#so i figured maybe it would be helpful to others

[lvrclerc]

✶ THE EX EFFECT

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

F1 MASTERLIST | OP81 MASTERLIST

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

wc: 19.2k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still, you decided to try again.

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

You went for humor instead. A joke. 

Terrible idea, in hindsight.

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

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

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

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

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

He didn’t even look away from the road.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah. This was a good morning.

You should have known it wouldn’t last.

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

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

“Y/N?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Small world,” he added to your silence.

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

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

You stared at him.

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

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

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

How surprising.

“So─”

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

You lied.

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

Theodore paused, eyebrows lifting. “Oh?”

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

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

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

Not today, Satan.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You finally turned to face him fully.

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

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

That’s when something clicked.

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N’s told me a lot about you.”

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

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

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

“The highlights?” Theodore asked, dumbfounded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So small,” you nodded stiffly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You paused. “Huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Deal,” you said. “Never again.”

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

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

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

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

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

Lando studied you. Waiting.

“Do I have to guess, or…?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

One you didn’t have an answer to.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It took a while for reality to set in. 

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

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

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

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

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

“No way.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Come again?”

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

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

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

“There it is.”

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

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

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

“Never heard of that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fake dating Oscar Piastri. How hard could it be?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Glitter? Really?”

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

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

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

“Right side.”

“Wrong answer. It’s mine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, maybe I didn’t. At first.” 

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

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

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

“How?”

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

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

“Uh… yeah? It was unnecessarily arrogant!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s because you are.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

His voice cut through the fog. “Tired?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I made a mistake─”

“You made a choice,” you spat.

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

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

“Well─”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Everything alright there?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You couldn’t agree more.

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

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

You gave a small nod.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blinked. “Do you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You closed the space.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yet, you still went to bed alone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The expression on his face stopped you cold.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The world tipped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A beat.

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

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

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

“And what about you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And with it, everything else.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eventually, it came.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why not?”

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oscar’s lips thinned. “Fine. Busy.”

“That’s good.”

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

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

“I’m glad.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And did they?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But that’s not what he did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So… what do we do now?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I wonder whose fault it is, Oscar.”

“I’m just saying, I─”

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

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

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

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

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

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

[yourauthorjen]

| YOURS | — joaquin torres

(requests open)

masterlist

| synopsis: | a family was something you never thought could be a possible, but after joaquin torres you seemed to think differently.

| includes: | husband!joaquin x reader, a bunch of fluff, children, and chaos

| word count: | 1.6k

| a/n: | this was from this lovely request! thank you so much for your idea! the main headcanons i focused on were morning chaos and supportive husband and dad. also i feel like joaquin would be such a girl dad.

THE IDEA OF having a family always made you shiver.

Whether it was because of the stress from the children or the bone chilling possibility of not being good enough, you never wanted to consider that idea.

That was until Joaquin walked into your life, bright eyed and charming, stubborn but absolutely heart aching in a way that you could never forget. And ever since you two had been together, every night was spent with him mapping out the possibilities of the future. He'd lace his fingers with yours and he'd ramble on about all the different lives you could have together.

He'd tell you about the a house with a picket fence or maybe an apartment filled with toys and two small children with your eyes and his crooked grin.

The first time he had brought it up you listened to him in silence, heart thundering, and slightly terrified. You didn't know if you deserved all that but he made sure he believed enough for both of you. Joaquin never pressured you, he just smiled and held your hand tighter every time you wavered.

It took another three, four years before you agreed, and somewhere along the way — between sleepy kisses in the kitchen and long car rides where he sang off-key just to make you laugh — you stopped being afraid.

When you first felt your oldest stirring inside of you, you were consumed with cold terror and sleepless nights. It was always a string of "what-ifs" and "am I making the wrong choice?"

But Joaquin was always there, to kiss your knuckles when you couldn't sleep, or doing your share of chores when you were too exhausted to keep yourself awake.

Sam was there to help you as well, dropping by ever so often with Sarah who had made frozen dishes or to take you out shopping while Sam just teased you, joking about how you better hope that the baby didn't snore like Joaquin did.

Obviously, Joaquin's family came over too. The crowd of aunts and uncles as well as his mom all came over to gush about your new child while also bringing in enough diapers and baby food to last an entire apocalypse. They offered home cooked meals, clothing and obviously a long string of baby names, which was a whole other story.

It was bittersweet seeing his family squished into your apartment when your own deadbeat father couldn't even bother shooting you a text, but still, it was heartwarming having such a loving family in a way you always longed for.

And now, your life was different.

Shoes and toys littered the house, lying in every unoccupied corner of the house. Drawings full of crayoned scribbled were plastered across the fridge, taped to the wall and piled atop the coffee counters, all with stick figured drawings of the four of you, standing beside a house with a triangle for the roof.

This morning was no different than other mornings, you woke up to the soft scent of soap and cinnamon as soft kisses brushed your cheek then up to your forehead, before a chorus of sleepy giggles and hushed whispers barged into your room scrambling onto your bed as Joaquin groaned into your hair, his arm tightening lazily around your waist like he thought he could shield you from the onslaught.

But your oldest was determined, climbing right up onto the bed and tugging insistently at the blanket. Your youngest followed, less coordinated but no less enthusiastic, tripping over her own feet and landing in a heap at the foot of the bed, giggling uncontrollably.

"Get up," they both sang in sync as they bounced on the mattress eagerly.

Without loosening his grip on you, Joaquin turned slightly, catching your mouth in a slow, unhurried kiss. You could feel him smiling against your lips, his thumb brushing lazy circles against your hip, completely unbothered by the chaos swirling around you.

"Your breath stinks," you snickered pulling away from him as the kids continued dancing around the bed— one trying to climb onto Joaquin’s back, the other flopping dramatically onto the pillows, narrowly missing your head.

He let out a chuckle as he rubbed his eyes, "I haven't brushed my teeth yet."

You rolled your eyes, "Really, Sherlock?"

"Who's Sherlock?" your youngest asked wriggling between the two of you, eyes wide and dark hair a mess. She was like a copy and paste of Joaquin, unrelentless energy and big innocent eyes with a headful of curls. Meanwhile your oldest had your eyes, but less energetic than your second, still she piled on top of her younger sister trying to squish between the three of you, determined to snuggle into your arms.

"Sherlock," Joaquin said, "Is my only chance for a few more minutes of sleep." He shifted slightly, trying to nestle back against you, but the kids were having none of it.

"Noooo!" your oldest protested, her hands pushing against his chest as she wriggled closer. "We want pancakes!"

"Pancakes!" echoed your youngest, her little face lighting up at the mention of food, her hands tugging at the hem of your shirt, demanding your attention.

Joaquin looked at you for help, but you just shrugged as if to say this is on you.

"You three have no mercy," Joaquin muttered. You could practically see the gears turning in his head, trying to figure out how to wrangle them back into some semblance of order.

You laughed, head tipping backwards as you hoisted yourself out of bed. "Okay then, I guess we're making pancakes today."

Joaquin groaned as you gently pulled yourself out of his grasp, his lips forming a pout as you picked up your youngest, placing her on your hip. "Traitor," he muttered under his breath, though the sparkle in his eyes gave him away.

You grinned, pressing a quick kiss to his forehead as you shifted your daughter higher on your hip. "Suck it up, soldier. You're on kitchen duty."

Joaquin groaned even louder as your oldest tried to pull him up. "C'mon dad, we can do them together."

"That's the spirit," you cheered making your way into the kitchen. The morning light had spilled onto the wooden tile of the floor casting a soft glow as you set your daughter down onto one of the stools, Joaquin and your oldest trailing behind you. Both looked as sleepy as the other but a wide smile was still stretched across their faces.

"Okay team," Joaquin yawned, "You're gonna get the pancake mix—" he pointed to your youngest then to your oldest, "You go get the eggs and you—" he paused staring at you his eyes entranced as you leaned against the counter, sunlight kissing your face as you tossed your hair into a bun.

"What do I do?" you teased, cinching your apron tighter around your waist as his jaw went slack.

He cleared his throat, "You," he said, pointing the spatula at you like a sword, "are on official supervision duty. And looking way too good while doing it."

You snorted, reaching over to flick a little bit of flour from the counter at him, laughing when he pretended to stagger back in pain.

Your youngest clapped her hands in glee, while your oldest rolled her eyes like she was already ten years older than she really was. "Dad's being weird again," she whispered loudly to her sister, who giggled into her hands.

"Hey, weird is a Torres family tradition," Joaquin defended, setting a bowl down on the counter with a clatter. "You're just lucky you inherited it, too."

Weird was correct, because not even ten minutes later the kitchen was already a mess. Your youngest insisted on stirring the batter, which mostly resulted in flour puffing up into a cloud around her and your oldest took her self-assigned job of "egg cracker" very seriously— which meant you fished out a few too many shells from the mixing bowl.

"Okay," you said briskly, "Now that that's done, Dad’s in charge of flipping, but he’s banned from stepping a foot away from the stove."

"It was one time," he whined, "I didn't mean it."

"Joaquin, you burned an entire batch of pancakes," you deadpanned, "In front of your own mother."

"It was an accident," he sputtered.

You snapped your fingers in front of his face, "Hey, eyes on the stove soldier, we are not setting the fire alarm off again."

He laughed while your youngest sang a made-up pancake song under her breath, swinging her legs from the stool, while your oldest stood proudly at Joaquin’s side, offering enthusiastic and very loud coaching advice on when to flip the pancake.

You didn't even realize you were smiling until Joaquin caught your eye across the stove, flipping a perfect pancake with a flourish just to make you laugh. His smile— soft but full of so much love it ached was aimed right at you, like it always had been.

This was the future Joaquin had spent his nights rambling on about, and somehow, against all odds, it was yours too. You wrapped your arms around Joaquin's waist, hugging him tightly as he hummed under his breath, then leaned down to press a kiss to your hair.

"See," he murmured, voice warm and low just for you. "Told you you'd make something good."

You closed your eyes for a second, breathing him in— sweet and clean and that unmistakable feeling of home you never thought you'd have. His arms tightened around you briefly before he pulled away just enough to resume flipping pancakes, your oldest still enthusiastically coaching him from the sidelines.

Your youngest started singing her song even louder, and off-key, leading Joaquin to joining in with a off-tune harmony that made both kids dissolve into giggles.

You leaned back against the counter, watching the the three people you cherished so much bubbling around the kitchen. You had made something good. It was painstakingly beautiful, and you loved it. It was something that you would do everything to protect, and it was something you wouldn't trade for the world.

[1980shorrorfilm]

about a girl

pairing…natalie scatorccio x fem!reader

in which…nat knows she doesn’t deserve you, but she can’t seem to let you go either.

before you read…post-rescue timeline; nat’s early twenties. suggestive language, implied sex. nat’s substance abuse is mentioned but not gone into detail about. not super toxic but not all sunshine n rainbows. reader has dated a man. your parents haunt the narrative.

the motel room is dark, except for the neon red ‘vacancy’ sign from outside peeking through the gap in the curtain. 

natalie is sat up, feet hanging over the bed and touching the floor, her black socks surely dirtied from the old beige carpet. there are more unknown stains than she cares to count, the place too cheap for her to even care at all. 

beggars can’t be choosers, she knows that well. 

she peeks over her shoulder, to where you lie on the other side of the mattress, the thin blanket up to your bare shoulders. your face is turned to her, illuminated by the sliver of the red glow outside the window. your eyes are shut and your expression is soft, you appear like an angel and she can’t help but admire you. it’s a habit.

natalie sighs lightly, completely turning her figure in your direction, watching you sleep. she finds serenity in yours.

everything in her life is bad. it’s been that way for a painfully long time and nat can’t cry about all the shit she’s endured because god would that take forever. what she can do, is hold onto the one good thing that fell in her pale palms. 

you. 

it was a frat party. she had no right being there, but of course she was, and she stumbled into a bedroom with you crying and your boyfriend apologizing; insisting sarah had made a move on him. nat inserted herself, asking who the fuck was sarah, already inviting herself in the room.

she had a few beers in her system, and she had all the context she needed to be pissed on your behalf.

her adrenaline was pumping, getting that itch for trouble, and nat loved picking fights with assholes like him.

especially when he called her a nosy bitch and tried pushing her out of the room with a false authority.

natalie punched him square in the face the moment he placed a finger on her. she had done so, repeatedly. did he deserve the severity of it? maybe not. but he seemed like a dick so it was worth it.

this wasn’t the first time you had met her, you had run into her at your local diner and heard the horror stories about her, but it had felt like it was the first time you were truly introduced to her. 

maybe it was the way you two sat alone outside on the porch steps, a borrowed bag of frozen pizza rolls on her fist while you both chuckled at how fucking ridiculous it was. and sure, your laugh turned into quiet sobs when the reality had set in, and yeah nat didn’t know what to fucking do, but her awkward attempt at comforting worked. 

you needed to hear that you weren’t the problem, and that it wasn’t your fault, and you couldn’t prevent your piece of shit ex from doing shitty things. that was the type of person he was. and you’re so different. 

you had laughed at that part and asked her how she knew that; nat said she could just tell. she could see something in you that she lost a long time ago…a light. and god damn any motherfucker that dims it. 

natalie would not let that happen—not again. 

after you had dried your tears on her shoulder, she had playfully offered to kill your ex. this made you smile, genuinely, for the first time of the night, and you realized you didn’t want to let her go right then and there. you two walked to the nearest burger joint and that was the beginning.

unfortunately, nat couldn’t control the narratives about her, and the cruel comments that would soon involve you. the whisperings behind your back, being excluded from your usual friend groups, to simply not being invited out by them at all—the fear that she would tag along spooking your so called ‘friends.’

they drifted away from you.

and you didn’t care…or tried not to. 

it hurt more when your parents started looking at you differently, being shamed for even hanging around nat. that girl was no good for you. they repeated that over and over hoping it would get through your thick skull and to the wiser part of your brain. but, they just had to give her a chance; that’s what you told yourself.

it was a warm saturday evening when you had nat over for dinner, the brunette trying to remain as respectful as possible despite not at all receiving it back.

they hardly gave her time to chew and swallow the spaghetti on her plate—the red sauce around her lips not helping their violent image of her—instead throwing her a bunch of questions you didn’t even let her answer. 

where she was staying, aware she was jumping place from to place at the moment, and unaware she was sneaking into your bedroom other nights. if she’s clean, knowing that she was far from, though she never involved you with whatever she drank or put in her nose.

if she was serious about you, and holy shit did the blood drain from their faces when she earnestly said yes. 

it wasn’t the answer they wanted to hear, or wanted to be true, because that had meant natalie had sunk her claws into you—into their daughter. a lowlife. a loser. a cannibal. a few of the nasty words they called your girlfriend directly to your face, making you start to avoid the house whenever you possibly could.

