#might order things from least polished to most polished

[unknownersirius]

made a twitter account

I can post my depressed ramblings there and also more notes on art and basically really let loose on the schizo lifestyle to the maximum.

[helvegen-s]

a flat white and a sharp tongue

an Oscar Piastri one-shot

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

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

Warnings: slow burn, teasing, banter, mild language

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

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

masterlist

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

He hadn’t regretted it.

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

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

And then, there was the cat.

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

Everything had been perfect.

Until the calm had been shattered.

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

The cat bolted from his lap.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"So stingy."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Aren’t you tired of so much sugar?"

"I never get tired of the good stuff."

He scoffed but started preparing the drink.

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

Then, he felt it.

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

Instinctively, he knew what was coming.

Footsteps approached.

"I haven’t seen you here before."

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

"Hmm."

"That’s all you’re going to say?"

"I’m busy."

She let out a small laugh.

"Of course, you are."

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

Oscar shut his book with a snap.

She smiled.

"Now you’re looking at me."

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

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

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

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

Oscar felt a headache forming.

Something told him his peace had just ended.

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

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

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

He had no response.

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

"Are you seriously reading this?"

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

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

She tilted her head, as if evaluating him.

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

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

She laughed again.

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

Oscar clenched his jaw.

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

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

"Stop bothering the customers."

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

She turned her head, pouting exaggeratedly.

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

Oscar stared at her, unblinking.

"No."

She let out a delighted laugh.

"See? He adores me."

Her brother sighed and nodded toward the counter.

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

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

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

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

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

She didn’t wait for a response.

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

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

He exhaled slowly.

His peace was definitely over.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oscar tried to ignore her. He really did.

But Elaine wasn’t someone who could be ignored.

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

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

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

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

“So, that’s a no.”

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

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

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

“I’m busy.”

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

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

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

The cat.

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

Great.

And then, another day.

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

“Do you like watching yourself drive?”

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

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

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

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

“Do you really have nothing better to do?”

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

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

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

Oscar exhaled slowly.

This was becoming a damn habit.

Different day, same problem.

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

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

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

“You’re not going to win.”

“It’s a cat.”

“A cat with a lot of character.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Elaine shrugged. “House rules.”

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

One evening, Elaine did something completely unexpected.

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

“So, tell me about the car.”

Oscar barely looked up. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

So he gave her one.

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

Elaine listened. Really listened.

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

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

He sat back abruptly, fingers tightening around his cup.

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

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

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

Oscar hesitated before nodding. “Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

Elaine didn’t change after that conversation.

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

But something shifted in Oscar.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He merely shrugged, clicking through his data sheets.

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

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

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

But reality had started to change.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why do you study history?”

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

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

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

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

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

Oscar’s eye twitched.

“I’m rescinding the question.”

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

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

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

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

Huh. So that’s how it starts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oscar considered that. Considered her, for that matter.

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

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

And more like a habit.

That day, the café felt… different.

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

And yet…

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

Elaine wasn’t there.

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

"You're frowning."

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

"I'm not frowning."

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

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

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

Her brother raised an eyebrow, clearly amused.

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

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

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

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

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

Oscar’s eye twitched. “I’m not—”

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

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

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

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

Not because he wanted her to walk in. Obviously.

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

Oscar was busy.

Too busy to think about insignificant things.

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

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

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

Not that he’d noticed her absence.

Not at all.

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

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

Which meant Oscar could—should—walk away.

Instead, his feet remained stubbornly in place.

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

That realization alone was enough to irritate him.

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

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

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

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

"Yes, but I was less charming then."

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

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

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

Oscar crossed his arms. "Fancy that."

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

"Not remotely," he deadpanned.

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

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

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

That caught his attention. "Oh."

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

"Did you pass?"

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

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

A beat passed, and then—

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

"Admit what?"

"That you missed me."

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

"Hmm. Unremarkable. Much like your presence."

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

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

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

Without thinking about it, they started walking together.

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

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

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

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

Elaine shrugged. “I improvise.”

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

“You’re not feeding an army.”

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

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

To another stall.

And another.

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

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

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

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

“No.”

Elaine hummed. “Boring.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They stared at each other for a beat.

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

Oscar scoffed. “You tricked me.”

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

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

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

Elaine turned left. Oscar turned left.

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

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

Oscar did the same.

They walked a few more meters in silence.

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

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

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

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

Elaine huffed. “I live nearby.”

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

Then, with an unspoken agreement, they resumed walking.

Turned a corner.

Kept going.

Another turn.

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

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

Oscar blinked. “You live above the café?”

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

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

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

Oscar simply shrugged. “Apparently.”

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

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

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

He smirked.

Just a little.

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

Then, with unrestrained glee, she pointed at him.

“A-ha!”

Oscar blinked. “What?”

“You almost smiled!”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.”

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

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

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

Oscar rolled his eyes.

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

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

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

Which was weird.

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

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

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

Oscar frowned. “It’s efficient.”

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

“You’re hopeless.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And?”

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

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

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

It felt warm.

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

“Okay,” he said. “Sure.”

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

“Hope you like chaos.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You actually cook?” he asked, skeptical.

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

“You just don’t seem like the type.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Elaine scoffed. “Boring.”

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

“Because I am a generous and forgiving person.”

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

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

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

Oscar blinked, caught off guard. “Help?”

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

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

“Oh, I fully intend to.”

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

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

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

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

Neither of them acknowledged it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You like it.”

“It’s edible.”

“You love it.”

Oscar sighed. “I tolerate it.”

Elaine laughed, kicking him lightly under the table.

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

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

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

As the meal stretched on, the conversation drifted, weaving in and out of topics with an ease that Oscar wasn’t used to. Elaine had a way of making silence feel optional, of filling the space with whatever thought popped into her head—sometimes ridiculous, sometimes insightful, always entertaining.

She talked about the weirdest things: a documentary she’d watched about medieval bread laws, an argument she’d overheard on the bus about the best way to peel an orange, the time she accidentally joined a book club just for the free snacks and ended up stuck in it for six months.

Oscar, against all odds, found himself enjoying it.

It was so different from the world he was used to—where everything was structured, precise, driven by logic and efficiency. Elaine, on the other hand, lived in tangents, in spontaneous decisions, in a constant state of curiosity.

And somehow, he wasn’t annoyed by it.

If anything, he was listening. Actually listening.

At some point, Sir Reginald Fluffington III jumped onto the table, eyeing their plates with a level of entitlement only a cat could muster.

Elaine absentmindedly scratched his chin. “Don’t even think about it, Reg.”

The cat meowed, offended by the accusation.

Elaine smirked. “That’s what I thought.”

Oscar watched as she continued to pet him without really looking, fingers moving automatically through his fur. It was such a small, unconscious thing, but something about it made his chest feel… warm.

He cleared his throat, shaking the thought away.

Elaine, oblivious, leaned back in her chair, stretching. “Alright, I’ll admit it. You were actually useful in the kitchen.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “High praise.”

“You should feel honored.”

“I’ll try not to let it go to my head.”

She grinned. “Good. Because next time, I’m making dessert, and I expect you to assist.”

Next time.

Oscar didn’t know why those words stood out to him, why they lodged themselves in his brain like something solid and undeniable.

It wasn’t a question, wasn’t a suggestion.

It was just a fact.

As if this—whatever this was—wasn’t a one-time thing.

As Elaine stretched lazily in her chair, she watched Oscar stand and, to her utter shock, start gathering the plates. She blinked, then narrowed her eyes.

“Wait. Are you actually—”

“Helping,” he said flatly, carrying the dishes to the sink.

She let out a slow, exaggerated gasp. “Oh my God. You’re one of them.”

Oscar frowned. “One of what?”

“A man written by a woman.”

He gave her a blank stare. “What?”

“You know, like in books or movies. The kind of guy who—” She gestured at him, as if that explained everything. “Quiet but secretly sweet. Competent but unassuming. Willing to do the dishes without being asked. It’s rare.”

Oscar let out a short laugh, shaking his head as he turned on the tap. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

But he was smiling. And then, suddenly—he was laughing.

Not just a scoff, not a quiet huff of amusement, but actual, genuine laughter.

Elaine had never seen that before.

She went completely still, watching him as he stood there in her tiny kitchen, sleeves rolled up, hands in soapy water, head tilted slightly downward as he chuckled to himself.

And for the first time since she met him, she didn’t have anything to say.

Because, somehow, watching Oscar Piastri laugh—really laugh—was enough to leave her speechless.

It happened gradually, in a way neither of them fully acknowledged at first. One day, Elaine casually mentioned she was watching a documentary that Oscar "absolutely had to see," and before he knew it, he was sitting on her couch with a bowl of popcorn, being force-fed historical facts he never asked for.

“You’re not even watching,” Elaine accused, nudging his arm when she noticed his eyes drifting to his phone.

“I am,” Oscar protested, but she shot him a look.

“Fine. Pop quiz. What year did this take place?”

“…The past.”

Elaine gasped, scandalized, and smacked his shoulder. “Disrespectful.”

The next time, it was Oscar’s turn. “If I had to watch your documentaries, you have to watch this.”

Elaine frowned at his laptop screen as a highlight reel from the 2011 Formula 1 season played. “Let me guess,” she said flatly. “Someone overtakes someone else. And then someone else overtakes that someone. And then—oh, look—another overtake.”

Oscar sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You have the attention span of a squirrel.”

“And you have the hobbies of a dad.”

He turned to her, unimpressed. “It’s literally my job.”

Elaine hummed, clearly unbothered, as she stuffed a handful of chips into her mouth. “Then I’m just keeping you humble.”

Outside of their self-imposed cultural exchange nights, they started seeing each other more in ways that felt unplanned, unintentional—except that it kept happening. Oscar would be heading to the store for something quick, only to find Elaine standing in the same aisle, studying a jar of pasta sauce like it held the secrets of the universe.

“Oh, great,” he deadpanned. “You again.”

Elaine smirked. “Missed me, didn’t you?”

“Not in the slightest.”

And yet, somehow, they always ended up walking back home together.

Then there were the times he went out for a run along the coast, only to spot a familiar figure cruising past on a bike, feet lazily pedaling as she enjoyed the sea breeze. She never failed to call out to him, sometimes ringing a ridiculous little bike bell just to be annoying.

“Move it, slowpoke!”

Oscar, ever the competitive one, picked up his pace. “Race me, then!”

“Against a literal athlete?” she scoffed. “Pass.”

Yet, moments later, she’d kick off, trying to pass him, laughing breathlessly when he shot her an unimpressed look. She never won—he made sure of that—but that never seemed to bother her.

Sometimes, they just walked together. No reason, no plan. Just two people who somehow kept ending up in the same place, at the same time, as if the universe was nudging them closer. It wasn’t something either of them talked about, but they both felt it—the gradual shift from tolerating each other to seeking each other out.

And Oscar, despite himself, started to wonder when exactly that had happened.

When Oscar pushed open the door to the café that morning, he wasn’t alone.

Lando followed beside him, stretching his arms over his head as they stepped inside. “Mate, I’m telling you, I need real coffee,” he groaned. “Not that lukewarm excuse they serve at some places here.”

Oscar huffed a quiet laugh. “You literally live in Monaco.”

“Yeah, but you know Monaco.” Lando shot him a look. “I trust your judgment.”

That was how, without much thought, Oscar had ended up bringing Lando here—his café.

It wasn’t his café, obviously. It just… happened to be the place he always went to. The place that had somehow worked itself into his routine. The place where—

Elaine.

She was behind the counter, laughing at something her brother was saying as she wiped down the espresso machine. She hadn’t seen them yet, but when she did, Oscar caught the flicker of surprise in her expression. It was brief—quickly replaced by her usual smirk—but he still noticed it.

And for some reason, that did something weird to his chest.

“Well, well,” she drawled, placing her hands on her hips. “Didn’t know you were the ‘bring a date to your favorite spot’ type, Piastri.”

Oscar sighed. “Don’t start.”

Lando, clearly intrigued, leaned on the counter with an easy grin. “Oh, I like you.”

Elaine grinned back. “Flatterer.”

Oscar shot him a look. “Lando.”

“What?” Lando glanced between them, clearly enjoying himself. “You’ve been hiding this place—and her—from me. I feel betrayed.”

Oscar groaned. “I am never bringing you anywhere again.”

Elaine just chuckled, tapping her fingers against the counter as she looked at Oscar. “Usual for you?”

He nodded, and she got to work, moving with the practiced ease of someone who knew her way around a coffee machine.

Lando watched for a moment before nudging Oscar. “So,” he said under his breath. “Who is she?”

Oscar frowned. “Elaine.”

“Yes, I got that,” Lando muttered. “But, like. Who is she?”

Oscar took a slow breath. “She works here.”

Lando raised a brow. “And you two just happen to know each other well enough that she openly mocks you the second we walk in?”

Oscar didn’t answer.

Lando’s grin widened. “You like her.”

“I don’t.”

“Mmhmm.”

Before Oscar could tell him to shut up, Sir Reginald Fluffington III leaped onto the counter, settling himself between them like a self-appointed judge of character.

Lando’s eyes lit up. “Oh, hell yeah, a cat!”

He reached out to pet him, only for Sir Reginald to give him a slow, unimpressed blink before immediately turning toward Oscar instead, rubbing his face against his arm.

Lando’s jaw dropped. “Are you kidding me? I didn’t even do anything.”

Elaine grinned. “Congratulations, you’ve been deemed unworthy.”

Oscar, meanwhile, absently scratched behind the cat’s ears, looking far too smug for Lando’s liking.

Lando squinted at him. “Alright, you know what? Maybe you do belong here.”

Elaine slid their drinks onto the counter. “Alright, boys, let’s see if this place lives up to your ridiculous standards.”

Lando took a sip, then paused, eyes widening slightly. “Damn. Okay, I see why you come here.”

Elaine leaned on the counter, looking pleased. “Told you I take it seriously.”

Lando shot a pointed look at Oscar. “You didn’t tell me she was a coffee genius.”

Oscar took his own cup, murmuring a quiet, “It’s why I come here.”

Elaine blinked, momentarily caught off guard. She recovered quickly, but Oscar saw it—that tiny pause, the brief flicker of something softer in her expression before she smirked again.

“Well,” she said, crossing her arms. “Guess that means I’ll be seeing more of you, Norris.”

Lando grinned. “If it means more coffee like this? Absolutely.”

Oscar just shook his head, already regretting the chaos he had unleashed. But beneath all of that, there was something else—a barely-there flicker of something unnamed, something strange, something he wasn’t quite ready to think about.

Because Lando had flirted with Elaine just to get a reaction. And Oscar had reacted.

And, somehow, what started with just Lando, turned into all of them.

At first, it was just the occasional visit—Lando tagging along whenever he felt like it, grinning at Elaine over the counter like he was in on some great secret. But then Max showed up one day, apparently intrigued after Lando wouldn’t shut up about the place. And when Max came, Charles wasn’t far behind. And then George, who they bumped into on the way and who figured, why not?

Before Oscar really processed how it happened, the café had become a regular spot for them.

Elaine handled it well, effortlessly juggling orders while throwing in her usual snark, though there was a glint of amusement in her eyes whenever she met Oscar’s gaze—like she knew exactly what had happened, exactly how this little invasion had come to be.

He ignored it.

Some days, it was just him and Lando. Others, it was half the grid, sprawled across tables, talking about races, cars, travel schedules—just a mess of conversations overlapping.

Elaine saw Oscar from a distance sometimes, laughing at something Max had said, or gesturing animatedly as he explained some technical nuance to Charles. It was… different, seeing him like that. More open, more relaxed.

It was easy to forget, sometimes, that he wasn’t just Oscar, the guy who put up with her nonsense. He was Oscar Piastri, Formula 1 driver, future world champion if the world made any sense.

And yet, when he got up to grab another round of drinks, weaving his way to the counter, none of that seemed to matter.

Elaine smirked as he approached. “Back for more?”

“Apparently,” Oscar sighed, leaning on the counter.

“Is this your way of keeping me too busy to bother you?”

He gave a small, almost imperceptible smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Across the room, Lando nudged Charles. “Look at that.”

Charles followed his gaze, watching as Oscar—Oscar, who barely tolerated human interaction—stood at the counter, casually talking to Elaine, something close to amusement flickering in his expression.

“Mon dieu,” Charles murmured. “He has a favorite barista.”

Lando grinned. “And he doesn’t even deny it.”

Max snorted. “Poor guy doesn’t even realize.”

Back at the counter, Oscar rolled his eyes as Elaine flicked a sugar packet at him. “For energy,” she said, looking innocent.

Oscar shook his head, taking the drinks without further comment. But as he turned back toward the table, he caught the way his friends were looking at him.

And for some reason, it made something twist in his chest.

And the it started as a joke. At least, Elaine thought it was a joke.

They had all been lounging at the café, their usual spot now, when Lando—because of course it was Lando—offhandedly mentioned something about bringing Elaine to a Grand Prix.

“You should come to Zandvoort,” he said, stirring his coffee.

Elaine, standing nearby, scoffed. “Oh, sure. Let me just hop on a plane with the entire Formula 1 circus. That sounds completely normal.”

Charles, ever the agent of chaos, grinned. “Why not? Oscar can take you.”

Oscar, who had been mid-sip, nearly choked. He shot Charles a look, but before he could protest, Max—who had been scrolling through his phone, unbothered—added, “Yeah, good race to start with. Orange everywhere. Chaos. You’d like it.”

Elaine rolled her eyes. “You guys just want to see me suffer, don’t you?”

Lando smirked. “A little.”

She snorted. “Very funny.”

The conversation moved on.

But apparently, Oscar hadn’t.

Because the next day, when Elaine opened her apartment door, she found him standing there, a familiar expression of mild exasperation on his face, a small envelope in his hand.

Elaine wasn’t a morning person.

It took her brain a few extra seconds to register things before she could properly function—something Oscar had learned through unfortunate trial and error at the café.

So, when she opened her door that morning, her hair still a mess from sleep, wearing a hoodie that looked two sizes too big for her, she needed a solid moment to process what was happening.

Oscar. Standing there. On her doorstep. Holding an envelope. Looking as impassive as ever, but with a certain stiffness in his posture that meant he wasn’t here for something casual.

She blinked, still groggy. “Uh. Morning?”

“Morning,” he said, then immediately shoved the envelope into her hands like he wanted to be done with it.

Elaine squinted down at it. The paper was thick, expensive, like the kind you got for serious events. The kind of envelope that felt important. And Oscar was just standing there, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, watching her expectantly.

She glanced up at him. “You’re not serving me legal papers, are you?”

Oscar sighed. “Just open it.”

So she did.

At first, she didn’t understand what she was looking at. Plane tickets. A familiar three-letter airport code. And—

Her eyes landed on the brightly colored paddock passes, printed with the words Formula 1 Heineken Dutch Grand Prix 2025.

Elaine blinked. Then blinked again.

Slowly, she lifted her gaze back to Oscar, still not fully awake, still not fully grasping what was happening. “Did you—” Her mouth opened, then closed. She shook the envelope a little, as if that would change its contents. “Oscar. What the hell is this?”

“Tickets,” he said, like it was obvious.

“For Zandvoort.”

“Yep.”

She held them up, waving them slightly. “You actually did it?”

“You thought I wouldn’t?”

“Yes!” she said, exasperated. “You barely put effort into text messages. And yet you—” She stopped mid-sentence, rifling through the envelope, and then something else caught her eye.

Separate from the paddock passes were additional tickets. Printed reservations. Museum entries.

Elaine pulled them out, scanning the names. The Rijksmuseum. The Van Gogh Museum. Anne Frank House.

She looked back at Oscar, expression stunned.

He exhaled, shifting his weight slightly. “If you’re making me sit through an entire weekend of you mocking my job, I figured I should get something out of it.”

Elaine just… stared at him.

Then, slowly, a grin spread across her face.

“Did you just bribe me with museums?”

Oscar’s lips twitched, but he fought the smile. “Is it working?”

Elaine didn’t answer right away. Instead, she studied him—really studied him. The way he was standing there, a little too stiff, like he wasn’t sure if she was going to say yes. The way he had clearly thought about this, planned it out, even included things she would enjoy.

Her chest felt strangely warm.

“You know,” she said, stepping aside and gesturing for him to come in, “I was going to take it easy on you in Zandvoort.”

Oscar stepped inside, glancing at her skeptically. “Somehow, I doubt that.”

Elaine’s grin turned mischievous as she shut the door behind him. “Oh, I definitely won’t now. You’re doomed, Piastri.”

Oscar had never walked so much in his life.

He was used to long training sessions, hours in the gym, and races that pushed his endurance to the limit—but this? This was a different kind of exhaustion. The kind that came from spending an entire day trailing after Elaine as she took him through what she called "a proper introduction to Amsterdam."

It had started with the museums. First the Rijksmuseum, where she dragged him from painting to painting, rattling off facts with a kind of enthusiasm that almost made him interested. Almost.

“I get that these are masterpieces,” he admitted at one point, hands shoved into his pockets as he stared at The Night Watch, “but you’d think someone would’ve told them to use better lighting.”

Elaine gasped. “Blasphemy.”

“I’m just saying. Look at it.” He gestured vaguely. “It’s so dark. Maybe that’s why everyone’s standing around—it’s taking them a while to figure out what they’re looking at.”

