, “oh, me too—you don’t need to see me as a threat. i just want to know you. i know it’s going to be hard, considering well.. your ex is my best friend. paige doesn’t mind—“ she pauses, before trying to reword. “i mean that—“

“oh, that’s fine. i can tell she doesn’t.” you wave it off, and azzi just smiles apologetically as she continues. “even if it’s hard on the both of us, i want to see where this goes. i’ve watched you too long to not want to be close.” azzi shyly murmurs, before trying to rekindle a lighter atmosphere— “just don’t get sassy with me, okay? i don’t like fighting with you.”

it’s been five months now. since she’s said that.

specifically, since azzi began to try to woo you. every flower she gave was always your favorite one, every ramble you graced her with was met with actual listening ears and comprehension, and nearly every thing you wanted? you had it in your hands the next day. azzi wasted no time in trying to show you she in fact, wasn’t like bueckers (who seemed to be meaner these past weeks, impossibly)—you never had to doubt her.

like actually. you never had to doubt azzi.

she didn’t knock on your door three times, but she was… special. enough. to have a key by the third month. she didn’t look you in the eye all that much, too shy to properly maintain it, but you knew she watched over you anyway. and when she held your hand, she was the one that squeezed first.

even if she hasn’t popped the question yet, there is no doubt in your mind that she’s yours already. she may have had grandeur, but unlike paige, she did not let it define her love for you. no, she won you over by the littlest things. the things that mattered.

its been five months now. since she’s said that.

and it’s felt like… six / seven … years?

however long it’s been, you know there’s a connection. and azzi knows too, because why wouldn’t she? she somehow knows everything. there’s always solutions to problems with her, always an answer to a math equation or an existential crisis— its all so different.

different from paige, you mean.

with azzi, you’re always… stunned— from how much effort she puts in, how bright her smile is, how she never seems to not have time for you—hell, you’re stunned whenever you see her. you know there’s something there, but you don’t know who’s going to make a move first—or atleast, when she is.

you don’t know if you should care at all. you don’t know if you should put yourself first, or if you even have real questions. you can’t even ask azzi like you’ve formed a habit of doing because she somehow always says the right things—you can’t even muster up a question for her: what would you say? ‘bro please kiss me already?’ no way.

“you ready to go?” azzi’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts, and you blink to see her holding her hand out. ah, that’s right— you’re hanging out tonight. she’s taking you to her favorite spot across the town—that’s nice. you can’t wait to be with her.

you have so many questions you can’t muster, but maybe you don’t need to ask. maybe you just need to feel—her touch lingers far more than it stays, always tingling on your arm or your back; her absence causes you more heartache than you’d like; … it’s just her. maybe there are no more questions. maybe you don’t have questions, but either way, azzi has answers. she might as well be the answer to everything, actually. maybe there’s no need to dwell, no need to label it yet—lord knows what azzi wants.

you take azzi’s hand and she squeezes it first like she always does. it makes you smile wider this time.

this time, love is kind to you. it is soft and slow and yet passionate all the same. you don’t know where it might lead but the look in her eyes is worth it. this tenderness is worth it.

and you’re not afraid, wherever this might lead you.

paige bueckers.

big name. legendary name, even. yet she’s not as big and bad as shes made herself out to be right now. not at all.

in the same booth she was a few months ago, paige now sits alone. there are girls aching to get home with her, and she’s half-picking who should get that honor—but she’s trying to distract herself more.

the lights go red, to yellow, green, purple—purple again. so why does she feel so green?

envy is a rattle snake, and it wraps around her entire body. it squeezes tight, cutting circulation off to the point she’s so stiff she might explode— but it’s not because of you and azzi.

it’s not.

not even when her jaw clenches at the thought of you. and azzi. azzi is her bestfriend, and when she outright admitted to thinking about making moves on you—paige brushed it off with a laugh and a playful “she can’t even talk to half of us, bro—i got her heart broken … or like heartbroken or something.” but now, here she is.

and she’s not heart broken. shes not even bothered at all. she’s not.

she just doesn’t like to see you so close. why would she want you close? she’s done her time. pulled you in closer. you always burrowed in deep, she felt you in her heart. maybe that’s what sickened her— the feeling of endearment. you tried to reach your way in, but to paige it felt like you were tearing her apart—ripping her to shreds to crush the organ in your hands and make the victory against her sweeter.

she’s not heart broken. why would she be? there’s no one here breaking her heart.

there’s no one she lets close enough to even have a shot at it.

there is only her. and while she may not accept it, especially now? now that you are gone? now that she’s driven you away like she once did with every other girl who’s ever tried to come close—although you came closest—who came her way?

paige bueckers.

big name. legendary name, even.

but her heart breaks, and she’s the one breaking it.

@likelysobbing.

[ohburgee]

Hello! If it isint too much...mafioso x survivor!reader pretty please? Like mafioso has a small interest of the reader, becoming romatical. Suggestive ig. Could it work? Thanks!!1

an: Ooooh what a interesting request I got here :> Welp Mafioso my man once again, yep yep this will work on scenario sorry if I can't make it a story since I love this idea of mine turn into scenario, and thank you for your Mafi request.

Mafioso swore he saw those bunny ears. After killing Builderman and pushing the body aside, his eyes caught sight of two white ears, bunny ears, twitching.

His breath hitched for a moment. He followed without thinking, drawn forward through the map, and spotted you with Two Time, busy fixing the generator. Two Time noticed him first and shouted.

“He’s here!!” they yelled.

You turned, and for a brief second, your wide eyes locked with his. Then you bolted, your bunny ears twitching with panic.

Mafioso stood frozen, strangely mesmerized, as your emotions played so clearly across your body, your fear reflected in the way your ears moved.

A small smile tugged at his lips. Without hesitation, he started to chase after you.

Two Time, realizing the danger, pushed you forward.

"Go! I'll fight him!" they said firmly, stepping between you and Mafioso.

You hesitated, glancing back, your ears drooped low with fear and worry.

Seeing that, something twisted inside Mafioso. An odd ache, like regret, seeing you so scared.

But the fight called him back. Two Time drew their dagger and attacked. Mafioso smirked and dodged the blows with ease, but when Two managed to stab his shoulder, they smiled in triumph.

Mafioso simply stayed calm, drew his sword, and stabbed Two Time cleanly in the stomach, pushing them away.

Two Time collapsed, clutching their bleeding wound, while Mafioso walked past without another glance, his mind already back on you.

He needed to find you, to see those ears again.

He didn’t understand why he felt so obsessed. Maybe it was because he had always liked bunnies, but this, this was different. The way your ears revealed every flicker of your heart; your shock, your fear, your hesitation, it made you seem so heartbreakingly alive. So real.

It wasn’t just your ears that haunted him; it was your face, your wide, innocent eyes, the way everything about you spoke of vulnerability.

You reminded him of a lost little bunny, frightened but still beautiful, still worth chasing.

When he couldn’t find you, frustration gnawed at him. He called for his goons, who quickly appeared at his side.

"Find that white bunny," he ordered, voice low but urgent. "Bring them to me."

The goons scattered immediately.

Mafioso smiled softly to himself.

He didn’t want to hurt you.

He just wanted to be closer, to see you, to maybe… reach out without scaring you away.

Even if he didn't understand why, he knew one thing for sure.

He needed to see those bunny ears again.

[spiderb00]

- TELEPATHIC CONNECTION

Daniela Avanzini x Reader

“You and Daniela's connection was weak. You need to increase it with kisses!”

Genre - Fluff warning - none

(request)

Now Playing - Love Bug, by Okayceci

"we could stick up in my lovebug baby, and if you wanna we could get crazy"

The windows of the apartment were open, the view of the city was beautiful at dusk. The sound of the television was low, not allowing the sound of the sirens from the game you were playing to disturb your girlfriend. Daniela was lying on the sofa, her legs stretched over your thighs, keeping the two of you connected even when you were doing totally different activities.  

You knew the girls' comeback was coming up, and a few days off were rare, especially when your girlfriend had to practice and shoot almost every day. Practices were making the Latina tired, and nothing seemed better to her than simply relaxing a little by your side to ease her mind.  

Your little grumble had taken all of Daniela's concentration away. The woman now gazed at your side profile with admiration. She loved seeing you at times like this. Jaw clenched, eyes on the screen and eyebrows furrowed. You looked so beautiful concentrated like that, Daniela loves that.  

Taking her legs off your thigh to sit on the sofa, the blonde approached you, glancing at the game before looking at you again.  

“You're very good at this game.” The Latina said, slipping her arms around your shoulders and kissing your cheek.  

“Do you want to try?” You asked, knowing that Daniela loved playing GTA V. She was always driving around in a car, hitting pedestrians or buying clothes. Actually, so do you.  

“Actually, I wanted a bit of you...” Her lips tickled your ear, and the hairs on your body stood on end. “But you're too busy playing this stupid game.”  

“Well, if you wanted my attention that badly, you could have told me.” You said, joining in her game.  

You knew that your girlfriend was spoiled by nature, and she always wanted you to do her bidding, no matter what time it was, you'd be there to serve her. It would be a lie to say that you didn't love doing everything Daniela told you to, but every now and then, you had the luxury of playing with her a little.  

“You should feel when I want something.” The corners of your lips lifted in a smile, just like Daniela's.  