how could you feel comfortable in a home where the other part of you isn’t welcomed?

it wasn’t easy. natalie held you when you cried to her about it, insisting they’re good people, and shockingly, nat never thought otherwise. they raised you, so of course they had to be. you’re the beaming sun and she’s a damn black hole. she couldn’t blame them.

but she also couldn’t care to grant them their wish of leaving you. natalie did have her claws dug into you—but they’re in so deep and she cannot rip them out. plus, she’d be ‘better,’ one day.

it was fine. 

the months passed and natalie had you all to herself, and it was like heaven. 

taking you to the cinema and feeling you lean into her, somehow always finding whatever played on the screen to be boring and dozing off upon her shoulder—she realized you felt truly safe with her.

probably the only person who does or ever will.

taking you to the arcade just so she can let you beat her in whatever she played you against; not that you sucked, it’s just a lot of hands-on games and nat was pretty good with her hands. 

you eyed them each time she held a joystick, the girl is always quick and precise—until she catches her concentration and lets up a bit, knowing she’s about to beat your high score. you’d roll your eyes when she’d groan how difficult the game was.

bringing you out to dinner, never at those higher end places your parents go to, but you preferred it that way. you liked eating greasy burgers with her or soft pancakes at night—always listening to whatever love song played from the jukebox, usually something slower from the sixties, enjoying it until one of the truckers at the counter paid for something else. 

those moments with natalie meant everything to you. 

even the bad ones.

it was the diner parking lot, right when the sun had just set. you had been asked politely to leave after finishing your apple pie, the waitress not well suited for the situation that unfolded. a group of boys way too old to be so immature, shouting the most disgusting things at nat—and you—such as asking you if you’re next on her menu.

this was when natalie had lost it, because she didn’t care what they said about her, she’s heard it all before. but getting you involved, that was just unacceptable. she jumped up from the booth with her cherry soda in hand, throwing it at the table and telling them to fuck off.

she took the air out of the restaurant.

you sat on the curb with her, listening to the stammered apology that left her mouth. you didn’t want to hear it, you only wanted her. you bluntly told her to shut up, and kissed her. 

natalie kissed back harder. 

you both got in your beat up car and drove to a midnight showing of the evil dead at the drive-in, where you had made out in the backseat until you could no longer feel your lips, and hers were redder than the corn syrup in the horror film.

you slipped up and whispered you loved her when her teeth were in your neck, then prayed to any higher power that she didn’t catch it. you didn’t want to scare her away, but it had done the exact opposite.

you fucking loved her. someone like you, could love her. and you didn’t care it was early and you didn’t care about the nasty looks you got from your peers or loved ones. you had natalie and that was all you needed.

you’d do anything for her.

even if that had meant dropping her off at shady places and being told to never bug her about it, and you would obey.

you kept your lips sealed when she’d slip into your unlocked bedroom window, violently faded and telling you she just needed to sleep it off. she’d hold you till she knocked out, so it was okay, even if she reeked of substances that would taint your freshly washed sheets, and you’d lose sleep making sure she slept on her side.

even if that meant paying her bail after a bar fight and you hadn’t even known she had gone out at all. and picking her up at three in the morning still in your pajamas.

you bit your tongue the entirety of the car ride to your home while she leaned back in the passenger seat, her legs spread as much as possible and her head facing toward the window. to the passing houses decorated with blossoming flowers and white picket fences, a life she knows she will never live. which meant, the possibility that you too, wouldn’t have. 

but you would have her.

she had always made up for her faults. not materialistic shit, more like heavy apologies that sometimes came with tears she’d harshly wipe away with her whole palm.

the thing with nat is, you see through her, not as the demon your parents make her out to be, but as the girl forced into a fucked up sense of adulthood before she could even put her childhood toys in a donation box. the immense trauma that stuck to her tighter than you do, and that was saying a whole lot.

she coped in ways you could never agree with, but you couldn’t change natalie.

you also couldn’t leave her.

it was hours prior when you had dressed up for your friends annual birthday bash, just to stand in the corner the whole time because no one offered you a conversation nor invited you into one. you felt pathetic, and out of place, and left early, no one noticing your silent disappearance. 

with the radio volume low you had drove back home, and dragged your feet to your room, just to see your bed covered with folded cardboard boxes. and a lengthy letter on top. your absent parents had a request—get out. 

they wrote that you changed, that you lost your self-respect when you allowed natalie to rule your life, or something stupid like that. that you weren’t their daughter anymore, not really.

you were too taken back for any of the words to sink in, the rug being pulled beneath your feet suddenly despite it inching away for nearly a year. you didn’t touch any of the boxes your parents so nicely had gifted you, your vision blurred with hot tears while you grabbed a duffel bag and threw a bunch of clothes and personal items inside.

it was hard to think—you needed to calm down, to see her.

you sped to the motel she’s been staying at for the last couple of days, hurried knocks on her door, the rain beginning to drizzle upon the asphalt. nat peeked through the windows curtain, hoping it wasn’t the last dealer she may have fucked over. when she saw you, she rushed to let you in.

the door swung open, and you just stared at her, your legs frozen while the tears ran down your face.

she pulled you into the room, and into her, her hand cradling the back of your head and her foot kicking the door back shut. between sobs, you told her what happened, and nat felt it. the guilt.

a flash of an image the night she saw you at that frat party, before she got so drunk and beat your ex in a strangers bedroom. when you were in your own world and dancing with your friends and not having a single fucking worry. then she came. 

natalie swallowed thickly, blinking away her own tears before you could pull away and notice. she gave you a reassuring smile, one that felt eerily forced, but she kissed you before you really noticed.

and you kissed back harder, desperate to numb all of the horrible things that you felt and thought. you pulled nat by her flannel onto the thin mattress, and asked her for one thing. to make you feel better. 

she did.

boy, did she.

you passed out right after nat cleaned you up and soothingly dragged her nails up and down your back. she tried to fall sleep too, even put on some shitty late night show hoping it would bore her to sleep. it didn’t. she turned it back off, studied the ceiling, then sat up, and stared at you.

you’re so pretty, and you’re all hers, and this isn’t a dream.

whether the world liked it or not, or your family approved of it or not, or if it was right, or wrong. 

natalie, slowly, gets up, careful not to disturb you. she redresses herself with the clothes you had taken off her earlier, grey sweats with a similar shade tee, accompanied by a brown and beige flannel that kept her warm. 

nat hovers over the bedside table, opening the drawer, and reaching inside. she ghosts her metal tin, grabbing her half-empty pack of cigarettes and a red lighter.

her steps are quiet when she exits the room, though she couldn’t prevent the obnoxious creaking beneath the carpeted floor, but again, she could afford this place therefore she couldn’t complain.

she doesn’t shut the door completely, letting it rest on the frame while she leans against the brick beside it. 

natalie sparks a cigarette, holding it with her lips while her hands lazily run over her hair, attempting to tame the dark and uneven chopped locks that were surely a mess. the way you liked it.

a blue jeep pulls into the lot, parking across from where she stands. natalie observes, returning her spread fingers to the cigarette hanging from her mouth, narrowing in on the driver.

it’s a younger man—younger than her—that gets out of the vehicle. he looks nearly pink. his head is down and he pulls his hoodie over his curls, both for security and out of shame. 

a taller guy wearing a green beanie comes from one of the nearby rooms, an abundance of smoke escaping from the scratched-up motel door. nat scoffs, watching him dig into the pocket of his dark jeans, pulling out something she couldn’t see; but could most definitely assume. 

especially when the younger one pulls out cash, shaky hands dropping it and then hurriedly collecting the paper, the exchange quick otherwise. a rookie. a person that probably never bought drugs before and doesn’t even know the shit he bought. 

a person letting their innocence slip away at this rundown motel…nat sighs.

she hopes her stress will fade into the oblivion with the smoke that dissipates in the air, and with the short time of her standing there listening to the rain drip from the gutter and a passing train occasionally blaring it’s horn—that wrong feeling somewhat does drift from her.

mostly, because nat is forcing herself to come to peace with one thing; that she is selfish. she’s lived her whole life doing shit for other people and cleaning up messes she didn’t cause, and for once she can just stop. 

she didn’t need to appease to anyone, to act like she’s better than she is because that’s what other people want to see from her. none of that—none of them—matter. she’s given everything and she’s lost everything.

she can have this one thing.

she was wrapped around your finger and your ribs and your lungs and every tiny heart string and she couldn’t untangle herself from you. no one else could see her the way you do, and that is another thing she’s at peace with. that didn’t matter because there wouldn’t be anyone else.

you left your own damn family because you are in love with her. and to be that loved in a life where she’s hardly ever felt it…she couldn’t lose that. 

it sounds bad, surely. but she learned the world wasn’t fair a very long time ago, and it’s never going to be, so why did she have to play fair? 

that was just fucking stupid. 

natalie inhales the cigarette smoke, letting it taint her lungs and burn her throat. then, she kneels and drags it to the ground, leaving it and reentering the room. you’re still asleep, she assumes, as she crawls into the bed beside you. then, nat hears your phone vibrate from the nightstand on your side. 

she chews her lip, reaching over you and grabbing it, flipping the bedazzled device open. predictably, it’s your folks begging for you to come home, already regretting their decision they hadn’t thought you’d truly consider, that you’d kick her to the curb like everyone else and go back to normalcy. a life without her. a nightmare. 

she hears you hum, shutting the phone off completely and shoving it under her pillow, watching you stir half awake. you only squint one sleepy eye open, a blurry vision of your girlfriend, barely making out the small smile on her beautiful face.

“nat…you stink.”

she laughs quietly at your words, slipping off her flannel and tossing it to the floor. she gets beneath the covers, your arm already reaching out and around her waist, snuggling into her despite the tobacco seeping into your nostrils. it doesn’t bother you as long as you feel her.

your head lays on her chest, directly above her pumping heart, drowning out everything but the thumping of it. that is all it takes for you to drift back into a peaceful slumber, nat noting how your sleepy body still clung to her. tight. trapping her.

because—in every sense—you didn’t want to let go of her either.

you believe you would do just about anything to have nat forever. throw away everything in your life and rebuild a new one with her.

and you will.

[keirareidss]

father figure - a.h

♡ summary: reader has never had a good relationship with her father, so when hotch shows up for her, she's not quite sure what to do

pairing: father figure!aaron hotchner x fem!artist!reader (platonically!)

warnings: reader has a bad relationship with her family, crying, tooth rotting fluff, inspired by the episode in the office where Michael goes to Pam's art show

wc: 1.5k

You sat on the plane wringing your hands anxiously. The team had just finished a big case in Orlando. It wasn't as bad as usual, leaving the team tired but not traumatized. You were nervous for your art show coming up at the local exhibition hall. You wanted the team to come and see your art because you didn't have anyone else to show up for you. Your family never supported your art, your mom claiming that it just distracted you from your schoolwork and your dad saying that you'll never go anywhere in life. Just ask them. Just ask if they want to go. Just ask.

"Hey-" You cut yourself off, clearing your rough throat. "Uh, does anyone want to come see my art show this weekend?" You asked the team.

"I can appreciate good art." Rossi smiled, reliving some of the tightness in your chest.

"Ooh, I am definitely in." Penelope chimed in.

"I'll try to come." JJ said, glancing at you for a second before going back to typing on her phone.

"Great, I'll uh- I'll text you guys the time." You said, feeling a lot lighter than before. Your team would support you. They were like your family. Of course they'd say yes, they're all great people.

You couldn't wait for your art exhibit. You've been doing art since you were young, a way of coping with your... family problems. It was, as your therapist said, a way to process your emotions. You expelled what you felt onto the canvas and once you were done, being able to step back and look at the piece as a whole, it felt good. Relieving.

Once you got back home, you texted the BAU group chat the time and place of your exhibition. You could barely sleep that night, anxious for the weekend.

It was crowded. Crowds make you anxious. You couldn't help it. Maybe it stemmed from the time your parents left you at the mall and you waited in the crowds of people for them to come back. It took over an hour for them to realize you were even gone.

You looked around the art exhibit, hoping for any glimpse of your friends. After an hour had gone by, you were leaning against the wall, insecurely tugging at your dress. Were you too dressed up? Everyone else was wearing jeans. Was the hem of the dress too short? You were feeling entirely self conscious and it sucked. So far, only two people have come up to completely see your work. One, a sweet old woman who complimented you art and the second, a couple whose conversation you overheard when coming back from the bathroom.

"It just feels bland. Like, there's no emotion."

"Yeah, I get that. Like if you're not even going to try, then why make art in the first place."

"Honestly." He rolled his eyes and they walked away from your art. You crossed your arms over your body.

After nearly three hours and no other visitors, you decided to give up. You pushed off the wall, turning to take down your failed art exhibit when you heard a voice behind you.

"Am I late?" You turned to find Hotch, dressed more casually than at work but still made up nicely. "I'm sorry, Jack didn't want to go to bed." He gave you an apologetic smile. "Did everyone else already leave?" He asked when you didn't say anything.

"Um..." His gaze moved to the art pieces behind you.

"Wow. Are these yours?" He asks, stepping closer to look at your art.

"Yeah." You said dumbly.

"They're amazing. I bet Rossi liked this one, huh?" He chuckled, pointing to one of your pieces. You stayed silent. "These are really good. You're very talented." He said, turning to you with a soft smile.

"Thank you." You stammered out. His expression fell slightly.

"Is something wrong?" He asked, noticing your shifty demeanor.

"No. No, I'm fine." You said. Hotch looked around, noticing how empty the exhibit seemed, many of the guests having cleared out by now.

"Has it been this empty the whole time?"

"No, it was a lot busier earlier in the night."

"Did you get a lot of guests?" He asks, his head tilted slightly.

"Uh... a few." You lied. Hotch stared at you for a few seconds and you immediately knew he was profiling you. Before you could tell him to cut it out, he spoke.

"None of them showed up, did they?" He asked and you knew he was talking about the team.

"Um..." You trailed off and Hotch sighed.

"I'm sorry." He began to apologize and you shook your head.

"Oh, no, it's fine."

"They shouldn't have stood you up-"

"No, really, it's- it's fine." You said, crossing your arms as if to shield yourself from his pity. He says your name in that gentle way of his that always makes your eyes well up with tears. "I'm used to it."

"That makes it worse." Hotch said, his voice incredibly soft.

"I'm fine." You chuckle wetly, surprised at how quickly you started to get emotional. He steps closer, putting a gentle hand on your arm. "It's okay." You said, blinking quickly to push the tears back. You look down at your shoes, avoiding his gaze.

"Oh, honey." Aaron pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around you. Your arms circle his torso, burying your face in his chest.

"I'm sorry." You cried.