She groaned, rubbing her temples. “I am this close to abandoning you in this museum.”

But she didn’t. Instead, she spent another three hours leading him through hallways lined with art, maps, and relics. She talked. He listened. And, to his own quiet surprise, he actually retained some of it.

Then came the canal walk.

Elaine insisted it was the only way to properly take in the city. Oscar wasn’t convinced, but he followed her anyway, hands in his pockets as she strolled beside him, pointing out historical buildings, telling him stories about Amsterdam’s past.

For a while, he just listened.

And then, after a particularly dramatic tale about the city’s trading history, he smirked.

“You know,” he mused, “I think I finally understand why you like history so much.”

Elaine raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“You like drama.”

She gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. “How dare you.”

Oscar chuckled, the sound low and warm, and bumped his shoulder against hers. “You do. All these betrayals, wars, political schemes—you eat it up.”

Elaine pouted. “I was going to say something profound about how history connects us to the past and helps us understand the present, but sure. Let’s go with ‘Elaine likes drama.’”

“Hey, I get it,” he said with a smirk. “It’s like racing. Strategy, risks, the occasional backstabbing—same thing, different century.”

She shot him a look. “Remind me never to let you explain history to children.”

Oscar grinned.

They continued walking, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows along the canals. The air smelled of fresh bread from a nearby bakery, mingling with the crispness of the water. A couple of cyclists zipped past, bells ringing, and somewhere in the distance, a street musician played something soft and familiar.

Elaine sighed, tucking her hands into her coat pockets. “Alright, I dragged you through museums all day. What do you want to do now?”

Oscar considered. Then—“Dinner.”

Elaine blinked. “That’s it? No ‘let’s find the nearest simulator’ or ‘let’s analyze tire degradation charts over drinks’?”

He rolled his eyes. “I do normal things too, you know.”

“Debatable,” she muttered.

He nudged her with his elbow. “Come on, historian. You picked everything today. I get to pick dinner.”

She gave him a mock-serious look. “Fine. But if you choose some sad hotel restaurant, I’m revoking your privileges.”

Oscar smirked. “Relax. I know a place.”

And so they walked. Through the streets of Amsterdam, through the easy conversation and quiet moments in between, through the slow, unspoken shift in the space between them.

Neither of them mentioned it.

Neither of them needed to.

Dinner had been good. Simple, but good.

Oscar had picked a restaurant close to the hotel, one that wasn’t too fancy but had just enough of a warm, cozy atmosphere that Elaine immediately launched into a monologue about how Dutch cafés were vastly superior to anywhere else in Europe.

Oscar had listened, half-distracted by his food, half-focused on her usual theatrics.

She talked about the charm of old Dutch architecture, the history behind certain dishes, and—somehow—ended up explaining how the country’s trade routes influenced the spread of different spices across Europe.

Oscar had tuned out a little by that point, but it wasn’t like he minded.

She liked to talk. He liked to listen.

It worked.

By the time they made it back to the hotel, Elaine was still going, her words slowing down only slightly as the day caught up with her.

“Did you know,” she began as they stepped out of the elevator, “that the Dutch—”

“Elaine,” Oscar said, dryly. “That’s the tenth time you’ve started a sentence like that today.”

She ignored him, pushing ahead as if he hadn’t spoken. “—had such a monopoly on certain trades that entire economies were built around their influence?”

Oscar hummed noncommittally as he swiped his keycard, opening his door.

It was supposed to be the end of the conversation. They both had separate rooms—he had made sure of that. The plan was simple: go to sleep, wake up, and start fresh the next day.

Instead, Elaine just… walked in after him.

He blinked. “What—?”

“Anyway,” she continued, dropping onto his bed like it was hers, “what was I saying?”

Oscar sighed, rubbing his temples. “Dutch monopoly. Trade. Some economic thing.”

Elaine snapped her fingers. “Right! So—”

And that was how he found himself standing in his own hotel room, watching her lie back against the pillows, one arm flung behind her head, completely at home in his space.

He considered kicking her out.

Then he considered how much energy that would take.

Then he considered that nothing short of physically dragging her out would probably work.

So, with a resigned sigh, he grabbed his toiletry bag and headed for the bathroom.

By the time he came back, freshly showered and in his usual sleepwear, Elaine had somehow fully settled in.

Not only was she still sprawled across his bed, but she had also stolen his hoodie at some point, pulling it on over her t-shirt like she belonged in it.

She was still talking—something about Dutch colonialism now—but her words were starting to slur slightly, her eyelids drooping as sleep crept in.

Oscar sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his face. “Elaine, you have your own room.”

“Mmhm,” she hummed, eyes half-closed.

“You should go.”

Silence.

Then: the softest sound of her breathing, slow and even.

Oscar let out a slow exhale, running a hand through his hair.

Right.

Well.

That settled that, then.

Shaking his head, he grabbed an extra blanket from the closet, draped it over her, and shut off the main light.

Then, instead of trying to wrestle for space, he took the armchair by the window, grabbed his phone, and settled in for the night.

It wasn’t the most comfortable setup. But somehow, he didn’t really mind.

That is, until Oscar woke up to the sound of someone shifting around. A second later, a hand lightly smacked his leg.

“What the hell are you doing?” Elaine’s voice was groggy, thick with sleep but still laced with amusement.

Oscar blinked, trying to reorient himself. The dim glow of the city lights seeped in through the curtains, casting the hotel room in soft shadows. His neck ached. His back felt horrible. His arm—folded awkwardly beneath him—was completely numb.

Right. The armchair.

Elaine smacked his leg again, gentler this time. “You look like a pretzel.”

Oscar let out a low grunt. “You’re in my bed.”

“And?” She propped herself up on one elbow, squinting at him through the darkness. “I would literally rather be arrested than sleep in one of those horrible hotel pull-out couches.”

“It’s not a pull-out couch.”

“Whatever, it looks uncomfortable.”

Oscar exhaled slowly, rubbing his face. He was too tired to argue.

Elaine, apparently, was not.

“I’m not gonna call the cops if you get in bed, you know,” she added, her voice teasing. “I could, just to be dramatic, but I won’t.”

Oscar dragged a hand down his face. “Generous.”

“I am,” she agreed. Then, after a moment, her voice softened—less playful, more… genuine. “Seriously, though. Stop being weird. Just get in.”

Oscar hesitated.

Then, because the dull ache in his spine was getting unbearable, he finally gave in.

Wordlessly, he pushed himself up from the chair, stretched his arms over his head, and shuffled toward the bed.

Elaine scooted over without needing to be asked, making space for him. The bed wasn’t huge, but it was big enough that they didn’t have to be in each other’s space.

Still, as he settled under the covers, he felt the warmth of her presence beside him, her steady breathing filling the silence.

Elaine let out a satisfied hum. “See? Way better than suffering in that stupid chair.”

Oscar didn’t answer, already too close to sleep to form a proper response.

Elaine chuckled under her breath. “Goodnight, roomie.”

Oscar barely had the energy to sigh. “Go to sleep, Elaine.”

For a moment, Oscar thought he would be able to sleep.

The bed was undeniably more comfortable than the chair, and exhaustion pulled at him in waves. But the problem—the real problem—was that he was suddenly too aware of Elaine.

He could feel the warmth of her body beside him, the subtle rise and fall of her breathing. Every time she shifted, the blankets moved, the mattress dipped, and his entire body went rigid with hyper-awareness.

It was ridiculous. She wasn’t even touching him. There was a good few inches of space between them, and yet, Oscar still felt like she was everywhere.

He exhaled slowly, staring at the ceiling.

Maybe if he just stayed perfectly still—

Elaine shifted again, turning onto her side to face him. He could feel her gaze on him before she even spoke.

“Oscar,” she murmured.

He closed his eyes, feigning sleep.

“I know you’re awake.”

Damn it.

Oscar sighed, cracking one eye open. “What?”

“You’re so tense it’s making me nervous.”

“I’m fine.”

Elaine huffed. “You’re about as ‘fine’ as a cat stuck in a bathtub.”

Oscar pressed his lips together. He didn’t want to acknowledge how stiff his body felt, how tightly wound he was just from lying here.

Elaine, ever perceptive, saw straight through him.

“Okay,” she murmured, shifting again. “Hang on.”

He barely had time to process her movements before she reached out, resting a hand lightly on his arm.

Oscar froze.

Her touch was gentle, barely there, the pads of her fingers tracing slow, soothing lines against his skin.

“Relax,” she mumbled, voice already thick with sleep. “It’s just me.”

That’s the problem, Oscar wanted to say.

His pulse jumped, his entire body locking up. His instinct was to pull away, to escape the unfamiliarity of it—but before he could, Elaine’s touch changed.

She wasn’t teasing him this time.

Her fingertips glided over his forearm in slow, repetitive motions, tracing thoughtless patterns, featherlight and warm. The kind of touch that required no thought, no effort.

Oscar swallowed.

It was nice.

That was the worst part.

Slowly, hesitantly, he let himself breathe.

His shoulders loosened, his body sinking slightly into the mattress.

Elaine didn’t say anything else. She just kept drawing soft, absentminded shapes against his skin, like it was second nature.

Eventually, her movements slowed.

Then, they stilled entirely.

Her breathing evened out, deep and steady, as she finally drifted off.

Oscar exhaled, staring up at the ceiling again.

He was still wide awake.

The next day felt… different.

Not outwardly, not in any way that would be obvious to an outsider. Oscar and Elaine still bickered, still teased, still moved through the city with their usual dynamic—him rolling his eyes at her dramatic historical retellings, her making increasingly absurd claims just to get a reaction out of him.

But something had shifted.

Maybe it was the way Elaine’s hand brushed his when she passed him a museum ticket—fingers grazing against his palm just a second too long.

Maybe it was the way she stood closer than usual, their arms occasionally bumping as they walked.

Maybe it was the way she leaned into him—actually leaned into him—when she pointed out some obscure detail in a centuries-old painting, her shoulder pressing into his, her voice low near his ear.

Or maybe—maybe—it was the way they both noticed all of it.

Because for the first time, Oscar wasn’t just aware of Elaine’s presence—he was hyperaware. Of every glance, every touch, every moment that felt like it should be nothing but wasn’t.

Like now.

They were sitting on the steps of a canal bridge, finishing off the last of their coffees. The city moved around them—bikes whizzing past, boats drifting lazily through the water—but all Oscar could focus on was the fact that Elaine had kicked off her shoes, stretching her legs out beside his.

And that, at some point, her knee had come to rest against his.

It wasn’t intentional. Probably.

She didn’t seem to notice, at least not at first.

But then, a few minutes later, she shifted slightly, adjusting the way she sat—and didn’t move away.

Oscar didn’t either.

He should have. It would’ve been easy—just a small shift to the side, just an inch of space.

But neither of them moved.

The warmth of her knee against his felt… casual. Natural. Like it belonged there.

And Oscar should not be thinking about it this much.

Elaine turned to him, eyes bright. “Okay,” she said, leaning back on her hands. “What’s next on the itinerary, tour guide?”

Oscar forced his brain to catch up, to focus on something other than the warmth of her skin against his.

He cleared his throat. “There’s still the Anne Frank House,” he said, glancing at her. “Unless you’d rather find a café and keep giving me unsolicited history lessons.”

Elaine grinned. “Bold of you to assume I need another coffee for that.”

He snorted, shaking his head, but when he stood, he instinctively reached down to offer her a hand.

And when she took it—her fingers slipping easily into his, her grip warm and steady—Oscar realized two things.

One: he liked the way her hand fit in his.

And two: he was completely, utterly screwed.

And when night came, Elaine was doing it again.

Following him to his room like it was the most natural thing in the world, as if she belonged there.

Except tonight, she wasn’t talking.

The television played quietly in the background, some Dutch news channel filling the room with a low hum of voices neither of them paid attention to. Oscar moved around, going through his usual nighttime routine—checking his phone, answering a quick call from a McLaren team member, confirming a schedule for media duties on Thursday.

Elaine sat cross-legged on the bed, absentmindedly flipping through a travel guide she’d picked up earlier. She wasn’t reading it, though. Not really.

Oscar didn’t say anything about it.

He grabbed some clothes from his suitcase, disappearing into the bathroom for a quick shower. When he emerged, towel drying his hair, Elaine was still there.

Still silent.

Still watching.

Something about the way her eyes followed him felt… different.

He ignored it, tossing the towel aside as he started organizing a few things in his suitcase. He folded a shirt, straightened out a pair of socks. He was fully aware of how unnecessary it was—he didn’t need to be tidying up right now—but keeping his hands busy felt safer than acknowledging the weight of Elaine’s gaze.

She was looking at him like she was seeing something new.

Something she hadn’t noticed before.

Something she liked.

And that was dangerous.

Oscar cleared his throat, not looking at her. “So,” he said, keeping his voice casual. “Are you just going to stay here again until you fall asleep mid-sentence?”

Elaine smirked, but it was softer than usual. “Tempting,” she admitted, stretching her legs out. “But I think I’ll actually leave before I make myself too comfortable this time.”

Oscar snorted. “Unlikely.”

But then she stood, padding toward the door in her socks.

For a second, he almost thought she’d just leave.

But she paused.

Turned back.

And before he could react, she reached out, running her fingers through his damp hair—just a quick, slow drag of her hand, like she was testing the texture.

Her touch sent something electric down his spine.

“You should do your hair like this more often,” she murmured, like it was just a passing comment.

But it wasn’t just a comment.

Not when her fingers lingered for a second too long. Not when her voice had that particular softness to it.

Not when Oscar was suddenly, acutely aware of how close she was.

His throat felt dry. “Yeah?”

Elaine’s lips twitched, her hand dropping back to her side. “Yeah.”

And then, just like that, she turned and slipped out of the room, leaving Oscar standing there, heart beating a little too fast, hair still wet, and very much aware that something had just shifted between them.

Elaine had seen bits of it on TV before, the sleek garages, the bustling pit lane, the media swarming around like bees. But experiencing it in person? That was something else entirely.

She had no idea where to go, who to talk to, or what to do with herself. She barely even recognized anyone—except for the handful of drivers who had started frequenting the café. Everyone else? Just a blur of branded team uniforms and important-looking people rushing past like they had somewhere critical to be.

And so, naturally, she stuck to Oscar like a lost puppy.

At first, she tried to play it cool—walking beside him at a respectable distance, pretending to know exactly where she was going. But then they entered the McLaren hospitality suite, where engineers, media personnel, and team executives moved with swift efficiency, talking strategy, making notes, exchanging glances that said we have five million things to do before the weekend even starts.

Elaine hesitated. Paused mid-step. And before she knew it, she was trailing behind Oscar, practically stepping on his heels.

Oscar, of course, noticed immediately.

He glanced back at her, amused. “What are you doing?”

Elaine huffed. “I don’t know where to go.”

“You have a paddock pass.”

“Yes, but what does that mean?” she said dramatically. “Do I just… exist? Lurk in corners? Am I supposed to talk to people? Do I get free food?”

Oscar smirked, handing his bag off to a team member before crossing his arms. “I mean, I assume you can talk to people, but you don’t have to.*”

“I don’t know anyone.”

“You know Lando.”

Elaine rolled her eyes. “Yeah, because you brought him to my café, not because I have a subscription to the ‘Who’s Who in F1’ club.” She looked around, frowning. “Where is he, anyway?”

Oscar checked his watch. “Media duties.”

“Ah. And you’re not doing that because?”

“Because I actually have things to do.”

“Rude.”

He smirked again, already turning towards the garage. Elaine made the mistake of hesitating, and suddenly he was ahead of her, navigating the chaos with practiced ease while she scrambled to keep up.

For the next twenty minutes, she followed him like a shadow—through the garage, past engineers, down the paddock lane. It didn’t go unnoticed. More than once, someone glanced at her, curious.

She felt ridiculous.

“I look like a stray dog,” she muttered under her breath.

Oscar snorted.

Elaine groaned, rubbing her temples. “Seriously, what am I supposed to do?”

Oscar finally stopped walking, turned to her, and let out a laugh. A real laugh. “You look so uncomfortable.”

“Because I am uncomfortable!” she whispered harshly. “I’m a history nerd at a motorsport event, Oscar! This is like throwing a fish into the desert!”

Oscar tilted his head. “That’s dramatic.”

Elaine narrowed her eyes. “You invited me. Fix it.”

He hummed, pretending to think. Then, with an infuriatingly casual shrug, he said, “Figure it out,” and kept walking.

Elaine groaned, dragging a hand down her face before jogging after him. Maybe being a stray dog wasn’t that bad.

She was learning.

By the time Friday’s practice sessions rolled around, she had figured out a few things:

Free food? Absolutely a thing. (Oscar had neglected to mention this, the menace.)

No one actually cared what she was doing as long as she wasn’t in the way.

Every time Oscar put his helmet on and got into the car, something in her stomach twisted—just a little.

That last part was not ideal.

She had spent the first free practice watching from the McLaren garage, trying not to look completely out of place as engineers muttered things about tire degradation and setup tweaks. Oscar had barely spared her a glance, too focused on whatever pre-session routine he had, and once he was in the car, she had expected him to be gone, mentally checked out.

Except—he had looked for her.

Just once. A brief flick of his eyes in her direction before the visor came down and he drove off.

And Elaine? She had no idea why her heart stuttered at that.

She spent the rest of the session in the garage, wearing a headset she barely understood, and when Oscar’s voice crackled through the radio—calm, measured, completely in his element—she felt something. Pride? Fascination? She wasn’t sure.

She distracted herself by making unnecessary notes in a small pocket journal she had brought, sketching out the circuit layout and writing down completely useless historical facts about the Netherlands. (Zandvoort was originally a fishing village. In 1955, the track had to be modified to reduce wind sensitivity.)

Oscar later found her curled up in the corner of the hospitality suite, scribbling away like an academic lost in a war zone.

He squinted at her notebook. “Are you taking—actual notes?”

Elaine didn’t look up. “Your tires suck.”

Oscar raised a brow. “Not my fault.”

“Isn’t it, though?” she teased.

He sighed, stealing a bite of whatever snack she had in front of her.

And just like that, the weekend blurred forward—brief exchanges, subtle touches, and something unspoken simmering beneath the surface.

By the time Saturday passed by, Elaine realized just how fast Oscar was.

She hadn’t fully understood how much until she watched qualifying from the McLaren pit wall. Seeing the cars live, watching him weave through corners with pinpoint precision—it was different from seeing it on a screen.

And then came that moment.

When Oscar set a lap quick enough to push into Q3, the McLaren garage erupted. Cheers, high-fives, engineers nodding in approval. Elaine, caught up in the energy, grinned and turned—just as Oscar walked in, removing his helmet, shaking out his damp hair.

Their eyes met.

Elaine barely registered that she had started moving until she was right there, standing closer than she had any reason to be.

His breath was still heavy from exertion, his racing suit clinging to his frame. There was sweat at his temple, and for some stupid reason, her gaze flickered to his lips before snapping back up.

Oscar smirked.

She immediately took a step back.

“Good job,” she muttered, arms crossing.

“Thanks.” His voice was lower, rougher.

Something flickered between them—charged, weighty. Elaine hated it. (She didn’t hate it at all.)

Before she could dig herself into a deeper hole, Lando appeared, clapping Oscar on the back and breaking the spell.

Elaine exhaled. Crisis averted.

That night, a group naturally formed at the hotel bar. It wasn’t planned—just a product of circumstance, of familiar faces gravitating toward one another after a long day.

Lando was there, of course, along with a few other drivers—Verstappen, Russell, Leclerc. A couple of engineers. A few partners who had tagged along for the weekend. It was casual, low-key, everyone nursing drinks and unwinding.

Elaine had somehow ended up next to Oscar, which wasn’t surprising. It was instinct at this point.

What was surprising was how everyone else seemed to notice.

It wasn’t like they were doing anything out of the ordinary. They weren’t even touching. But their dynamic was so them—full of quiet familiarity, an ease that stood out amidst the rest of the group.

Oscar would grab his drink, and without thinking, Elaine would shift his phone closer so he wouldn’t knock it over.

Elaine would huff about something Lando said, and Oscar would shoot her a subtle, knowing smirk, like he already knew the exact way she’d react before she even did.

At one point, Elaine reached for something on the table—a stray napkin, a drink menu, something unimportant—and Oscar, mid-conversation, simply handed it to her without missing a beat.

The others noticed.

They didn’t say anything. But glances were exchanged, smirks barely hidden behind glasses.

Russell leaned back, watching with an amused tilt of his head. Max, swirling his drink lazily, flicked his gaze between them before raising a brow at Lando. Charles, seated across from Oscar, let out a quiet huff of laughter, shaking his head to himself.

Then, as if to cement whatever silent conclusion they had all reached, Elaine accidentally knocked her phone off the table.

With a sigh, she slipped off her stool to grab it before it slid further away. As she ducked under the table, Oscar—without even looking—simply reached out and covered the sharp edge of the table with his hand, shielding it.

Elaine, entirely unaware, grabbed her phone and straightened, sliding back into her seat. She had no idea she had just avoided smacking her temple against the corner of the table.

But the others had definitely seen. Lando, Max, George, Charles. God, even the waiter passing by.