“You're right, I think our telepathic connection is weak.” You said, dropping the PS5 controller next to you on the sofa, and placing your hands on the Latina's waist. “I think we need to fix that.”  

“Wow, you're such a nerd!” Daniela rolled her eyes. Her hands were playing with the hair on the back of your neck, letting you know that somehow she loved everything you were saying.  

“I'm fucking serious!” Your body turned more towards Daniela, causing your knee to touch hers. “When a couple's telepathic connections are weak, they urgently need to kiss until they lose their breath!”  

Daniela's hands left the back of your neck, only for her to push your chest in a playful way. “Shut up, you nerd.”  

“But I'm serious!” You said, the smile on your face making Daniela melt.  

Rolling her eyes, the Latina used the same hand that had pushed you to pull your collar towards her, and within seconds the two of your lips were attached. Your hands went to Daniela's waist again, before falling to the brunette's hips. Gently squeezing the spot, you helped Daniela mount you, placing each of her knees on the side of each of your legs.  

The brunette's lips were soft and sweet, and you would never tire of kissing them. Daniela's hands ruffled your hair in the midst of the passionate kiss, and having the brunette on top of you made your head spin.  

“Do you know what I want now?” Daniela asked, looking into your eyes with that look she knew made you weak.  

Frowning, you licked your lips, still searching for another taste of your girlfriend's gloss. “Take that to the bedroom?”  

And there it was, that smile you love so much.  

“You're right, it really does improve the connection.” 

Hello everyone, how are you? do you like the new design? ;)

ARE YOU EXCITED FOR THE COMEBACK? They look so beautiful, I can't-

As some of you know, Megan is my bias, and she looks stunning in this new era (they all do). I'm really looking forward to writing for her, I also have ideas for Lara, and famout!

actually, I have ideas for all the girls, so let's see where this goes.

drink water and be safe,

xoxo, spider.

[saphiccarma]

Heya! I love love love your stories and HCs. Can you maybe do a WandaNat one where R is calling the safeword for whatever reason? How'd they all react?

I've actually been thinking about doing this so this ask is perfect! I don't mind requests for little hcs just not full fics. Will def make this into a full fic later tho-

The first time you call your safeword is just with Natasha. You were doggy style, ass up and hair pressed into the mattress.

It felt good, having her hands on your hips, but then she leans down.

Her front presses against your back, pinning you down even further. Then her hand snakes up and grabs your hair, tight, pushing your face into the mattress.

And suddenly you can't breathe, it's too much. The strap inside feels too big. You can't get enough air into your lungs.

It takes a moment, but you manage to twist your head and force out, "R- Red."

She stops nearly instantly, sitting up and staring at you in confusion for a moment before running a hand down your back.

"Alright," she says softly, her hips stilling, "Can I pull out?"

After you register her words, you nod shakily and she slides the strap out of your cunt, nice and slow.

Natasha takes it off before bundling you up in her arms, holding you close.

A soft kiss is pressed to your head, "I'm sorry," she murmurs, "What went wrong?"

You whine and shake your head, wanting to simply be held for the time being.

She holds you, arms wrapped around you, and then after you've cooled down gives you a warm bath and talks about what she did that made you call your safeword.

The second time it happens is with Wanda.

You were bent over her lap in her office, pants tugged down your legs and your ass red and sore.

You were being a brat, so this was well deserved, but tears streamed down your face.

Spanking was a soft limit, something the three of you had discussed, and you decided to let them try it.

Ten slaps in and you were mostly fine. Wanda had asked your color a moment ago and you decided on yellow. So she slowed down.

What you didn't know was that you loathed thigh slapping. You'd agreed to try it but you weren't expecting to hate it.

A sharp cry leaves your lips and you jerk away from her hand as it lands on your thigh.

Wanda pauses, glancing down at you, "Color?"

"Red," you blurt instantly, genuine tears streaming down your cheeks down.

Wanda coos softly, moving to sit you upright. Mindfull of your red bottom, she picks you up and carries you to the bedroom.

"I'm gonna go get you some goldfish and water okay? You stay here." She sets you down on the bed, brushing hair away from your face before pressing a tender kiss to your forehead.

You whine and make grabby hands but let her go. She returns a moment later with a bowl of goldfish, cup of water with a sippy straw, and some lotion.

"Can I put lotion on you?" She murmurs and after you nod, has you lie on your back so she can smooth your sore bottom.

Then she makes you eat some crackers and drink some water, despite your whines, before letting you fall asleep.

The third time you call it is with both of them.

You were eating Wanda out, face buried between her thighs as her hands held you close by your hair. It wasn't new.

Meanwhile, Natasha begins to slowly slide into your with a new strap.

It was bigger than before, girthier and longer. You thought you could take it.

But it stings, sharp and painful. Maybe that was just part of it. Other dildos you thought were too big and you managed to take it.

So with a small whimper you continue to slide your tongue through Wanda's folds.

But as Natasha picks up pace, the pain doesn't fade, only growing and the stretch is no longer pleasurable.

You try and pull your face away, but Wanda's hands hold you close, not realizing you were done.

Growing slightly frantic you tap on her thigh three times, stopping in all your other movements.

Wanda releases you hair instantly, but Natasha doesn't notice. She continues to pound into you, pace fast and eyes shut.

"Natalia," Wanda snaps as tears prick your eyes. The woman freezes instantly, glancing down and reading the room.

Slowly, tenderly, she pulls out, taking off the harness.

"What happened?" She asks, as you curl up next to Wanda, "Are you alright?"

You nod and Wanda orders her to get some crackers and water, which she slips out of the room to do. While she does that you turn to Wanda and tug on her shirt.

The woman raises an eyebrow, but lets you continue as you pull the hem down and latch onto her nipple.

A soft gasp leaves her lips, but she shifts so you're cradled in her lap, a better position.

Natasha returns a few minutes later, surprised, but takes it in stride. She sets the food and drink down on the bedside table before slipping in beside you two.

While you suck on Wanda's nipple, eyes slipping shut, Natasha runs her hand down your back and you fall asleep.

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Malleus Draconia - Overblot Voice Lines

Overblot Malleus Draconia does not have a vignette.

My weakness, inexperience, and even my foolishness will build the very foundation that allows me to grow even more powerful.

Summon: My name is Malleus Draconia. All you small peons would do well to bow your heads and kneel before me.

Groovification: To all those filled with insatiable greed, I shall rain down a punishing bolt of lightning upon them.

Home: This look suits me well.

Swap Looks: I shall permit you an audience.

Home Transition 1: Weaklings may fear overblotting. However, once this power is mastered... It actually isn't so terrible after all.

Home Transition 2: These short-lived and weak beings band together in order to build a better future... Hm. I feel as though I can finally understand the meaning behind Lilia's words.

Home Transition 3: ...Your countenance seems changed slightly. You must have evolved through overcoming the many hardships encountered while traveling from dream to dream.

Home Transition - Login: Heheh... My magical power is overflowing down to my very fingertips. I feel as though I could destroy anything I touch.

Home Transition - Groovy: You wish to see my dream, as well? First, you call me Hornton, and now this... You truly have nerves of steel.

Home Tap 1: The various creatures of the night are beings that live under the divine protection of dusk and moonlight. To my fellow compatriots: Night's Blessings.

Home Tap 2: They may still only be learned apprentices, yet they gave their body and soul to bring me back to the correct path... Heh, it seems I am truly blessed with wonderful retainers.

Home Tap 3: It is a grave sin indeed to trample completely over the deeds of those who strived to see me hatched safely. Those senile senate wretches... What sort of punishment would be fitting for them?

Home Tap 4: Within the horns of a dragon lays an abundance of magical power. That is why we of the Briar Valley royal family adorn our horns, as it is a symbol of our great strength.

Home Tap 5: Don't touch me so carelessly. I may not be able to fully control my power while in this state.

Home Tap - Groovy: You still call out to me in spite of everything that happened... I wonder how many humans could say they are not terrified of even simply seeing me in this form.

Duo: [MALLEUS]: Allow me to be your opponent. [IDIA]: Heehee, time to unleash the secret weapon.

Requested by Anonymous.

[norristrii]

STAND BY YOU.

Engaged on a Las Vegas pavement, you and Lando now look forward to the next chapter—your wedding awaits.

pairing. fiancé! Lando Norris x bsf! fiancée! fem! reader.

warnings. none, just fluff. This is part2 of Stand By Me ! Glad you liked it <3 For better understanding, I recommend to read it first.

THE WEEKS BLURRED TOGETHER in a whirlwind of planning, laughter, and Carlos’s dramatic antics. True to his word, Carlos had insisted—demanded, really—that he would officiate your wedding. The delay for the certificate became a running joke, his overly enthusiastic updates on the process making it impossible to take anything too seriously.

Still, amidst all the chaos, being engaged to Lando felt strangely… natural. The teasing, the inside jokes, the easy camaraderie—all of it had shifted subtly into something deeper, more meaningful. You couldn’t help but think about how absurdly obvious it seemed now, how perfectly it all fit together. Why hadn’t you done this earlier? The thought lingered in your mind, bringing a smile to your face every time it crossed your thoughts.