"Sweetheart, why are you sorry?"

"... I don't know."

"It's okay." Hotch holds you tight, letting you cry into his chest. Once your eyes were dry, you pulled away, wiping your cheeks and looking guiltily at the small stain on his shirt from your tears.

"Sorry." You mumbled.

"It's alright. I'm sorry no one showed up. They're missing out." You just waved him off but he continued. "Really. Your art is extraordinary."

"Thank you." You murmured. "But, um, I think I'm just going to go." You said, moving to take your art down.

"Let me help you." Hotch said. He was extremely careful when peeling your pieces off the wall. You packed them all up and carried your bags out, Hotch insisting to take some of them. He held the door for you like a gentleman and stood on the sidewalk with you. "Did you drive here?"

"Uh, no, but I'll get an Uber or something." You said, attempting to get your phone from your purse.

"No, let me give you a ride. Please."

"Oh, Hotch, no-"

"Please. It's the least I can do." He was already putting your bags into his backseat. You sighed and got into the passenger side. After a few minutes of awkward silence, Aaron spoke up again. "If I may... why didn't your family come?" He asks, wincing immediately as he realized how nosy he was being. "I'm sorry, that- you don't have to answer that, I shouldn't have-"

"No, no. It's fine. Um... my parents haven't always been very supportive of my art. They always said it would take me nowhere in life."

"I'm sorry."

"No, please, it doesn't matter. They were right." You stared out the window, avoiding his gaze. Hotch didn't know what to say. He'd had his fair share of family troubles, sure, but they were his. He could deal with them internally. He hasn't had much experience with comforting other people in this area. He'd always wanted to make sure that his own son, Jack, never felt that way towards him. He needed to be better than his own father.

"I'm sorry." He says your name reverently. "I'm sorry that you had to deal with that and I'm sorry you don't think you're good enough. You are. Your work is amazing. Excuse my language but, it was shitty of the team to not show up for you when you needed them."

"It's fine. They're probably just busy." Aaron shakes his head.

"You don't always have to brush everything off. I know you think that if you act like you don't care it won't matter but I also know that you still feel it. Deep down, you're still disappointed." Your eyes were welling up again. Hotch reached over the console to take your hand in his, squeezing it. You stayed silent until the car pulled up outside your place. You got out, grabbing your stuff from the backseat. Hotch got out as well, pulling you into a hug. "I'm proud of you." He murmurs into your hair. "I'm so proud."

[dismalflo]

Hiii I saw your request for asks so here I am. Maybe one with barty x potter reader and it’s like about barty bringing out this completely different side to reader and James being like who tf is that. Like she’s so confident and funny and silly around barty because she just knows that he completely respects her even if she’s a little insane(honestly this is something I’ve been struggling to write for weeks and wanted to see how you would do it 😭)

hi babe!! thank you for requesting <3 i lovee a barty x potter!reader, hope you enjoy!

Barty Crouch Jr x fem!potter!reader who really wants to help the owls of Hogwarts ✩ 888 words

cw: fluff, james and sirius being concerned (and irritated) brothers, james is barty's biggest hater, barty is whipped for his weird gf

an: omg flo writes for barty now!! i really enjoyed writing this but this is my first time writing for him so be gentle. also i saw this request and started writing it like straight away ahhh

“What’s your sister doing?” Sirius asks, eyes still locked on you as he gives James a rough shake by the shoulders. You've apparently transformed the coffee table in the common room into your personal stage, sprawled across it, delivering a very quiet yet impassioned speech.

James casts a glance your way, then groans—a low, weary sound filled with dread.

“She’s being weird,” James mutters, dragging a hand down his face. He’s still half-asleep, his hoodie bunched around his neck, hair sticking up in a dozen different directions. “Because of him.”

Sirius snorts, a knowing glint in his eyes. “Junior?”

“Yes, sodding Junior.” James replies grimly, as if he’s just uttered some ancient curse.

Meanwhile, you're still lying across the coffee table like it’s a velvet chaise lounge, one leg raised dramatically, arm flung over your face like a starlet in a Muggle film. Barty’s perched on the floor next to you, chin propped in his hand, looking up at you with that infuriatingly smitten grin. He’s clearly hanging on to every word of your monologue, whatever nonsense you’re spouting this time.

“I’m telling you,” you say, voice a hushed whisper but fervent all the same, “if we just trained the owls—really trained them—they could unionise. They could have everything they've ever wanted and more treats!”

James closes his eyes, exhaling slowly through his nose, clearly trying to center himself amid the chaos. Sirius just whistles low, like he’s watching some particularly dramatic scene unfold in a soap opera.

“Is she talking about unionising the owls?” Sirius asks, incredulous. “Is that a—”

“Don’t.” James cuts him off flatly, still rubbing his face. “Don’t ask questions. That’s how he wins.”

You shift, sitting bolt upright on the coffee table, animated as ever, gesturing wildly as if you’re leading some kind of revolution. “—and they’re already halfway there!” you’re saying, grin wide. “They have a hierarchy, Bee. They talk to each other! I saw one of them give another a dirty look last week when it dropped a letter in the lake. And then another one had a go at it and defended its friend! That’s class solidarity, if I’ve ever seen it.”

Barty leans forward, eyes gleaming, his smile full of adoration. “You’re a visionary,” he whispers, as if you’ve just unlocked a new level of consciousness rather than plotting to turn Hogwarts’ owls rogue.

You plop down beside Barty on the floor, your leg brushing his as you settle in without a care in the world. You act as if you’re utterly unbothered by the fact that Sirius and James are watching you like you're some mythical creature they can’t quite figure out.

Barty doesn’t flinch when you sit down next to him. Instead, he turns his head, offering you a soft, affectionate smile. His hand reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. Without a word, he presses a gentle kiss to your temple, lingering just a bit longer than necessary. When he pulls back, there’s something in his gaze—something bordering on reverence.

“I’m sure we could arrange something to go wrong in the owlery, treasure,” he murmurs, his voice low and conspiratorial, “Make it off-limits. Give you a head start.”

James huffs, shaking his head, his eyes flicking over to the two of you. You’re leaning into Barty, laughing at what he’s said while he absently plays with your hair. You look entirely at ease, a side of you James never really sees with anyone else. You and Barty—well, it's a whole different world.

"I don’t get it, she wasn’t like this before." James mutters petulantly, still rubbing his face in disbelief. "One minute she’s plotting whatever ridiculous thing, and the next—what? She’s all... sweet?" He whines, not unlike a toddler being told there's no sweets before bedtime. He watches you laugh again, a soft, affectionate chuckle, as Barty pulls you closer, his hand possessively resting on your waist. “Bloody disgusting if you ask me,” he mutters under his breath.

The comment lands just as Barty chuckles lowly, his hand firm around you. You look up at him, your eyes sparkling, and without hesitation, he places another soft kiss to your temple—so tender, so un-Barty-like.

Barty raises an eyebrow, a smirk curling up at the corner of his lips, glancing over at James. “Don’t remember asking you, Potter,” he drawls, his tone thick with indifference. “If you weren’t her brother, I swear—” His threatening tone is cut off by your gentle chiding, whispering his name.

Sirius, for his part, is enjoying the show, his eyes flicking between James and Barty like he’s waiting for some kind of standoff. But Barty just looks bored, fingers absentmindedly brushing through your hair. James, of course, glares, but doesn’t have the energy to continue. Groaning, he sinks back into the couch like he’s been defeated by some cosmic force.

“Whatever, mate,” James mutters under his breath. “Don’t know why you had to go for sodding Junior, Y/N.”

Your only response is a laugh, echoing through the common room like James has told the funniest joke in the world. He’s happy for you, really—just not thrilled about the massive hurdle you’ve put in the way of his acceptance. And that hurdle, of course, is Barty Crouch Jr.

[fruitsywriting]

Invincible Variants x Civilian!Reader (Pt.1)

I would love to write for ALL the variants but there’s quite a bit of them where we were unable to figure out their personalities because they were just in the background so I am going to be writing for the ones who actually talked. The reader can be seens as gender neutral, male, or fem. Each variant will have their own warning.

Characters: Sinister, Mohawk, Viltrum, Shiesty, Omni, Full Mask, Maskless, Cowl/Cap, Target/Empire, Prisoner, Lensless, Prime/Mainstream, Retro

Characters in this part: Viltrum and Sinister

It was supposed to be any other normal day. As normal as it can get when you live in a world with heroes and villains, and live in a city. Often, cities are targeted for attacks, that’s why you find yourself living on the outskirts of the city. Close to being out of the targeted zone, but not fully out. You grab your laundry as you put in airpods to listen to some RnB music. You hum along, occasionally swaying your body to the melody, while you put your clothes into the washer. You completely tuned out the world, that is- until you were forced to look reality in the eye.

There’s a slight shake to the apartment building, it has you wondering if it’s an attack or if it’s an Earthquake. You had no time to think over which one is worse when you hear a faint screech. You take out the airpods and realize that the evacuation alarms are ringing in the apartment building. You grab your phone, and a pre-prepared bag full of valued items and you don’t look back as you rush out my front door. Finding yourself in the midst of a frantic crowd running as well, as the alarm loudly yells and flashes to warn you: you need to evacuate.

When you all get to the staircase, the building shakes again. Legs go weak and a few fall down the stairs. The windows shatter as glass flies over the others heads. You can hear a little girl crying, and your heart wants to immediately check to see if she’s okay. However, your brain takes over- telling you she’s with her family and she will be okay. You stumble down the steps, avoiding running over the bodies in the stairwell as you run outside. Instantly, you knew it was a bad idea. Debris is filling your vision- You can’t see where to run. You can hear screaming to your left and you can hear what sounds like a snapping noise to your right. You can’t even turn around to go back into the building. Maybe living alone was a bad idea, right now all you want is your family.

Viltrum Mark:

The debris slowly filters into the air, the cloud is pungent as it clings on to anyone who runs out of the disaster- painting them in grey and white. It sticks to them, making them easy to target. However, that is not necessary. He came here and did what he promised to do. He caused destruction, and he watches as the building groans. It’s about to go down anyways, there’s no point in taking extra lives.

The groaning gets louder and it halts for only a minute before the sound becomes almost deafening as the building collapses on itself- sending a new toxic and deadly wave of debris. Another major city is destroyed, his work here is done. He debates on whether he should leave to destroy another or wait for the heroes to arrive so he can rip them apart- to show them that it’s useless. This is going to be their future anyways when Viltrum shows up to conquer them, he’s just giving them a small sample of what’s to come.

He allows his body to glide backwards, to fully view the damage he has done when he notices something in the corner of his eye. A hero coming to help perhaps?

He launches his body full force to the speck that was moving and lands before them, causing a smaller wave of gravel and debris to kick up. He looks down and he’s almost disappointed. This isn’t a hero, it’s just a civilian that managed to survive.

-

You cough harshly, causing the rawness of it to spread quickly up your throat as small pebbles and debris launch directly in your face. You can barely see through your eyelashes caked in the concrete’s powder. It’s no use to even try and wipe your face, and you continue to blink violently as you look up to see what crash landed in front of you.

Your stomach drops farther than it has in a long time. When you can see an outline of a male in front of you, and by what you can make out- his stance doesn’t scream that he is here to help you. In fact, by the way his body is tense and looking down on you- you can assume that he caused this attack. And so, this is how you die, at least that’s what you told yourself.

“You survived.” He said it in a tone of voice that sounded like a mix of annoyance and being impressed.

“For now,” You rasp out before you cough again. You can’t even make out his face, as the sun glares down from behind him and the fog over your eyes.

“If your body is able to move, I suggest doing so now- your lungs will collapse if you stay here any longer.”

You wanted to bark out something like ‘oh, thanks for the tip, I’ll get up right now!’ but your body and throat were burning. You could only wheeze in response to him.

He harshly grabs onto your arm and yanks you out of the dust and broken concrete, causing you to scream out in pain from just how rough his touch was. He falters for a moment, perhaps he forgot how weak humans are. He gently but firmly swipes his hand over your face, brushing out the debris so you could see better, and so he could make out your features. When you blink away the particles invading your vision, you realize how handsome he is. His plump lips, his thick arched eyebrows, his surprisingly soft eyes.

“Oh. You look different when you’re not caked in debris”

“Uh, thanks?”

He pulls away and begins to hover off the ground, slowly backing up. “Consider this a good deed, don’t go to the major hospital in this city. It will be targeted next and stuffed to the brim with survivors. And leave the city. If you make it, perhaps we will see each other again.”

Was that a threat, or a promise?

-

It was a promise. You had gotten basic treatment at a smaller medical facility before waves of patients were sent there- bombarding the overworked staff. You walked, not knowing where to go now. Shelters were full, your home was gone within the blink of an eye, who knows if your family is alive. Factors on what to do run over your mind over and over again until you see a figure hovering over you, in the moonlit sky.

“You survived. Impressive”

All you could do was stare. You couldn’t yell profanities at him, you valued your life too much but you couldn’t exactly thank him. He did little to actually help you. However, he was expecting a thank you. He lowered himself down to the ground, his movements graceful and elegant.

“A thank you would go a long way.”

“... thank you.”

He takes meticulous strides forward. “I am not here to hurt you.”

“Then why are you here?”

He thinks it over.

“Perhaps I feel responsible-”

You cut him off, without thinking, “Oh really?”

His mouth moves into a thin line, “Don’t make me regret this.”

“Regret what?”

He slowly presses your body next to yours, and you have no time to react. You squeeze your eyes shut, assuming he was going to hit you but no. Soft lips press against yours, and it feels so good. Perhaps you are just seeking comfort, you just want to have a shoulder to lean on after the events of today.

Whatever it truly is, you let yourself kiss him back. It’s sloppy, uncoordinated, and frankly- it’s quite feral. His kisses are rough like he’s never kissed someone before, but it’s raw and desperate. If you are his first kiss, it worries you slightly. What did he see in you that it was enough to kiss you?

You find yourself trying to find a happy medium with his kisses, he at first was just trying to show his dominance in the kiss, but slowly lets you take the lead when he realizes you’re finding a nice pace. Your hands reach behind him, and you give his butt a light squeeze. He pulls away and gasps, looking at you like you’ve offended him- but he doesn’t seem opposed to the move. In fact, he hasn’t moved your hand from his rear.

“You’re quite bold.”

“It’s kept me alive so far.”

He hums in response before slowly letting his body move upwards away from your arms.

“You have been proven to be enticing enough, strong enough to survive day 1, and you're bold enough to cooperate with my kiss. I see you as a worthy mate, and after this is over- I will be taking you to Viltrum.” And just like that, he’s gone. Wait, what the fuck did he just say??