Lando exhaled sharply, shaking his head in disbelief. George took a slow sip of his drink, eyes gleaming with silent amusement. Max pressed his lips together, barely suppressing a knowing smirk. Charles let out a quiet chuckle, exchanging a look with Lando.

And no one said anything.

No teasing remark, no pointed comment. They didn’t need to.

Oscar, still half-listening to a conversation on his other side, finally turned his head, sensing the shift in the air.

His gaze swept over the group, eyes narrowing slightly. “What?”

Silence.

George took another sip of his drink, looking far too entertained. Lando just pressed his lips together, like he was physically holding back a laugh. Max and Charles shared a look, one that said no need to state the obvious.

Elaine, oblivious to the silent exchange happening around her, just frowned. "God, you’re all weird," she muttered, settling back into her seat.

Oscar, still confused but unbothered, just shook his head and turned back to his drink.

And yet, despite everything, the glances, the smirks, the knowing, didn’t fade.

Still, no one said anything.

No need.

It was only a matter of time.

Everything was a blur.

The moment Oscar crossed the finish line, the world erupted around him. The radio crackled with overlapping voices—his engineer shouting, Zak laughing, Lando’s excitement cutting through the chaos. The garage exploded on the broadcast screens, a wave of orange jumping and cheering, arms flung around shoulders. Champagne had already been cracked open before he had even stepped out of the car.

P2. A podium.

He should have been overwhelmed—the sheer scale of the moment, the deafening roar of the crowd, the weight of it pressing against his chest. But beneath the rush of adrenaline, something steadier, something quieter, was pulling at him.

Elaine.

Somewhere in that sea of orange, gripping the team radio headset like her own personal lifeline. Somewhere on the pit wall, tracking his every move. Watching him.

And for some inexplicable reason, that meant more than anything else.

The podium ceremony passed in a haze of flashing cameras and sticky-sweet champagne. His fireproofs clung to his skin, his pulse still thrummed from the race. Standing there on the second step, trophy in hand, he should have been drinking in the moment. He should have been lost in it.

But all he could think about was getting down. Getting to her.

The second he was free from the cameras, his feet carried him forward before his mind had even fully caught up. Through the paddock, past the endless congratulations, through the crowd of McLaren mechanics still celebrating.

And then—

There she was.

Standing just inside the garage, shifting on her feet, eyes flickering across the room like she was searching for something. Searching for him.

His legs carried him faster. The next thing he knew, his arms were around her, pulling her in, holding her tightly against him.

She let out a startled yelp, hands pressing against his chest. “Oh my god, you’re drenched.” Her voice was half-groan, half-laugh, warm against his shoulder. “Oscar, this is disgusting.”

He only held her tighter, grinning against her hair. “Don’t care.”

She made a dramatic noise of protest but didn’t pull away. Her fingers curled slightly in the damp fabric of his fireproofs, and slowly—almost reluctantly—she melted into him.

He could feel her breath, quick and light, against his collarbone. The warmth of her body pressed into his, grounding him in a way nothing else could. For a moment, he forgot about the crowd, the noise, the cameras. There was only her—her voice, her laugh, her heartbeat against his ribs.

Her hand slid up to his shoulder, fingers brushing against his skin, gentle and unhurried. “You were incredible,” she murmured, so quietly that he barely caught it over the noise.

His chest tightened.

She pulled back just enough to look at him, eyes bright, expression raw with something too big to name. The way she was looking at him—it made his pulse stutter, made everything else feel small.

Her gaze flickered downward, just for a second.

Then she leaned in, tilting her head, clearly aiming for his cheek—

Someone called his name. Without thinking, he turned.

Their lips brushed.

The world stilled.

Elaine barely had time to react.

Her breath hitched, eyes widening as the realization of what had just happened crashed over her. Their lips had touched. It had been brief, accidental, nothing more than a brush—but the warmth of it lingered, tingling, refusing to fade.

She pulled back an inch, blinking fast. “Oh—shit, I—”

She never got to finish.

Oscar’s hand moved before he could think, fingers sliding up to cup the back of her neck, his grip firm but careful, like he was afraid she’d slip away if he didn’t hold on. His thumb brushed against her skin, just below her ear, and Elaine’s breath hitched again—just for a second—before he closed the distance.

This time, it wasn’t an accident.

The moment their lips met again, the rest of the world melted away.

Elaine let out a soft, surprised noise against his mouth, but she didn’t hesitate. Her hands found his shoulders, then his neck, fingers threading into his damp hair as she pulled him closer—like he wasn’t already pressed against her, like there was still space left between them that needed to be closed.

Oscar responded in kind. His other arm tightened around her back, his grip firm, almost desperate, as if he could somehow hold onto the moment forever. She was warm against him, grounding in a way nothing else was, her lips soft and sure against his own. And when she sighed quietly into the kiss, something in his chest turned over, twisting in a way he didn’t quite understand.

Then—

The garage erupted.

The cheers hit all at once, loud and gleeful, laughter and whistles and the unmistakable sound of someone slapping the nearest hard surface in excitement.

Elaine barely had time to process it before—

“FUCKING FINALLY!” Lando’s voice, unmistakable, rang out over the noise, dripping with exasperated glee. Someone else whooped. Someone else actually clapped.

Elaine broke the kiss with a sharp inhale, face burning, eyes wide.

Oscar barely pulled away—just enough to look at her, to take in the stunned expression, the way her breath came uneven, the way her fingers were still tangled in his hair like she had no intention of letting go.

He huffed a laugh, breathless, forehead still so close to hers that she could feel the warmth of it.

Elaine swallowed. “So, uh… does this mean you like me?”

His grip on her waist tightened, pulling her just a little closer, even though there was no space left between them to begin with.

“Jesus, Elaine.”

She grinned, dazed but teasing, her voice lighter than air. “I mean, you could’ve just told me. Would’ve saved us months of slow-burning bullshit.”

Oscar groaned, dropping his head slightly, and she could feel the soft huff of his laugh against her skin.

“Shut up.”

Then she smirked. “Make me.”

So he did.

@smoooothoperator @freyathehuntress @gold66loveblog @hadesnumber1daughter

If you want to get added to my permanent taglist, just let me know!

ALSO IF YOU MADE IT THIS FAR, TALK TO ME. I DON'T HAVE FRIENDS WHO LIKE F1 AND I FEEL LONELY. THIS IS A SERIOUS CALL FOR HELP.

[deansbeer]

ꕀ ﹑ ﾞೀ ♥︎ introducing the . . . TERROR ✸ TWINS .ᐟ

twin theboys/bigsky au created by millie && kari. ⓘ parental advisory explicit content.

ambiverts. heavy chain smokers. twins. deceased father. absent mother. car mechanic. car dealerships. bruised & bloodied knuckles. business degrees. serious. responsible. charming. reckless.

the terror twins .ᐟ

BEAU ARLEN the older twin by thirty minutes, and you'd think it was thirty years with the way he acts. serious, responsible, always trying to clean up whatever mess ben leaves behind.

BEN ARLEN? ben's the wild one. the charming, reckless, absolutely exhausting force of nature. he's got a grin that gets him out of trouble and fists that get him right back into it.

they love each other, obviously. but they also fight like it's a sport. screaming matches that shake the walls, usually ending in one storming out and the other slamming a door.

the only thing that makes them stop fighting? someone else trying to come between them. beau might threaten to kill ben at least once a week, but let someone else take a swing at his brother? he's throwing hands without hesitation.

their family history .ᐟ

their dad was a drunk and mean as hell. died when they were teens. nobody cried.

their mom checked out long before that. stopped really seeing them after they got older — said they looked too much like him. started calling them "boys" instead of their names. sometimes forgot birthdays. didn't come to graduation.

they learned early that family wasn't about blood — it was about who showed up. and most times, it was just the two of them.

their school years .ᐟ

both of them were smart as hell. scary smart. but BEN ARLEN couldn't sit still long enough to care, and BEAU ARLEN couldn't rest until he got it all right.

BEAU ARLEN did the full four years of college. business degree. he liked structure. liked knowing what came next. liked rules because rules made sense.

BEN ARLEN made it two years. got bored. got into fights. got out. he says it was a waste of time. beau still says it was a waste of potential.

despite the chaos, they were a team. if BEN ARLEN got into it with someone — football players, frat boys, townies — BEAU ARLEN would show up, jaw clenched, fists ready. not because ben needed help, but because he hated seeing his twin bleed.

afterwards? he'd drag ben home, sit him on a chair, and ice his face in silence. ben would smirk the whole time. beau would mutter "you're a fucking idiot" under his breath like a prayer.

their adulthood & work .ᐟ

after college, BEAU ARLEN chased that "build something from nothing" dream like it was religion. long nights, tight budgets, early mornings. now? he's got his own car dealership. big glass windows, polished floors, high-end cars, and his name on the sign.

he's got a staff, a secretary, a sleek suit, and a watch that costs more than ben's entire apartment. but he earned every bit of it, and he's proud of that.

ben? BEN ARLEN works with his hands. grease under his nails, oil on his shirt, music blasting in the garage. he's a mechanic — a damn good one. it keeps him grounded. keeps the anger out of his fists and into something productive.

BEAU ARLEN got him the shop gig. told him he needed something steady. ben rolled his eyes, but he took it. and he stayed.

every time ben crashes a car — and he crashes a lot — beau replaces it without hesitation. ben always fixes the old one anyway. "you already bought me a new one, dumbass." "and you're already fixing the one you wrecked, dumbass."

it's a cycle. but it works for them. always has.

their dynamics .ᐟ

BEAU ARLEN is logic. he plans everything, thinks five steps ahead, worries himself sick. he's got a good job, pays his bills on time, has a coffee order and a bedtime routine.

BEN ARLEN is chaos. he drives too fast, drinks too much, never answers his phone. he picks fights with strangers, flirts with danger, and lives like he's got nothing to lose.

they don't always talk. sometimes they go weeks without seeing each other. but when shit hits the fan? when something really goes wrong? ben shows up at beau's door, busted lip and bruised ribs, and beau lets him in without a word.

terror twins extras .ᐟ

BEN ARLEN always calls him "big brother" when he wants to piss him off. beau rolls his eyes but secretly likes it.

BEAU ARLEN keeps a box of first-aid stuff in his kitchen just for ben. doesn't let anyone else touch it.

ben once punched a guy in a bar for saying beau was "too uptight." beau bailed him out and said thank you through gritted teeth, though, ben didn't need to do it.

they never say "i love you." they say "you're an idiot" and "don't do that again" and "text me when you get home." it means the same thing.

⟡ TRY TO KEEP UP WITH THEIR CHAOS .ᐟ ֹ ִ ꒱

prove it in bed.

⌗ kari notes. millie @soldiersgirl and i are super duper excited to share with u all, our beloved terror twins !!! we came up with the idea two weeks ago (insane) and cannot stop talking about it. we hope u love them as much as we do! <3

[vrystalius]

Soulmates

Your and Kyojuro’s wedding anniversary is approaching and both of you have secretly prepared a hand-made gift for each other! Although, you were quite surprised what you two have prepared for each other.

Pairing: married!Kyojuro x married!reader

Today was the night of your wedding anniversary, the night both of you prepared for weeks! You knew Kyojuro was just excited as you were, given how he was sneaking around and meeting up with Tengen a lot more than usual. He once even brought a heavy bag home and refused to show you the contents, storing it in a random corner of your attic. That was maybe a prepare kit for whatever is in the box he was holding on his thighs, because that one doesn’t look as heavy or large as you might expected. A large smile was slowly growing wider and wider on his face, his eyes sparkling brightly in excitement. Your husband was side-eying the box you were holding, not sure if he wants your gift first or if he should hand over his.

He has been preparing and handcrafting his gift with Tengen for weeks now! Kyojuro had so many mishaps and failures with previous attempts and hid them from you in shame. His motor skills in his dominant arm has not quite yet returned, even after years of recovering and physical training in an attempt to get back to the level of strength he used to possess. Also, his chubby fingers are not very proficient with handiwork. That’s where Tengen came in.

Kyojuro wanted to make you something out of hand in order to show you how much time and thought he’d put into the gift, so, he made you a pet rock. It may sound a little weird, but he really, really worked hard on this rock… Him and Tengen spend hours choosing a nice rock in the garden, before giving it a little polish and painting your pretty face on it. Or at least he tried. It took him multiple times before he was satisfied with the product. Tengen didn’t want random rocks with your face painted on in his garden, so your husband took them back and boxed the best one! It still looked a little wobbly and not like the best artwork, but Kyojuro really, really hoped you’ll like it!

“Here, open my gift first!”

Your husband offered his box to you and smiled enthusiastically. You slowly lifted the top of the box to reveal… a poorly painted pet rock. It resembled you, or at least you thought so. Kyojuro made a lot of effort to draw your eyes correctly, although he painted just one eye and closed the other by making you wink. You were smiling brightly and he painted a bright blush all over your face, also adding large lashes. The effort of trying to make you look as pretty as possible was really showing. It’s just that…

“Here, open mine! You’ll like it, I’m sure of it.”

You giggled quietly and handed your giftbox over to him. Your husband was a little confused on why you didn’t say anything about the gift or if you even liked it, but didn’t say anything. Kyojuro bowed his head in thanks and slowly opened the box, revealing… another pet rock. It was masterfully painted with his face but with more of a cartoony style, his eyes bright and smile wide. You also painted a couple of his fiery strands along his face to add a little more to his face. The rest of the rock was painted with red and yellow flowers alongside some flowers in your signature colour, representing you and him together. On the bottom of the rock, you painted two stick figures holding hands, also resembling you two. Kyojuro’s smile returned to his face as he loudly began laughing. You couldn’t suppress your own giggles anymore and joined him, taking the painted rock carefully out of the box and held it carefully in your hands as if it’s the most precious thing in the world.

“We truly are soulmates, aren’t we? We had the same idea!”

Kyojuro took his rock out of the box and presented it to you, putting yours and his side by side. He leaned in and placed a warm kiss on your cheek and ruffled your hair a little.

“Let’s put them side by side, else they’ll get lonely without one another.”

You nodded eagerly and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight and almost crushing hug. He placed multiple kisses all over your face before nuzzling his face in your shoulder, admiring the pet rock in his hands.

The only thing missing is another small edition to your now newly formed rock family; a baby pet rock.

🎃

Fictober prompt: “Well, that worked out great” (I kinda strayed from it :,D)

I hoped you liked this one, @starvedluci ! I really have the urge to paint a rock with Kyojuro’s face right now XD

Today I was seriously clumsy, I missed my train and kept tripping in my new boots (they have a rather large heel, I’m very used to sneakers) and almost fell. I dropped my coffee and stained my favourite hoodie and I kept bumping into people and burnt my Tteokbokki :,) It was my favourite and I was really looking dorward to it after a day like this… I hope it’s alright that I’m complaining like this XD

Anyways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough <3

Take care of yourselves!!

Here’s my event masterlist 🎃

[notmorbid]

maddalena and the dark.

dialogue prompts from maddalena and the dark by julia fine.

you're joking. you must be.

you must be desperate.

i am more like _____ than i care to be.

what do you want? what will you pay for it?

you're so experienced.

i'm trying to see what you see.

are you staying here?

for everyone's sake, you should do as you're told.

i'm not afraid of you.

we have a good life here.

it's not a better life. just different.

how could i not want you?

who would you be without the costumes, the artifice?

do you speak?

i want to be recognized.

the order can collapse, if we question it.

i could _____ in my sleep.

was someone singing?

i want someone to remember me.

there's no need to be so jumpy.

nothing is gained for nothing.

you knew where to find me.

only you have ever missed me.

do you trust me?

there's only so much sensation a body can take.

where do you go?

if you could have anything --- and i mean, anything at all --- what would it be?

you aren't what i expected.

i thought you'd be harder, shinier. does that make sense?

i've never felt more myself.

what men do, women can do, if they're given an opportunity.

it feels good to be chosen.

if you can't be the star, you might as well polish it.

what do you have to be afraid of?

what could stand against the two of us, together?

you're better than _____.

there is always the girl with the fire, and the girl warming her hands at the flame.

threes are for fairy tales. they unlock what's forbidden.

surely this place is still safe.

what appears effortless often requires the most work.

the stars seem close enough to eat.

you make me feel like what i'm doing is important.

look. then listen.

if you're going to sell your soul, at least know what you're getting in return.

who are you to feel sorry for me?

you'll be happy, i promise.

we all go home to bed, do we not?

you think i haven't realized what you're doing?

you only know as much as i do. don't pretend to know more.

try to be less obstinate.

if i cared about the gossips, i would die.

don't you have anything to say to me?

i can't get a read on you.

they can't prove anything. we've made sure of this.

you seem like you mean well.

is _____ so terrible?

you only ask for what you know you'll get.

you're nowhere near as charming as you make yourself out to be.

was it worth it? was it fun?

they're all staring at you.

i haven't prayed since i left home.

what are we to each other?

where are you taking me?

how much do you think you've changed?

does desiring something make it worthwhile?

i'm sorry i didn't tell you. i didn't know what to say.

you're not mad? or disappointed?

i was certain you'd be here.

you don't want to be anyone but yourself. that's a rarity, but also a danger.

if you want an angel, you don't want ____.

things don't look good for any of us, i'm afraid.

you're giving up on love?

what do i have that you want?

everything i've done is for you.

what is it like to be adored?

what is marriage like?

a person is capable of anything when they can hide behind anonymity.

such a place doesn't suit you.

i never imagined you told me everything.

we'll have everything we wanted.

you know the rules are antiquated, don't you?

_____ fooled us all.

what good is naming the fish you've caught to eat?

the risk amplifies the reward.

you are a light at which the moths will gather.

i need you, however i can have you.

pity is the purest poison: it goes quickest to the bloodstream, and works in all manner of ways.

i'm not angry. i'm tired.

what good is your promise?

anything that can hurt me already has.

you taste just like i imagined.

the space between submission and loss is so small.

[deansdelicate]

I CAN SEE YOU

CHAPTER IV: WHAT WOULD YOU DO?

seth rollins x fem!writer+producer reader

word count: [8K]

warnings: no use of y/n, mild cursing, reader mentions a panic attack (but doesn't actually have one), two idiots pining w/o even knowing it kinda? overprotective sethie, overall fluff!

🎧 the soundtrack

summary: In the midst of chaos, you find yourself naturally drawn to Seth, who is nothing short of a steady anchor in the storm. With each unexpected turn, your bond deepens, and so does Seth’s protectiveness over you. While others might not have gone to the same lengths, Seth’s focus never strays—it’s always you, and nothing else.

Your heels clacked against the polished concrete floors, the twists and turns of the arena causing you to stumble over your feet a bit, though it didn’t stop you from the dash attempting to hideaway from another stage hand set out to find you.

You didn’t mind lending a helping hand and getting the house show prepped for the night after your dad had to bail and take a last-minute flight back home, but nothing could have prepared you for the absolute ambush of people expecting you to know everything.

You did all that you knew off the top of your head: pointing the crew to where they could set up crates and carts, helping set up the titatrons and cameras, and even going over the match card for the night. But you weren’t cut out for whole shebang of stage hands who needed details on each and every single task—most, if not all of them, ones you weren’t acquainted with considering your job wasn’t even running the show.

They were practically all around, and you were confident that they were going to find you one way or another. But you’d at least try your best to avoid them for as long as you could and you thought the bathroom would be just the place.

You pushed the door open, falling against it and swiftly shutting it behind you. You pressed against the wood, as if you were barricading yourself in, but really, you just needed a second to catch your breath and close your eyes—savouring the sweetness of peace and quiet.

“Breathe…” you whispered to yourself, inhaling through your nose and exhaling through your mouth, trying to ease the dread out of your body.

“You ok?” a voice suddenly reverberated in the empty bathroom, or so you thought.

“Oh, my god!” You screeched, snapping your eyes open, only to be face to face with Seth himself.

You hadn’t seen him around with your hands full all night, and while you wanted to be mortified that this was the circumstances it was under, the embarrassment didn’t even cross your mind. There were too many thoughts whirling through your head, and he certainly wasn’t the stressors you were trying to avoid by any means.

“Am I in the men’s bathroom?” You sputtered, pushing off the door in order to step further into the bathroom, expecting to see more stars, but thankfully it was just him.

“No, it’s unisex.” He assured, watching you trudge over to the sinks turning on the faucet to run your hands under the frigid water.

Seth pushed his brows together, staring at you concerned in the mirror’s reflection, “You look flustered, are you good?”

He noticed you were still trying to even your breathing while you splashed some of the water droplets over your neck, visibly trembling from head to toe. He knew something was up.

“My dad had to fly back to Stamford, and he left me to handle everything and now I’m stuck here dealing with things that I really have no clue about.” Your voice shook as you explained yourself.

You shut off the water, pressing your wet, cold fingertips against your forehead still trying to ease your buzzing nerves.

He hadn’t seen you in such a state, and you appeared to be a shell of yourself before his eyes. Even on your first day of work, you seemed to have some semblance of control over your nervousness, but today was another level of high-strung stress that plagued him, wondering how long you had been feeling this way until ultimately hiding out.

Surely people didn’t just expect you to know the ins and outs already?

You didn’t even give out orders the way your father did, and frankly your job was strictly in the creative realm. He couldn’t imagine what everyone else had been bothering you for that they didn’t already know how to handle considering their time with the company.