The room buzzed with excitement as Rebecca, Lily, and Alex worked tirelessly to perfect every detail of your dress. You stood in front of the mirror, the reflection staring back at you almost surreal. The gown flowed effortlessly, hugging you in all the right places and radiating an elegance you hadn’t quite imagined for yourself. Your bridesmaids hovered around you, adjusting tiny details, smoothing fabric, and offering reassurances that you looked stunning.

“Who will walk you down the aisle?” Lily asked casually, her voice breaking through your thoughts. The question hit you like a thunderbolt. Your eyes widened, panic bubbling to the surface as realization struck. Oh fuck. Of course, there was something you’d forgotten—there had to be.

Your gaze darted around the room as your mind raced. The answer you sought came in the form of Lewis. He seemed oblivious to the whirlwind of activity around him, his presence grounding in a way only Lewis could manage. In many ways, he had always been like an older brother to you—constant, supportive, and unshakable in his quiet strength.

You quickly texted him, your fingers flying over the screen as you summoned him to the room. Moments later, the door swung open, and there he was, his expression curious as he stepped inside. “What do you need, Y/n?” he asked, his tone casual but tinged with concern.

“I need you to walk me down the aisle,” you said, the words tumbling out in your moment of desperation. His eyes widened in horror, the surprise evident in his reaction.

“What? Me? I don’t know, Y/n—” he hesitated, his voice trailing off as he processed the request.

“C’mon, Lewis, you are perfect for that,” you assured him, your voice carrying all the conviction he needed.

He raised an eyebrow, his teasing nature kicking in despite the seriousness of the moment. “Do I look like your father? Am I that old?” he joked, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

You rolled your eyes, exasperated but amused. “Lewisss,” you said, drawing out his name in a way that left no room for argument.

He paused for a moment, then nodded, his expression softening. “I’ll do it,” he said simply, his voice steady and warm.

The avenue was alive with chaos, a far cry from the calm serenity one might expect at a wedding. Flower petals littered the ground, already prematurely scattered by Kimi and Isack, who stood off to the side with expressions that ranged between regret and mischief. “Can you remind me why we agreed to do this?” Kimi muttered under his breath, his tone dripping with quiet exasperation.

Carlos, however, was having none of it. His booming voice cut through the disarray, rising above the hum of last-minute preparations and hushed conversations. “C’mon, boys! You’re not at a funeral, you’re at a wedding!” he shouted, his arms flailing for emphasis. His enthusiasm, as always, was impossible to ignore, and it served as an attempt—albeit futile—to inject some order into the madness.

By the arch, Lando shifted uncomfortably, his nerves all too evident as he tried not to let the chaos get to him. Carlos stood next to him, a grin playing on his face despite the commotion. “Relax, mate,” Carlos teased, nudging Lando lightly. But Lando barely reacted, his focus elsewhere—on you, on the moment to come, and on the reality of what was about to unfold. Chaos or not, this was happening, and he couldn’t hide the nervous excitement bubbling under the surface.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Lando muttered to Carlos, his voice carrying a mix of disbelief and nervous excitement. His hands fidgeted slightly, as if his body hadn’t quite caught up with the enormity of the moment. The chaos surrounding them—Kimi and Isack’s antics with flower petals, Carlos shouting directions, and the hum of last-minute preparations—almost felt distant, the weight of the occasion taking center stage.

“And I can’t believe you actually got the certificate,” Lando added with a laugh, the tension breaking just enough to let a grin tug at his lips. Carlos smirked in return, pride evident in his expression. “I’m a man of my word,” Carlos said dramatically, adjusting his position by the arch with a flourish that bordered on theatrical.

Lando chuckled, shaking his head as he cast a glance towards the avenue where you were still out of view. This was it—the moment he never imagined he’d experience, but now couldn’t fathom it happening any other way. This was happening, and the thought alone made his heart race.

The soft hum of conversation in the avenue was replaced by the first notes of the music, filling the air with an elegant melody that signaled the beginning of something extraordinary. The bridesmaids walked out one by one, their dresses flowing gracefully as they moved in sync, their smiles radiant and genuine. The crowd stirred, heads turning to watch Rebecca, Lily, and Alex take their places.

Carlos, now standing taller by the arch, adjusted his jacket as he stole a glance at Lando, whose nerves seemed to return with a vengeance. Lando’s eyes darted toward the aisle, the anticipation in his expression palpable. The music swelled, each note carrying the promise of what was to come, and the avenue seemed to hold its breath as the moment unfolded.

The soft hum of the music filled the venue as you entered, Lewis walking confidently by your side. All eyes turned towards you, the room buzzing with quiet awe as you made your way down the aisle. You couldn’t help but grin, the joy radiating from you as you took in the sight of your friends standing together, groomsmen perfectly aligned—Charles, Oscar, and Max—all dressed immaculately, each wearing a mix of pride and amusement on their faces.

But your gaze lingered longest on Lando. The way he looked at you—eyes full of love, amazement, and just the tiniest glimmer of nerves—made your heart soar. For a moment, it felt like time slowed, as if the chaos of the world outside had melted away, leaving just the two of you in this perfect bubble.

“I think I’m going to cry,” Max whispered, breaking the spell as his voice carried to Charles and Oscar beside him. Oscar gave him a sideways glance, half amused, while Charles raised an eyebrow in mock judgment.

“It’s not even your own wedding,” Charles muttered, his dry humor earning a quiet chuckle from Oscar.

Max wiped at an imaginary tear, a playful grin breaking across his face. “Doesn’t mean I can’t be emotional,” he quipped, his dramatic flair adding yet another layer of charm to the moment.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, their banter grounding the surreal beauty of the day. But when your eyes flicked back to Lando, the world around you seemed to fall quiet again. This was your moment.

As you reached Lando under the arch, the music softened, replaced by the warm sound of Carlos clearing his throat. Standing tall, his charisma on full display, Carlos began his speech with a tone that was equal parts heartfelt and lighthearted. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he started, his smile broad as his gaze swept across the crowd, “we’re gathered here today to celebrate a very unique love story.”

His words resonated, and the crowd quieted, eager to soak in the moment. “What started years ago as a friendship,” Carlos continued, “is now turning into marriage.”

Lando’s hands found yours, his touch grounding you as Carlos spoke. You could feel the slight tremble in Lando’s grip, betraying his nervous excitement, even as his grin remained unwavering. Carlos threw a playful glance Lando’s way, his tone shifting into something cheekier. “I still remember how Lando simped over Y/n into my DMs,” he said, his laughter spilling out in a way that drew chuckles from the crowd. Lando’s blush deepened as his eyes momentarily dropped to the floor, his embarrassment evident but undeniably endearing.

Carlos grinned at the memory, glancing back at you both. “And how we planned the proposal,” he added, his expression growing warmer as he recalled the effort and camaraderie that went into orchestrating the big moment.

“And, to be honest,” Carlos said, turning to meet your gaze directly, “I didn’t think she would say yes.” His words carried a teasing note, but his sincerity was unmistakable. “But here we are now.”

The crowd erupted in laughter and applause, the warmth and joy of the speech permeating the venue. You caught Lando’s eyes, his blush still lingering, but his expression was full of love, gratitude, and a quiet thrill that made your heart flutter. Carlos’ words captured the essence of your journey—unconventional, chaotic, and perfectly yours.

Carlos cleared his throat, adopting a playful yet sincere tone as he began, “So, Lando, do you promise to always stand by Y/n? Even when she’s yelling at you for something that, let’s be honest, you probably deserved?”

The crowd chuckled softly, the humor in his words breaking the tension of the moment. Lando smiled, his eyes never leaving yours as he answered confidently, “I do.” His voice was steady, carrying every ounce of love and commitment he felt in that moment.

“And Y/n,” Carlos continued, his tone teasing yet undeniably warm, “do you promise you’ll always stand by Lando—through wins, through losses—and do you promise to always love him, even though he’s going to complain about, well, almost everything?”

A ripple of laughter spread through the crowd, the lightheartedness of Carlos’s words easing the tension of the moment. You turned to Lando, who was already grinning, his cheeks slightly flushed with embarrassment at Carlos’s playful jab. His eyes locked onto yours, full of love and anticipation.

“I do,” you replied, your voice steady and filled with certainty, carrying the weight of everything this promise meant. The simplicity of those two words held all the chaotic adventures, heartfelt moments, and laughter you’d shared—and all the beautiful unknowns still waiting ahead.

Carlos beamed, spreading his arms wide as he declared with flair, “Well then, with that, I now pronounce you husband and wife! You may kiss the bride!” The cheers and applause erupted around you, the joy and celebration wrapping you both in a perfect, unforgettable moment.

Lando didn’t hesitate for even a heartbeat. The moment Carlos’s words faded into the cheers of the crowd, he closed the distance between you, his hands gently cupping your face as his lips found yours with an intensity that made the world around you disappear. The kiss was full of emotion—love, relief, and the overwhelming joy of finally reaching this moment.

The crowd erupted into applause and cheers, but it all felt distant, like background noise to the electricity sparking between you and Lando. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his grin wide and uncontainable. “You’re stuck with me now,” he whispered, his voice low and teasing, though the love in his eyes was anything but playful.

“No way, Oscar is crying!” Max exclaimed, his voice loud enough to turn a few heads. You and Lando glanced back, curiosity piqued as you looked over at Oscar. Sure enough, there he was, subtly wiping at his eyes, clearly trying—and failing—to be discreet about it.