Sinister:

Warning: Graphic depictions of violence

He isn’t interested in civilians at all, unless they get in his way. This destruction is to lure out big heroes, what he deems as worthy opponents. He tunes out the screams from civilians, like they’re just annoying ringing noises of tinnitus. Or perhaps a mosquito making a high pitched hum that isn’t an actual threat. Just annoying.

He lands on the ground when he sees heroes and first responders approaching. Perfect, maybe one of the heroes in this world are more competent than the ones in his world. He steps over the pile of rubble when he hears a wet crunch and a loud strangled scream. underneath he sees a body of a person, and by they wrenching sound they made- they’re still alive and he just broke their leg. Their face contorts in pain as he steps off the large piece of concrete and stands right next to them, slowly tilting his head.

-

You were hoping the worst of it was over. You wouldn’t be discovered by any of the variants- and rescue would eventually find you. But apparently you have a big target on your back of sorts, or maybe a family curse. For him, a variant of Invincible here to fuck up your city, to find you was a garunteed death sentence. You can’t even find the energy to turn your body halfway to see how bad your leg must be mangled now. If you’re lucky, you’ll be able to walk again.

“Tsk, tsk. You were in my way.” He hums, like he’s annoyed by your very existence. Honestly, how dare you be in his way, he had important shit to do.

You don’t want to look at him, but you get yourself to. His suit is reminiscent of a bee- no, a wasp. One that can sting multiple times, with a rigid body. You can hear heroes in the distance, but you know it’s no use. Invincible is obviously strong, and this variant is very cocky- and probably has the prowess to back it up.

You try to blink the dust and debris away as he continues to stare at you, not bothering to look behind him as the voices grow near. His gaze is calm, but in a bad way, in a sinister way. You blink, then there’s blood clouding your vision. It sprayed all over your face, it’s warm and drips slowly down your face before you can even process.

A hero tried to attack but within an instant, Invincible ended him. You try to suppress the urge to gag and vomit. You have to close your eyes to avoid the gore in front of you. Invincible quickly kneels before you and gets close to your face- a feeling of him just hovering. Studying.

“What are you willing to sacrifice in order to live? And how much pain are you willing to endure?”

The question caught you off guard. Excuse me? You can barely think as your brain swims with a fog- the concussion was making your head pound and the pain in your leg was distracting to say the least. You try to open your mouth a few times but no words form and spill out.

He doesn’t seem pleased. He grabs you roughly by the ear.

“Hey, dipshit, answer me now.”

“I- I don’t know!” You plead, hoping that maybe there is something in there to appease his humanity- even if it is wishful thinking. Faith is all that can keep you going at this point- or maybe it’s like wishing on a dim, pointless star.

“Not good enough. How about this,” he says steadily, adjusting his squatted position to get more comfortable- not letting go of your ear.

“Are you willing to sacrifice your leg?”

You pitifully squeak out, “yes…”

He smiles, pleased with this answer. Is this a game?

“What about… hm, let’s see…” An idea pops up, “what about the living civilians within a mile radius”

This question catches you off guard, your life doesn’t mean more than everyone around you. But, is it selfish that your life is more meaningful to you? That deep down, maybe you’re scared of what lies for you beyond death. This torment seems to please him enough to not get mad. He doesn’t rush you, he’s just waiting.

“I… I think on a grand scale… my life is not that meaningful. But… to me…”

He listens to your hoarse but hushed voice murmur out this answer, and he grins like a maniac.

“So you’re selfish?”

“I-… maybe”

“Good.”

You look up, confused. “Huh?”

“How else do you think I got here? It’s by being selfish, YOU always come first in your mind.” His words make you realize how much of a piece of shit you sound like. But, apparently you amuse him enough for him to spare you. To let you live for another day, come hell or high water. He lifts the rubble off your leg and tosses it aside like it’s nothing- not caring if it hits someone. He hums and grabs you by your mangled leg.

A screech shreds through your throat as he begins to hover himself off the ground, higher and higher. You jerk your body upwards to at least catch a glimpse. Your leg is so broken, mangled even, that it looks like it could rip apart like a wet paper towel.

“Say, is this pain unbearable? Or do you think you can endure it for another 20 minutes if it means you get to live?”

You cry, wrenching out raw and wet sobs. You plead, “please, don’t.”

“Don’t what? Kill you? It’s either I drop you from here- letting you squish below, or I carry you like this to a safe spot. Might take a while though”

You scream and cry out, hoping that some miracle would come and help you from this mess. But nothing does- so you have to choose.

“I want to live! Pl-please.” A wet strangled noise comes from the bottom of your throat when he raises you higher to throw you over his shoulder. The pain doesn’t stop, your leg is still mangled, but at least the blood stopped rushing to your head and he isn’t gripping your leg anymore. He rubs your back roughly, the weird gesture making it obvious he has never comforted someone before. He kisses your earlobe he assaulted earlier and says in a smooth and cruel voice.

“I’ll take good care of you. We’re similar after all..”

[young-waverer]

fic recs: 4/19 - 4/26

hey what's up hello figured i should put my chronic fic reading to good use and share some each week (or, at least the weeks that i remember to do this)

in no particular order, some of my fave reads this week under the cut

🚒 honey you're familiar by cranberrymoons | @cranberrymoons rating: explicit relationships: buck/eddie

Seeing him like this: Buck on top of him, mile-long legs splayed out over his lap. Straddling him with his hands planted on Eddie’s shoulders, sweat shining on his face, sheets bunching up around both of them. At some point in the watching, sitting up, hand pressed low on Buck’s back to keep him held close, mesmerized.

🚒 eat your bones by oneofthesirens rating: explicit relationships: buck/eddie

“What, even if I kill someone?” Eddie shoots back. It feels like he’s daring Buck — testing him, almost. Eddie can’t tell what he wants from this conversation, just that he wants. “Even then,” Buck says, then adds, “Especially if it's your parents.” "Buck, ” Eddie laughs. His whole face feels flushed, impossibly hot. It’s hot in Texas, always, but he feels almost electric with it. “Nah, Eddie, I’m being so serious right now, if you tell me you need to hide a body in El Paso, I’m there.” Buck’s laughing too, his head thrown back so the arch of his neck takes up most of Eddie’s screen. Eddie presses a thumb to the screen, where he could touch the dip at the base of Buck’s throat if they were together. “Don’t be an idiot,” Eddie snorts. “I’m not going to ask you to hide a body, okay?” Buck sighs. “I wish you would. We’d see each other again, at least.”

🚒 symbiosis by mandolare | @rainscenes rating: explicit relationships: buck/eddie

When Buck turns to the side to step into the shower he freezes, suddenly and shockingly wide-awake, because there’s something very, very abnormal in his periphery, so out of place he almost can’t make himself look straight at it in the mirror. But then he does, and for a moment forgets how to work his lungs. Because there’s the blue-black shadow of fresh ink under his skin, ugly cursive script, about three inches wide right on his ass. Eddie, it says, high on the curve of his right cheek. Buck and Eddie get blackout drunk, and then learn something new about themselves. And each other.

🚒 have, hold by trysetmeonfire | @try-set-me-on-fire rating: teen relationships: buck/eddie

“I think you should marry me,” Buck says. Still not really looking at Eddie. Looking at Eddie. Condensation drips on his thumb. He got back from Texas seven hours ago. He's known the man at his table for as many years. He doesn't- he's not- but who else is he ever going to love this much? And if Buck asks for something he needs- what is Eddie going to do besides his best to provide it? So: “Okay,” Eddie says. “Okay.”

🚒 Help Me Believe by semperama | @semperama rating: teen relationships: buck/eddie

“I fucked up,” Buck says. He wishes he could stop himself from talking. If the elevator hadn’t stopped, if they weren’t trapped here, maybe he would have been able to bite his tongue until later, until it didn’t matter anymore. “Eddie, I—” “Hey,” Eddie says, sharp, cutting him off. “No, you didn’t. Buck, you didn't."

🚒 Gone by hopeintheashes rating: teen relationships: gen

“Who?” Jaw set. Death grip on the kitchen counter, screwdriver digging into his palm. Tommy closes his eyes. “Bobby.” “Which hospital?” He almost chokes on the words. “Eddie,” he says, which isn’t the right answer, which makes his vision white out.

🚒 Does He Know? by carpediaz | @sofa-king-lame rating: gen relationships: buck/eddie

Lily wonders if Eddie does anything other than talk to Buck when he’s not with Chris, because everytime she runs into him (which is a lot because they’re currently living less than a mile from each other) he’s got Buck on a video call. They bicker about what colour Eddie should paint his kitchen - “Eddie, you wanna go with something warm to make it inviting,” Buck had insisted, cackling triumphantly when Lily had agreed with him. They reminisce about calls they attended - “okay but you have to admit that Ravi fucked that one up, right? I asked for gauze and he handed me an IV bag,” Buck had sneered, wholly offended by Eddie reminding him that Ravi had been terrified of him after the ‘chainsaw incident’. or The one where one of Eddie's highschool friends witnesses Buck and Eddie on video calls over the span of a few weeks and wonders why the fuck they're not together

🚒 all i see is what i should be by oceanofchaos rating: teen relationships: buck/eddie

For some reason, everyone’s much more chill about Buck hooking up with Tommy than they are about him dating Rafa, which given all the drama around not letting Buck message Tommy when they broke up seems kind of fucked up. Rafa’s a genuinely nice guy, and they’re taking it pretty slow because of Chance, so it’s not like he’s rushing into a serious relationship for once.“I’m not saying he’s not nice,” says Hen exasperatedly. Chim exchanges a look with her before saying, “Honestly him being nice is kind of the problem.”“What is that supposed to mean?” asks Buck, righteously outraged. — Episode tag to 8x12 Disconnected, where Buck ends up dating the single father from the first call, and everyone (up to and including Eddie) is super normal and cool about it.

🚒 good dogs don't run away by withmeornotatall rating: gen relationships: buck/eddie

"I, um, well..." Eddie shrugs, all nervous bashfulness that makes Buck want to put him in his pocket, maybe his ribcage, just to keep him close, safe. "I'd ask you to move in, but..." "Hate to break it to you, Eddie." His lips curl around the name differently now. Or maybe they don't. Maybe he's always said Eddie's name like it was his favourite word, a plea, a prayer. "But I've got another month of rent down on this place, so if anyone was asking anyone to move in, it'd be me." (OR: they're roommates, partners, best friends, what else is there?)

🚒 Those Five Little Words by diazzeddie rating: gen relationships: buck/eddie

“Bye, Eddie.” “Bye, Buck. I love you,” Eddie says before he hits the red button and hangs up. Five seconds later, the words hit him like a shotgun blast to the face. He just told Buck he loves him. He told Buck he loves him just before hanging up the phone. He only ever does that when hanging up the phone with Chris, his sisters, and his abuela. The only non-family member who ever got an “I love you” when hanging up the phone was Shannon. OR Eddie accidentally tells Buck he loves him when hanging up the phone. They both proceed to be very normal about it.

🚒 Stress Relief by greenbergsays rating: explicit relationships: buck/eddie

Set in the aftermath of the sniper shooting. Eddie is feeling frustrated and Buck offers a helping hand. (With added feelings!)

🚒 baby come home by anchrblack | @anchrblack rating: explicit relationships: buck/eddie

“I thought you weren’t ever going to come back,” Buck admits, the terrible truth finally out in the open. Eddie’s eyes widen in shock. “I thought that was it—that our time was up. I don’t know. I never thought you’d come back.” “Buck,” Eddie says, devastated. “Buck, I—” “I didn’t think you’d come back,” Buck says, and his voice cracks. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you or Christopher ever again.” eddie comes back from texas, and buck doesn't know how to deal with that.

🚒 let's learn something new by Buddieaya rating: mature relationships: buck/eddie

“You stuck-stuck, or… like, just emotionally stuck?” “Physically,” the man calls out, clearly mortified. “Very physically.” There’s something about his voice, an edge of familiarity that tickles at his brain and makes Eddie’s brows pull together. He knows that voice. Before Eddie can place it, Bobby steps forward, flipping on the overhead lights. “Alright,” he says calmly, surveying the room. “Let’s get to work.” And that’s when it hits Eddie. The glow of the lights reveals the man in full clarity, tousled curls, expressive face, wide blue eyes full of embarrassment, and Eddie’s stomach drops clean out of his body. “Buck?” he blurts, eyes going comically wide. Because it’s him. Christopher’s favourite YouTuber, the one with the DIY science experiments, survival tips for kids, fifteen minute long videos about how cool octopuses are. And now he is tied to a hotel bed in nothing but tight boxer briefs, his cheeks flushed a deep red, that is slowly creeping down his chest which is rising and falling fast in quiet horror. Oh. My. God. Or; Buck’s a YouTuber and the 118 save him from an embarrassing situation, and him and Eddie hit it off.

🚒 calling out for somebody to hold tonight by trageddie | @eddiewasinthearmy rating: teen relationships: buck/eddie

Bobby lives, Buck takes Chim's advice, and Buck and Eddie trade secrets and promises.

🚒 you don't get to tell me about sad by HungryHungryHippo | @circledwithaheart rating: teen relationships: maddie/chim

"I'm just glad we could both be here for you," Margaret adds, and Phillip makes a sound of agreement. Buck curls one hand into a fist under the table while he tries to make the other, clenched around his fork, stop shaking. Maddie lightly clasps his wrist across the table, reminding him she's there. That she sees him. "Maybe," Chim interjects, as low and tense as Buck's ever heard him around their parents. "Maybe you shouldn't be." — OR Buck, Maddie and Chim remind the awful Buckley parents who Bobby really was to them.

🚒 too much to lose by rizcriz rating: teen relationships: buck/eddie

It’s not a conscious thought. Not him. Anyone but him. He doesn’t mean it. He doesn’t want to lose any of them—but it’s flitting to the front of his mind and he can’t even stop it, is the thing. And maybe, some awful, heartbroken part of him—this little thing inside of him that he’s been so scared to acknowledge—knows why, but it doesn’t stop the wave of guilt. He doesn’t want to lose any of them. And they’re all in that building. And one of them is dead. And all he can think is—not him. Anyone but him.

🚒 'til our fingers decompose by soopsiesdaisies | @sooperlative rating: explicit relationships: buck/eddie

Buck tastes like the beer they drank after they got in, the dumplings they picked up from that good Japanese place just on the corner from the firehouse, like soy sauce and the garlicky sriracha he likes to put on literally everything. It’s the best thing Eddie’s ever tasted. He’s pretty sure he’ll never want to detach his mouth from Buck’s ever again. Buck does do that, however. Pulls away just a hairbreadth, breathes in sharply through his mouth. A grumpy little whine cuts through the silence of the kitchen like thunder. “Oh,” Buck whispers, sixty different shades of smug, and Eddie’s face gets all boiling when he realizes the sound came from him. “Huh.” Or, Buck gives Eddie his world back, and Eddie is in love with him. They go from 0 to a 100 real quick.