He didn’t have any time to spit out questions—whether you needed something to drink or to see the trainers for rest.

“Has anyone seen Ms. Levesque?” A voice rang out loud enough through the hallways getting closer to the bathroom.

Your eyes widened, spinning around and giving Seth a begging look.

“You haven’t seen me and I’m not here!” You whispered hurriedly, finding shelter in the furthest stall and locking the door shut.

He didn’t need any convincing, immediately getting into character as the door swung open and there stood a stage hand wearing a frantic look and letting themselves in without knocking.

“Is Ms. Levesque in here?” They urged, but before they could come closer and inspect the stalls for themselves, Seth stepped in front of them, blocking the path.

“Haven’t seen her at all today. It’s just me in here.” He spoke, playing it cool as the stage hand peered past him for a split second.

“Have you checked gorilla? It is almost doors and she could be there.” Seth added, eyes trailing down to the watch on their wrist and just like that the stage hand muttered out a ‘thank you’ under their breath before they left.

He chuckled to himself, shaking his head at how little it took to get them scurrying. “You can come out now.”

You released a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding, sliding the lock loose, causing the door to swing open.

“Thanks,” you sighed, exiting the stall, and meeting him near the sinks again.

“I think I’m seriously going to spiral if I hear one more person ask for me.” You confessed, running your hands through your hair stubbornly.

You could just feel the migraine starting to brew, and the last thing you needed was your head throbbing over circumstances out of your couldn’t control. Seth shook his head, his hand extending towards your arm and giving it an encouraging rub.

His touch brought forth a calming warmth over your shuddering body, desperately holding onto the feeling before his fingertips suddenly fell, leaving you aching again.

“I think you’re doing great, and I’m sure the girls wouldn’t mind you hiding out in the locker room. Stage hands almost never go in there for house shows.”

You perked up at the sound of that, tilting your head at him.

“Is it nearby?” You crossed your fingers, hoping it wasn’t on the other side of the arena where you’d surely be found by then.

“Yeah, it’s right next to ours.” He nodded.

“Okay, can you show me?” You smiled tightly, wanting to get out as soon as possible before another came in and blew your cover.

Seth nodded, holding a single finger up as he walked towards the door.

“Yeah, just give me a sec…” He peeked his head out, looking left and right making sure the coast was clear before, looking back at you and gesturing you over, “Come on.”

Seth’s arm slipped across your shoulders, pulling you closer into his side as you hung your head low hoping to not be spotted in the crowded hallways. You didn’t even have the time to think twice about the implications if you two did get caught in such a way—plus even if you did it was nothing they had to worry about when it was just friends helping each other out.

“Here you are,” Seth stopped in front of a door decorated with a plaque that read, “Female Talent” on it.

His arm fell back to his sides, as you pushed your hair out of your face, keeping your voice low as you whispered, “Thank you so much.”

“Come find me if you need another hiding spot.” He joked light heartedly, making you giggle with a nod before you waved goodbye and let yourself in.

Like he promised, the girls didn’t mind you at all.

It was more so surprising to them seeing that it was you of all people who walked through the doors, over apologetic for barging in out of nowhere.

But they immediately welcomed you with open arms, ushering you over to sit and hang out with them since they rarely got the opportunity to catch up with you being so busy.

You had confessed what led you to hiding out in their locker-room and they all immediately shook their heads, knowing damn well that most if not all stage hands weren’t new to the schedule, so them coming to you was just out of inconvenience.

Nattie was especially trouble, shaking her head disappointingly, "That's not right," She muttered, shooting her husband TJ a text message about what was going on.

You twisted your fingers in your lap nervously, hating that this is what you had to come to in order to get away.

“Maybe I’m just being dramatic, right? I just don’t understand what I’m supposed to tell them, when I don’t even know what’s going on too.” You sighed heavily.

You weren’t trying to act like an entitled brat, but you knew deep down that you did everything in your power to help everyone. There was only so much you could do without feeling like you were risking making a mistake and the blame falling on someone else.

“TJ has it handled. No need to worry.” She assured you, shoving her phone back into her bag, as you shot her a thankful smile for going out of her way to have your back.

“You don't know what that means to me,” you gratefully, reached over, hugging her tightly before pulling away. “I guess I should go now that the search is off.” You half laughed, going to get up and give the girls their space back.

But a hand quickly wrapped around your wrist and stopped you from doing so. It was Alexa, who shook her head along with the other ladies who looked excited to have you and wanted to spend more time together.

“Stay! You can help us get ready for the show!” She said eagerly, and you smiled at the thought, taking her up on the offer and deciding to stick around longer than you anticipated.

The smell of hairspray, and the heaps of makeup pallets cluttering the countertops took you back to the feeling of being at home again. It reminded you of your little sisters’, the random nights they’d spend at your apartment begging for silly makeovers, and even back in your childhood bedroom where your mom taught you how to do your own hair and makeup.

“How are you so fast?” Alexa gaped in the mirror astonished, most of her hair already curled despite you just starting minutes ago.

You laughed, sectioning off another part and wrapping her blonde locks around the barrel of the iron. “It helps when you have three little sisters who always want their hair done.”

She smiled. “How old are they?”

“Sixteen, thirteen and, ten.” You listed off with a huff, feeling incredibly old.

“They’re totally lucky to have you as a big sis.”

Truth be told, you were definitely the luckier one, seeing as though all three of them were extremely close to you despite their teenage ages, which was supposed to be where they wanted absolutely nothing to do with their older ‘uncool’ sister. But it was quite the opposite with them wanting to spend as much time with you, but especially not that you weren’t home as often as before.

It was one thing that almost caused you to turn down the offer of working with the company. As a kid, you grew up with your parents constantly traveling, and while they had the luxury of taking you with them, as you got older, the idea didn’t seem enticing and you just craved being home where you belonged.

And while you weren’t your sister's parent, you filled that role of being like one, and the last thing you wanted was for them to feel as if you were abandoning them. Thankfully, your schedule was flexible enough for you to go home every other weekend, and with more shows being put on in Connecticut, it was convenient to see them as much as you could.

“Oh, I have got to show you what I gifted her!” You said excitedly, finishing up the final curl before retrieving your phone and scrolling through your album.

“I showed Seth last week, and he thought it was pretty cool too.” You grinned to yourself, finally finding the picture and passing your phone around.

“God, I feel so old. I had one of those when I was like seven,” Nattie grumbled, seeing the vintage polaroid your sister was holding, causing you all to laugh.

“Speaking of him,” Naomi nudged your side teasingly with her elbow, “How do you like working with him?”

You smiled, biting down your lip with a shrug of your shoulders.

“He’s great, I mean, we work well together and we have a lot of chemistry, so it’s been smooth sailing so far.”

You couldn’t help but notice the impish expressions covering their faces. Liv smirked, passing your phone back to you.

“Do you think he’s cute?” She asked bluntly, causing your eyes to widen and a blush to break over your cheeks.

“Leave the poor girl alone!” Naomi chided, rolling her eyes at the girls who giggled harmlessly.

“What? It’s just a question. This is a judgement free zone.” Liv argued confidently, looking around at the girls who nodded—seriously, they all were like sisters, and nothing was ever off limits.

You tucked your cheek into your shoulder shyly, shrugging again, “He’s got a nice face alright...I’ll leave it at that!”

They all broke out into a girlish giggle, causing you to cover your face not out of embarrassment but for the sole fact that you actually said it out loud for the first time. You always thought Seth was cute—watching him for as long as you did over the course of your preparation coming onto the main roster, you always thought he had an appeal on screen and it was no different in real life.

So yeah, Seth Rollins had a pretty good-looking face, and you were quite lucky to work with him.

As the night progressed, time moved quickly with you busy and the anxious thoughts finally washed away. The girls who had matched had already made their way back to the locker room, getting showered and changed while you and the other ladies continued to chat.

“I’m so not looking forward to the drive tonight.” Alexa groaned, coming out from the attached bathrooms, changed into fresh clothing as she chucked her gear into her suitcase and zipped it up.

“Tell me about it, and tonight I’m riding with the hubs and his brothers.” Naomi sighed half heartedly, and they all laughed, knowing that driving with a bunch of guys was always the worst for multiple reasons.

Suddenly your eyes widened, the time spent with the girls causing you to lose track of everything else—including how you were getting to the next city. All the stress you had thought you fought off was coming back like cruel punishment testing if you were really meant to do this or not.

Your dad had taken off in such a haste, and it was a no brainer that he took the company plane, the same one you were supposed to get on at the end of the night to head to the next city. But that was before plans changed. There were no drivers on hand to take you to the next city, and the plane was certainly on the tarmac by now.

“Wait, where are we going next?”

You bit down nervously on your lip, grabbing your phone and trying to load the itinerary in your emails, hoping Eddie had sent you travel arrangements.

“Chicago.” They answered before your phone could load up your mail.

When the app finally loaded and refreshed, there was nothing from Eddie nor your dad about your mode of transportation to the next city. You were practically stranded and fucked.

“Shit.” You whispered, closing your eyes tightly and shaking your head.

“What’s the matter?” Liv frowned, looking over your shoulder.

You took a deep breath, trying to give your best smile while your mind raced with solutions.

“Nothing, I just have to go call Eddie. I totally forgot to ask him about something.” You waved off not wanting to worry them.

You stepped out of the locker room, pacing anxiously as you pulled up your messages between you and Eddie, shooting him a few. Much to your dismay the normal blue bubbles sent through as green, furthering your worries.

Sure, you could have easily went back in the locker room to ask one of the girls if it was okay to tag along with them to the next city, but you already felt bad for camping out in their locker room for the whole night and the last thing you wanted was them to feel suffocated by you.

Funnily enough, in the face of worry, your footsteps didn’t seem to second guess your mind, heading straight to the person you were hoping didn’t already leave the arena. The more you searched the hallways, the more helpless you became. The sliver of hope that he was still around fading with each second that passed knowing you’d have to quickly think up another solution, when you’re one and only was nowhere to be found.

But there he was—his back turned to you as he talked to a member of the production team about something you were too relieved to care about in the moment. He had his luggage and a few bags near his side and you knew you had caught him just in time, and you weren’t going to let it slip from you.

You hurried your footsteps, and unbeknownst to you, the familiar sounds of your heels rang through his ears, prompting him to turn his head over his shoulder mid conversation, spotting you making a beeline towards him.

He could read your face and the worry that covered it, the same one that you wore in the confines of the bathroom where you didn’t have to conceal it with a faux smile so the nearby eyes wouldn’t know something was wrong.

“Woah, hey, are you still dodging people?” Seth twisted his body completely, turning your way and forgetting the previous conversation all together, giving his attention to you.

You stopped right in front of him, rubbing at your temples and pinching your eyes shut, hoping you weren’t about to ask for too much from him.

“No, I actually was looking for you.” Your chest deflated with a heavy sigh that was reminiscent of the anguish you displayed earlier.

He straightened up at the sound of that, nodding his head ready to take on whatever you needed from him.

“How can I help?”

“I thought I had a flight to the next city, but since the plane left with my dad I’m sorta stranded, and I really don’t want to go book a flight and I can’t get ahold of Eddie so I was wondering if I’d be okay if I drove with you and Roman to the next city?”

You were nearly out of breath at how fast you were talking, trying to cut to the chase and not waste any more of his time than you already were.

“Of course,” He replied without any reluctance or a second to think if you should ask someone else instead—his quick response clearly stunned you, but you were indebted more than anything else.

“But it’ll just be you and me. Roman’s riding with his cousins and Naomi this time around.” He added, pointing behind you to where Roman and his cousins Jey and Jimmy were already starting to exit the arena.

Naomi was right behind them, rolling her things along. She caught you in her peripheral, causing her to turn to you, shooting you a teasing smile when she realized you were alone with Seth. You waved weakly, returning a small smile keeping your composure before you turned to him again.

“Yeah, that’s fine with me.” You smiled through a deep breath and he began to roll his luggage and bags out of the path.

“I’ll be right back. I’m just going to get my stuff really quick.” You gestured down the hall to where your office was.

“Take your time.” He assured you, not being able to help himself, chuckling and shaking his head, as you twirled around and did a quick jog in your heels not wanting to keep him waiting long.

You changed out of your skirt and top, tossing the pieces and your heels into your suitcase, and quickly grabbing a random baggy t-shirt and a pair of comfy sweatpants. You pulled mismatched socks over your feet, slipping them into your usual sneakers, hurriedly shutting the luggage and zipping it up.

You grabbed the packet of makeup wipes you kept in your purse, opening your phone camera to use as a mirror as you swiped the cloth over your face, letting your skin breathe. Tossing the wipes into the trash bin, you did a one over your office, making sure you had all your belongings, before turning off the lights and heading back to Seth.

Staying out of the path where stage hands and techs were clearing, he scrolled through his phone, waiting for you. And while he wasn’t one for divulging into social media comments, WWE’s recent post of your segment together had appeared on his feed, and many fans had lots to say.

‘Don’t know if this will end well for Seth, but how funny would it be if they actually got together in real life?”

One comment read, making him chuckle and shake his head—a thread of people agreeing or shunning the idea, like they had a say, anyway.

Another one wrote, ‘I can feel the tension through the screen,’ followed by an abundance of emojis that Seth wasn’t quite able to decode, but still made him laugh none the less.

At least he knew you both were doing something right if a single segment was already getting fans excited about what was to come. Whatever ‘tension’ fans saw meant that you two were doing exactly what you needed to do with your characters—it was all just part of the storyline.

“Sorry for the holdup.” Your soft voice shot down the empty halls, causing him to look up as you approached.

Mindlessly he slipped his phone into his pocket, trailing his eyes carefully over you—bare faced, hair pulled up, and the tiredness evident across your features and demeanor, yet you still managed to put on a smile thanking him endlessly for going out of his way.

“No holdup here,” He assured you, grabbing his things and rolling it beside him. “All good to go?” He wearily took note of all your baggage not wanting you forget anything important.

You nodded with a hum, “All packed up and ready.”

He led the way out to the parking garage where most of the superstars were already loading up their cars and preparing for the long trip ahead. Seth fidgeted with the car keys, sounding off the horn in order to find his rental that was almost identical to all the other SUVs around.

Recognizing the blinking tail lights and alarm sound, he subtly held his free arm out towards the small of your back, guiding you in its direction. You peered over at him as you walked, a little taken aback by the kind gesture—the way he wanted to keep you close felt almost comforting.

Only when you both made it to the car did his hand finally drop, allowing him to pop the trunk open while you stood there waiting to slide your things in. You stifled a small yawn behind your hands, rubbing your eyes lightly trying to shake off the fatigue until you got to the hotel. Seth slipped his backpack off, pushing it into the trunk, taking a quick glance at you and noticed your slowed movements.

Before you could even process what was happening, a soft click causing you to squint past your blurry vision, seeing Seth already lifting your suitcase and sliding it in.

“I got it. Go get comfy.” He offered thoughtfully, sliding the key fob into your palm, nodding at you to go ahead before continuing to load up the car.

You didn’t put a fight, giving him a nod as you hurried into the passenger side, placing your purse on the floor and leaning over the middle console in order to get the car running. Twisting the dials for the air conditioning and heat, you found a decent temperature that could keep you toasty yet cool at the same time.

The trunk closed shut behind you shortly after, and Seth had made his way around to the driver’s seat, getting in and placing his phone into one of the cup holders for easy access.

“Is it okay?” You hovered your hands in front of the vents, keeping your eyes on him.

His fingertips skimmed against yours, a pleased look on his face, glancing over at you.

“It’s fine for me. You aren’t too cold are you?” He rose his brow, feeling your hands slightly shaking next to his.

You weren’t particularly bundled up, and the night travel was always brisker, with temperatures dropping. There was only so much the heater could do to warm the car without it feeling like an absolute sauna, and a three-hour drive meant an absolute need to be as comfortable as you could be.

A slight shiver ran up and down your arms, chin trembling either out of pure exhaustion or frigidity, yet you still shook your head, lowering your hands into your lap, clasping them together for warmth trying to convince him.

You began to assure him, but it didn’t last long, “No I’m—”

He dropped his hands, fingers going to the zipper of his jacket, pulling the closure down and shrugging the garment off his arms, holding it out to you.

“I can see you shivering, you know.” He chuckled, nudging the jacket to you again when you didn’t take it the first time.

You hesitated for a second, before ultimately sighing out a laugh and taking it, apologizing as you slipped it on.

“I’m a guest in your car. I didn’t want to overstep.”

Seth let out a sarcastic grunt, buckling in as he spoke.

“Trust me, I’ve driven with guys who snore through ten hour drives and some who insist on blasting music all the way through. You’re by far the best road partner I’ll have to date.”

He said it like a promise, sweet and sincere like the way his voice always carried itself with you. It was hard as is, transitioning into a new job, but one that also came with an intense level of travel added another layer to the reason why he felt it was vital you had someone you could go to no matter what—and if that was him, then he was more than happy to be that person for you.

You crossed your fingers he couldn’t see you blushing through the darkness of the car. The headlights reflecting brightly off the walls and bouncing off the windshield didn’t help your case, but you couldn’t fight it. Perhaps you were smitten because of the conversation you had with the girls just a short while ago, but even then you knew it was partly just you in your head.

You had banked out on becoming friends with Seth, and you couldn’t possibly imagine what you’d do without him. And what Eddie had teasingly said about you and him acting as more than friends suddenly played like a loop in your head. But you had to remind yourself that it was just platonic, and that was all it could ever amount to.

“Thanks again for letting me tag along. I’d be lost without you.” You murmured, absentmindedly setting your hand over his wrist, grazing his skin softly.

Seth kept his cool, ignoring the hot rush of blood in his veins beneath your touch—it was nothing else besides platonic. Your kindness had always been extended to everyone. It just so happened that you two had spent a lot of time together, but still didn’t mean anything else.

He had spent all this time criticizing his friends because of their relentless teasing, yet he knew that if they were there to see what was unfolding before him, it would only egg all of them on further to believing you and him could actually be a thing.

The naked eyes you both held onto each other didn’t even see through a glimpse of what you felt inside. You didn’t say anything about his pulse beating against your fingertips and Seth certainly didn’t bring up your pink cheeks in the dead of the night—all of it was left unspoken, but it didn’t mean that nothing was said.

You and Seth talked and talked under the moonlit sky, mostly about Chicago. He had been multiple times, back in his indie days where he would drive from state to state and town to town to wrestle and get his name out there. All of those late night drives in shitty broken-down cars finally paid off a few years back after your father offered him a contract in developmental and closed off the indie days chapter and brought him straight to Tampa where bigger plans laid ahead.

You, on the other hand, hadn’t been to many places, far from home, and Chicago was one of them. It was safe to say that while the travel schedule was something so foreign to you it gave you the opportunity to see the world in a medium where you still got to work within your element.

“Do you ever miss the indies?” You marveled aloud, peering at him and he pursed his lips, puffing out an absurd breath of air.

“Hell no,” He sneered, making you burst into laughter, shaking your head at him while he argued his case, “I don’t miss getting paid forty bucks and a hot dog for getting my ass kicked in a high school gym.”

It felt like it was just yesterday when promoters would slap a few bills in the palm of his hand, and he was even lucky if they provided food after the show. Most times it was just him and his other indie buddies driving to the nearest 7/11 to spend their hard earned cash on gas station food and fill up their tank to head back home only for a repeat all over again.

“Okay, I get that,” You nodded understandingly, shifting your torso towards him as you tucked your legs under yourself. “But I mean, do you miss the innocence? Like, the small crowds that believed in you, even when you were just doing it for the hope of it all?”

You stared at him, elbow rested on the console, genuinely curious, and Seth found it endearing considering his past wasn’t all that glamorous to begin with. But your desire to dive into his world, attempting to dissect it in your own way made him realize that he hadn’t pondered his roots in what felt like forever.

“Well, when you put it that way,” He strung together a hum, glancing at you for a quick second just enough for you to catch his smile before turning his attention back to the road, “Yeah. I never imagined I’d be here. It still feels a little surreal at times.”

Perhaps there was a double meaning. Here as in working for the company he had always been dreaming about since he was kid. And here beside you—breathing your air, hearing your voice, getting a rare to chance to know you.

He didn’t know why he thought beyond what you had asked, but it felt right, just as he was beside you. The what was supposed to be solo drive to the next city, way more pleasant with your presence.

“You came a long way and you deserve it.” You grinned, eyes twinkling towards him, catching a glimpse of his orbs that wished could’ve stayed set on you through the night.

The first hour of the car ride was a breeze, a nice smooth journey as you and Seth talked about any and everything under the dusk to get you through the next town. You could’ve listened to his voice for hours, talking up a storm and making you crack a smile even in your most exhaustive hours—but then again, you were spent, and soon your quick replies and giggles became nothing but tired hums and weak nods of your head.

You liked to think that the same way his voice could keep you up in the early morning hours of a busy city, also had the effect of helping you drift off into sleep on a long road to another bustling town.

Seth hadn’t taken your quietness as to you being asleep. To be fair, he had just thought you were staring out the window, taking in the drive with some comfortable silence he didn’t mind at all. It wasn’t until he pulled up to the drive through of a fast-food restaurant that he realized that you had been fast asleep for nearly a half hour.