Oscar noticed the attention and immediately straightened, his expression shifting into something resembling nonchalance. “I’m not crying,” he muttered, though the slightly red hue in his eyes betrayed him. “There’s just… something in the air.”

“In my wildest dreams, I never imagined Lando would be the first of us to get married,” Charles said, shaking his head with a playful shrug. His words drew a few laughs from the group, but his expression held a touch of genuine disbelief.

“Especially to Y/n,” he added, glancing over at you and Lando with a grin that bordered on teasing. “I mean, she’s everything—smart, beautiful— and he’s... well, he’s Lando.”

“Shut up, Charles,” Lando retorted, rolling his eyes as a smirk tugged at his lips. His tone was playful, though it was clear he wasn’t going to let Charles get away with his teasing without firing back.

The group erupted in laughter, Max clapping Charles on the shoulder as if to commend him for stirring the pot. “Come on, he’s just jealous,” Max added with a grin.

“I’m not jealous!!” Charles exclaimed, rolling his eyes so dramatically it was almost theatrical. The emphasis in his voice only made his claim less convincing, and you couldn’t help but suppress a laugh as you exchanged a knowing glance with Lando.

“Yeah, definitely not,” Lando muttered under his breath, a cheeky smirk lighting up his face. Max burst into laughter, clapping Charles on the back. “Sure, mate,” Max said, his tone dripping with amusement. “We totally believe you.”

Charles crossed his arms, trying to hold his ground, but the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth betrayed him. The playful banter continued, fueling the lighthearted, chaotic energy of the day—a perfect reflection of your close-knit group of friends.

You just smiled at them, their playful banter fading into the background as you stood next to Lando. The moment felt surreal, like something out of a dream you’d never dared to believe could come true. From childhood best friends, sharing secrets and laughter, to that impulsive, imperfectly perfect engagement on the pavement—just the two of you and the overwhelming love you couldn’t contain. And now, here you were, standing together in front of everyone who mattered, taking the next step into forever.

Lando must have sensed your thoughts, because when you glanced at him, his soft smile told you everything without saying a word. The way he looked at you—the same way he always had, but now with the added weight of this day, this moment—made your heart swell. What started as a friendship built on late-night chats and shared dreams had grown into something deeper, stronger, and absolutely unshakable. This was your story, and it was only just beginning.

@haniette , @ughyoustink , @quinquinquincy

[babydoll372]

On Edge

Pairings: sub!natasha romanoff x dom!reader

Word count: 730 (kinda short ik)

Warnings: teasing, edging, masturbating, oral (n receiving), mommy kink (r), voyeurism I think, fingering, squirting, begging, bondage, gags, vibrator,

This was requested in a reply to my masterlist, I didn’t know if you wanted anything in particular but I hope you like

Natasha whimpered against the gag in her mouth, tears on her cheeks as the vibrator hugged her clit. You sat in front of her, your fingers disappearing in and out of your hole eagerly as she listened to your desperate moans of her names, simply to tease her. She could feel the coil deep in her stomach ready to be freed, but she knew she didn’t have your permission - she’d never do anything without your permission.

“You look so fucking hot, baby- ah! Mhm! Keep crying for Mommy, you’re gonna make me cum, baby!” You groaned, your palm grazing your clit perfectly with every thrust of your fingers. Your g-spot was being hit, something Natasha could only imagine feeling right now.

“You still happy you talked back to Mommy, hm? You proud now, little girl?” You chuckled, and you could hear her embarrassment behind the gag. You were so close - so close. You only needed a few more seconds…

“Oh, right there, Nat! Right- mhm, that’s it! Oh, such a good girl! You’re such a good girl…” Your voice slowly lowered as your legs shook, your body heaving as you squeezed your eyes shut, your words ensuring a gratified pleasure in Natasha. She was so turned on, the vibrator was soaked with her juices. You glanced at her through hooded eyes, your lips turning up into a smirk.

“Did you like the show, Nat? Yeah, I bet you did..you’re fucking dripping.” You climbed off the bed, standing on shaky legs and quickly dropping to your knees in front of your tied up girlfriend. You leaned up to remove her gag as her drool made a line between her and the ball, and she stared hopelessly at you.

“M-Mommy, I- I’m so wet for you- mphm! Please! I swear I’ll be good! I’ll never talk back again!” She shook her head violently, desperately wanting me to believe her as you chuckled, removing the vibrator as she felt relief and disappointment in one. Your fingers instantly replaced it, rubbing slow, painfully slow circles on the sensitive bud. She was crying out for release, but she couldn’t reach it without your approval.

“You want to cum?” She nodded quicker than you’ve ever seen before. “Yeah? Oh, I bet it’d feel so good! I bet you feel so achy and tired, all you want to do is cum for Mommy…it’s too bad Mommy doesn’t care what you want.” You pouted, pretending to care as her eyes widened and she looked at you with an ounce of fear, worry growing that she won’t get to reach that point she so badly needs, but deep down she had that trust in you emotionally and physically.

“Mommy, please! Please, I didn’t mean to be bad! I really wanna cum for you, I wanna be a good girl for you - a really good girl for you!” You tsked and seconds later she felt your tongue giving feather-like licks to her bud. Her chest was rising up and down quickly and one of your hands came to palm her tits, the other grazing over her hole. Your two fingers traced her the entrance, teasing the area as her hips jutted upwards. Your tongue now enveloped her clit, and her juices combining with your mouth could be heard from across the room. Natasha could only let out a louder moan than before when your fingers entered her, which was exactly what she had been waiting for. Your pace was quick as soon as she adjusted, and you could feel her tightly sucking you in.

“M-more…please more…” She whimpered out, and you complied for once and she swore she never felt such ecstasy then when a third finger entered her. It only took moments after before her release squirted out of her, her jaw slacking wide open as her voice fell empty for once. Her body was stiff and her eyes rolled to the back of her head, her neck following suite as rolled back, her veins on display.

The moment she calmed down she realized you had already untied her bondage, grabbing lotion from behind her on the nightstand to rub on the areas. You put your hand on the back of her head and looked down at her.

“Hey, baby, how are you feeling?” Natasha smiled as much as she could, her eyes now heavy.

“Better than ever.”

[axetivev]

— Summary: Ratio was the type of man who was too busy with work, you, his husband texted him without an answer, your solution? Go to the campus where he works! After a light batter, Ratio said something that he shouldn't say, insults making you mad at him. What should be his best way to apologize?

— Warnings/Tags: Professor!Ratio, Fashion Designer!Reader, Married!Ratio & Reader, Domestic AU, Fluff & Smut, Slight Angst, Face sitting, Anal Sex, Ridding.

— Words: 1.7k

— A/N: i think this had more smut then fluff,, and rushed, im currently gonna be extra busy,, and it was annoying for me to see that I haven't done a request. but regardless. Thank you for 🍁 anon who requested this fic ! I hope you and many others enjoyed this as much I enjoy writing this !

— Pairing: Dr Ratio x Male!Reader

Veritas ♥️

M/N > Still on work?

Delivered 4:51 P.M

M/N > Ratio?

Delivered 4:54 P.M

There it goes, you knew your husband, Ratio had his phone in silence.

It isn’t a bad thing really, working with many high school graduates who’s answer when asked about why they go to university was always a false copy paste or just a long pause. Every night after work, he often find himself laying his head on your lap, inside of your studio filled by mannequins as he rumbling about how some students were idiots.

You’d just chuckled to his angry mumbles, the way your eyes met with his as he paused his rambles. He’d just stop. Admiring you like a piece of art, his reddish-pink eyes looking at you so lovingly—making him ended up just rolled his body to face the floor and sleep.

You were sitting inside of your studio, 10 minutes passed, soon. The clock shows 5:32 P.M. Spend by you spamming Ratio in worry; what if something bad happened to him? But you shook it off—an idea popped inside your head. Eyes lit up as you stood up from your chair, as some design of your latest commissions, but for now it doesn’t matter. Taking the keys to your car. You jumped to your destination; Campus where Ratio teaches!

The ride was nothing but normal. You even had to time to stop by a bakery to buy some treats, however. When you took one step to the campus, not even in—a lot of students were looking at you like you were a modal. You thought your popularity was rather average, but you swore 89% of the people knew you. Who wouldn’t with those eye catching beautiful designs? Their eyes were widen open, jaw dropped, even some scrambled over their bag, trying to look for something. But you simply shrugged while you gave them a smile.

You swore some kids were dropping from see you as you entered the last class Ratio was in after reading his schedule. There he was, him and two other students in their chair. Sweating as they write something on their paper like their life dependent on it, Ratio? He was sitting comfortably in his desk as his eyes were scanning those students, before his gaze met with yours.

“You haven’t read my messages, Mr. Veritas,” you smiled sweetly to your husband, your hand slowly pushed a box filled by treats you bought. “Curious, are you going home after this?”

Ratio paused for a second. He stayed silent just to stare at you, his eyes fell to your finger. That ring was perfectly places on your digit like a match made in heaven, similar to his, Ratio grunts quietly before he fixed his glasses and continue to look at his two fellow students who jumped as his gaze darkened at them. You just continue to smile, but you felt that twitch inside your guts. How dare he didn’t answer his own husband?