🚒 just give me one bad night by loveisawildthing rating: explicit relationships: buck/eddie

“What do you want, then?” He asks lowly, his voice still raspy from crying. He can feel the deep breath that Eddie takes at the question. Eddie leans forward, nosing clumsily at the skin of Buck’s cheek, then his jaw. “I want,” Eddie starts, and then he places his mouth where his nose had been, right where Buck’s jaw meets his neck. It startles a gasp out of Buck, causes his grip on Eddie to unintentionally tighten. “I want to not think about it for a little while." Buck and Eddie have drunken, bad idea grief sex after Bobby's funeral.

🚒 a hand lit the fuse of a chain reaction of countermoves by Blackmustache rating: gen relationships: buck/eddie

“Some guys at the gym were talking about this new dating app and now things are more - settled. I thought I might give it a try. Nothing serious.” “Really?” Buck tries to push down the jealousy he feels bubbling up at the thought of someone else taking up space in Eddie's life. He shouldn't be jealous. Eddie deserves that as much as anyone. “Eddie Diaz on a dating app??" — Or, Buck accidentally-on-purpose catfishes Eddie.

🚒 'Cause I remember it all, all, all by cathcer1984 rating: teen relationships: buck/eddie

Buck thinks about his role in Chris' life.

🚒 i can take the pillowcases off the yellow pillows by atlasblue85 | @atlasblue85 rating: gen relationships: none

It almost sounds like someone is crying. He heads toward the source of the sound – Christopher’s room, except he knows Christopher is outside goofing off with his cousins. “Eddie?” he calls again, gently nudging the door open. He’s greeted by an unfamiliar sight: his son, sitting on the floor of his old bedroom, sobbing.

🚒 Ice Cream Trucks by glorious_spoon | @glorious-spoon rating: mature relationships: buck/eddie

"What's so funny?" Eddie murmurs. He's pressed so close Buck can't see his expression, but he can feel the shape of his smile against his jaw, and that's even better. "Nothing, nothing," Buck says, breathless, and kisses him again, because he gets to do that now apparently. "I just can't believe this is happening. Feels like a dream." "You have a lot of dreams about me?" Eddie asks, in a tone that's definitely trying to be smooth but is just a little too uneven to completely pull it off.

🚒 wait for me there by hyruling | @hyruling rating: explicit relationships: buck/eddie

“How do you feel about me?” Eddie asks at last, voice low. “Eddie,” he says, ragged. “Don’t make me – you know. You have to know I – don’t you?"

🚒 king of the castle by organyx rating: explicit relationships: buck/eddie

Buck scoffs. “You really think you could go longer than I could without—” Eddie shakes his head in amusement. “Making a ‘deposit’?” he teases sarcastically, finishing Buck’s sentence when he awkwardly clams up. “Yes, with one hundred percent certainty.” Buck’s eyebrows raise, his bright grin showing off a row of perfectly white teeth. “Oh, you wanna bet? Since you’re so confident.” — Buck and Eddie challenge each other to see who can go the longest without an orgasm. Eddie’s pretty confident he can win.

🚒 minor major crisis by WillowFlycatcher | @hannimals rating: teen relationships: buck/eddie

As much as he’s tried to shut it down, Buck can’t deny that Tommy had cracked the seal on a certain question. One that Buck hasn’t stopped thinking about ever since. And no, let the record show that it is not whether he’s in love with Eddie, even if everyone seems to be dying for that to be the case. That’s a patently ridiculous suggestion that holds absolutely no water, and has not a single shred of evidence to back it up. It’s not worth thinking about for even a second. No matter what everyone says. No, the question at hand is obvious. Could Eddie, possibly, maybe, conceivably not be straight? Or: Buck looks for one answer and finds another.

🚒 i'll hold in these hands all that remains by star_bunny | @buckkdiaz rating: gen relationships: buck/eddie

‘Eddie,’ Buck whispers; a single word, but still, his voice breaks on the enormity of it, and then he steps in closer and kisses Eddie. It's frantic and desperate, more of a crushing press of the lips than a kiss, but for a moment Eddie gives in to it, gives in to the need to forget about the fucking nightmare they're living in and seek solace in Buck’s arms, gives in to seven years of wanting as he snakes his arms around Buck’s back, pulling their bodies flush together as he deepens the kiss, chasing oblivion until - Until he tastes the mistakable salt of tears. Eddie hasn’t seen Buck cry all day, but he can taste it nonetheless, taste his grief , and it’s like a shock to the system, piercing through the haze that had settled over his mind at the feel of Buck’s lips against his. He breaks the kiss with a sudden gasp. ‘No,’ he whispers, his breathing harsh and ragged, like it’s killing him to say this. Because it is. ‘Not like this.' Eddie and Buck seek comfort in each other after the funeral.

🚒 unbreakable, impenetrable by cavka | @cavka rating: gen relationships: gen

Staring at the screen, watching as Buck slowly slides down the wall of the lab as his grief overtakes him, Tommy wonders if he's ever loved someone so much that their death would break him like this. Tommy's thoughts on himself, the 118, and vulnerability in the aftermath.

🚒 (one more look) and i forget everything by Neuqe rating: gen relationships: buck/eddie

That is exactly the kind of smile that is stuck on Eddie’s face right now, on the other end of the table, at the firehouse, and Buck fears those damn butterflies are permanently dislodged between his ribs, making his stomach flip, not unpleasantly, as he just looks at Eddie and smiles back at him.

🚒 I will never let you fall apart by unfictional | @sadgayeddie rating: teen relationships: buck/eddie

It’s late. Eddie’s phone starts vibrating, and he knows on instinct that something is wrong. It’s been radio silence from Buck all day and all his texts had gone unanswered. He knows it must have been a bad shift since he knew Buck would have answered his texts with at least some random emoji if he was busy, but today? Nothing. If he’d remembered correctly, Buck was supposed to be off shift hours ago. He couldn’t even feel relieved when Buck finally called because he knew something was really wrong.

[asterafroditis]

hey so how do you think Riddle and Azul would deal with a crush who’s a helpful hard worker, if they in project together, crush works well with them and they get good grades, but they have no long term goals and ambitions and zones out a lot. Azul and Riddle, the most ambitious ones ever, are just like “She has no ambitious aura at all?! Wtf?!” And crush is just like

𐔌 . ⋮ no ambitions?! .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☓┆ Riddle & Azul x gn! reader (separate)

𓏵 722 words

ᝰ.ᐟ headcanons, no pronouns used, fluff

Had lots of fun writing this out! can definitely relate to reader on some levels _(:3 」∠)_ feel free to like, reblog, or comment!

ᝰ.ᐟ masterlist

Riddle had initially been thrilled to be paired with you for the history project.

You were competent, diligent, and respected deadlines — a rare combination at NRC. Working alongside you was... pleasant, even calming, a sharp contrast to the usual chaos of Heartslabyul.

You would share notes, summarize chapters neatly, and double-check the requirements without him even needing to prompt you. Riddle found himself looking forward to study sessions, mind buzzing not just with textbooks, but the warm thought of how well you worked together.

“They’re so dependable. Such good habits... maybe—maybe I should invite them for tea next time.”

But it wasn’t long before he noticed something... odd.

During a break, while sipping tea he had insisted on brewing properly (“Sloppily made tea reflects a sloppy mind,” he said sternly), he asked in casual conversation, "So. What field do you intend to specialize in after graduation?"

You blinked at him, head tilting in that innocent, peaceful way you did.

"Hm? I dunno. Haven't really thought about it," you said, chewing on a cookie thoughtfully. "I'll figure it out later, maybe."

Riddle stared at you like you had sprouted horns.

"Y-you haven't thought about it?!"

You smiled serenely, resting your chin on your palm.

"Nope. As long as I'm doing okay right now, it's fine."

Riddle nearly dropped his teacup.

“No long-term plan? No ambitions? No charted career path?!”

He tried to cover his shock with a polite cough.

"Ahem. W-well, it is critical to set objectives and milestones to ensure steady personal growth," he said, words tumbling over each other. "I would be happy to assist you in making a detailed five-year plan—"

You just gave him that sweet, blissfully vacant smile. "Maybe someday! Thanks though, Riddle!"

Riddle sat stiffly in his chair, clutching his teacup as a vein throbbed in his temple.

“They're so efficient now, but they're... they're drifting like an unmoored boat! A brilliant, hardworking boat with no rudder! How is this happening?!”

He spent the rest of the project trying very, very hard not to think about how he found your aimless serenity oddly... endearing. Infuriating. But endearing.

─────────────────────────

Azul knew right away he was lucky when you were assigned as his partner for the class project.

You were attentive, methodical, and didn’t slack off — the dream partner. He thought to himself, “If only more students had such discipline, Mostro Lounge’s financial reports wouldn’t give me migraines...”

You even handled the trickier parts of the research without complaint. Azul was impressed.

“Efficient. Cooperative. Excellent work ethic. Perfect for building an empire together... Wait. No. Focus, Azul.”

He started to entertain the notion that you might be someone he could genuinely trust—a terrifying but strangely exciting thought.

So during a quieter moment at the Lounge after polishing up your project proposal, he asked, casual but calculating:

"And... what are your future plans? You strike me as someone who could achieve quite a lot if you applied yourself."

You twirled a straw idly in your drink, legs swinging lightly under the table.

"Future plans? Hm... Nah. I’m just kinda going along. I’ll figure something out when I have to."

Azul's smile froze for a fraction of a second.

"You... don't have a strategy? Or even a preliminary outline of your goals?"

You smiled brightly.

"Nope!"

Inside, Azul shrieked.

On the outside, he adjusted his glasses, masking the horror behind a tight, businesslike smile.

"I... see. How... refreshingly spontaneous."

But in his mind, it was chaos.

“No ambition?! No hustle?! No grand designs for success and power?! How can someone so competent lack the drive to leverage it?!”

Every fiber of his being itched to offer you a job at Mostro Lounge, start you on a 12-year plan, sign you up for five internships, and drag you bodily toward greatness.

But you just smiled and went back to doodling something random on the margins of your paper like you hadn’t just shattered his worldview.

Still... as much as it made his head spin, Azul couldn't deny it was... weirdly comforting to be around you.

Maybe it was nice, once in a while, to sit across from someone who didn’t constantly scheme and scramble. Someone content with now.

It drove him insane.

But he kept finding excuses to study with you anyway.

[lovelybucky1]

okay so dad!matt is rotting my brain so how about this: matt is older than reader and somehow she comes into his life, whether she be a client or the daughter of a client/friend. he takes her on almost like a protégé, maybe given her an internship at the firm. he tells himself it's because he wants to protect her like he would a daughter but in secret he can't stop thinking about bending her over his desk.

he is so ashamed of his feelings and hide them very well but quickly notices that she trusts him "like a father".

she on the other hand is quite attracted to him but she also sees him as a protective father figure and feels ashamed of her attraction because "that's almost her dad"

lots of pining and being confused by their moral compasses and immense attraction and need for the other person and ahhhhhh

- 🪆

i love this so much oh my god

you’re the daughter of a long time and well paying client of matt’s. when the client asked if his daughter could intern at murdock and mcduffie, it was hard for matt to say no. you don’t bite he hand that feeds, after all. he was worried about having a spoiled young girl from harvard law working under him, seeing as he specializes in helping the less fortunate, but that turned out to not be his biggest problem.

you’re sweet, kind, humble, and devastatingly sexy. devastating because you’re in your early twenties and he’s pushing forty.

he tried so hard to keep it professional, but you were insistent on getting to know him on a personal level and he couldn’t resist. after you became closer than the typical boss/employee, he tried to friendzone you, or more accurately, dad-zone you. he took on a mentor role and constantly called you kid, trying to put that space between the two of you. no matter how many times he reminded himself of your age, your inexperience, your innocence,he couldn’t help but imagine you bent over his desk.

despite how perceptive he usually his, he had no idea you felt the same. his own feelings were clouding his judgement and he didn’t realize how your heart races when you see him, how it skips when he called you kid in that warm, gentle tone. you didn’t mean to fall for your boss. you know he’s way too old for you and you’ve even referred to him as your work dad, but late at night, your fantasies always include him.

you started to dress up more for work which feels ironic because you work for a blind man, but you don’t know what else to do. somehow he seems to have taken notice. your skirts are shorter, still professional, but they show off more of your legs. you bought a new perfume, something sweet and alluring. you even started wearing your hair different, just to get his attention.

the two of you reach your boiling point late one evening while you’re helping him work on his opening statement. he had asked you to read it back to him, partly to catch errors, but mostly because he wanted to listen to your voice. you’re sitting close, your voice soft in the small, quiet room. this time, matt is paying attention to all of his senses and catches how your breath hitches when his thigh makes contact with yours.

tension is thick in the air, confessions sit heavy on the tips of your tongues.

“matt-”

“don’t.”

“but-“

“we can’t.”

it’s as close as you can get to confronting it without putting words to your feelings. no i’m too old, i’m your boss, i’m friends with your father. just, we can’t.

as much as it kills you, you understand. in fact, you understand so well that you begin to date another lawyer at the firm. he’s a first year from harvard, and despite being in the program at the same time, you never saw him around campus. he’s exceptional, a literal genius, and he treats you well. he’s great, except he’s not matt.

its been two months and you’re working late with matt again, scanning case files in his office. at this hour, in this small of a space, nothing good can come. you’re close again, touching at the ankles, thighs, and almost the shoulder.

“sweetheart-“

“don’t.”

“please-“

“we can’t.”

no i’m too young, i’m with someone else, you’re my boss. just we can’t.

“i don’t care,” he breathes.

he grabs your face and kisses you, lips gentle but full of passion, longing, and something darker. something you’ve both been pushing down since you’ve started working together.

“matt,” you gasp.

“i can’t stop myself,” he mumbles against your lips.

you have no idea the devil that hides behind the mask of matt murdock.

[bingbongsupremacy]

The Protector

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!reader

Warning: Implications of Human Trafficing, Talks of Murders, Creepy Man, Cursing, Violence

Summary: You're walking home late at night when a drunk stranger approaches, clearly with bad intentions. Thankfully, a stranger steps in to help you.

This doesn't really follow the movies or shows.

*Not Proof Read*

My mom always told me to be careful at night. The darkness emboldens people in a way they wouldn't dare to normally behave. It unleashes the darker parts of their personality, giving them a sense of confidence that they won't be caught.

It's happened before. It'll happen again. I've heard stories of girls in my neighborhood getting snatched in the middle of the night. Some return home -although never the same as they were before. Some are never found or are found dead. I've heard the gunshots that ring through the deathly silent streets. Later on the news, my suspicions are confirmed. Someone was murdered once again.