“Did you want something?” He asked, finishing up his order and reaching into his pocket to pull out his wallet before looking over at you.

With no response, he hovered over the console a tad, finally seeing your chest falling in tune with the mellow breaths you took, and your eyes fluttered shut as you dreamed away. He smiled tightly at the sight just before turning back to the intercom and speaking at a lower volume in hopes not to wake you.

Hour two consisted of Seth quietly munching on his fries and burgers, softening the crinkle of the paper under a napkin, doing his best to keep the car nice and quiet for you.

You had shifted around a few times by hour three, maneuvering your body into a cramped fetus position and facing towards him. You untucked your arms from the inside of the jacket, pulling the excess fabric under your chin and settling into a deep sleep once more.

How you were able to sleep like a baby in the passenger seat wasn’t something he could fathom, considering how uncomfortable the front seat was for the guys who were always too tall to burrow into a cacoon like you were. But he guessed you had overworked yourself into a state of complete and utter exhaustion.

You always gave a hundred percent of yourself every night, but with your dad gone and you left to the pickup the pieces, you had gone out of your way to try to help everyone—spreading yourself out too thin before the veil broke and you had to hide away for the sake of your wellbeing.

The drive was nearly over, and he could only steal some quick glances towards you before you both had finally made it to the hotel just a little before midnight. The parking lot was full of similar rental cars, a clear indicator that everyone had beaten them there. Finding the nearest available parking spot, he quickly drove in, switching gears and letting up on the brake pedal.

“Wakey, wakey,” Seth called out gently, unbuckling his seat belt and giving your arm a soft tap, attempting to stir you from your slumber.

Yet you didn’t budge, not even a little, your breathing slow and steady as the hum of the air conditioning faded when Seth pulled the key from the ignition. He sighed softly, not wanting to disturb you but knowing you needed proper rest.

“Sweetheart, we made it to the hotel,” He spoke a little louder this time, hoping it’d get you to wake, “We gotta get you checked in so you can get some in bed, yeah?”

He reached over to give your shoulder a soft rub, trying to ease you awake gradually.

“Hmm,” you groaned, eyebrows furrowing together as you fidgeted around and turned away from him, body curling towards the passenger door.

Waking you up didn’t seem like a possibility, your body too exasperated to even make out his voice calling out to you, and it was probably in his best interest if he just made sure you got to your room to rest. Letting his hand slip away, he came around to your side, gently opening the door, and reaching in with one arm to support you while the other unclasped your seatbelt.

“Come on, I’m gonna help you out.” He murmured, shifting you into an upright position.

Carefully, Seth unzipped the jacket you’d borrowed from him earlier, slipping your arms back into the sleeves so he could lift you more easily.

Cradling you in his arms, he carried you out of the car, making sure you stayed upright against his side, as he shut the door and locked up the car, guiding your dead weight towards the hotel entrance.

The woman at the reception desk looked up with a warm smile as Seth approached, your head resting on his shoulder, still deep in sleep.

“Under what name?” The woman asked, fingers hovering over the keyboard, ready to get you both into your room.

Seth shifted slightly, adjusting his grip on you as he spoke, “Actually, we have two separate rooms. Hers should be under Levesque.” He told her, waiting for a room key to your suite before asking for his.

The woman’s smile faltered with a frown, shaking her head apologetically.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I can only give the room information to the individual whose last name the room is under.” She said, gawking at your unconscious state.

Seth sighed, glancing down at you resting so peacefully in his arms. He didn’t have the heart to wake you up, just for a little room key.

“Look, I don’t want to wake her. She’s had a long day and she really just needs some rest.”

“I understand that, sir, but it’s policy.” The woman explained, “I’m afraid I can’t make any exceptions.”

She was just doing her job, and he understood that the predicament looked more than sketchy, but he wasn’t going to let anything happen to you, and he certainly wasn’t going to let you go to bed on the lobby couch.

“Okay, how about Rollins? My room.” He proposed, slipping his hand into his pocket, retrieving his identification.

She scanned over his ID, nodding and sliding it back towards him, then doing some typing on her keyboard getting the room information from the computer screen.

“Here you are, room 1306,” she slid the key across the countertop, and Seth quickly slipped it into his pocket before wrapping both arms around you securely again.

“It has a single king bed, but there’s also a pull out.” She added thoughtfully, but Seth didn’t miss the confusion on her face, not understanding why you both would have separate rooms to begin with.

“Thank you.” He nodded, keeping it short not feeling the need to explain himself, before carrying you through the lobby toward the elevators.

The nearest elevator began to close, and he quickly called out, hoping for the people inside to stop it.

Unbeknownst to him, the lift contained his buddies—the same ones who recognized his voice in an instant and stopped the doors from shutting at the list second. Jey snuck his hand out, prompting the doors to open once again, as there Seth stood with the boss’s daughter in his arms.

“Oh shit! Don’t tell me you’re going all vintage Triple H right now,” He shrieked, voice echoing in the small space and ringing out the corridor, causing everyone’s eyes to widen.

Seth ignored the comment, shifting your weight slightly to keep you snug in his hold as he stepped into the elevator. He didn’t have the usual energy to snap back a remark, too tired and frankly too concerned about getting you into bed to actually care.

Jimmy gave his brother a light smack on the back of the neck, silently telling him to cut it out, while both he and Naomi rolled their luggage aside to make room for the two bodies joining them.

“Thanks,” Seth mumbled, settling in as the doors closed behind him.

Roman leaned against the wall, arms crossed and eyebrows raised. “You can’t be serious, can you?” his tone half serious, half amused not believing this was actually unfolding before his very eyes.

He knew that the closer Seth became to you, the risker things would become—not just the notion of the superstars making harmless jokes anymore, but substantial people backstage that would take notice and immediately tell your father of any funny business. And it seemed Seth wasn’t even thinking about that at all.

“What?” Seth shrugged his shoulders as much as he could without waking you, not knowing what the big deal was. “She fell asleep in the car and I tried to wake her up but it’s pointless.” He reasoned plainly.

Roman sighed, still a little skeptical, “What floor?” He asked, reaching over to push the button on the panel.

“Thirteen.” Seth replied, watching the button illuminate, the lift humming, as it took you all upwards.

Seth glanced down at you, gently readjusting your arms around his waist so you could stay comfortable. And like it was instinct, he felt your arms tighten around him, nuzzling your face deeper into the juncture of his neck.

His cheeks threatened to turn red, and a smile tugged violently at the corner of his lips, a kind of smitten he had to hold back, wishing he took a different elevator to conceal their eyes that bored into the two of you. He cleared his throat, cutting into the silence, trying to shift the focus away from the jokes that wanted to air out.

“Didn’t you guys leave the arena before us? You’re just getting in?”

Naomi rolled her eyes, shooting her husband a glare. “This man missed the exit and the stupid GPS rerouted us wrong.”

“Hey don’t blame me!” Jimmy protested, smacking his lips with a tsk, “there’s worse that could’ve happened like my ass on the verge of getting fired because I decided to kidnap the bosses daughter.”

Seth grumbled, closing his eyes with the shake of his head, hoping the damn elavator would hurry it up.

“Shut up.” Naomi smacked his arm lightly, her eyes softening when she looked at you. “She needs the rest. She was telling us about the wild goose chase they had her on tonight. Poor thing.”

“Exactly, thank you.” Seth looked over at the woman gratefully, nodding his head, as he spoke dryly towards the others, “It’s what friends would do for each other.”

Roman shook his head, stifling a laugh, “Yeah okay sure…friends.”

Finally, the elevator approached the thirteenth floor, slowing as Seth was ready to escape the confines, but of course not without one final jab from Jey.

“Nighty night…don’t let the ghost of papa H haunt you tonight.”

Everyone choked on their laughter, not wanting to possibly wake you and face the wrath of Seth himself. Roman stuck one hand out the door as it opened, pausing the automatic closure.

“See you in the morning, man.” He added with a knowing smirk, giving his brother a pat on the back, as Seth exited and headed down the hall to find his room.

Once he found it, he fished the key out of his pocket, sliding it into the slot. The lock mechanism whirled quietly in the stillness before the green light flickered on, unlocking the door. It wasn’t a suite, but the room had ample space for you both, though Seth knew he still had to grab the belongings from the car.

He stepped inside, gently kicking the door closed behind him, and without thinking his hand reached for the lock, turning it into place.

Guiding you over to the bed, he did his best to maneuver you as quick as he could, yet at the same time keeping his touch delicate not wanting to wake you so abruptly.

“Easy, easy,” he whispered, setting you down upright for a moment letting your forehead rest against his shoulder as he pulled back the sheets, then carefully rested you down back first.

He took a moment to adjust the pillow under your head, making sure you were comfortable, before kneeling down on the ground to work your shoelaces loose. Pulling your socked feet away from your sneakers, he set them aside before tucking your legs under the duvet.

“There we go,” He chuckled under his breath, impressed with himself that you hadn’t woken up through all the moving and noise.

He tucked you in carefully, making sure you were snug enough to where the blankets stopped at your chest. But you had done the same thing in the car—your fingers timidly creeping up, brushing against his as you pulled it up higher under your chin.

Seth couldn’t help but smile, standing there for a moment as he watched you relax even deeper into the bed. Your bones sensing the cushiony feeling underneath you and all the weight you had been carrying suddenly melting away with your breathing slowed and steady.

Content that you were safe and sound, he quietly slipped out of the room, triple checking to make sure the door was locked again before heading back down to retrieve the bags from the car. It was nearing almost one in the morning and his own fatigue crept into his bones and the socket of his eyes that wanted to droop asleep, yet all that he could feel was an odd sense of protectiveness over you.

He didn’t like the idea of being away from you, let alone being with anyone else in the state that you were in tonight.

What would’ve happened if he left the arena before you could find him?

What if you rode with someone else and they hadn’t made sure you were okay?

All the worries that you were the common denominator in eating away at the walls he was supposed to have up in order to protect himself. From what? He had no idea, but he knew well and sure that he couldn’t have let anything happen to you.

You had shifted around in the short time he was gone, this time laying on your side cuddled up into the blankets that practically swallowed you whole. The carpeted floors help cushion the sounds of the wheels rolling against them, setting his belongings in the corner near the couch on the opposite end of the room before setting your stuff near the closet.

There was weak light illuminating the darkness of your bag, your cellphone coming in with a few notifications, but what caught Seth’s eye was the red indicator on the battery icon. Thankfully, your charger was tangled up in your bag, and he quickly undid the loops before walking to your bedside and plugging it in for you to have come morning.

With everything settled, Seth walked over to the pullout couch, grabbing the clothed tab and tugging on it to reveal the full-sized bed. Certainly it wasn’t the comfiest thing for his stature or his back, but he had slept on worse, and he was lucky that he didn’t have to share it with anyone in a janky motel.

Shutting off the lights, and laying down, he still couldn’t get his mind off you as you laid just a few feet away from him. He hadn’t expected this was the way his night would end, but then again, he wouldn’t want it any other way—maybe a proper bed for the sake of his body, but he’d deal with the cards he had been dealt.

As you dreamed away, he wondered if you knew he’d make sure nothing happened to you. That you subconsciously trusted him enough, that even in your weakest, most vulnerable state, you knew he was there. And as his eyes began to blink slower by the second, completely sinking into sleep, in the back of his mind he hoped you knew that he could be that person.

And in the silence of the shared room, you and Seth dreamt away—but not far enough to escape each other.

💌 reblogs, tags, comments, + likes are greatly appreciated! leave a comment and let me know if want to be added to my taglist!! 💌

a/n: i hope you guys like chapter four of icsy!!! originally this chapter was supposed to be way longer, but i decided to split it--don't worry, chapter five is coming super soon after this one!!! let me know what you think about sethie and the princess ;D

taglist: @ellesmythe @wonderharryy @southerngirl41 @eringobragh420

[peaches2217]

There’s a door on the right wall of Peach and Mario’s bedroom, just a few meters from the entryway. It’s an entirely unremarkable door, really; it matches the doors to both the private chambers and the restroom, white with gold trimmings and a polished brass doorknob. Such a door normally wouldn’t give Peach any pause whatsoever.

There is, however, one strange thing about this door in particular: it wasn’t there this morning.

She repeatedly looks from the door to her husband, who’s casually unlacing his boots by the dresser. The door to her husband, who’s rummaging through the third drawer down. The door back to her husband, who’s unhooking his overalls and kicking them onto the plush carpet floor. If he’s aware of this anomaly in an otherwise familiar setting, he’s not showing it.

“Mario.”

Mario hums lazily, not even looking at her as he pulls on his softest, most worn nightshirt, its red cotton faded and fraying. Peach is almost certain she’s dreaming right now. She was so certain she had been awake just minutes ago, laughing with friends and family over dinner, cheerfully accompanying her husband to bed after a long and eventful day of baby shopping with her best friend (though it's still a bit early to be buying any clothes, she’d tried saying a few times, statements that Daisy had immediately brushed off). But everything suddenly feels far too… off.

“What is that?” she finally chances, gesturing to the alien door. Mario finishes peeling off his socks and gloves before looking to where she’s gesturing, regarding it with all the mundanity he might regard any other door.

“It’s a door,” he answers easily, giving her a patented I have no clue what you’re getting at but I love you and cherish the words that come from your mouth anyway grin.

Peach sucks in an uneasy breath. Maybe this is that Pregnancy Brain thing she’s read about? Perhaps her memories are being rearranged, her senses tricked? Toadessa did warn her that she might become increasingly forgetful as the months progressed. It’s a more logical explanation than any other she can conjure up. If something were truly amiss, then surely Mario would notice too. Right?

“I… don’t remember it being there this morning,” she confesses, a blush creeping into her cheeks. She remembers, or at least thinks she remembers, that there was once a small storage unit just behind that door, filled with old broken halberds and spears and other assorted equipment that was too valuable to trash but too broken to repair. Yes, she remembers it now with greater confidence; she had been terrified of that dark, cluttered room, unable to sleep for fear of whatever monsters might be lurking within, and so Toadsworth had ordered it sealed when she was age seven or so.

Or maybe he hadn’t?

Mario chuckles, and though the corners of his eyes crease in good humor and his smile is filled with warmth, her face burns hotter still. “Fog’s already setting in, huh?” He taps a finger to his temple to hammer home what he’s implying, and though Peach knows his words hold no malice, the teasing still fans an unpleasant flame in her chest; she can’t help but cross arms in front of her and huff, half in hopes of exhaling that flame, half to make her displeasure known.

Suddenly Mario’s face reads a bit less amused and a bit more ashamed, and that just makes her feel even worse.

“No,” he croons, approaching her with his hands loosely extended, “tesoro mio, I’m so sorry. That was mean.” His tone doesn’t quite match his words. He’s clearly sorry to have provoked such a reaction, Peach doesn’t doubt his sincerity there, but there’s nevertheless a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, like there’s still something terribly amusing about her predicament.

So this is the thanks I get for carrying your child, she considers pouting, but something in Mario’s eyes sparkles so brightly that she feels her annoyance melting away, like an icicle brought into the sunlight. Damn him. She sighs and unfolds her arms to take his hands; for her silent pardon, he brings her knuckles to his lips and kisses them one by one, and suddenly she’s overcome with the urge to giggle like a lovestruck schoolgirl.

She resists, if only to spite him one last time, then she lets the grudge slide from her shoulders.

“You know,” Mario says once he’s done with his ministrations, his thumbs rubbing little circles into the backs of her hands, “I don’t have any right to poke fun. I don’t even remember what’s behind that door, either.”

Peach blinks. No, okay, now she knows she’s dreaming. This entire scenario is making less and less sense by the moment.

But before she can pinch herself awake, Mario’s guiding her towards the unfamiliar door, letting go of her hands and drifting behind her. Almost like he’s pushing her forward, she feels.

“Maybe we should check it out,” he suggests all too innocently, and if not for the way he lingers behind her, she might not find the suggestion too strange. But Mario always insists on taking the lead any time there’s unfamiliar terrain to be trekked. He would never let her be the first in the line of fire, no matter how mundane said terrain might appear on the surface, especially not in her present condition.

Unless, of course, he knows what she's stepping into.

Staring at the white and gold door, reason begins to resettle in Peach’s head. How had he known she was referring specifically to the door itself? If she were to gesture to the bathroom door and say "What is that?", he wouldn’t say “That’s a door,” he would say “That’s the bathroom.” 

She’s not dreaming, nor is she going crazy. There is definitely something going on. Some sort of conspiracy that he’s in on and she’s not.

Unaccustomed to being left in the dark by her own husband, she grasps the doorknob, takes a breath, opens the door… and gasps.

The room behind the door is, in fact, the room she remembers, or is at least roughly the same size. But where she remembers dingy stone, there’s now carpet, luxuriously plush like the carpet in the bedroom. The sterile gray walls that once spooked her are now a soft and lovely blue, decorated with empty floating shelves and cheerful paintings of Biddybuds and Fire Flowers and scenes from familiar mushroom forests.

There's no trace of the broken weapons that once littered the room. There's instead a dresser flush to the wall, and a tall table of some sort, and a small chest in the opposite corner... and in the center of the room, on a round and ornate rug, are two pieces of furniture on smooth, curved rockers. One is a chair, adult human-sized; the other is much smaller, a horizontal hollow contained within smooth, round bars. A cradle.

“Oh yeah,” Mario chimes in somewhere behind her, “now I remember! I knew there was a reason I asked Daisy to keep you out of the castle today.”

His words slowly sink in as Peach approaches the rocking chair, reaching out to brush her fingers over the dark red wood. Cedar. The whole room is filled with the dry and resinous aroma of fresh cedar, a scent she typically associates with the workshop in the castle's western wing. The workshop where Mario tinkers with metal and wood whenever he tires of royal monotony and needs to keep his hands occupied.

The workshop that's been suspiciously locked every time she's approached it the past couple of months, even when she could hear saws cutting through raw materials and the tap-tap-tap of chisels in experienced hands within.

All pretense is gone. When she turns back to Mario, she finds him bristling with pride, that teasing smile wider than before.

"You did this?" She looks back to the chair, fastened with fluffy pink silk cushions, and the cradle, a matching cushion tied to its bars and emblazoned with the royal mushroom emblem on its headboard, an emblem that's been carved into the chest a few steps away as well. Something in her throat feels impossibly tight. "All of this?"

Mario finally leaves the doorway, his hand brushing against her back as he steps past her. "Well, not all of it, no. Just the furniture." He taps his right foot a few times against the statement rug beneath their feet. "Weeg handled the layout and the decorations and the swatches and all that fancy stuff. He's got a better eye for that sorta thing! Then he helped me get everything moved in and set up and the door re-installed while you and Daisy were out shopping. Of course Toadsworth's the one who told me about this little room in the first place, so he helped us get it unsealed, and Daisy—" He laughs now, scratching the back of his neck. “Actually, she wasn’t even part of it originally! She just barged in one day — I had the door locked, Peachy, but she just waltzed right on in! I don’t know if she had a key or if she just forced it open with her bare hands — and she said the only way she’d keep quiet was if she got to be involved and take credit for her part in the whole ordeal, so that’s how that happened, and—”

His face grows darker as he prattles on, until at last he’s forced to take in a sharp gasp, his color returning to normal as oxygen once more fills his lungs. “But! The rest of it! Yeah, that was all me! Looky here—” His fingers curl around the bars of the cradle, giving it a few demonstrative rocks. “Remember that night you called me into the bathroom and I thought you were hurt and I panicked but actually you were just excited because you could finally see a little baby bump in the mirror? I couldn’t sleep at all that night because suddenly it all felt so real, so I spent the whole next day making this! 

“And then I thought, ‘Well, we’ve got a place for them to sleep, but where are we gonna change their diapers? And where are we gonna put all the diapers and wipes and all that good stuff anyway?’ And that’s how I got started on that one!” He darts now to the table against the wall, gesticulating around it with the enthusiasm of a used kart salesman. “Perfect little platform, plenty of storage space, I’ve been thinking about making a mobile to put over it too in case she gets fussy, because the last thing we need is a dirty diaper and a fussy baby, right? And then—”

And this continues on for a good few minutes, Mario darting around the room to show off each hand-crafted piece of their new nursery. The dresser to store non-diapers, things like blankets and onesies and a few changes of clothes for both of them because babies are messy and ruined clothes are inevitable, and the chest to store everything else, like toys — he throws the lid open and shows Peach a few delicately carved wooden blocks and dolls, because what's a toy chest without any toys?

The information comes at Peach too quickly to absorb any of it, because an excitable Mario is a Mario at full steam that won’t stop for anything or anyone, so she blindly follows him, brushing her fingers against each piece’s cool cedar, examining the smooth-gliding drawers, dragging her thumb nail over the ridges in each toy she’s handed.

“And then the bookshelf! I’m… still working on that one.” He scratches his neck again with a nervous chuckle. “But I couldn’t wait any longer! Gimme a few days and it’ll go in that corner right over there. Weegee’s already got a whole library lined up for her, so we should have enough books to last us a while at least. And then I was thinking we could put some flowers and vases on the shelves, maybe? So they look sad and empty now, but pretty soon they’ll…”

Peach dutifully admires one such shelf on the wall, right next to a painting of a Fire Flower field in full bloom. Yes, a live Fire Flower on the adjacent shelf to compliment the painting. It’s certainly a good idea. She’s so caught up in the automatic thought process that, as soon as it runs its course, she turns to take on whatever bit of information Mario throws at her next, effortless and thoughtless.