“Ratio… I believe after this you’ll get home soon, yes?” You repeat trying to keep your calm demeanor, Ratio himself just grunted once more. Leaving you on edge, a sigh of frustration escaped your lips. Before you pulled out an ultimatum. “How about this; work or me?”

A smug look was practically plastered on your face, both students looked at each other. They seriously thought something wholesome would happened—but really, Ratio slowly pulled his glasses, putting them to his desk next to some books, the audacity for him to not even looked up to you—“M/N, you know I’m busy currently. These two students are failing so miserably in my class,” Ratio said, his reddish-pink eye looked at your face a while small smirk formed on his lips. He added, his voice low. “work it is.”

Silence.

…This happened more then once really. But the fact two students were looking with a concern expression, you still plastered a smile. That one smile Ratio knew he was fucked, he even paused for a moment. Did he actually…? Ratio actually looked at you with somewhat concern, but you didn’t say anything but storm off from the class. Leaving Ratio who was standing up and tried to call for you, but too late.

“Did Professor…?”

“That’s… wow.”

At home, you were in your studio, yet again. Letting out frustration in the form of designs, your eyes landed on the same commission that had fell earlier. You picked it up as you examinate something people might call masterpiece, but really. It was stressful in your mind when that same client declined the idea and asked for another design. You were about to stood up, but you felt a arm around your waist. Of course, non-other then Ratio.

“M/N…” Ratio spoke quietly, his warm breath reached your ears making you shivered as he rested his forehead against your shoulder, his grip tightened. “…Sorry, please.”

You froze for a second, confused—should you be annoyed or accepted his apology? But before you could form a sentence, your hand was slowly intertwine with his, while Ratio slowly pushed you to your desk, his second hand, originally on your waist moved to your chin. Gently, he pulled you to a kiss which went heated fast.

His tongue dancing with yours, sucking your breath as your intertwined fingers tightened. Only the kiss was broken by you forcing to pulled the he kiss away, but Ratio still wanted more. He let you catch some breath before he pulled you to another heated kiss. Almost desperate. Ratio muttered against your lips. “M/N, please… I’m sorry.”

Your lips parted yet again, a thin shine thread of saliva connecting your lips against his. Your lips was swollen, a tent clearly visible on your trousers. Your face was flushed. Embarrassed by a kiss making you hard.

“Alright alright…” You spoke, voice somewhat raspy, a smile formed on Ratio. He slowly pulled you to a kiss—more tender, even hesitated. “Apology accepted.”

You can’t believe you actually still fall for Ratio’s tricks to apologize. You remembered once his way of apologizing was to sit you down and handle it like a man that he was, now. His way was fucking you dumb to forget what even happened.

You and Ratio were on your shared bed, your clothes were discharged to the floor, you now found yourself sitting on Ratio’s face, how… never mind. His idea anyway, your hands were on the sheets below Ratio who eagerly licking your hole shameless as his hands were on your hip. Preventing them to be closed, you felt his tongue then slowly entered your at first, tight rim.

His tongue—Ratio’s slimy tongue inside of you, at first, he was kind enough to be gentle. But he didn’t hesitate to immediately plunged his tongue inside of you, making you jolted—throwing your head back as Ratio’s grip on your hip tightened, you swore they would marked by his tight his grip was. His tongue opened you up for a solid two minutes as your cock already sprouting precums, he slowly pulled his tongue, making you flinched over nothing but leaving your hole mixed with his saliva. Disappointment was clear in your face.

“Are you sure you could handle it?” Ratio raised and eye bro, you nod. “Its been a while since we have intimacy, don’t you think?”

A small—hesitated smile formed on your lips. “It is…”

Ratio studied your lips, your eyes, he still remembered that day where you had Ratio had sex did the first time, clearly, he remembered who took his virginity. He slowly adjusted himself, sitting up as his head rested on the headrest as for his hands moved you to his lap, your cock and his touching. A light rub, Ratio’s hand slowly lifted you up, as your asshole kissed with his tip. A low groan runs from your lips.

“Tight…” Ratio muttered to himself before he slams you to his cock, you felt him balls deep inside of you, you twitched. “You’re still as tight as I remembered.”

Embarrassed, you cleared your throat. “Veritas.”

“Yes, Mr. Veritas?” Ratio smugly replied, but before you could continue. Ratio thrust his hips upwards. You yelped—soon, moans filled the room.

Even after what felt months passed (actually, only two months) without intimacy, you still felt in so much pleasure by how good Ratio’s cook fills like, the way it filled you up, the way you’d just suck it like a candy, and the most important thing… His cock hitting your prostate repeatedly, making your eyes rolled go the back to your head. You nearly lost control over your body by how fast Ratio’s pace was—pistoling his cock into you as loud moans kept spilling from your lips, you didn’t even realized you already cum, reaching your climax.

Ratio, soon felt his limit is getting closer, he tried to pulled you away, but you stopped him by placing your hand on his chest, panting with watery eyes. “No, inside…” He groaned by your words, Ratio just go faster. Before then, you felt warmth.

Maybe for those two months, his balls develop so much sperm that some of them leaked out, you felt your body tired even barely doing much, just the first round. You knew Ratio could go all night, but, maybe. Your stamina is getting rather lower, you flopped to his chest as his hand brushed over your hair, damped by sweat. “Tired?”

“Yeah…” You replied with a raspy voice. Ratio nodded, your eyes were hazy, you closed your eyes for a moment. Just—a—moment. Then, you felt something warm surrounded by you, water.

Even in your tired state, you still able to collect some power to shifted, making yourself feel comfortable. You felt a squeezed on your hand, you slowly raised your right hand, to find Ratio’s intertwined with yours. You slowly rubbed your eyes, in front of you, of course. A faucet intact to the bathtub, roses, rubber ducks, and foam surrounding you, you look up, founding Ratio reading his book… You smiled, kissing his jaw. He looked down, a smile formed.

“Romantic…” You smugly tease, Ratio rolled his eyes. “It’s nothing.” He muttered.

You fake a pout, your hands moved to his cheek to gently pinched the skin. “Ratio…”

“What now…” “I love you.”

Ratio stared at you for a moment, that smug look on your face, for him, it was both annoying and lovely. His day wouldn’t be complete without seeing that smug expression, a sigh escaped his lips, he shook his head amusingly. Ratio puts down his book, his hand moved to your chin as he slowly pressed his lips against yours, tender and filled by love.

“I love you too, Veritas M/N.”

[bajablastwrites]

Random ENA Headcannons I Thought About

ENA x reader

Summary: a few headcannons mainly focused on human biology and anatomy, but there’s other topics sprinkled in as well

Author’s Note: I like the idea that ENA would be fascinated with how humans work since, you know. She’s not human, and probably thinks you’re the weird one in her world.

————————————————————————

⁃ Honestly, she probably thinks you’re really really weird appearance wise. You quickly form an attachment to her since she’s pretty much your guide when it comes to navigating her world. She’d definitely be fascinated with your hair, since it’s not a single solid piece resting on top of your head. Whether you let her mess around with your hair is up to you.

⁃ Your body is a constant topic of interest to her, in comparison to her solid polygon body, yours is soft, smooth and squishy. So she’s constantly squishing and poking at your body. Though, you have to establish what is and isn’t appropriate for her to touch— without your permission at least.

⁃ You quickly learned that chocolat (chocolate) was actually a form of currency when ENA lost her mind watching you pretty much eat her money. After Meanie finished screaming at you for eating her hard earned money, while trying to force your mouth open in an attempt to get her money back— you immediately apologized and explained to her that chocolate is simply a tasty sweet to munch on where you come from. It’s the first recognizable food you saw in her world and assumed it was made with the intend to be eaten. She seemed to calm down a bit once she processed that you didn’t eat her coins out of malice, she actually found your form of currency to be the weird. Paper and metal? As currency to pay for goods and services? How odd. After clearing the misunderstanding up, she put you to work because she still wants her money back. Which is fair enough.

⁃ She doesn’t understand the concept of eating since we never see any entities actually eat, except when they’re transporting ENA to a new environment. She doesn’t seem to need to eat either, so the idea of putting something in your mouth and swallowing it being a very essential part of your survival was a concept she was very unfamiliar with. But if it means her new coworker gets to stay by her side and not eat her money, she’ll find something that can be deemed as edible based on your description on what you consider to be food.

⁃ ENA loves to watch you eat. That’s it, she just likes to watch you eat. It’s very fascinating to her, watching you chew and swallow something she brought you makes her happy. To her It feels like she’s contributing to your survival (which she is), so she’ll just stare at you the entire time you’re eating. Will it make you nervous? Yes. Will she stop if you ask her to? No. She can’t eat (as far as we know) so she can’t experience that for herself, so she watches you eat instead.

⁃ “Can you stop staring at me?” You awkwardly asked. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to decline your request, my dearest work partner. I’m currently witnessing two business assets merging together, it’s a momentous occasion that I have to witness for myself!” She leaned forward eagerly, invading your personal space and coaxing the odd looking sandwich you were holding towards your mouth. Her meanie side quickly growing impatient at your hesitance to eat under her gaze and shoving the meal into your mouth. “HURRY UP AND CHEW THE STUPID SANDWICH ALREADY!!”