My neighborhood is rough. But I have no choice but to stay here until I can save up enough to leave.

I was supposed to be home hours ago. I try to leave work before the sun goes down. That wasn't possible today, and unfortunately for me, the buses stop shortly after sundown.

My boss kept me late filing paperwork and filling out forms. Something that should've taken me a few hours ended up taking me the entire day due to his negligence and irresponsibility. He figured that I wouldn't mind receiving months' worth of work a day before it's all due to be checked. I did.

Maybe he just didn't care.

Either way, because of him, I've been forced to spend that last half hour walking through the dark streets of the city towards my home.

If I could, I'd call a cab. I barely have enough money to cover rent this month. I have to tough it out.

The street lights send a faded glow onto the dark streets. My steps clack softly against the cracked cement, echoing slightly through the rows of apartments and worn down homes. Most of the buildings are completely dark. No one is out. No one is awake.

I tighten my grip on my bag as I continue down the street. Cold, bitter air nips at my face and the exposed skin on my hands. My coat only holds in so much heat. My body is cold and tense.

Trees and large bushes cast ominous shadows across the sidewalks up ahead. Worries flood my mind about possible things hiding in the shadows, waiting to attack me.

I push through my fears and force myself to continue forward.

It's eerily quiet outside, save for the occasional dog that will bark as I pass their house.

I finally make it onto my street. Like all of the other streets, everyone's inside and asleep. I

I let a small sigh of relief and I feel my shoulders relax slightly. My peace is short lived.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot movement on one of the porches. The home belongs to one of the many local drug dealers. All sorts of different people crash at his house at all hours of the night. It's not unusual to see someone on his porch.

I just wish there hadn't been anyone over tonight.

I pick up my speed, hoping the person will stay on the porch.

Unfortunately, they don't. A rough hand grips my wrist, spinning me back in the direction of the person.

A tall man stares at me, his eyes glassy and filled with a wicked glint. His smile is wide and unnerving. He's dressed in messy, torn-up clothes. Stains, I think may be blood, are splattered around his collar and under his nose like he's recently been in a fight. The smell of booze spills out of his pores, flooding my nostrils. His grip is firm and slightly painful.

"Hey baby, whatcha doin' out here?" He asks, his voice slurred. His eyes scan over my body, staying a few seconds longer on my chest than anything else.

My spine shivers at the leering man. My stomach twists and turns in fear. I'm frozen in fear, unsure what to do. He's stronger than me. He'll overpower me. If I scream, I doubt anyone would come. They know this neighborhood. They know what happens after dark.

I'm on my own.

"Please let me go." I try to say it confidently. My voice slightly waivers.

The man clicks his tongue disapprovingly. "Baby, you don't need to be scared."

I want to vomit at the nickname.

"You and I can have a lot of fun, you know that? Go back to my place...see where the night takes us." Once again, his eyes settle on my chest as he finishes his words.

"I said, please let me go." I say in a more stern tone. "I don't want to go anywhere with you."

The man's eyes narrow and snap up to me. Anger fills his gaze. His grip on my wrist tightens, and he twists it tightly, sending pain flooding through my hand.

I let out a yelp and try to pull back.

The man doesn't let go. "Listen, Bitch. It wasn't a real question. You're coming with me whether you'd like to or not." He spits.

"Please stop! You're hurting me!" My chest pounds louder. I feel like I'm going to throw up.

The man lets out a sinister chuckle. "Good." He's about to say something else when, all of a sudden, a large hand roughly grabs his hand and pries his fingers off my wrist.

Loud pops echo through the air as the man's fingers are pulled into an unnatural position. The man lets out a scream in agony at the sight and feeling of his fingers being broken.

My eyes widen, and I gasp, stumbling backwards. I take in the sight in front of me. The man who helped me is dressed in all black clothing, the only thing showing being some skin above his face mask and his muscular metal arm. His hair is dark brown and long, blowing slightly in the cold breeze. His angry eyes are pointed at the man in front of him. He grabs the other man by the collar, punching him in the face. Then he drops my offender on the ground, puffing his chest out to intimidate him.

The other man cowers, holding his damaged hand to his chest. He spits out a string of curses, begging my protector to stop. He scoots back as fast as he can, almost falling over from not being able to use one of his hands.

My protector takes a slow and intimidating step towards the cowering man, daring him to speak again. He follows the cowering man, pushing him backwards until his back is pressed against a spikey bush.

The cowering man is whimpering, begging for mercy. My protector leans down until he's at eye level with the cowering man.

The cowering man refuses to meet his gaze, his sobs loud and fearful.

"Touch her again, and I will find you. I will kill you." His words are stronger than a threat. They're a promise. This man is not fucking around.

Something about this man tells me he'll have no problem following through with his word. He won't struggle to find where this man lives.

My attacker nods furiously, his face red from his crying. "I won't! I promise."

My protector grabs the man by his collar once again, eliciting a yelp from the other man. "Leave." He tosses the man towards the sidewalk leading away from us.

The other man stumbles forward, quickly catching his balance and running off away from us. He clutches his hand against his chest, his cries dying down the further he gets.

My protector watches as the other man runs away, making sure he's fully gone before finally turning to me.

I stare at the man, shocked and horrified at what I just witnessed. My heart pounds, fear climbing up my throat once again. I tightly grip my bag once again like it's somehow going to protect me. "I-I...Thank you." I finally say, trying to shake off my nerves.

The man gives me a curt nod, glancing down at my bruising wrist that's covered by my jacket.

For a moment, all the chaos distracted me from my injury. His gaze brought the sore feeling back.

I lift up the sleeve of my jacket slightly to reveal a forming blackish blue bruise.

"Go home. Take care of it." The man's voice is monotone, exactly the way it had been when he was talking to my attacker. His gaze shifts from my wrist to my face. He's watching me.

"O-Okay." I nod in agreement, pulling my sleeve down. "What..." Should I ask him? I decide to do it. "What's your name?"

The man doesn't respond. He just continues to watch me.

Feeling nervous and not wanting to push the dangerous individual, I decide to thank him one last time. "Thanks again. I...I don't know what I would've done without you." I say sincerely. "Is there anyway I can repay you?" I offer.

"I don't need repayment. Just get home. It's not safe out here." The man states.

"I'll go then," I say, not wanting to argue. I turn around and begin walking down the street towards my apartment. When I get to my building, I turn to look back in the direction of the man who saved me.

He's unmoved. His eyes connect with mine. He was watching to make sure I got here okay.

I give him a small, nervous wave and smile before stepping into my building and closing the door. I peek out of the window in the door, trying to catch a glimpse of the man again.

But he's gone. Within seconds, he vanished into the night.

Who is he?

------ Years Later -------

After that night, I began training so I could protect myself in case something like that ever happened again. I never saw the man again. But I'll never forget how he saved me.

My training paid off. It unlocked a harshness in me I didn't know I had. I began to box. It started out legal, but eventually turned into underground paid events. I took my opponents out quickly and painfully. It paid well. It made me strong.

Eventually, my interests took a turn. My neighborhood was getting worse. I needed to protect myself.

I started to learn how to use weapons-it started out for protection. It evolved into me becoming a hitman. It all happened so quickly. It was a blur of my normal life turning into violence. Eventually, my skills were sought after by SHIELD, something I never thought would happen.

I was recruited to become an Avenger. Everything was fine until Tony and Steve started fighting, and we were forced to pick sides.

The day Steve found Bucky and brought him back was the day I realized he was the man who saved me. It brought so many unanswered questions back into my mind.

Why did he save me? Why was he in the neighborhood? Had he been stalking me?

As soon as Bucky came too and Steve asked which Bucky he was, I got my answers.

Bucky's eyes land on me. A glimmer of recognition flashes through his eyes. "You're the girl."

I don't need further explanation to know he's talking about me. "I am," I cross my arms and walk closer to him. "You're The Winter Soldier."

He doesn't say anything.

"Why did you save me? That night with the man. You didn't need to. Why?" I ask, my eyes steadily holding his gaze.

Bucky's brows draw together like he's trying to remember.

"Why were you there?" I try not to make my questions sound like an interrogation.

"I was there on a mission," Bucky responds, his gaze torn away from mine. He looks at the ground, still trying to remember. "I was sent to kill a dealer in the neighborhood. Someone who knew too much. I saw you walking through the dark. The man grabbed you, and I saw your face. Your fear. I remembered...I remembered a woman I'd helped protect in the past...In the 40s before I went to war. I felt pulled to help. So I did."

His instincts overpowered his training.

"Thank you." I let out a slightly shaky breath. "I don't know what would've happened to me without you. You helped me get here today."

His eyes turn to look up at me.

"I owe you. And I will pay it back." I promise.

"You don't have to." He says quietly.

"I do and I will. I'll help you the way you helped me." I insist.

It's my turn to stand up for him. I won't let Tony get his hands on him.

That's a promise I'll fulfill.

[lila-lou]

✨Yes, Sheriff - 1/2✨

Summary: Your new boss, Sheriff Beau Arlen, is infuriating—gruff, stubborn, and way too handsome for your sanity. You came to Montana for peace, not sparks. But trouble’s brewing, and so is something between you two.

Pairing: Beau x Reader

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 3966

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. 💙

You hadn’t thought it would happen like this. Not the dream job, not the big office with the sheriff’s star on the door, and sure as hell not the man sitting behind that desk, staring at you like you’d just told him he had to work Sundays.

“You´re my Assistant?”, he drawled, leaning back in his chair, boots planted on the desk like he owned the place—and, honestly, he kinda did. “Thought I asked for someone with experience. Someone… I don’t know… older? Didn’t think I was signin’ up for a babysitter situation”.

His voice had that slow, easy twang that made everything sound halfway to a joke, but the way he looked at you? Yeah, he wasn’t joking. His green eyes scanned you—head to toe, toe to head—like he was trying to figure out if you’d walked into the wrong damn office.

“I graduated top of my class”, you said, your voice steady even though your heart was racing. “And I’m here to help. Whether you think I can or not”.

He raised an eyebrow, dropping his boots from the desk with a heavy thud. “Well, ain’t you somethin’. All bright-eyed and ready to save the world”. He stood, and damn, he was taller than he looked sitting down. Broad-shouldered, that soft cotton button-up hugging him just right, sleeves rolled up to show strong forearms.

Focus. You had to focus.

“I’m Sheriff Beau Arlen”, he said, voice dripping with that Texan warmth that somehow still managed to sound like a warning. “And here’s the thing, darlin’. This ain’t some paper-pushin’ job. You’re here to keep up, not slow me down. Can you do that?”.

Your jaw tightened. “I can handle it”.

“Good”, he said, though his smirk told you he didn’t quite believe it yet. “Follow me”.

He grabbed a stack of files from his desk, brushed past you, and headed for the door without so much as a glance back. You barely had time to adjust your grip on the folder in your hands before hurrying after him, your heels clicking against the linoleum floor.

As you followed him out into the main office, his voice drifted back toward you. “Let’s hope you last longer than the last one. Poor kid couldn’t hack it, and I’ll be honest, you don’t exactly scream resilient”.

“Maybe I’ll surprise you”, you shot back, a little sharper than you intended.

He stopped, turning halfway to glance at you over his shoulder, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Guess we’ll find out. But fair warnin’, I don’t go easy, and I sure as hell don’t babysit”.

With that, he pushed through the doors into the bullpen, leaving you standing there with a mix of irritation and determination bubbling up inside. It wasn’t the warm welcome you’d hoped for, but you hadn’t come here to be coddled. You came to prove yourself—and to him, of all people, you planned to do just that.

One way or another.

The station was bustling—phones ringing, officers shuffling paperwork, and the low hum of chatter filling the air. Sheriff Arlen walked ahead of you, weaving through the chaos with a practiced ease, while you did your best to keep up, clutching the folder in your hands like a lifeline.

“This here’s the bullpen”, he drawled, gesturing with a wide sweep of his arm. “Where the magic happens—or at least where we pretend it does”.

You nodded, taking in the cluttered desks, the overworked staff, and the faint smell of burnt coffee. A few officers glanced your way, their eyes flicking from you to Beau, some with raised brows, others with knowing smirks.

“This is Y/N”, Beau announced, his voice carrying over the noise. “She’s my new assistant. She’ll be stickin’ around—long as she doesn’t run for the hills after her first day”.

A stocky man near the coffee machine chuckled. “Guess the Sheriff’s finally got himself some help. You gonna let her do all the paperwork you keep ‘forgettin’ about?”.

Beau shot him a look. “Don’t you have somethin’ better to do, Hank? Like, I don’t know, your job?”.

Hank just grinned, raising his mug in mock salute before retreating to his desk.

Beau continued, stopping briefly to introduce you to a few more faces. There was Denise, the station’s receptionist, who gave you a warm smile and a whispered, “Good luck”, and Officer Turner, who nodded curtly before going back to his phone call.

The introductions blurred together as Beau kept moving, his long strides forcing you to quicken your pace. The steady click, click, click of your heels echoed off the walls, sharp against the backdrop of the station’s noise.

Beau slowed down suddenly, turning his head to glance at your shoes. His expression shifted to something between amusement and exasperation. “Y’know”, he said, his drawl dripping with that infuriating mix of charm and condescension, “those heels of yours are gonna drive me insane”.

You blinked, caught off guard. “What’s wrong with my heels?”.

He stopped in his tracks, turning to face you fully. “They’re loud, for one. Sound like you’re tryin’ to tap dance through a crime scene. And two? They’re not exactly practical for runnin’ after bad guys—or runnin’ from ‘em, for that matter”.

You straightened, refusing to let him rattle you. “I wasn’t planning on chasing anyone today. And besides, they’re professional”.

“Sure, they’re professional”, he said, nodding slowly. “But they’re also gonna get you left behind if you don’t keep up”.

Before you could argue, he pointed a finger at you, his tone firm but not unkind. “Tomorrow, no heels. Flats, sneakers, boots—I don’t care. Just somethin’ that doesn’t make me wanna pull my hair out every time you take a step”.

You stared at him, half tempted to argue, but something about the way he looked at you—steady, challenging—made you bite your tongue. “Fine”, you said, keeping your voice steady. “No heels”.

“Good”, he said, a hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Now come on. We’re burnin’ daylight”.

He turned and walked off again, leaving you to follow, the click of your heels louder than ever in your ears. You couldn’t tell if you wanted to scream or laugh—or both.

By the time the clock struck five, you were done—mentally, physically, and emotionally. Your first day had been a whirlwind of tasks, introductions, and the steady hum of Sheriff Beau Arlen’s Texas-twanged commands. All you wanted was to go home, sink into your couch, and enjoy the calm Montana air you’d moved here for.