Only then does she realize he’s gone silent.

“...You okay, Peachy?” Suddenly there’s no bravado in his voice. It’s softer, gentler, quieter. He closes their distance and takes her hands in his, warm and strong. “Sorry, I… I know this is a lot. Of course, if there’s any part of it you don’t like, you can tell me! You know I won’t take it personally. Well, not too personally.” He couples this statement with a playful wink.

Another automatic thought crosses Peach’s mind: how could she ever criticize any of this? He’s made an entire nursery with his own two hands for their child. She could never…

And for the first time since she opened that strange new door, it hits Peach. Not in words, but in images: Mario in his workshop, wiping sweat and sawdust from his forehead as he consults his blueprints, making certain his vision is coming to life exactly as he’s planned. Mario crammed into a booth at Tayce T.’s with his brother, thick brows knit in confusion as Luigi gives him a crash course on color theory and interior design. Mario in a football-style huddle with Peach’s steward and brother-in-law and best friend, giving everyone their roles sometime late last night or early this morning while she still lay blissfully unaware in bed.

Mario kneeling beside the completed cradle, rocking it a few times with a peaceful smile, staring down at the plush pink cushion and imagining a little blonde or brunette bundle of blankets sleeping soundly within.

The stagnant tightness in Peach’s throat erupts in the form of a sob, a rush of raw hormones heightening her every emotion until it almost hurts, and once she starts, it’s impossible to stop.

“Ah— Peachy—!” She hears Mario offer a few uncertain words of comfort beneath her shrill breathing, and he starts to pull her in some equally uncertain direction (uncertain to her, anyway, because her tears are falling too hard and too fast to make out anything other than abstract shapes). She lets him guide her steps, until suddenly he hoists her into his arms and lowers both of them. He’s settled in the rocking chair, she realizes from the way they both jolt as he adjusts her in his lap.

Her belly is larger now than it was the night she called him into the bathroom, though not so large that she can’t wrap her arms around him and hold him tightly, burying her face into the crown of his head. Even his hair smells of cedar, a fine dust that tickles her nose, and laughter bubbles in her chest alongside the tears.

“You’re amazing,” she manages to choke out. Her Mario, her thoughtful Mario, her hard-working and mind-bendingly devoted Mario. He cradles her, his left hand against her outer thigh, his opposite arm supporting her back, his right hand stroking the side of her belly ever so gently.

“So,” he says into her chest, and she can feel him smile against her, “does this, uh, does this make up for the teasing earlier?”

Peach sniffles and laughs again, drawing him in closer. Even if she hasn’t forgiven him (which she has, she’d like to believe she’s not that petty), she supposes drenching his hair with tears and mucus is payback enough. Maybe they can shower together tonight. Maybe she can wash his hair, and he’ll press kisses to her sternum the whole time, like he always does.

Though for now, she’s equally content to remain right where she’s at, secure in his arms in this cozy little nursery, their baby nestled safely between their bodies. It’ll still be a few more months before this space is put to proper use, after all. What’s the rush?

[hollandsfavbabe]

Family Line (1)

picture to burn

pairing: arvin russell x teagardin!reader

synopsis: in which y/n moves to a new town and starts to have a funny feeling about a boy who just might be as out of place as she is

warnings: slight language, kind of obsessive behavior, reader is going through something, alluded domestic abuse (not arvin, don’t worry)

word count: 3.3k

masterlist

series masterlist

“It’s all gonna be okay, y/n.” your brother smirked from the driver's seat as he pulled onto a dirt road, his wife’s hand much too close to his thigh considering they weren’t all alone.

“Mm.” you glared, staring aimlessly into the blue sky up above, only separated from you by a smudged window. You missed your old life, your mother, and mostly you missed being away from your hated brother.

You had a pleasant life in Nashville. Nice friends, a nice house, and your favorite person by your side, your mom. Before the switch, you could at least stand the sight of your brother, stifle your complaints and only let them out in your journal later on long after he had returned to his own home, but all of that patience had been flushed down the drain. There was no more big house, no more ritzy friends, and any thought of having any sort of close familial relationship like the one between you and your mother was gone.

The drive felt endless, you seated in the back with a scowl on your face while your brother and his wife sat up front. You wished you could go back home, but it was far too late for that now.

It all happened so suddenly. You returned from school to find your bedroom bare, all of your things packed up in two large bags. There was no warning as your mother embraced you and sprung the news that you and you alone were moving, without her.

It was your brother she sent you to live with, condemning you in every sense. She tried to convince you of the adventures that awaited you in a West Virginian home closer to God, but you could not be swayed. You could barely breathe after it had happened. Within an hour, you had been forced into your brother’s fancy car and waved away, only told that he would care for you and take over as your legal guardian. Bullshit. You knew he was barely even capable of taking care of himself.

Eventually you all had gotten to your destination, but of course like everything in your life, the church came first. No matter how you felt, be it angry or exhausted or too drained to even comprehend what emotions were, you were always expected to make way for faith.

Your views didn't exactly line up with your family’s. You never had that communal sensation when you were taken to church that seemed to touch the hearts and fill the souls of everyone else in attendance. It wasn’t that you disagreed with it, you didn’t. You didn't see Christianity as one thing or another be it good or bad. It just was and whatever it was, you always felt as if you didn't belong with it, or more accurately, it didn’t belong with you. Organized religion with sets of rules and responsibilities was simply not for you, at least not the kind your family strictly practiced.

It was the only thing you and your mother disagreed on and if you had known that it would eventually land you in the home of the man you hated the most, you would have started pretending to be the perfectly polished church girl of your mother's dreams ages ago.

You hadn't arrived at your new house, but instead the church your brother would preach at. You were ordered asked by him to go inside and after a walk through the tiny building during which you met your dying uncle who was lined up to retire as pastor for your brother to replace, you decided to go stretch your legs and amble along the graveyards where you were sure to be alone. That was until you spotted a girl and a boy not too far away, stood by a grave.

The girl knelt beside it with what could only be a bible splayed out atop the polished stone where you guessed her relative laid to rest, unable to hear the girl tearfully read a passage. The boy was much stranger. He showed no remorse for the dead as his face remained still and unchanging from neutrality. He seemed entirely unaffected by the scene around him, as if only an ice pick could reveal the true warmth behind his cold face, if it existed at all. It became all too surreal once he looked up at you.

Quickly, you took cover behind the church, sure he hadn’t seen you as he made no advance towards you and merely looked back to the dirt on his stained faux leather boots. You watched as they walked over to a car only moments later and drove away. You wondered if you’d see them around the small town, selfishly hoping to catch a glimpse of the boy again. He intrigued you.

Your first few days in town had been nothing short of dreadful. You had spent exactly two class periods at the local high school and deemed it unworthy of your time as it lacked in rigorous academics and had way to many sleazy guys parading around as heroes that only wanted a way into your skirt. The classes weren't too hard, a small town's curriculum nothing compared to your prep school in Nashville. You didn't make any friends, preferring to sit back and observe your few peers during which you decided no one would miss you.

You picked up a new routine during the daytime, one that consisted of exploring parts of the small town after your brother dropped you off at school and finding your way home or to his church once you were finished as he always neglected to pick you up.

You didn’t see much of the boy, only peeks from your hiding spot of his hat-covered head through the windows of his car when he came to pick up his sister who was horribly bullied. You’d never admit to yourself that he was the reason you made a point to be there at that time. You also caught him at the church, though you never brought yourself to go up to him.

The only day you were ever stirred to move from your hiding spot was a particularly bad one. Lenora (the name of his sister as you had learned from eavesdropping), couldn’t catch a break from a trio of bullies who prodded at her school dress and laughed at her shyness. They cornered her after school, shouted insults at her shaking figure and unzipped their jeans with the intention to assault her. Unwilling to watch her be put through such torture, you stood from your hiding spot, ready to fight them off with a nearby tree branch until the boy had miraculously gotten to them first, though he did so very poorly. You could tell from the aged bruise on his cheek that it hadn’t been the first time.

It wasn’t until your first Sunday in town that you saw him up close and you were sure that he truly saw you. You figured his family would join your brother’s first service as his sister seemed so very devote.

Those first twenty minutes were nothing short of absolute torture, standing beside your brother and your sister in law as he accepted food and blessed the people of his church upon meeting. You smiled politely, attempting not to look too bothered, but it was only difficult for an idiot to figure out that you were forced to be there. You so hoped that the boy would show to meet the new Reverend and finally, after painful cheek pinches from countless elderly strangers, you were rewarded with his presence.

You weren’t surprised that he was even more attractive up close than he was at a distance.

Purely handsome, not in the privileged way with the money wasting products that filthy rich guys liked to use, but naturally. He had a sharp jawline, sprinkled with the lightest of freckles that only kissed his complexion in a few different spots. His head, normally covered by a well worn baseball cap, was revealed to be adorned with brown curls that were greasily slicked back, but hung out just enough to be noticeable. Under his unbuttoned white shirt lay a tattered, old wife beater that allowed the slightest definition of the curved musculature concealed beneath. And his eyes, a dark addictive coffee brown that bore into yours. Heat rushed through your cheeks once you noticed, but you made no movement, gave no sign as to the effect he was having on you.

"Pleased to meet you, Reverend. Emma Russell." the older woman introduced herself, holding her hand out to your brother and you. You shook it absentmindedly, though you gaze didn’t leave the boy as his stayed glued on you. No one else seemed to notice.

"Nice to meet you too. What you got there?" your brother asked next to you, sticking his finger into the dish presented to him and popping it into his mouth, swirling the juices around. Normally you would have been horrified, but his actions went unnoticed as you tried to block out every impure thought that came to mind in that church when your gaze wandered down to the boys lips, pink and moist as he wet them with the tip of his tongue.

Most of what went on in the next few seconds passed through one of your ears and right out the other. You didn’t catch your brother preaching nor his rudeness as he swirled another finger through the juices of the dish the boy’s relative had handed him. For a moment you weren’t miserable at your brother’s side, but instead in a void where it was you and the boy. No one else. You didn’t even know his name and yet he looked at you the exact same way. Like there was no one else in the world.

You were glad to find yourself settled in the front of the room, seated next to your sister in law.  While you didn’t love the attention brought upon you, it was the easiest place to pick out the boy from. You discovered him staring at you again once you had found him. He was much more conspicuous now, looking away from time to time to check on his surroundings, though he glanced at you the most. You decided to do the same, rejecting any more indulgences and immediately turning to your brother as the man cleared his throat to speak, dishing himself up before the starved. His horridness made it so easy to rush right back to the boy’s eyes, but you resisted the urge. What a mistake.

You were reminded of your hatred for him as his coined preaching expression appeared upon his face.

There was no real meaning behind his sermons, no substance behind his preaches. He was one of those people who loved the sound of his own voice, so much so he felt it generous to share it with others. Sometimes you wondered if he had actually wanted to be a reverend, or if he just liked the sound of a job where he could preach to people his beliefs and in return get some praise from it.

“Friends,” he began.

You thought it started off alright, not a hint of hypocrisy or what you knew to be his inner condescending narcissism. That was until he got to the Russell’s dish, insulting it by claiming he was sparing others by eating all of it himself.

You wished the level he had stooped to was more of a surprise, going as far to publicly call the Russell’s poor, but you knew how awful your brother was. It was why you detested him so.

In the cheering crowd, the boy caressed the older woman's shoulder, comforting her as her dish was bashed. She looked like she was about to cry and the boy got that look you could only compare to when a sleazy boy made a pass at his sister at school. One of distaste, distrust, and burning hatred. You shared that with him, you could feel your face heating up as the anger inside you burned.

Once everyone had been dismissed to dish up, you hurried and left to go outside, causing a small disturbance as the door slammed behind you.

You stomped off in the gravel, suddenly wishing you knew how to drive away from the mess as you eyed your brother’s flashy car, when the sound of the door opening and closing behind you shook you from your trance.

There he was, the boy in broad daylight, all alone and staring at you as he approached you for the very first time.

"What are you doing out here?" you glared, hoping that your dramatic entrance had made it clear you wanted to be alone, even if it was the boy who followed you. Your voice was a weak, though threatening, it was much softer than it would have been if someone else had followed you out.

"I could ask you the same thing." he replied, though there was a sort of calmness to his words to balance out the frustration of his public shame. He knew you weren’t the one to blame. You noticed his accent wasn’t quite as thick as others you had heard in this small town, but clear enough to alter his speech into a smooth regional drawl. He didn’t seem to be from around here.

“I know you,” he stated, observing you as he neared, step by step and at steady pace. You were immediately pulled from your state of anger, shocked to hear he had some idea of your existence previous to this day. “I wasn’t so sure before. I thought I’d started seein’ things. Just shit messin’ with my brain, but now that you’re here, and in that dress, oh yup, I’m sure it’s all real now.”

“What are you talking about?” you asked, curious to hear how he was so sure he’d seen you before.

“I’ve seen you ‘round town. Always during school, you always skip it to explore.”

“That’s creepy you know,” you scolded, though you had to admit, some part of you was pleased he had noticed you presence. “You shouldn’t watch girls like that. It freaks them out.”

“Like how you haven’t been watching me?” he raised an eyebrow, halting his approach to stand only a couple feet from you, closer that he had ever been before.

You gasped in realization. He knew.

“You wore that dress here once, hiding behind that wall, ‘member?” he pointed back to a side of the church. “First time I ever saw you, watching me like a damn hawk.”

He raised his arm to run his fingers through his hair, combing back loose curls that flew to his face during his attempt to follow you out the door.

“Now, I reckon I see you five times a day. Sometimes you see me, sometimes you don’t.” he admits.

You’re honestly shocked, not at all expecting him to have any former impression of you, definitely not anticipating his pages long mental portfolio of your sightings.

“Well, then you must see me at the high school every afternoon. Or are you too busy beating up the guys who pick on your friend?” you counter.

“My sister,” he corrects. “That’s Lenora.”

“Lenora - ” you repeat. “ - is lucky to have you as family. I see what you do for her and I’m sorry for what my family has done to yours.”

Silence falls as you are both reminded of the embarrassment your brother caused.

The boy’s mouth parts, but his words are squashed out by the church door opening and your sister in law pokes her head out to give you an uncharacteristic glare.

“Y/n,” she shouts. “Get in here now!”

You give the boy an apologetic look as you step past him to your caller, sad to leave him after what had been revealed. You might have found the only person in this small town who truly understood you, but of course you family had to get in the way.

He watches you as you leave, waiting for your sister in law to disappear before he calls your name when you’re just at the door.

“Y/n,” he repeats, close enough still that he doesn’t have to raise his voice too loud for you to hear. You turn to him, door handle loose in your grip.

“Yes?”

He walks through the gravel towards you, his button up blowing in the light breeze behind him.

“Arvin.” he points to himself, revealing his name to you only once you’re alone.

You almost smile, glad to have a name to put to his beautiful face, but as you sense you’re brother’s annoyance with you from inside, you give him a sad look instead.

“Goodbye Arvin.” and with so much more to say, but no time to allow it, you slid in the church doors and retreat to your brother who gave you a look of disappointment that only you can recognize. You hoped your inevitable punishment later on wouldn’t be too unbearable.

Arvin's family still looked in shambles, his grandmother anyway, as he ushered them out, but not before stealing one last glance at you, meeting your gaze before leaving the room.

Arvin felt his fury rush back to him as Emma started to cry in the car once he had closed the door to the driver's seat, giving them semi-privacy.

"Now, don't you worry about that pus-gutted blowhard. I bet he ain't got two nickels to rub together.” he tried his best to comfort her.

"I never been so embarrassed in all my life. I could've crawled right under the table."

"All right, l'm gonna go talk to him."

Arvin wanted to beat the shit out of the Reverend, especially if it meant another moment with you, hopefully doing you a favor of some sort as you didn’t seem to be too fond of Reverend Teagardin either.

"No, Arvin. None of that. He sure ain't the preacher I was hoping for."

Sighing, Arvin settled into the driver’s seat and started the engine. He supposed his Aunt was right. He shouldn’t bother you anymore anyway.

"Grandma, that ain't no preacher. He's as bad as they got on the damn radio. Heck, I bet he just wanted them chicken livers all for his own self. That's why he did that. You see the way he was gobbling them down?"

"You shouldn't talk like that, Arvin." Lenora scolded from the back. She, unlike her family, was quite impressed with the reverend, tickled when he addressed her during their initial meeting, though Arvin had been too caught up with other matters to notice. “Preacher Teagardin wouldn't be here if the Lord hadn't sent him."

Arvin backed out of the lot, driving back to their home as the girl crossed his mind again. He couldn't stop thinking about her, and now that he knew her name, how was it to ever leave his mind?

"I just feel bad for that girl that was with him,” Emma shook her head. “She really shouldn't of run out like that." 

Arvin could’ve chuckled at the mention of her.

"She'll be alright." he assured her, though he wasn’t exactly sure of that himself. He’d know by the next day if he didn’t see her around town.

"She’s your age right? You outta make friends with her, Lenora. She looked awful lonely." suggested his grandmother.

Lenora liked that idea, getting closer to someone who was so closely related to the reverend. She couldn't explain it, but she felt God pulling her towards him, an unmistakable force of gravity pulling them together to share what she could only pray would be her first true connection with a strongly spirited soul. She was like her mother, destined to fall for a man of God, one who would ultimately be her death.

"I’ll see what I can do."

[roonotrue]

Hi, I hope you are having a good day ^^ can I order a fic (M) reader, romantic, fluff, accidental confession & games with Idia? Perhaps where they are both at a sleepover in Idia's room while staying up late to play a video game (something similar to Final Fantasy, or something simpler like Stardew Valley or Minecraft, or a competitive game like Mortal Kombat, choose the game you like the most) and, being influenced by the Reader's gameplay, he simply confesses without thinking about it?

~~~

General Masterpost

Events Masterpost 1

Requested From: Oneshot Request Prompts 5/29 (starts) - 6/19 (ends)

Love this request- I knew Idia was gonna get the gaming prompt- it'd be a crime not to write one for him with it, lol. I meant to finish this yesterday but fell asleep because I have horrifically untreated ADHD and but hey, I got it out for the start of Pride Month! My first gay fic for the season y'all, and I tried my best, cuz I haven't done a lot of Idia writing which is wild cuz he's one of my favorite characters.

I should also note- I love all of these games, and I struggled so hard since you sent this prompt writing multiple different versions of this using different games- and this is the one I liked the most! I might post the others some other time if I feel like going in and polishing them up a bit, but we'll see. Anyway- I hope you enjoy!

~~~

MORTAL KOMBAT 11™

"Why is combat spelled with a 'k'?" Is the first thing Idia asks when you come over to play games and present him with the rarest thing you could have possibly found at Sam's today.

"The fuck if I know, now you gonna play or you turnin' chicken on me, Shroud?" You challenge giving him a well practiced cocky smirk.

One you used to wear more often in your old world when you were the best at playing competitive fighting games in your friend group. You've been humbled since meeting Idia here in NRC though.

This though- this you think you have a right to be cocky about.

Because of all the games from your world to find- of all the competitive fighting games to find- you found this one.

You've struck gold.

Not even gold ore- pure, already processed bars of gold, because this- this means you stand a chance against this raging nerd who treats gaming like it's his day job, hobby, and addiction all at once. Which it actual might be at this point.

It's adorable though, so you forgive him for all of his ruthless victories and gloating over you in terms of competitive games, because honestly? You'd do the same.

You're about to do the same tonight when you kick his ass at Mortal Kombat™.

"Chicken? Seriously? And what's made you all confident? Just because it's a game from your world doesn't mean I can't master it in like, two rounds max, LMAO." He gives you that overconfident smile of his and you struggle not to melt at the idea of how comfortable it means he's gotten with you.

When you two first started hanging out he was a stuttering stumbling mess, barely able to comprehend that you would even want to hang out with him of all people.

After a while of beating you at every game he introduced you too, and then letting you wallow in anguish while playing a calmer farming based game together- he's become far more used to having you around. Far more confident, cocky, and dare you say happy to have someone else to play videogames with, both online and in his dorm room together.

Sitting on the floor, way to close to his tv trying desperately to- at the very least- inconvenience him at a dumb racing game that reminds you a lot of Mario Kart™ (another game spelled with a 'k' not a 'c'- is that just are weird your world thing for games?) every Saturday bleeding into Sunday morning- sometimes afternoon- has become the best part of your week these last few months.

"Well I guess we'll just have to put that to the test then!" You laugh, moving to sit on the blanket-pillow pile Idia had prepared for you twos game night, surrounded by junk food and carbonated energy drinks. Vil would obliterate you with his mind if he knew about this.

"Fine, but don't go crying to Ortho again when I beat you." He says that, but you know that if you do start struggling, he eases up and will even let you win once or twice.

You pretend you don't know as you brag about the victory, and he plays 'sore loser' grumbling with a small smile on his face as he watches you run to tell Ortho of your 'success.'

It's... One of those little things between you two.

One of the things that you can't decide if the dizzy way it makes you feel is because of how close you two are- legs pressing together still from push at each other trying to throw each other off- or because of the egregious amount of carbonated liquid sugar you've drank.