⁃ Sleep is also a strange concept to her, but it’s at least something you can try and teach her to do. Though, you’ll probably have to pitch it to her like paid business expense, a promotional reward or as a business tax write off if you want her to take a nap with you. She’s seen other entities and creatures nap and sleep, so it’s not something new to her. It’s just that ENA doesn’t need sleep so she doesn’t do it, but you do so it’s not uncommon for you to wake up, only to see her inches away from your face. She tries not to disturb you while you’re asleep, but you waking up because you can feel her staring at you is both alarming to her as it is interesting.

⁃ If by chance ENA manages to read up on humans to learn more about you and how your body works, she’s going to be asking you a lot of questions or observe you more to see if what she read was true. Not only does she want to learn about you as a species, but it’s also her way of showing that she cares about you as well. It’s basically the “trying to bond with my male cat, but idk what men like so I took him to Home Depot.” Meme.

⁃ She didn’t know what you liked to do for fun so she took you to “hunt and gather” with her💀

⁃ ENA later learned what you actually like to do for fun and you guys do that instead during the rare occasions she has free time.

⁃ Your biology fascinates her, she wants to know everything about it. If you let her, she’ll run her hands over your body in order to feel your bones and joints— basically giving you a physical exam out of curiosity. When she learns about human reproductive organs she’s practically fixated on you. The concept that you can create a new life form with your body is truly fascinating to her.

⁃ “You mean to say that you have an organ with the ability to create new life inside your body is verifiably true?” ENA asked with curiosity, anticipating conformation of this new information she learned about. “Uh, yeah, why do you ask?” Mildly confused at her sudden question. “Amazing! Truly splendid, a self sufficient entrepreneur with an amazing asset full of endless potential and possibilities!” Her salesman side praised.

- It doesn’t matter to her if other humans are also capable of doing the same thing, what matters to her is that you have the capacity to do so. She’s fascinated with you and you only, you’re the only human here after all. Humans are interesting to her because you’re interesting to her.

[lazysoulwriter]

standing tall. - pedro pascal.

requested! thank you for sending. tall girls supremacy!!!!! (not a tall girl, just find them hot)

---

It started with one photo. Just one.

You and Pedro Pascal at an afterparty — him in a perfectly tailored suit, you towering over him in stilettos and a silk gown, laughing at something he whispered against your ear.

The internet lost its mind. “Tall girl supremacy!!” “Pedro with his goddess? I’m crying??” “He’s so real for this.”

And honestly? You loved every second of it.

You met Pedro on set — a supporting role in his new prestige series. From the very first table read, he made you feel seen. Literally seen.

While most people awkwardly commented on your height or made jokes, Pedro had simply looked up at you, grinned wide, and said, "Finally, someone who doesn’t make me feel like a giant."

It was easy after that. Late-night conversations on set. Inside jokes. Flirty glances over coffee cups. You tried to ignore the way your heart skipped when he laughed. Tried to pretend you didn’t notice the way he always found a reason to stand just a little closer to you.

Of course, Pedro made the first move. (Because you're gorgeous, and he’s not stupid.)

-

Dating Pedro was a whirlwind of soft affection and quiet understanding.

He loved how you wore heels without hesitation. He loved how you never apologized for taking up space — in a room, in a conversation, in his life.

"You’re statuesque, hermosa," he told you one night, tracing the line of your jaw with reverent fingers. "Like you were carved out of marble just to drive me crazy."

The only thing he didn’t love? Seeing you hesitate when the cameras were around.

Because no matter how confident you were, there was always that tiny voice in your head: Too tall. Too loud. Too much.

Pedro saw it. And he wasn’t having it.

The night of the afterparty, it all came to a head.

You hesitated before stepping onto the red carpet with him, shifting on your towering heels. Pedro caught your hand immediately, pulling you back into his chest.

"Hey," he said, voice low and sure. "You’re not dimming yourself for anyone tonight. You hear me?"

You smiled nervously. "I’m like... two inches taller than you right now."

Pedro chuckled, squeezing your hand. "And you look like a fucking queen. If anything, I should be wearing taller shoes to keep up with you."

You laughed, the tension breaking. He pressed a kiss to your temple, completely ignoring the flashing cameras.

"Let them talk," he murmured. "I’ve got the most beautiful woman in the room on my arm. I'm winning."

And just like that, you stood a little taller.

The next morning, you woke up to thousands of tweets, edits, and fan posts celebrating you both.

Pedro had even reposted one — a photoset of the two of you looking every bit like Hollywood royalty — with the caption: "Love when she looks at me like I hung the moon 🖤"

Cue the internet absolutely combusting.

Later that week, curled up on his couch in sweats and no makeup, you teased him, "You're really not bothered that I’m taller than you sometimes?"

Pedro set down his coffee, turning to you with that fond, devastating smile. "Sweetheart," he said, "I’m old enough to know when I'm blessed. You could be six feet tall or sixty feet tall — I'd still look at you like you're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

You hid your burning face in his chest, laughing. He wrapped his arms around you tighter.

"Besides," he added with a wink, "I like having to look up at you. Keeps me humble."

You giggled, feeling weightless in a way you hadn't in a long time. And as he kissed the top of your head, murmuring sweet nothings into your hair, you realized —

Yeah. This was the real win. Not just for the tall girls. But for you. For the love you had found when you finally stopped shrinking yourself.

----

[velmalav]

Northern Downpour - Frank Langdon

Northern Downpour – f.l.

masterlist - open to requests!

synopsis: You start having an affair with Dr. Langdon, something purely need driven, or at least that’s what you tell yourselves.

warnings: SMUT 18+, cheating!frank, swearing, 3400+ words

It started on a rainy Tuesday evening.

You’d been in a shitty mood all day. You and your husband, Jake, had had a massive blow-up first thing in the morning. The words exchanged had been rushed and hurtful and in the midst of you hurrying to get ready for your shift in the ER. Words that echoed, rattled you even during the busiest hours of your workday.

There had been a lot of tension in your marriage for months, always stemming from the same issue. Your work. It took a toll, the long hours, and the constant tragedies you absorbed daily didn’t exactly help your mood when you were home. But you’d been trying, really trying, so it was like a punch in the gut when he brought it up again in a way that diminished all of the hard work you were doing. Not only that, but Jake wasn’t exactly the most perceptive guy, especially when it came to your feelings. In the throes of all of your conjoined problems, he’d never once noticed how unhappy you were with him.

You’d never been one to dwell on your own needs and wants; you simply accepted the hard truth that asking for what you want doesn’t make it so. Especially with him. A fact you learned in the early stages of your relationship, and now looking back, wished you’d advocated for yourself more. Because it’s always his needs and what he wants, never a lingering consideration for you. The resentment you harbored for him always took a backseat because deep down, you felt it was silly. Pathetic.

You and Jake hadn’t had consistent sex, or good sex, since the work issues really started kicking off. What started as a simple turn away in bed during a fight escalated into fragility, hesitancy to touch even when you weren’t arguing. You were always the one to try and start something in the bedroom, and as the months progressed, the more he pulled away. Almost like a punishment. And when he did accept your advances, he put nothing into it. No foreplay, no talking, just fifteen minutes in the dark that left you unsatisfied.

The weight of it all hit you in the parking garage after your shift with the realization that you’d have to return to it. Jake hadn’t sent a single text all day, a sign that he had no intention of speaking to you when you arrived home. You sat there, the engine on, staring at the concrete wall through the windshield wondering how many bones you could break if you hit it hard enough.

You’d been contemplating a strong seven or eight when a knuckle tapped on your window. You looked up to see Langdon, your fellow senior resident, standing there with his hand still up in the knocking motion. You rolled down your window.

“Didn’t get enough of me for the day?” you said, the twinge of banter you usually have in your tone defeated to an exhausted, strained one.

He huffed a laugh, resting his arm on the window ledge. “No comment on that,” he quipped back, also sounding just as tired. And tense. “My, uh, car won’t start. Think you could give me a ride home?”

You nodded immediately. The idea of having a little extra time before you had to face Jake is exactly what you need. Langdon threw his bag in the backseat before jogging around to the passenger side. He settled in, leaned back with a sigh and ran a hand through his hair.

“Thanks.”

“Trust me, it’s not a problem,” you replied, turning around to back out of the spot. “Just put your address into my phone.”

“Can you open it for me?” Langdon held the phone towards you.

You waved him off, “It’s 0707, maps is in the top right corner.”

He put the code in quickly. Turned his head, eyes full of curiosity. “Any reason you picked that one?”

You gripped the steering wheel and bit down the urge to roll your eyes at his question. “It’s me and Jake’s anniversary.”

In your peripheral vision, you caught Langdon’s expression. Confused, even more curious. Clearly, you weren’t doing a good job at hiding your bubbling aggravation towards your husband. But thankfully, he didn’t say anything, just finished typing the address in and put your phone back on the dash.

Both of you sat in silence for most of the drive, the only sounds the muffled radio and the rain as it pattered on the windows. You’ve never been close at work, but in that moment you were really hoping he’d start talking. Just to keep your mind off of it all. The longer you stayed in your own thoughts, the more the anxiety grew.

“How’re your kids?” you blurted out when the anxiety got to be too much. Knuckles flushed at the insane grip you had on the wheel.