California had been too loud, too fast, too… much. You’d craved peace, a slower pace, and a job where you could actually feel like you were making a difference. So, when the sheriff’s office had posted an opening for an assistant, you jumped at the chance. You hadn’t expected to land it. And you definitely hadn’t expected him.

Beau Arlen wasn’t exactly what you’d call calm. He was loud, sharp, and constantly moving, like stillness might kill him. You’d barely had a moment to catch your breath all day, and you were certain he liked it that way.

You grabbed your bag, ready to escape, when his familiar drawl stopped you in your tracks.

“Hey”.

You turned, finding him leaning casually against the doorway of your desk, arms crossed and a curious glint in his hazel eyes. His sleeves were still rolled up, his shirt slightly rumpled from a long day, but he looked as fresh as ever. “You hungry?”, he asked, tilting his head slightly.

The question caught you off guard. “What?”.

“Hungry”, he repeated, his voice slower this time. “Figured since you didn’t quit on your first day, I’d take you to dinner. Call it a welcome or… I don’t know, a ‘get to know each other so I don’t drive you crazy’ thing”.

You blinked. “Are you serious?”.

“Dead serious, darlin’”, he said, smirking. “Unless you’re busy”.

You hesitated. You weren’t busy, but you also hadn’t expected this. Then again, getting to know your boss probably wasn’t the worst idea. And maybe, just maybe, you were curious about him. “Alright”, you said, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Why not?”.

“Good answer”, He straightened, already heading toward the door. “There’s a diner not far from here. Best chicken-fried steak you’ll ever have. Trust me”.

The diner was a tiny place tucked off the highway, with a flickering neon sign and a cozy interior that smelled like fried food and fresh coffee. It was the kind of place you’d hoped Montana would have—simple, welcoming, and a far cry from the glitzy chaos of California.

Beau slid into a booth by the window, and you followed, glancing around as a waitress approached. She greeted him like they were old friends, calling him “Sheriff” with a teasing grin.

“Your usual?”, she asked, pulling out her notepad.

“You know it, Lisa”, he said before nodding toward you. “And get her whatever she wants. First day survived, so she’s earned it”.

Lisa raised an eyebrow at you, smirking. “Survived, huh? That bad already?”.

You smiled. “I’m still here, so I’ll call it a win”.

Lisa chuckled, scribbling down your order before disappearing toward the kitchen.

“So”, Beau said, leaning back against the booth and folding his arms across his chest. “What made you pack up and leave sunny California for Montana?”.

You hesitated, toying with the corner of your napkin. “I guess I just needed a change. It’s… loud out there. Fast. Everyone’s always rushing somewhere, but no one really knows why. It’s exhausting”.

He nodded, his gaze steady. “Yeah, I get that. Montana’s got its fair share of problems, but at least it’s quiet”.

“Exactly”, you said, relaxing a little. “I wanted quiet. A job that matters. Something real, you know?”.

“Sure do”, he said, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Though you might’ve picked the wrong sheriff’s office if you’re lookin’ for peace and quiet. We’re small, but we get our fair share of crazy”.

You smirked. “Good thing I’m not scared of a little crazy”.

He laughed, low and warm. “Well, we’ll see about that”.

Dinner was unexpectedly easy. Beau, for all his gruffness, had a way of making conversation flow, peppering you with questions about your favorite movies, your worst job experiences, and what you thought of Montana so far. He shared a few stories of his own—mostly funny ones about small-town life—and by the time your plates were cleared, you found yourself laughing more than you had in weeks.

As you stepped outside, the crisp Montana air brushing against your skin, Beau walked you to your car. He leaned against his truck, his hands shoved in his pockets, and looked at you with that same steady gaze he’d had all day.

“You did good today”, he said, his voice softer than usual. “And for what it’s worth, I think Montana suits you”.

“Thanks”, you said, smiling. “Though you’ll probably change your mind tomorrow”.

He chuckled. “Maybe. But don’t think you’re off the hook for those heels. I wasn’t kiddin’—no more of that tap-dancin’ nonsense”.

You rolled your eyes, climbing into your car. “Fine. No heels”.

“Good”, he said, tipping an imaginary hat. “See you bright and early, darlin’”.

As you drove home, the quiet roads stretching out before you, you realized something surprising: for the first time in a long time, you felt like you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

The next morning, you arrived at the sheriff’s office ten minutes early, a pair of sturdy boots replacing the heels Beau had so pointedly banned. The station was already buzzing with activity, and Beau was nowhere in sight.

Denise, the receptionist, gave you a knowing smile as you passed. “Good call on the shoes”, she said. “Beau’s got a thing about heels. Says they’re impractical for ‘real work’”.

You chuckled, dropping your bag onto your desk. “Yeah, I got that impression”.

“Don’t let him get to you”, she added, leaning forward conspiratorially. “He’s gruff, but he’s got a good heart. You’ll see”.

You were still processing her words when Beau strode into the bullpen, a fresh coffee in hand and his usual air of controlled chaos. His eyes flicked to your boots as he passed, and he gave a slight nod of approval. “Good choice”, he said, his tone casual.

“Glad I could meet your footwear standards”, you shot back, earning a faint smirk.

“Careful”, he said, pointing at you with his coffee cup. “That sass might get you in trouble”.

You were about to respond when he dropped a thick folder onto your desk. “You’re with me today”, he said.

“Excuse me?”.

“Ride-along”, he explained, already walking away. “Can’t have you stuck in the office all day if you’re gonna get the hang of things. Grab your coat”.

The day started slow, with Beau driving you around town in the department’s SUV, pointing out key landmarks and rattling off names of people you’d need to know. It wasn’t long before you noticed how different he was outside the office.

The sharp edges of his sarcasm softened as he spoke about the town, his voice filled with an unexpected warmth when he mentioned the local bar or the family that owned the hardware store. He waved at nearly everyone you passed, his easy charm slipping into something more genuine.

“You seem to know everyone”, you said, watching him nod at an older man crossing the street.

“Small town”, he replied. “You stick around long enough, people start feelin’ like family. For better or worse”.

“And how long have you been here?”.

“Not long enough”, he said, his smile faltering for just a moment before he glanced at you. “But long enough to know the ropes”.

You didn’t press further, sensing there was more to his answer than he was letting on.

The first call came just before lunch—a minor car accident on the edge of town. Beau handled it with practiced ease, his calm demeanor putting the shaken drivers at ease as he filled out the report. You mostly observed, scribbling notes and trying not to get in the way.

By the time you returned to the station, you felt like you were starting to get the hang of things. At least, until Beau handed you another stack of paperwork.

“Here”, he said, dropping the files onto your desk. “Figured I’d ease you into the fun stuff”.

“Paperwork?”, you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You’d be surprised how much of this job is just writin’ things down”, he said, leaning against the edge of your desk. “But hey, at least you’re not chasin’ cows outta the road”.

You shot him a look, and he chuckled, pushing off the desk.

“Keep up the good work, darlin’”, he said before walking away.

That evening, as you finally left the station, you were greeted by the glow of the setting sun casting long shadows across the parking lot. You’d survived your second day, and despite the exhaustion settling in your bones, you felt a strange sense of accomplishment.

Beau was leaning against his truck, his phone in hand. He glanced up as you approached, his expression softening slightly.

“Good day?”, he asked.

“Not bad”, you replied, stopping a few feet away.

“Still think Montana’s calm?”.

You smiled. “Compared to California? Definitely”.

“Get some rest”, he said. “Tomorrow’s gonna be busier”.

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Of course it is”.

As you climbed into your car and drove home, the image of Beau leaning against his truck lingered in your mind. He was gruff and opinionated, sure, but there was something else beneath all that—a quiet sincerity that made you want to stick around just to figure him out.

Montana was calm, yes. But Beau Arlen? He was anything but.

And you couldn’t help but feel like that was exactly what you needed.

Eight weeks had passed, and to your surprise, you’d settled into the job—and the town—like you’d been here forever. The pace, the people, the little quirks of small-town life all felt like a breath of fresh air compared to the chaos you’d left behind in California.

The sheriff’s office, with its constant hum of activity, had become your second home. And then, of course, there was Beau.

Being by his side for hours every day, riding along on calls, and navigating the unpredictable rhythm of his work had a way of breaking down walls. You’d come to know the little things: the way he hummed under his breath when he was deep in thought, his sharp wit, his steady calm in the face of chaos.

You liked him. Too much.

It had snuck up on you, the way Montana itself had. Slow and unassuming, until one day you woke up and realized you were in deep—your thoughts drifting to him more often than they should, your pulse quickening at the sound of his drawl.

This morning had been no different. You’d swung by the coffee shop on your way in, grabbing his favorite black coffee and your own usual. Maybe it was a bribe for his good mood; maybe it was just an excuse to see him smile. Either way, you stepped into the office with both cups in hand, ready to start the day.

But when you opened his door, you froze.

Jenny Hoyt was there, leaning casually against his desk, her posture relaxed but too close for comfort. Beau stood opposite her, towering over her like he always did, that damn half-smirk playing on his lips. The kind of smirk he used when he was charming someone, effortlessly drawing them in.

You couldn’t hear their words, but the energy in the room was palpable—easy, comfortable, familiar. The way Jenny tilted her head, her hair catching the light, the way Beau’s arm rested just a little too casually on the desk beside her.

They looked like they were flirting.

A knot formed in your stomach, tightening with every second you stood there. You didn’t mean to linger, but your feet wouldn’t move. It wasn’t jealousy—not exactly. It was more like a reminder of how much space you didn’t occupy in his life.

Beau glanced up first, his eyes flicking to you as his expression shifted. For a second, it was unreadable—then his smirk faded, replaced by something softer.

“Hey”, he said, straightening up slightly. “Didn’t hear you come in”.

Jenny turned, her eyes landing on you. She smiled, easy and confident. “Morning, Y/N. Grabbing Beau’s coffee again? He’s got you well-trained”.

You forced a smile, ignoring the jab. “Just trying to keep the Sheriff running”.

Your tone was light, but you didn’t miss the way Beau’s gaze lingered on you as you stepped forward, setting his coffee on the desk. “I’ll leave you two to it”, you said quickly, turning on your heel before either of them could respond.

The rest of the morning passed in a blur. You threw yourself into your work, refusing to think about what you’d walked in on—or why it bothered you so much. Beau had every right to talk to Jenny, to laugh with her, to… flirt with her, if that’s what he’d been doing.

Still, every time you saw him, a flicker of frustration bubbled up. And by lunchtime, it must have shown, because Beau cornered you in the bullpen, his brow furrowed in confusion. “Alright”, he said, crossing his arms as he leaned against your desk. “What’s got you in a mood today?”.

You glanced up from your paperwork, trying to feign nonchalance. “I’m not in a mood”.

“Sure you are”, he said, smirking just enough to be irritating. “You’ve been snappin’ at Turner all morning, and you didn’t even roll your eyes at Hank’s terrible joke earlier. Somethin’s up”.

You sighed, leaning back in your chair. “It’s nothing, Beau. Just tired, that’s all”.

His eyes narrowed slightly, like he didn’t quite believe you, but he let it go. For now. “Well”, he said, straightening up. “If it’s ‘nothing’, maybe you’ll feel better after lunch. Ruby’s?”.

The offer caught you off guard. It wasn’t unusual for the two of you to grab lunch together, but today it felt… different.

“I’ve got some things to finish up”, you lied, avoiding his gaze.

Beau’s smirk faded, replaced by something quieter. “Alright”, he said after a moment. “Suit yourself”.

He turned and walked away, and you couldn’t help but watch him go, the knot in your stomach twisting tighter.

By the time the day ended, you felt drained in a way you hadn’t since your first week on the job. You packed up quickly, hoping to slip out before Beau could catch you. But as you stepped into the parking lot, you found him leaning against your car, his arms crossed and an unreadable expression on his face.

“We’re talkin’”, he said simply.

“About what?”, you asked, your voice sharper than you intended.

“About whatever’s crawled up and stuck with you all day”, he replied, his hazel eyes fixed on you. “You’re not yourself, and I’m not leavin’ till I figure out why”.

For a moment, you considered brushing him off. But the sincerity in his tone, the way he stood there like he wasn’t going to let you run this time, made it impossible. “It’s nothing, Beau”, you said quietly. “It’s stupid”.

He tilted his head, his gaze softening. “If it’s got you this worked up, it ain’t stupid”.

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. Finally, you sighed, looking away. “I walked into your office this morning, and you and Jenny were… I don’t know, close. It just—it threw me off, okay?”.

Beau’s brow furrowed, confusion flickering across his face before understanding dawned. “Jenny?”, he asked, his tone incredulous. “You think—”. He stopped, running a hand through his hair before stepping closer. “Darlin’”, he said, his voice softer now, “me and Jenny are just friends. Always have been, always will be. That’s all there is to it”.

You glanced at him, searching his face for any hint of dishonesty. But all you saw was Beau—steady, sincere, and a little bit amused. “You sure?”, you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Positive”, he said, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Now, if you’re done jumpin’ to conclusions, how about I buy you dinner? Call it an apology for makin’ you worry over nothin’”.

You rolled your eyes, but a smile crept onto your lips despite yourself. “Fine. But I’m picking where we go this time”.

“Deal”, he said, his grin widening.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰 

-

Part 2

-

Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @pughsexual @berryblues46 @deanwinchestersgirl8734 @kr804573 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @barnes70stark @roseblue373 @shanimallina87 @ascarriel @deanwinchesters67impala @thebiggerbear @quietgirll75 @barnes70stark @kellyls04 @spxideyver @ralilda @americanvenom13 @ozwriterchick @lmg14

[rafesorchid]

Hiiiii! I love your work so much and I have a request. Can you do where the reader and Rafe are best friends but everyone knows they like each other except them. At a bonfire the reader comes up to Rafe and they have a conversation and she leaves and Kelce is like “you only smile like that with her.”

only ever you ──── ୨୧ ────

i should be working on my research paper...but oh well. i had to write this!!

the bonfire was already burning high when you got there, the sky dark and the air thick with smoke and laughter. you weren’t really in the mood for the crowd, the noise, the stupid stuff kelce and topper always got into when they were drunk off their asses—but you figured maybe you’d catch a glimpse of him. that usually made it worth it.

and sure enough, there he was, leaning against the cooler, his eyes scanning the crowd like he was looking for something. your stomach did that familiar flip when you saw him. he was rafe. and you were definitely looking for him.

you swung your legs from where you sat on the back of someone’s truck, drink in hand, talking to a girl whose name you didn’t care enough to remember. you couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up from your chest. it was easy to laugh around rafe. always had been.

you spotted him then, the way his eyes flicked over you before narrowing in, catching your gaze. his face softened, just for a second. you felt your heart stutter.

you hopped off the truck—almost tripping on your way down—and made your way over to him, grinning like an idiot. his expression softened the moment you were close, and your heart sped up.