Either way it always leaves you a little more confused then you where before about your feelings towards him.

You smile fondly when Idia settles next to you, ignoring the rush of instant oxytocin flooding your brain when your arms brush.

"Sure, but only if you don't go crying to him when you don't." You smirk opening the game case and putting it into the game console- which luckily enough, seemed to work with the disc even if it was meant for a playstation.

You hope this doesn't break it or anything.

Probably won't.

Hopefully won't.

Anyway-

"Sooo, you gonna tell me how to play or is part of your strat gonna be throwing me in the deep end to drown?" Idia looks at you with a raised brow and slight smile and you roll your eyes.

"Of course not- I wanna win, not be a dick. We can run a practice round or two." You quickly explain the controls to him- or at least how they seem to translate on these controllers, which, to be fair, are similar enough to ones from your world.

"So there's a ton of characters to chose from- they have different combos that you can look at here-" Idia goes very still when you lean over him pressing some buttons on his controller to show him how to get to the combo move list menu.

"So- you got it?" You pull back to meet his eyes with a wide smile.

"W-what?" He jumps when you lock eyes, his face slightly pink as he stumbles with the controller he almost accidently tossed, making you laugh a bit.

"Do you understand the control? Ready to do a practice round?" You ask, and he gulps nervously.

"Uh- yeah, G2G. I learn better from practice anyway." Where'd all that confidence he had earlier go?

You smirk to yourself as you turn back to the screen, picking your character.

"I'd recommend Scorpion or Sub-Zero- they're my favorites." You point the characters out- letting Idia chose first.

Because you're nice.

He picks Scorpion, so you go with Sub-Zero.

And as soon as the game starts it takes all but fifteen minutes for Idia to absorb everything you tell him, and he's able to go toe to toe with you on your practice fights, and even beats you on the last one.

"Huh- this is legit just a classic 2D fighting game. You do know I'm a pro at those too? Lol." He side eyes you as he puts down the controller with a small scoffed laugh and you bump him with your shoulder as you snort and bring a finger up to the bridge of your nose.

"Um, actually, it's a 2.5D fighting game-" You mimic his voice, making it a bit more nerdy and exaggerated though.

"Shut up-" He shoves you back and you quickly hit start on the next game a real game, not practice.

"Wha- Hey! I wasn't ready you can't-"

"Can and did!" You laugh as he fumbles to grab his control and adjust his grip.

You are kind enough to wait for him to get settled before you start to play though. Cuz again, you're oh so nice. Gamers honor and all that.

And you let him get his hits in.

And then you stop playing around.

See the thing is, when you first started playing video games- it was fighting ones like Mortal Kombat, and when you finally got a copy for your game console you played it nonstop until you where pretty sure you almost gave yourself carpal tunnel in under a week.

So if there is any game- any game in this world or the next that you'll beat Idia at, it's gonna be this one. Even if he learns fast and has years more general gaming experience than you.

The room falls quiet, nothing but the sound of the button mashing of the controllers and the occasional sigh, scoff, and chuckle whenever one of you is winning or loosing.

Idia manages to hold his own extremely well for his first time playing, but eventually-

"YES!" You cheer launching your hands into the air, controller falling into your lap. You fall back into the pillows behind you- back aching from being hunched over and eyes burning a little from not blinking as much as possible.

"Finally! A victory against the infamous Gloomurai!" You can tell Idia is looking at you slightly miffed for a moment before his gaze shifts to something else as you sit back up and make a fake bow.

"I'd like to thank my father- for introducing me to violent fighting videogames at a faaar to young age- and my friends from Earth for their years of trying to beat me at Mortal Kombat and helping me keep my epic skills sharp- and of course Sam, for somehow magically having a copy of this damn game- I won't be able to afford food this week because of it's outrageous price- but it was worthy to be sitting here now with this W!" You monologue dramatically.

In the corner of your eye you can see Idia shaking his head with a genuine smile on his face and slight flush on his cheeks- embarrassment if you had to guess.

"Yeah yeah, gg, you won- one out of three. Now sit back up- I'm still getting used to the game." He scoffs, but the small doesn't fade and you do as he asks.

"Excuses excuses, Shroud- but okay. I don't mind kicking your butt two more times, but if I do, I am absolutely bragging about it for the rest of my life." You shove him and he shoves you back.

"Uh-huh, and if you don't I'm never letting you live down all this cocky smack-talk."

So you both play again- and it's definitely harder, but you manage to beat him again, this time you burst out laughing as he groans at loosing by a hair.

"God, I forgot how sweet victory tastes- no offence Idia, but defeating you is officially the best moment of my life. My crowning achievement." You sigh dramatically draping an arm over his shoulders.

He tenses instantly under the touch and you glance up at him to see that same pink hue on his face from earlier, though this time he refuses to meet your eyes, or even turn towards you.

"Hey- you good-"

"Yep! I'm G-great- just uh- not used to losing." He coughs into his elbow as you pull away, and you tilt your head, watching him carefully.

He really isn't the best at lying to you... But you guess you'll let it go... For now.

"Hm, well, congrats, I'm here to help you officially get used to it." You pat his back and while he doesn't look at you as you turn your attention back to picking a new character for the next round- okay with losing it if only to make him feel better- he does it for you after all- you hear the smallest little scoff from him.

And then-

"You're so lucky you're cute..."

"What was that?" Your brain comes to a screeching halt and you can practically feel your neck snap with how fast you turn to look at Idia- the words so quiet you're damn near certain they were an auditorial hallucination or something.

"Whatwaswhat?" Instantly Idia shrinks in on himself, his whole face painted a dark crimson and his hair blazing up, turning a bright pink that stands out in the blue hues of his Ignihyde dorm room.

Oh.

Oh.

It definitely wasn't a hallucination.

"The thing you just mumbled, what was it?" You ask again, heart hammering in your chest and the dumbest grin making it's way to your face.

"N-nothing- fuck- RIP my dignity, alt f-4, alt f-4, alt f-4-" He chants under his breath as if that will magically let him disappear into the ether, and leans as far back away from you as he can- refusing to turn back to look at you.

"Oh, it was definitely something~" You tease leaning forward as he leans away and at your ton his head darts to look at you like a deer in headlights.

"H-huh!?!? H-hey don't look at me like that! Seven, this is straight out of a cringy otome game and I just got the bad ending for sure..." You knew his hair turned normal fiery orange and red when he was angry or really passionate about something, but you didn't know it could turn pink like this.

You're tempted to reach out a hand and touch the non-harmful flames. Well, they're unharmful when their blue, but they do burn when they're red.

"Would you're hair burn me if it's pink like this?" You voice the thought as you toss your controller to the side and fully turn to face Idia, who has been slowly backing away from the situation.

He freezes at the question and if his face could turn redder, your certain it would.

"I-w-what kind of- I don't- L-look, I d-didn't mean to say a-anything it was stupid, and cringe, and if you want to leave I totally get it and if you don't want to talk to me anymore either I won't bother you-" He starts spiraling and you roll your eyes.

You rise up to your knees and then fall forward, arms open, crashing into Idia's chest and wrapping your arms around him, he let's out a loud startled yelp arms instinctually wrapping around your form to catch you as you send the both of you crashing to the blanketed floor and you can't help but chuckle.

You can hear his heart beating like a drum solo's going on in his chest.

You lift your head, resting your chin on his chest as you grin up at his scarlet face, which looks like the human equivalent to a computer blue screening.

"Hey Idia?" You mumble into the soft fabric of his blue hoodie and his grip on you tightens just a smidge, but he still refuses to look at you.

"Y-yeah?"

"This is definitely the good ending- so calm down a bit before you give yourself a heart attack. I don't wanna lose my new boyfriend as soon as I get him." You laugh and Idia jumps like you just slapped him in the face- finally looking down at you, eyes wide.

"B-b-boyfriend!?!?" His voice cracks so sharply that you flinch at the sound.

"Well, you haven't asked me out, but I can ask you out instead if you want?" You smirk at him and he opens and closes his mouth like a gaping fish for a long few moments.

"I- you-"

"Do you not want to date-?"

"No! W-wait- no! I m-mean- like- yes, I do- i-if you want to- seven this is so- a-are you sure you don't j-just wanna leave- you don't gotta s-stay out of pity or anything-"

"Idia?" You cut him off, pushing up off of him and hovering over him, looking at his blushing face with a small, but very genuine smile.

"Y-yes?" He squeaks, shrinking into his hoodie as your gaze pins him in place.

"Would you like to go on a gaming date with me next weekend?" You ask with the very same confident smirk your wore at the beginning of this night and below you, despite turning his gaze away in embarrassment, smiles too.

"Y-yes please..." He manages to stumble out and you push up off the ground to give him some space to cool off for a moment, offering him a hand to help him up.

"Alright then! Snack break, then we're finishing this final round, k?" You decide and he darts up, baffled.

"What!? Y-you can't just hit me with a six-attack combo and then act all casual like that-!" He shouts, hair still pink on the ends but calming down back to blue, his face though, is still a bright scarlet.

"Oh? Well you're the one you made the first hi- what? Are you scared you'll lose again cuz I'm to pretty for you to focus?" You tease as you rip open a back of the nearest bag of chips and start munching, wagging your eyebrows at him.

"N-no! Ugh- you're-! I'm picking the game next week!" He gives up, ripping the bag from you hands and violently shoving some of the chips in his mouth to shut himself up.

You laugh at the action and let yourself shuffle closer to him again until your sides are pressed together.

"Okay by me- just go easy on me, I'm your boyfriend now after all~" You chuckle as you nudge him and he rolls his eyes, hair back to blue but face still flushed a pretty shade of pink.

"After today? I'm fr never going easy on you again."

"Liar, you will."