Langdon whipped his head toward you, whatever reverie he was in seeming hard to shake off. You could’ve sworn he seemed just as volatile in the way he fidgeted with the bracelet on his wrist and the tightness in his jaw.

“Great,” he replied, blank and unassuming. “Tanner made the baseball team, so that’s good.”

“That is good. Good for him.”

A lot of ‘good’ being used by two people who seemed much of the opposite. You side-eyed him when he turned back to the passenger window. There was definitely something off about him, and your question appeared to have made it worse.

“How’s Jake, by the way?” he suddenly asked, voice distant and faraway in his thoughts.

“Fine,” you said all-too-quickly. Holy shit am I bad at pretending tonight. Get it together.

When you didn’t elaborate, Langdon turned back to you with the same curious look he had before. “That’s it?”

“Yep.”

Still facing you, he leaned towards the passenger window, as if sizing you up. Raised eyebrows, parted lips. “Okay,” he finally said. “If you say so.”

“As if you’d care anyway,” you muttered under your breath, not as a dig, but a rogue thought that popped out of your mouth subconsciously. Langdon’s brows reached new heights, shocked by your sudden aggression. “No offense, we just don’t talk about that kind of stuff with each other.”

He nodded in understanding, face neutral again. “True. None taken.” Again, he turned away, resumed fiddling with the bracelet. “But if you wanted to talk about it, I’d listen.”

You shook your head. “No, it’s whatever. Better if I don’t right now anyway.”

It’s your turn to be confused when you arrived at his destination. It’s a ballpark, stocked with two sets of bleachers and dugouts and a small baseball diamond. It must be where his son plays.

“Why did you want to be dropped off here?”

Langdon faced in front of him and stared out into the field, eyes hollow, drained. He sighed in the way you do after an especially rough night with Jake.

“I don’t live far from here,” he stated plainly in the dark, eyes transfixed on the rain now coming down in sheets.

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I don’t want to go home, and no, I don’t want to talk about it.”

You couldn’t help but stare at him. His eyebags were more pronounced, veins protruding from his neck like he was holding a mountain of baggage back. Is this what I look like?

“That’s okay,” you murmured softly, flickering your stare to the rain, too. “But if you ever want to talk about it, I’d listen.”

Langdon snorted; an empty smile appeared on his face. You smiled, too, but you didn’t need a mirror to know it didn’t reach your eyes either. Hypnotized now by the worsening weather, you both stayed like that for a long time. Just staring forward, trying to let your afflictions wash away with the rain. It was refreshing to have someone next to you, just being there, not feeling like they have to say anything to comfort or make you feel like you have to do the same.

“What’re you gonna to do about your car?” you suddenly asked. Breaking the barrier between you and the rest of the world.

He shrugged, stifling a laugh at your random question. “Don’t know. Thought maybe I’d set up camp in the parking garage for a while or something.”

“Can I join?”

You both laughed, genuine ones at that. Spent the next hour dreaming up intangible scenarios to avoid the shitty parts of your life. Planning how you’d both fit in a small four-door Toyota Camry, how efficient it would be to get to work, how you’d hold a big barbeque after a rough shift with the new grill Langdon’s brother-in-law got him for his birthday. For the first time all day, you felt like you could breathe. And you could tell he felt the same.

It didn’t last as long as you’d hoped. Once the laughs had died down, they were replaced with the inevitably of your responsibilities. Your respective families would be wondering where you were soon. The realization was like a knife, quick and fast, jumpstarting your anxiety again. You glanced over at Langdon to see he was already staring at you, eyes scouring, as if trying to read your thoughts.

“My husband hates my job,” you uttered abruptly. Your gaze flickered to your lap. “And I think he hates me, too.”

“Doubt that. Well, the second part at least,” Langdon said, hard eyes softening. There was a vulnerability in him after he said that. Shoulders slumped, eyebrows sloping downward. “Do you hate him?”

His tone was nonchalant, but the question was a boulder. “I-…I don’t know.”

You’d considered how you were feeling about him, but not nearly enough to have really fleshed it out. All of your focus had been on Jake, and how we was feeling, and how you needed to fix things.

“If it’s any consolation, my marriage isn’t doing any better,” Langdon muttered, tone now filled to the brim with bitterness.

“It isn’t,” you whispered, gnawing at your cheek.

“It feels pathetic sometimes,” he continued on as if you’d not said anything at all. “She’s supportive, she’s there, but I just—”

His sentence ends strangled, unable to fully emerge. You couldn’t tell if it was because he thought he’d said too much or because it was just too difficult to admit out loud. Probably both. Something about the rigidity in his words, in his body language, feels familiar. You’d had the same tautness anytime you thought about the conversation you wanted to have with Jake about your intimacies.

“Feel like you’re asking for too much?” you finished for him, posing it as more of a guess.

Langdon snapped his eyes to yours, a quiet understanding between you. He slowly nodded, as if he was processing something. Then he spoke words that went straight to your chest, an undirected stab.

“I feel like I shouldn’t have to ask her to just…want me.”

Your face fell, again unable to hide the obvious emotion etched on your face. The car felt like a cage all of a sudden, almost as if you’d said the words yourself. Not sure how to respond, you just nodded, hoping your eyes showed the cognizance you failed to vocalize.

Langdon took a beat to digest your acknowledgement before he pushed the car door open and fled out into the rain. You watched him, pitiful tears clinging to your lashes as you felt sorry for yourself. And him.

He stood with his hands in his jacket pockets in the glow of the headlights, his back to you. You could see how slick his hair already was from the storm, strands blowing in the harsh winds. This was the opposite of how you’d known him; he’d never seemed the angsty type, just a normal resident with a bad mouth and an attention-deficient disorder. And seeing him like this, it changed the way you saw him. Less shallow, and pitifully, more attractive.

Which is part of the reason you also stepped out of the car, slammed the door, and approached him with absolutely no hesitation. He turned at your presence seconds before you lassoed a hand to the back of his neck and jerked his mouth onto yours.

It was rash, dangerous, ethically just fucking wrong. You weren’t thinking about anything but what it would feel like to have someone crave you. You weren’t asking for someone to want you; you were demanding it.

Langdon was surprised, body stuttering, but he didn’t miss a beat. His wet hands grasped your back like a lifeline, lips parting to take a single breath only to slam back onto yours. Your other hand trickled its way into his hair, balling up a section to yank towards you. You hadn’t felt this turned on in a long time, unable to stop yourself from moaning directly into his mouth as his teeth ground into your bottom lip.

“Backseat,” he fumbled out breathlessly. He kept his hands on you wherever he could as you both booked it to the car, haphazardly discarding your soaked jackets behind the seats.

You fell into the back seat first, back against the opposite door, legs stretched out as he climbed in between them. The undressing was vicious, carnal, fingers tearing at the fabric of your clothes. Once you were both just in your underwear, Langdon gripped your hair, yanking down so your head thudded against the seat before reconnecting your lips. His other hand roamed down the column of your throat as if to feel your unsteady breaths.

You parted your lips to bring his tongue to yours, devouring every inch of his mouth like you’d never taste it again. And maybe you wouldn’t. Then you felt something spongy slide onto your tongue, eyes flashing open at the spearmint flavor.

“Didn’t have time to spit it out,” Langdon said, hovering just above you, rain droplets bleeding onto your cheeks. You responded by pulling him in again, tongue exchanging the gum back to him, causing him to let out an aroused groan.

Your hands scoured his back, fighting the urge to scratch into the skin. He lifted your leg to wrap around his back, the other following suit. He pulled back to start licking at the column of your throat, sucking softly to garner a moan from you.

“Can’t leave marks,” you rasped out, but your head fell back against the seat anyway. Langdon hummed in agreement then kissed lower until his lips enveloped your left nipple. The silver nipple ring you had on danced between his tongue, causing you to indent your nails into his shoulder blade and release a loud moan.

“Fuck, sorry,” you gasped out at the realization you’d left crescent moons in his skin.

“If I could have you the way I want, I’d let you,” he responded in the midst of sucking, and as fucked up as it is, it only made you wetter.

As his teeth gnashed at your nipple, one of his hands travelled lower until it found your panties, finger stalled above the fabric, right where you need him. He drew circles on your clit, and though it wasn’t direct contact, your hips jutted forward for him without thought. You could feel his growing smile on your nipple at your reaction.

“Frank, I need you. Now.” you demanded, despite the brittleness of your voice. Langdon sprang into action, ripped open a condom he found in the center console, and shimmied out of his boxers. You helped him put it on when you noticed how shaky his hands were and pushed your damp panties to the side.

Then he’s lined himself up, towering over you with beads of rain or sweat dripping onto your heated skin. You wrapped your hands around the base of him, wanting to feel him bottom out inside you.

“Holy shit,” Frank stammered as his hips meet yours, the arm that held him up faltering. You exhaled at the feeling, all of the worries and frustration from earlier leaking out of your body like a balloon. It’s wrong – definitely wrong, but it feels so good. “God, you’re so wet.”

He started to thrust, hard, right out of the gate. You pushed yourself up on your elbows and gripped the back of his neck. Your foreheads were touching, but you both closed your eyes, chasing after the high and avoiding all of the guilt that comes with it.

Strings of curse words leapt between you, you rocked into him to quicken his pace and kneaded circles on your clit. Then you dared to open your eyes, feeling Langdon’s hot spearmint breath fanning your face. Eyes shut, his lips were parted in ecstasy, neck thrust up to expose his throat. There’s nothing else in the world but you two in that moment, just you, him, and the blissful feeling of him thrusting in and out. You dipped down, glistening lips meeting his throat, teeth grazing there.

Langdon moaned in response, and his eyes flashed open. You leaned back up to level yourself to him, and without words, opened your mouth.

His pace faltered at your ask and his eyes were swimming as if intoxicated by you. He wrapped his mouth around yours, tongue gliding out to pass the gum. You accepted it immediately, leave the kiss with a pop and stared right into his defenseless eyes.

It was completely accidental, or at least you convince yourself of it, that right in the moment after you pass the gum, Langdon reached his high, tumbling forward with a groan. All he managed to choke out was a slurred, “fuck, I’m—” before it happened. He had you pinned to the seat, faces inches apart, thrusting through his orgasm. The recognition of what you’d just done sent you tumbling over the edge, your hips jutted into his with an unholy string of moans.

Only a minute passed of you both regaining your composure before reality set in. Langdon pulled himself upright into the opposite seat, unable to meet your eyes as he pulled the condom off and tossed it out the window. You remained lying there, eyes transfixed at the ceiling.

What the fuck have we done?

The air was thick and heavy when you both redressed. The car being so small, it was difficult to do so without brushing against one another, every movement another shocking reminder of the betrayal. You silently passed him a brush from your work bag without looking at him. He took it and began to cover his tracks.

“We fucked up,” you state with a voice overflowing with dread.

Langdon was quiet for a long time. You finally looked over to see him gripping the brush with white knuckles.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “We did.”

Silence returned, stifling the conversation but igniting all the worries you had been trying to escape. The worst part was even in the thoughts of regret and self-pity and excuses, deep down it felt like a façade. Like that’s what you were supposed to feel. Because as awful as what you’d done was, you’d felt wanted for just a few minutes. And given the option to take it back, you wouldn’t.

“I regret it, but I…I don’t,” you found yourself saying, not necessarily to him, but just to say it. To analyze if this was real, if you truly felt that way.

Langdon’s head turned; guilty eyes fastened to yours. He leaned towards you, a palm reaching to wipe off the rain splattered to the side of your face. A simple gesture, not something you’d usually dwell on, but at this moment, it’s an unspoken agreement. He wanted it, too, and in the dark parts of him he doesn’t let anyone else access, he still did.

You both found a way to curb the need you’d been too scared to ask for, and though it wasn’t a sensible way to get it, it was now out there as an option. And, as much as you hated to admit it, an easier one.

So with a newfound arrangement, a deep-seeded, unspoken one, you drove him home. And then you went back to your turbulent home, your turbulent husband, and went to bed alone.

Despite every fiber in your being screaming that it was all wrong, you went to sleep knowing you’d be giving Langdon rides home for as long as he needed them.

[renskaji]

helllooo congrats on 100 followers!! ^-^ Could I request sho with 35. endless giggles (fluff prompt list)? tysm!!

renskaji’s 100 celebration

35: endless giggles

There are many who would say that your boyfriend is, for a lack of better words, a smug asshole who likes to push buttons.

And to those people, you only have one thing to say.

You're right.

Hayato Suo isn't like that all the time, but you knew long before agreeing to a date with him that he had a smart mouth and a keen eye. He knows how to pick someone apart and needle at their biggest insecurity, all the while grinning the whole time.

So yes, you understand why others can think he's smug, or too quick-witted for his own good.

But on the other hand, you think he's absolutely hilarious.

Hayato only ever goes truly in on people that aren't worth his time, but with your friends he simply teases and pokes fun. He would never be intentionally mean or a bully, but he does have a sense of humor that some may find... acquired.

"I don't get what y'think is so funny about him." Sakura grumbles, face flushed a bright red as he watches you struggle to catch your breath. It's hard, because Suo is still sitting proudly beside, grin on his lips from both his joke and your reaction, and every time you look at him you remember the utterly offended look on Sakura's face when your boyfriend commented so innocently on his wardrobe.

"It's just..." You borderline wheeze, and you know you're starting to attract looks from the other customers in Café Pothos. You take a deep breathe, calm the worst of your giggles, and string together the rest of your explanation. "You do—"

You glance Hayato and find him already watching you, knowing smirk on his lips.

You're laughing once more. You're borderline delirious, but Suo's comment was so unnecessary and so correct that you can't help but giggle. And then Sakura started to burn red, threatened to fight Suo for his comments, and got yelled at by Kotoha for shouting in her café. Everything combined into the perfect storm of absolute hilarity.

All because of your boyfriend and his smart mouth.

"You do," You repeat, getting control of yourself. Under the table, your hands are in a vice grip around Hayato's arm while you fight against your giggles. Sakura glares, and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to remain somewhat composed. "You do dress like a default video game character."

"And like I said, there's absolutely nothing wrong with that." Hayato chirps, bright voice a contrast to Sakura's splitting, Nirei's pleas to not get you all kicked out of Pothos, Kotoha listening in from the counter and fighting her own grin.

And you're laughing again, face pressed against your boyfriend's shoulder as if that could muffle the sound.

[vicolette]

New Look !

– A/N : requested by @redbulldoesntgiveyouwings !!

– Warnings : English isn’t my first language, mentions of y/n & pet names, bullying (affectionate), curse words, not proofread

"Are you cold?"

The match against Real Madrid was over with Kounde's dream goal, securing a win for FC Barcelona with a 3:2 score. You, as one of the media interns and a cousin of Hector, had watched it with the staff and your uncle and aunt, actually enjoying your time.

Well, if it wasn’t for the fact that you had quite literally screamed when Lamine appeared and the camera zoomed into your face, laughing in front of millions at how absurd his new hairstyle was. His lovely curls were dead – the ones which you have adored ever since he had first debuted.

Gone.

"Sorry for my reaction." You apologized as you tilted your head, being greeted with the sight of him grinning at you, and his bleached blonde hair. As you slightly scowled and sets till inspected his look, you couldn’t help but smile.

"You little rat." Lamine whispered under his breath, shaking his head as he wrapped his jacket around you and pulled you closer, embracing you into a hug. His arms were caving you within him, but you liked it that way.

Even so, as the stadium slowly started to get empty, the noise of the fans began to fade away, yet you could still hear them. His teammates were probably waiting for him to enter the locker room and join their live, but Lamine didn’t move an inch.

A soft kiss was pressed on your forehead, right after you had placed a hand on his chest to push him away and tell him to go. Lamine should celebrate his win, not stay here with you.

Nonetheless, it was what he wanted as he didn’t let go of you, shaking his head as he frowned when he realized what your intention was. Moments like these were rare, when you could simply breathe and bask into each other’s embrace without feeling pressured.

And yet still, you insisted on him going back to his team, while you would go to the staff and continue doing your work.

"Baby, don’t move…" You could sigh as you leaned your head against his shoulder, looking at him with a gaze that made him stare for a second, before moving his head to hide his blush. "We have time."

As you parted your lips to speak up, to demand him to go back into the locker room instead of standing in the middle of the tunnel, Lamine turned his head around again and stole a kiss. It was annoying to hear you like this, he had thought, yet it didn’t matter if he could have you like this.

Now, whenever you tried to push him away and tell him to go back, Lamine interrupted you with yet another kiss, enjoying the way you looked like in his arms. At some point, he eventually stopped once you also stopped, reluctantly sighing in defeat.

"But I look good, don’t I?" He muttered into your ear, smirking ear to ear as he saw you fondly smile at him. Exhaustion was starting to build up inside of you, especially from all the traveling, yet you merely caressed his hair as you gazed up at him.

"Mhm. Now that I look at you…" His ego was boosted as Lamine raised his arm and showed his muscles, shrugging his shoulders as if he knew that you would say it. In response, you chuckled at his delusion, lightly slapping his chest.

Even through the thin fabric of his shirt, you could hear his heartbeat as you leaned closer. The peace for once didn’t disturb him, at least if it was spent with you. Adrenaline was still in his body as he tried to catch his breath, his arms loosely wrapped around your waist. The moment was perfect, until-

"Get a room, lovebirds!" Alejandro yelled out out of nowhere, making you tense up as you turned your head to face him from across the tunnel. Lamine groaned in frustration, pulling you impossibly closer.

"Shut the hell up!" He screamed back, glaring at his friend when he saw more people pass by. Hector took a picture for blackmail, Pau tried to hide his laughter, Ansu rolled his eyes and Pedri stared at you two up and down before shaking his head.

'Kids these days.' He thought, all while Raphinha was laughing his ass off right behind him.

"Don’t mind them, Y/n." You stared back at Lamine as you felt your cheeks heat up in embarrassment, hiding your face while he struggled to comfort you from the agony of being tortured.

A sigh of relief escaped from his lips once everyone else was gone, making him lean against the wall with a hand on your lower back and the other on his phone. Flick had told him to come celebrate, but he didn’t want to.

"You tired, meu amor?" The question made you scoff, shaking your head as you looked at him with furrowed eyebrows, wondering if he seriously thought that you would sleep after such an intense night. Lamine must have lost his head,

"As if."

"Hey, I was just asking! Who knows?"

– A/N : hear me OUT.