"... Yeah. I guess I will."

~~~

Word Count: 3,011-ish

Y'all, I was writing this and realized "I still haven't finished book 6 yet" So I went and jumped between writing this and doing that.

And I'm on the cusp of finishing book 6 but I'm struggling with the final boss because I'm so bad at building good teams- it's a whole thing- point is, I still haven't gotten the Crewel card guys and I am GRIEVING.

But it's fine. I'm an adult. I can handle this, and I'm working on the next request tonight, so hopefully I'll have it posted sometime tomorrow, so see you then! Byeeee ~ Roo

[shakespearefreak]

🐍🧨🧧🏮 Happy Lunar New Year from Corrine! 🏮🧧🧨🐍

Earlier this week, Corrine did some cleaning 🧽🗑️✨ (with a little help from Flurry!) in preparation for Lunar New Year. (I just did a deep clean of my apartment a couple weeks ago—I usually combine taking down my holiday decorations with a really thorough cleaning—so pretty much all I did for my part was vacuuming.) We celebrated the holiday itself by staying up late 🥱, ordering Chinese takeout 🥡, and watching Turning Red (2022) 🎥. (I’d also originally hoped to set off fireworks 🧨 with a friend, but getting Covid kinda put a damper on those plans. 😕 At least dolls can’t catch it! 😆)

Marley had suggested listening to music while cleaning to make it more fun, so Corrine decided to try it. She hummed along while she swept, dusted, scrubbed, and polished until she felt her arms would fall off. Even Flurry “helped”—she was so eager to assist, she kept getting in the way, so Corrine finally gave her a full trash bag and directed her to carry it across the room. When Flurry paraded around with the bag in her teeth, so proud to be useful, Corrine couldn’t help but laugh despite how tired she was.

Finally everything was done! Corrine stood up and wiped her hot brow as she surveyed the room. “Whew! That was a lot of work! But you were right, Marley, the music helped!”

They hung the lanterns and Corrine donned her new red dress, bought specifically for the occasion. And then it was time to celebrate!

While they ate their mushroom pork (they both used chopsticks for most of the meal, though Marley had to switch to a spoon to get the last of their rice), Marley got the movie started.

“So what’s this about?” Corrine asked.

“It’s…” Marley paused and thought, before continuing with a grin, “...interesting. You should just watch it and see!”

“Not even a little spoiler?” Corrine wheedled.

“Nope!” Marley said, and Corrine sat back, pretending to pout.

“This is set back in the early 2000s, right?” Corrine asked. “So you were right around their age then?”

Marley thought about it. “No, I think—wait, no, actually, you might be right!” They did some quick mental math. “Oh, wow! I would have been 13 in 2002, exactly the same age as Meilin!” They shook their head, bemused. “It’s been… a while…”

After dinner, Corrine looked inside her hóngbao envelope to find five crisp $1 bills, and they both cracked open their fortune cookies. Marley was surprised—and a little concerned—to discover their cookie was empty!

“That’s never happened to me before!” They looked at Corrine. “Do you think it’s a bad omen?”

Corrine shook her head. “The way I’ve heard it, it’s actually a good thing! It either means that you’re owed a fortune, so something good is going to happen to you soon, or that your future is a blank slate and you can create your own destiny.”

“How about you?” Marley asked. “What did you get?”

Corrine looked at the slip of paper from her own cookie. “‘If you feel you are right, stand firmly by your convictions,’” she read aloud.

“That feels… really relevant to today’s political climate, actually,” Marley said. “It’s an important reminder to stand up for what’s right, even when it feels like the world is against you.”

(NOTE: I did a LOT of work for that tiny little fortune! First, I ordered some AG brand fortune cookies from eBay… but when they arrived, I discovered that a) they were molded together, one full cookie and one half cookie each, and b) all 5 pieces were identical, meaning that I only had ONE side of each of the partial cookies and they wouldn’t fit together! Rather than returning them and trying again—I despise returning stuff if I can help it, it’s such a hassle!—I took my handy-dandy Exacto knife and cut the cookies apart, and then actually WHITTLED the insides of two of the half cookies to make them fit! THEN I looked around at some of the past fortunes I myself received over the years—I keep my favorites and tape them to doors and furniture so I’m reminded of them when I need them—and picked the two I thought best for Corrine right now. I did a lot of measuring and scaling of text, then finally printed both, cut them out, and put each inside one of the two empty cookies. So the fortune she got WAS sort of random… just only a 50/50 chance rather than a considerably higher one.)

Corrine really wanted to stay up until dawn this year! She made it past midnight… but around 3:00 am Marley glanced over from editing photos to see her fast asleep with one arm loosely curled around Flurry, who was dozing beside her.

“Goodnight, Corrine,” Marley said softly. “Happy New Year.”

🐍 Kung Hei Fat Choi! Wishing you good fortune and prosperity in the Year of the Snake! 🐍

BONUS:

A look at Corrine’s hairstyle from the back, since I’m proud of how it came out!

[trekkiehood]

What the fic are you most excited about that you haven't finished yet?

I'm so sorry I literally begged for these and then took forever to answer I'm the worst

Anyway! I'm very excited for my current WIP that I still haven't named. I'm waiting for something to jump out at me and it's not happening lol.

I've talked about it a bit but it's about Buck being shot down and me making things way worse for him than necessary hehe. I'm hoping to have at least the first chapter out by the end of next week. For some reason I decided to finish the rough draft of the entire fic before editing and posting the first chapter, and I'm on the Epilogue. So, it's now down to polishing the first bit so I can post it (and coming up with a title hahahaha *sobs*)

It's mainly Buck whump and a set up for my stalag series "Throughout the Great War". One of those "in case you were wondering why he's acting like that THIS is why" fics that most people write as a prologue after having written other stories, but lack of continuity bugs me so I'm writing the origin story first so I can hopefully keep things consistent. I'm hoping people will still give it a chance even if there is very little Bucky in the initial story (sorry he's still in London/on the run from the Krauts for most of this and we see that in the show).

Now to ramble about a fic that is nowhere near done and not even started past an outline but I'm VERY Excited about. It takes place in the same universe as the above fic. Essentially, Bucky has been causing problems and the Krauts just cannot get that boy to behave. No matter how they punish him he will. not. listen. So they come up with a fantastic solution, don't punish him. Punish Buck. It's a really fun premise and I'm really excited to eventually write it. (It's supposed to take place around April 1944).

I'm thinking I might have to write the "they found the radio" fic first (March 1944) but I only plan on that being a one-shot but who knows. I'm trying to write at least the main canon in order but we'll see if my brain lets me lol.

Here is a rough timeline/upcoming wip outline

Thank you so much for asking and listening to my ramblings <3

[aishangotome]

Azel Radwan: Chapter 5

Chapter 4 Normal Story | Chapter 4 Premium Story

Thank you @shatcey for providing the video for this chapter!

♡———♡

"The God is infatuated with a foreign girl" –– the rumor spread among the people faster than a fire along a fuse.

Emma: Living God… I can't go on anymore…

Azel: ..........

I wipe away the dripping sweat and step into the shade of a building to avoid the scorching sun.

Even so, my body is hot, and my limbs are already complaining of fatigue.

Azel looks down at me with a cold expression as I collapse on the spot.

Azel: What do you want me to do about it?

His mystical eyes are harsh, with no trace of the compassion he had when we first met.

I may have incurred the God's displeasure, but I no longer had the luxury of fearing divine punishment.

Emma: It's just as you suspect.

Azel: …Ah, so you're saying…

Azel kneels before me and lifts my chin with a forceful grip devoid of any tenderness.

Azel: You want me to be kind to you?

Emma: Please… I beg you…

(If this continues, I'll…)

–– Time rewinds a little.

Nadia: By order of the King, I, Nadia, have been assigned to attend to your needs, Lady Emma, starting today.

Aisha: I'm Aisha. We, the head maids of the harem, will serve you to the best of our abilities. Pleased to meet you.

Emma: Oh… Thank you for your concern. But I'm just a humble book merchant, so I don't need—

Nadia: Now, let's start with a bath. The Living God might visit you in your dreams.

Aisha: We must groom your hair beautifully, polish your skin thoroughly, and as for perfume… I wonder what the Living God prefers.

Nadia: We don't know, so let's use roses for now. Lady Emma seems to be from Rhodolite.

Aisha: That's a good idea! Let's do that.

Emma: You really don't have to go that far!

Emma: At least let me bathe alone— Please, have mercy…!

-

Izzet: I am Izzet, and I will be in charge of your protection from today forward, Lady Emma.

Izzet: I usually serve as a messenger, but this time I have officially received a royal order to eliminate any danger approaching you.

Emma: Oh… Thank you very much. However, I am just a humble book merchant, so I don't need a guard—

Izzet: Please reconsider. The Living God's favor is an honor for women all over the country.

Izzet: Even with the divine protection of the God, it's not possible to say for sure that there won't be any envy, resentment, jealousy, or anger…

Emma: … I understand. Thank you for your service. I look forward to working with you.

-

Enis: I apologize for summoning you so suddenly.

Enis: Are you having any trouble at the castle? If you tell me, I can help with most things.

Emma: Thank you for your kindness.

Emma: If you would be so kind as to listen to my wish…

Emma: Could you please treat me as just a humble book merchant, as before?

Enis: I cannot do that. You are the one and only woman who has received the Living God's favor.

Enis: For many years, Tanzanite has struggled with the lack of a woman who could capture the Living God's heart.

Enis: But finally, our long-held wish has come true, and the royal court is overflowing with joy.

Enis: It is the king's duty to increase the national power and entertain you… Please accept it.

The seriousness of being misunderstood as having the Living God's favor is something that sinks in with the passage of time.

-

Emma: Clavis, please stop.

Clavis: I haven't even said anything yet?

Emma: You have a mischievous grin on your face… You're enjoying this, aren't you?

Clavis: Haha, yes, I'm quite amused right now! Now, I'm sure you have a lot to talk about, right?

Clavis: This gentleman will listen to all your troubles.

Today, once again, we hold a secret feast with Clavis and Luke in a guest room of Tanzanite Castle.

From the moment I was summoned, I knew what the "main dish" of the feast would be.

Clavis: Luke, give Emma some alcohol.

Luke: No way I'm letting her drink. It's Tanzanite tea today.

Unlike Clavis, who can't stop grinning, Luke seems concerned for me, skillfully brewing the tea with practiced hands and offering it to me.

Emma: Thank you. This tea… I don't think I've ever seen it before.

Luke: I heard it's made by crushing several kinds of fruits. It's called "Zel Tea," and it seems to be very popular right now.

Emma: "Zel Tea"?

Luke: I heard it's taken from the Living God's first name.

(It's even become a name for tea!?)

Luke: They say it has all sorts of benefits, like curing illnesses, erasing worries, and making love come true.

Emma: …The people in this town really are devout.

Clavis: And you've been favored by that amazing God, haven't you?

I avert my gaze from Clavis, who can't stop smirking, and take a sip of the tea to calm myself down.

(Hmm, it's sweet and delicious.)

(It's a far cry from the image of the Living God… but I like this flavor.)

I take a breath, savoring the sweetness, and clear my mind of all distractions.

Emma: I have absolutely no recollection of such a thing, but it seems that's the case.

Clavis: Oh, you have no recollection…! So it was love at first sight for Prince Azel?

Luke: He has good taste.

Clavis: As expected of a God. But it is a bit surprising.

Clavis also takes a sip of the tea that Luke brewed for him and relaxes his expression as if satisfied with the taste.

Clavis: I thought he wasn't the least bit interested in romance that has no monetary value…

Emma: …Perhaps he just found a foreign woman to be a novelty.

Luke: No way. Look around Tanzanite. There are tourists from all over, men and women alike, right?

Clavis: Yes, a "foreign girl" isn't a rare existence for a God.

Clavis: Therefore, regardless of your origin, he must have found some value in you.

Clavis: Now, the question is, what exactly is that value… What do you think, Luke?

Luke: Me? Well…

Luke: Maybe it's a way to keep us in check?

Emma: Keep you in check?

(...The conversation suddenly took a disturbing turn.)

Luke pulls out honey from somewhere and puts it in his own cup, stirring it with a spoon.

Luke: You've probably noticed it too, haven't you? About the reason we came to Tanzanite.

Emma: Vaguely… It has something to do with the three-country alliance, right?

Luke: That's right. We're investigating the reason why Tanzanite formed the alliance, due to various circumstances.

Luke: So, I've been looking into it for the past few days, and it seems like the God holds the sovereignty when it comes to politics.

Luke: In other words, if there's some reason why they formed the alliance, the God is at the core of it.

Luke: And that God has set his sights on a woman who's close to us, right?

Luke: Tanzanite is outwardly welcoming us. But if they're wary of us behind the scenes—

Luke: There's a good chance they could take you hostage if something inconvenient happens.

(Hostage… I hadn't thought of that, but it's possible.)

(Even if the "infatuation" thing is just a coincidence…)

(There's no doubt that the Living God had some purpose in binding me with debt.)

(But, it doesn't make sense if that's "all" there is to it.)

Emma: Even if that's the case, Rhodolite and Tanzanite aren't on bad terms, are they?

Emma: Is there any reason to be wary of Prince Luke and Prince Clavis to the point of taking a hostage?

(If there's something they don't want the three-country alliance to know about, they might be wary.)

(But, if that's the case, they could have refused entry to Rhodolite.)

Luke, who had been serious until then, suddenly laughed and took a sip of his tea.

Luke: Well, that's true. I might be overthinking it.

Clavis: Luke, you…

On the contrary, Clavis becomes serious this time.

Luke: Wh-what…?

Clavis puts down his cup, approaches Luke, and places a hand on his shoulder.

Clavis: Big brother Clavis is touched right now. To think that Luke is seriously working…!

(I was kind of thinking that…!)

Luke: G-get off me, it's annoying!

Luke brushes Clavis's hand away and quickly retreats to the corner of the room.

He was surprisingly agile for someone who usually slacks off.

Clavis: I'm more surprised by your growth than the Living God situation.

Luke: …I should have slacked off if I knew I'd be praised this much.

Emma: Why? Serious Luke is cool too.

Luke: I'm not really working seriously. It's just…

Emma: …Just?

Luke: No… Anyway, I'm fine as long as that God doesn't harm you in any way.

(I wonder what he was about to say?)

Luke's attitude bothers me, but I miss the timing to press further.

Clavis: The hostage theory might have some merit, but I'd still like to believe in the theory that he's fallen for your personality, Emma.

Clavis: Because that's much more interesting, haha.

(That's the one thing that's not true.)

Clavis: Emma, there are various theories, but what matters is your will.

Clavis: Is Prince Azel's favor unwelcome, or are you not entirely opposed to it? Could you tell us for reference?

(Ah… So this was the main topic.)

I take another sip of tea, as if to hide my trembling hands from nervousness.

Emma: I don't think it's unwelcome.

Luke: Really?

Emma: Really, it's an honor to be liked by a God, isn't it? I'm happy… ahaha… haha…

(...I wonder if that was a bit too unconvincing.)

Emma: Anyway… there's nothing to worry about.

Emma: Thanks to the Living God, my treatment might improve, but it won't get worse—

Luke: It will, won't it?

My shoulders jump in surprise.

Luke: You're tired, aren't you?

(...I guess I can't hide that much.)

Clavis: Some people enjoy being pampered, while others are not used to it. You're clearly the latter.

Luke: If you don't like it, refuse it.

Emma: …I have been refusing, though.

Emma: It's a national celebration to be favored by the Living God.

Luke: That's not our problem.

Clavis: Haha, if push comes to shove, let's all three of us, you, Luke, and I, run away!

Clavis: Even though you're favored by the God, you're still just an ordinary person. There's no need for you to stay in the castle.

(...Oh, right. There's the option of escaping from the castle.)

(The owner won't be back for a while, and it might be a good idea to take refuge somewhere other than here.)

Luke: But, even if we run away, wouldn't they assign maids and guards to any inn we stay at?

Luke: I don't think the treatment would change much.

Clavis: Then let's find a love escape destination where we can live peacefully.

Clavis: It seems like it'll be a three-way, muddled love-hate drama between me, Luke, and Prince Azel.

Luke: Don't do anything unnecessary, okay?

(If that's the case, I know just the place.)

(The one and only place where maids, guards, and even the king can't easily enter.)

*back to present time*

Emma: Please… I beg you…

(If this continues, I don't think I can remain safe, both physically and mentally—...)

Emma: Please let me live here too!

Azel: Rejected. Goodbye.

(There was no room for negotiation…!)

Azel, still holding my chin as I kneel, pokes my cheek.

Azel: More importantly, I'm counting on you for the next errand.

Emma: Again!? I just went shopping!

(And thanks to that, my whole body is hot and I feel sluggish…)

Azel: Poor you. But you owe me money.

Azel: If you could pay it all off at once, you wouldn't have to run errands…

Azel: But you can't, can you?

(That smile… It's infuriating.)

Azel lets go of my hand and offers me a folded piece of paper.

I reluctantly accept it and check the contents. My head swims as I see a long list of items written in illegible handwriting.

Emma: Living God, are you aware? I'm not in a position to walk around town freely right now.

Emma: Whether I'm working as a book merchant or running errands in town…

Emma: I have about ten people following me, including guards and attendants.

Emma: Everyone stares at me, and tourists who mistake me for a celebrity call out to me…

Azel: That's not my concern.

Azel: Those attendants and guards cannot enter the temple without my permission.

(That's right… That's why this is the only place I can take refuge.)

Even though I pleaded with him after making a difficult decision, Azel doesn't seem to care.

Azel: I don't care if you're exhausted, so just go quickly.

Emma: …Then I guess there's no dinner for today.

Emma: I can't cook if I'm tired, so it's a shame.

Azel: Then how about cooking before you go to town? That solves everything, doesn't it?

Emma: …You evil God…

Azel: You're incorrigible, increasing your debt again with slander?

(He always has a retort…)

As I clench my fists tightly, Azel suddenly looks away.

It's not that he's averting his eyes from me, but rather that he seems to have noticed some presence.

(...Is someone coming?)

I can see a figure in the distance amidst the swirling sand.

As soon as the figure sees Azel, they kneel and bow their head.

Azel: It's rare for you to enter here, Izzet.

Izzet: The apostle requests your presence, Lady Emma.

Emma: …The apostle?

(If I remember correctly… He's an authority figure on par with the King and the Living God…)

There's only one reason why someone of such high standing in Tanzanite would summon me.

I gasp, and at almost the same time, Azel places his hand on my head.

Azel: If he has business with her, he should come here himself.

Azel: I'd like him to know his place.

.

.

.

Chapter 6

If you’d like to support my translations, feel free to leave me a tip here or buy me a coffee through the "Leave a Tip" button on my navigation bar!

[louisa-gc]

de-influencing you

from someone who gets overwhelmed any time she opens a social media application.

expensive cosmetics. keep it simple and stick to skincare, makeup and hair products you know and trust. i've tried it all from salon shampoos and high-end concealers to ridiculously priced face oils and praised nail polishes, only to realise my favourites are the affordable drugstore products i can easily repurchase. it's the ingredients that matter, not the prestige or popularity of a brand or the amount of products in your routine.

new clothes. of course you can and should replace your holey socks and the jeans you've grown out of, but i'm certain most of us have more clothes than we need. what if we tried to use up (and, when possible, mend) our existing pieces instead of getting new trousers and sneakers just because there's now a trendier option out there?

dietary supplements. unless you have a deficiency and have been told by a healthcare professional to take a supplement, you probably don't need one. with a healthy, varied diet, you can skip all those green powders, probiotics and multivitamins, that weirdly enough have become part of some internet aesthetics. if, however, you do need to supplement (as i need to with iron), make sure you know what is in the product you're buying and how it works best — iron, for example, should be taken on an empty stomach and with vitamin c.

internet aesthetics. your style, your whole lifestyle, doesn't need to fit an "aesthetic". it's tiresome to try and classify your tastes and attempt to stuff them into the narrow confines of these artificial ideals. do things you enjoy, decorate and dress according to what appeals to your eye and forget about the rest.

regular beauty treatments. if your skin is healthy, a normal at-home skincare routine should be enough to make sure your face is glowing. a (fake) tan, hair removal and manicured nails aren't and shouldn't be necessities either, but if your beauty routines are important to you, just do the things at home and save your resources for more valuable pursuits than the ever-expanding requirements of modern womanhood.

cosmetic injections or surgeries. i've always been of the opinion that we should all be allowed to do as we please with our bodies, without shame or judgement from others. however, the more i learn about the risks of cosmetics procedures and the rates of patients' dissatisfaction with their results, the more negatively i've started to view it all. with more and more people walking around with filler, botox and surgically enchanced or erased features, i worry about our ability to accept ourselves as we are. i worry about the class divide these procedures are creating (who can afford it at all? who can afford a good result?) and i worry about people spending massive amounts of money and time on what are essentially unnecessary health risks. so i say: don't do it.

anything designer. as we all know, price and quality don't always go hand in hand. while i'm all for choosing great quality lasting products, popular designer brands might not necessarily be the way to go. people haven't ditched designer goods just because the go-to style is now "old money"; they've just moved from gucci to céline. i personally don't think any designer brand is really worth it, but wherever you buy, at least pay attention to materials and construction, and stay away from counterfeit goods.

trying to look "expensive". while i have always had a more classic style and was raised never to show logos ("you're not a free advertisement, dear"), i find the "looking expensive" thing such a strange trend, one that returns whenever times are financially unstable. even though i wholeheartedly approve of buying timeless quality pieces (if that is a style you actually enjoy), i don't think anyone should do so in order to look wealthy. nobody will think you're the trust fund offspring of a centuries-old family if you aren't, and most of all, nobody really cares whether you are one or not. the thing is, you really cannot tell whether someone is wealthy based on their looks, so why spend time and money trying to look the part?

clothes that don't fit your lifestyle. it's difficult to resist cute athleisure, but as someone who only wears workout clothes to actually exercise three times a week, i know i only need two or three sets. buy pieces that fit your everyday life, not the life you wish you had. no amount of cocktail dresses will make your life a flurry of parties, if these events are already few and far between.

most stationery products. i love stationery as much as the next person: i love a good notebook, beautiful pens and all the related little knick-knacks, but frankly, i only use one mechanical pencil, a specific type of black gel pens, and three notebooks at a time. no matter how cute some highlighters, letter papers or pastel page markers may be, i have zero reason to buy them.

trending books. i know this might be a controversial one, but buying piles of books on the recommendation of social media influencers isn't a smart use of space and money. just last year i got myself half a dozen popular titles from a cute bookshop, but ended up regretting the purchases because i only liked one of them. borrow the trendy new books from your local public library, and if you really want to collect books, only buy ones that you really love.

[axolistic]

ANOTHER AU BABY: BIOTEC

I mainly made this AU in order to rationalize the universe where my fic takes place since with the release of the most recent episode of AvA it stopped being canon compliant.

Here's a brief summary of it:

In this AU, instead of building the rocket, Victim pulled a TCO and used the internet to escape. He landed on stick city and formed Rocket Corp (idk what to do with the name)

Mitsi does exist and might make some sort of cameo in the future (during flashbacks ofc). My interpretation of Agent will probably also stay the same, and yes, he is friends with Mitsi too.

Mitsi also has a company, though I don't have the details completely polished, I have some things in mind. Mitsi's business focuses on biology and chemistry (too improve the stick people's lives in general, from the village); while Rocket Corp has a more mechanical approach and focuses on weapons.

Victim DOES connect TCO with Alan, when researching the Showdown. Though the whole 'interrogation' thing was Smith's idea.

Last but not least, Victim's personality, views and goals WILL be different from canon, seeing that he doesn't have a support system in this scenario.

(copied directly from my fic)

More Notes:

Agent used to work for Mitsi and was very close with her, after she died, he decided to work with Victim since they shared a same goal (capturing TCO) and also because his source of income was disrupted.

Agent was the one that convinced Victim to be more rash with his interrogation of TCO. Victim did not care, mostly because he thought that it would also be more efficient and keep Agent satisfied.

Victim does not have a personal problem with TCO, its simply the fact that he works with Alan (according to what information he has available)

In contrast to canon Victim (who I assume has more experience with social interaction etc.) This AU's Victim is more awkward around other sticks.

Due to his lack of a support system, he is more prone to anger and dismissing other feelings, as well as extreme touch-starvation. He might have some problems opening up to people, etc.

[0ccvltism]

Your first moments of awareness and thought are not entirely pleasant.

The sounds, the smells, they are familiar.

Ben, Soldier Boy, was a lover of many vices - sex, drugs, liquor. You recognize the first two in the first seconds of your sentience. The air is heavy with the familiar smoky smell, and you are, unfortunately, facing a very familiar, yet very unfamiliar sight.

That's his uniform - Soldier Boy's Vought-issued uniform, all well-kept leather (less well-kept now in its age, in a state he never would have kept it), latex, and shiny, smooth, emerald green fabric, embossed with little metallic stars - but it is spread over a body that is most certainly not Ben's, and for a moment, you eye the body - aged, wrinkled, heavier - with an idle sort of disgust, irritation, and displeasure all rolled into one.

"Christ on a cross," You drawl, sounding so, so very like the callous, bloody-handed man that had wielded you like an additional appendage for decades, "you aged like shit."

They - the older man, graying but familiar, and the woman, young, perky, movie-star blonde and looking utterly panicked - seem to realize you're there for the first time. There, naked, arms crossed in not-so-silent judgement, back pressed to the textured wallpaper.

"What the fuck -...?!" He starts. You recognize him, at least, from - well, it would be easier to list what you don't recognize the asshole from. Managing supes for Vought, you had gathered over the decades, was a full time job. Ben had to have been the worst, had spent the most afternoons across from this same man in his younger years, a desk between them, deep in discussions turned to bickering, bickering turned to arguing, until you were slammed down on the table like a not-so-thinly-veiled warning -... And then tempers would settle, vices would be indulged, with you as the tool of choice for crushing pills, cutting lines, and the cycle would repeat the next week.

Or maybe the next day.

"Oops," The tiny blonde barely more than mouths, looking frantically, fearfully around the room, as if looking for more of you - more items turned to living, breathing beings, more things of plastic and metal turned to flesh and blood by her inexperienced hands in her moment of pleasure. He - The Legend himself, still clad in bits and pieces of the Soldier Boy uniform, the less important bits discarded, finally seems to put two and two together. He groans.

"What did you do?" He demands of the woman, though his exasperated, resigned tone implies he already knows. Of course he does - retired or not, you are sure he knows Vought's new talent well; the talent he'd made a very flexible rule of not sleeping with. You shift, looking down to examine what bits of the uniform are left at your feet. Helmet. Boots. Belt. The shield is missing. You frown, idly wondering where, exactly, that has gone. Silence reigns. He speaks again, impatient now, and you look up to find his eyes on yours, exasperated. "What the fuck were you?" He demands, and the question might have been funny, were it not a very valid one. It speaks, you suppose, to the reality - he does know, very well, exactly what his little lover is capable of, and what she has done.

"He called me sweetheart." You offer, one brow rising slowly. You see his face fall - smart man, good memory, putting two and two together so quickly, remembering the muttered endearment to a sharpened, polished blade.

"Jesus Christ," He groans.

You stare at him a moment longer, idly examining the way the fabric of the suit strains over a body it was not made for - one whose metabolism no longer keeps up with bad habits that his body never showed a hint of. "Take the fucking suit off," You order. "You're stretching it, and not in a good way."

He stares at you like you've grown a second head - or, you suppose, more accurately, like you are a combat knife that has just gained sentience and a pair of tits and is ordering him around in his own home - before he finally splutters, "A little privacy?" Like it's the most obvious request in the world.

“I don't have any fucking clothes.” You point out the obvious, shifting slightly against the wall. He stares at you blankly, like that's the furthest concern from his mind.

“We'll find -... Christ - just get out.” He starts one sentence, finishes another, and jabs a finger toward the door. When you don't move, he repeats the motion a bit more forcefully, waiting until you finally push off of the wall. “The knife? Really, the knife?” You hear him complain as the door clicks shut behind you.

Author's Note: Hi all! I'm here to join the party! May I present Char, my contribution to @daylighted 's object!reader-verse! A very short intro, but I wanted to get something up for her! I love and hate her in equal measure so far.

Please do not copy/repost my work

[one-eyedqueer]

sooo obsessed with anezka!! do you have any more lore about him? a little something about his relationship with dry devil mayhaps?0:3

Character is mostly based on goddess Nike, minor deity of victory. Mostly a muse of commanders and captains in up coming battles and wars. Nike, in literature and culture, have many faces and names. Some believe that every greater historical moment has its Nike.

And his looks, at least first design, was based on paintings of Jacek Malczewski, who create many paintings of goddess Nike.

But it’s can be hard to tell whose Nike Anezka is.

[ current design ]

Born as one of twins in family of miners in Śląsk, with was for most part of Poland, but in XV century was taken by Bohemians. Based on complicated political state of place of birth, Anezka feels out of place when it comes to tell what nation he belongs to. Also, language of his people (when if it’s still belong to polish) is different. But aside of that, he is speaking Czech very well.

His sister didn’t make it to adulthood, and parents, because of poorness, dig a grave in the middle of nowhere. On not holy grounds.

Anezka wasn’t surely the most urge boy to work. Pickaxe didn’t fit his lazy and delicate hands. Thanks to his curse, as his father was calling his body, he could swing in his mother dresses without any fear of being taken as man.

Then shoot him idea in the head — maybe that’s a way? He wasn’t ugly, stupid, actually, he was sweet talker, as his mother called him. Maybe some drunken old bastard would take the catch in baths?

His first place was nearby village where no one knew about death of his sister, what he used to gain more. Money was easy and fast. Better than in mines. Even though, he thought about himself always as a man, hearing complements about being “pretty lady” wasn’t bad at all.

Pretty privilege ended when some old fool was a little bit too brave and put his hand on young bathmaid. Instead of pleasant place between her thighs, he felt bigger canon than he could handle, it seems.

Because of brutal behavior of Anezka, and maybe, but it’s big MAYBE, young man needed to run away. Home village wasn’t really a choice, so he decided to go deeper into Bohemia, to try his luck there. Again, as bathmaid.

Years passed, same as cities and villages where Anezka tried to find his luck. Every time, same thing happened and he needed to look somewhere else.

In one of bath houses, something else catch him first. As always, some sort of strange with sticky hands, but worst than any from earlier. Instead of shock, anger took most part in older… and stronger, man’s reaction. Ready to beat crap from “man in dress”, Anezka thought he was done for good.

Well, losing pretty face, limping leg… maybe death, that was his options. But Lord smiled at him, sending some other drunken fool, who didn’t wanted to wait much longer. His sword pierced man and water in tub took scarlet colour. He didn’t care, that was guaranteed. He took bleeding man’s place and ordered cleaning.

“I don’t care who you are. You work here, so you know how to clean someone ass. I can give ya tip, if you will take care of body yourself”

And he came back to his work for the rest of his night. But there was no comeback. Even if it wasn’t his blade, he knew what people would think.

He followed his saviour, but also one to blame, to the camp. Bandits, of course. Without any hope for other way, he took all he got (hopes and bravery (or stupidity, you might say)) and ask for help.

Seems like cleaning was good enough… and he washed one and only commander of those band of fools. Or, how they called themselves, Devil’s Pack.

To earn for his ass, he needed to teach himself something more than just cleaning and saying sweet words. Sword became his… not best friend, but good companion. He wasn’t the best, but, good enough to survive in this brutal world. Because war was brutal, it seems.

[ Anezka and Hynek The Dry Devil ]

Anezka doesn’t have anything against violence, if it’s not aimed at him. Their first meeting was… well, how to put it together, intense.

Dry Devil doesn’t really care about who Anezka is (in gender meaning). I myself see him as rarely guest of bath houses. As noble who throw somehow this lifestyle, he probably prefer to do it alone. Situation was than special in many ways.

Their relationship is probably very complicated. Anezka envy nobility their status and gold. He would prefer to sit in place and do absolutely nothing. Hynek’s decision is strange to him, maybe it’s even annoys him.

After closer meeting I see them having some kind of connection, they are both pretty… mean and brutal when it comes to something they don’t like. Bandit honour, so no honour, suits to them perfectly.

I would call them relationship, but more situationship. They would hide it, first as hook ups. Both making another one ashamed of touch they share. Hate sex for sure.

Description of breaking Dry Devil nose and next kissing him without any care about blood with which he starts to cough with, would be perfect for them!

In same time, I probably create more content about them, as they are really dear to me, but, I don’t think they could create any kind of healthy relationship. And that’s make it just better and more interesting.

THANK YOU FOR ASKING AND READING MY YAPPING!!! i hope you liked it!