“rafe!” you chirped, bumping into his side as you got close. “was starting to think you weren’t gonna show up.”

he smiled back, a real, wide smile that made something flutter in your chest. “wouldn’t miss it,” he said, his voice low and warm as his eyes softened.

you felt that familiar warmth spread across your cheeks, a shy little laugh escaping as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. you looked up at him, all wide-eyed. “thought you were mad at me or something,” you teased, half serious.

rafe frowned, leaning down a little so you could hear him over the music. “why the hell would i be mad at you, baby?” he asked, voice rougher than he probably intended.

you shrugged, sheepish, suddenly feeling small. “dunno. just felt like maybe i was being… annoying. kept texting you today.”

his expression shifted, like you’d just taken the wind out of him. he shook his head and reached out, without thinking, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. his fingers brushed your cheek, and you nearly melted right there.

“could never be mad at you,” he said, his voice low, like he meant every word. “ain’t nothing you could do that’d annoy me, m’sweet girl.”

your heart skipped a beat at the way he said it, your cheeks flushing even deeper. you ducked your head, laughing softly. “you’re just saying that.”

“ain’t,” he murmured, softer now, his gaze locked onto yours like it was just the two of you standing there. he almost said something else, you could tell, but then someone called his name from across the fire, and he broke his gaze, looking away. you pulled back, swaying on your feet as you tried to act normal again.

“i’m gonna go get another drink,” you said, nodding toward the coolers. “you want something?”

he shook his head, his eyes never leaving you as you turned. “nah, i’m good.”

you smiled again, a little smaller this time, and made your way to the coolers, leaving him standing there with your heart all tangled up in his gaze.

“jesus christ,” kelce said, sidling up next to him with a shit-eating grin. “you only smile like that with her, y’know.”

rafe scowled, taking a long pull of his beer. “shut the fuck up, kelce.”

“no, for real,” kelce laughed, nudging him with his shoulder. “you’re hopeless, man. everybody sees it. everybody. she’s fuckin’ made for you or something.”

rafe didn’t respond. he just stared into the fire, the words sitting heavy in his chest. he thought about the way you looked at him, like he was something worth looking at. he thought about the easy way everything was with you. nothing ever felt right unless you were there.

fuck.

maybe he was hopeless. maybe he’d been hopeless for a long time.

when you came back, arms full of two drinks even though he’d told you he didn’t want one, you handed him one with a proud little grin, like you’d done something important.

“got you one anyway,” you said, looking up at him with a smile that had his heart stuttering again.

he took the drink from you, his fingers brushing yours, and for a second, neither of you pulled away.

“thanks, baby,” he said, his voice thick in a way that made your insides twist.

the two of you ended up sitting on the tailgate of his truck, away from the loudest parts of the bonfire, the firelight flickering over your face as you told him some story about losing your shoe at the mall earlier that week. he listened like it was the most important thing in the world, hanging on every word you said.

every laugh, every wide-eyed look you gave him, pulled him deeper under, like he didn’t even have a say in it.

at some point, you leaned your head on his shoulder, letting out a soft sigh. “dunno what i’d do without you, rafe,” you mumbled, half asleep, half dreamy.

he closed his eyes, resting his head against yours. “you’ll never have to find out, baby,” he whispered, too quiet for anyone but you to hear.

maybe you didn’t understand it fully yet—not the way he did, not all big and heavy and aching—but you felt it. you could feel it in the way you stayed close, in the way your hand found his without thinking.

rafe looked down at you, his heart thumping hard in his chest, and smiled.

hopeless.

and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

only ever you

[ghoulishhx]

hehehehe my brain is full of thoughts now

imagine the first time subby!frank lets a whimper or a beg out he would lowkey be sooo mortified until he saw how much it turned you on and then (with some convincing) he would just melt and become a whiny mess (especially if you were like choking him or playing with his hair/tugging it)

(ps i was wondering if i could be 💥 anon? at the rate ive been spamming your inbox recently i figured i should have an emoji or something hehehe ilsym byeeee)

OH MY GOD YES. he would SO struggle with letting himself go like that and when he does he just breaks out of him, he can't hold it back anymore.

maybe you're riding him, edging him with your movements, changing the pace of which you're bouncing sporadically. and at this point he's just a fucking MESS. eyes rolling to the back of his head, sweat coating his brow as he bites his lip, groaning between gritted teeth. after changing your speed from fast to teasingly slow he can't hold back anymore and whimpers. the sensation of his orgasm being denied once more opens the floodgates, and the noise was addicting, instantly sending shockwaves of heat throughout your body. you're shocked, halting your movements altogether and raising your eyebrows at him as he averts your gaze and laughs awkwardly, clearing his throat.

"what was that, frankie?"

"huh? oh.. yeah nothin' babydoll, just felt really good s'all.." he tries to play it cool but he can't help but notice how hard your cunt throbs around him as you bite your lip, gazing at him with nothing but adoration.

"mhm.. sounded like a whimper to me baby.. am I making you feel that good, huh?" you begin grinding your hips into him again, eliciting grunts and curse words from his lips as he grips your hips bruisingly, aiding your movements.

"shit baby.. y'dunno what ya do to me.. fuck.." he can't help but whine now, fully allowing the most sinful noises to escape his lips now, your evident arousal just from his words allowing him to let go completely.

"sound so good for me Frank.. my good fuckin' boy, lemme hear you baby, just like that." you're unable to keep on edging him now, chasing your orgasm as his noises spur you on, wrapping a delicate hand around his throat as you use him for your own pleasure. "cum for me baby, fill me up, you've earned it."

he can't help but thrust his hips inside of you now, need and desire taking over him with your permission. within seconds he's spilling himself inside of you, cock twitching as he drains every last drop from his balls into your soaked core. your orgasm is perfectly timed with his own, both throbbing, moaning messes as you milk each other dry. you never knew how much you needed Frank's whimpering, how hot he would sound. such a delicious juxtaposition compared to his regular, tough and rugged exterior.

"so fuckin' obsessed with ya sweetheart, no one has ever made me feel as good as you do." he praises, chest heaving as he catches his breath. you feel a great sense of triumph, knowing your boyfriend was completely at ease with you to be so vulnerable for you.

NEED. THAT.

(also 💥 is all yours ml, I love every single one of your requests because I feel like we are the same person. switch reader is me, she's US)

feel free to send me more :3 mwah ily!!!

[gunwoo-bh]

The Night Shift - Part 7 [Min Yoongi x f!Reader]

MIN YOONGI x F!READER UniStudent!Yoongi AU SUMMARY: You chose a boring, quiet job at your campus’s 24-hour library for a reason: it kept you away from drama, gossip, and parties. It was positively uneventful. Until it wasn’t. Warnings: swearing, teasing, lots of flirting, definitely some fluff, mild sexual tension, some drinking A/N: THANK YOU EVERYONE FOR WAITING. I have been working hard on this and it is the longest chapter I've ever written. Things are finally happening between Yoongi and reader and I'm really excited for what's next. I have updated the tag list and if I forget anyone? Please let me know. ENJOY :D

THE NIGHT SHIFT

PART 7

The morning of the couch retrieval is chaotic. 

For one, your building elevator stops working and is under maintenance. Of course. So, this means you’ll have to take your old couch down the stairs and the new one up the stairs. Not ideal, but manageable. 

Two, the girls have woken up later than intended, which isn’t the worst thing to happen. Yoongi’s friends Jungkook and Hoseok are also late. His text definitely made it sound like they had drunk too much the day before. 

And three, your stomach is shambles. When you all discussed the plans for that day, it was agreed that Yoongi and yourself would be going to get the couch in the van. Jungkook and Hoseok will go along with you in Hoseok’s car, to help you load it in the van and return ahead to help Eunji and Hwayoung bring the old couch down since you’d have to drive slower. 

Oh, and yes, reason four why the morning was chaotic? No one wanted to bring the couch down the night before so it has to get done today. 

You are absolutely going stir crazy with the fact that you’re going to be in a car with Yoongi alone for at least two hours. The two of you have been texting even more than the usual, and even flirting too. And you have been looking forward to this day since he offered to help but now that it’s here, you wonder if you’ll be able to survive the stress of it all.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, grabbing it and smiling at none other than Yoongi’s text.

Yoongi [8:49 AM]: Even though we’re leaving later than we wanted…

Yoongi [8:49 AM]: It’s still too early (sad face emoji)

You [8:50 AM]: Have I said how happy and grateful I am? (smiling face emoji)

He reads the message but doesn’t answer. 

You hear the doorbell, running out of your bedroom to the door as you press the call button, “Hello?”

“It’s me. I’m downstairs.” Yoongi.

You smile brightly, something he can probably hear in your voice, “I’ll be right there!” You run to grab your bag, Eunji and Hwayoung watching you with glee as you yell out, “I’ll see you guys later! Meet us downstairs!”

You hurry down like your life depends on it, smiling ear to ear as you slow down on the last flight of stairs. You look up to see him on the other side with the softest smile as you open the door.

“Hi…” He takes a long languid look at you, “You made it.”

He nods, glancing back, “I did. And the guys too.” You look behind him to see Hoseok and Jungkook coming out of the car. “You ready?”

“Mhm, Eunji and Hwayoung are gonna be down in a second.” You breathe out, watching the way he smiles when he’s looking at you. You step out of the building right as his friends walk up the steps.

Yoongi turns to them then back to you, “This is Jungkook and there is Hoseok, they’ll be helping your friends move that old couch down…”

You introduce yourself to them, looking up towards the building, “I’m sorry in advance for the trouble. Our elevator is under maintenance for god knows how long…” you scratch the back of your neck.

Hoseok shrugs, nudging Jungkook, “Eh, I’m sure all four of us can figure it out while you guys are out. Do you have anyone helping you guys load the new one?”

Jungkook nods, “Mhm, maybe one of us should come with you?”

“We’ll be fine,” you snap your head to Yoongi, wondering if he’s already planned something, “the people selling the couch will help us out.” 

You frown as you watch him, “Really?”

He glances at you, “I couldn’t help myself, I reached out to confirm some things.”

You reach out to playfully push him. He had been begging you to give him the contact info so he could confirm things but you had insisted everything was fine. Somehow he had managed to find a way to reach out to sellers. He mouths a small ‘sorry’, making you giggle while looking down to your feet. 

The door opens behind you where your friends step out to get introduced to the boys as you look at them, “Oh, Jungkook, Hoseok, Yoongi, these are my friends Eunji and Hwayoung…”

This is the first time your girls are really seeing Yoongi anywhere near you, and you feel their eyes lingering between the both of you during this introduction. You shift closer to him to make more space on the steps, Yoongi grabbing your shoulders to place you in front of him. 

Hoseok makes small talk with your friends as they discuss some more details about moving the old couch down the stairs. You feel Yoongi’s presence behind you shift as he nudges your hand with his, nodding towards the van parked just in front of your home.

“We’ll get going, we have a few hours to kill and you guys need all the time to figure that situation…” Yoongi lazily gestures towards your building. 

Jungkook shakes his head and says, “Pffft, please, we’ll have it done before you guys come back.” 

“I like the confidence.” You say, smiling as Jungkook winks at you, which makes you laugh. Turning to Yoongi you say, “Let’s go.”

You hug your friends really quick as you walk to the van, getting in the passenger seat and waving everyone goodbye as you and Yoongi drive off. 

You’re maybe twenty minutes into the drive when he looks over to you and you do the same. Your eyes meet briefly as he looks back out to the road and you start laughing. You see the frown that’s growing on his face as you giggle, covering your face. 

“You’re pouting.” 

He scoffs, shaking his head, “I’m not.”

“You definitely are.” 

He sighs, biting his lower lip. His fingers tighten around the steering wheel and you smile as you look out the window. 

“Jungkook’s a flirt. You have to watch out for him.” You immediately start to grin, pivoting your head to stare at him like he’s grown a second and third head. Doesn’t he realize it’s him you like?

“Not my type.” You say, meeting his gaze briefly as you giggle. “Plus, I know someone who likes him.”

He stays quiet, saying nothing for a while until you reach in the bag of snacks his mother left the two of you. Clearing his throat, he glances shyly at you, “Who is it?”

“It’s a secret.”

Humming, he smacks his lips, “Jungkook likes your friend Eunji.”

You turn your entire body towards him, restricted by the seatbelt as you huff a laugh at that revelation. Your mouth hangs open, the corners of it tugging into a smile as you begin laughing, “What? Eunji?”

He nods, “The moment he realized we were hanging out, he wanted me to ask you to set him up with her…” he takes one hand off the wheel and rubs the back of his neck. “I told him I wouldn’t do that, that it wasn’t fair to put you in that position…”

“To play cupid?”

He nods, “Mhm.”

“You could’ve…”

He raises an eyebrow at you as you add, “Eunji has had the biggest crush on Jungkook all semester long…” You laugh to yourself. “I even thought about asking you if it was rude to ask you for his number for her but she insisted I didn’t…She didn’t want to make our friendship weird.”

He looks over to you, then down to the kimbap in your hands, “Can I have one?”

“Mhm.” You carefully unwrap part of it to make it easier for him to eat as she smiles. “Here.”

He takes it from you, biting into it eagerly. You’re both quietly eating as he keeps driving. 

“So, without meaning to, we've left them to meet and get to know each other…” 

You smile, “Eunji is so charming they’ll have a date planned by the time we get back, I guarantee you…”

Yoongi snorts, “You think so?”

“I’m willing to bet money.” You sound so confident, amusing him as he nods.

“Okay, I’m a smart enough guy to know that I am definitely losing this one.” He’s laughing while taking another bite. “How long have you all known each other?”

“Mhm?”

“Hwayoung and Eunji.”

“Oh! Well, I met both of them during our first year and they were my first roommates, and I was new to Seoul so they helped me get out of my shell.” You smile, reminiscing over your first year of friendship with your girls. “We decided to stick together and here we are…”

“They’ll kill someone for you I bet.”

“We do have a plan if the need arises.” You’re grinning as he snaps his head to glance at you, shocked. “I’m kidding! Jeez, your face was priceless!”

You both fall into a comfortable silence as you play radio DJ, looking out the window as you hold his phone in your hands. You’re smiling, watching the beautiful sunny day as you cross the bridge to your destination. You feel the device in your hands buzzing a couple of times, not daring to look down and invade his privacy as you lift it towards him.

“I think you’re getting some messages.”

He briefly glances at you, “Can you check that for me? Might be the guys. Password is 0411.”

You bring the phone back to your lap while still staring at him like he’s grown two more heads, “What?”

“Can you please check who texted?” His eyes wrinkle, clearly amused at your shock.

You do as he asks, unlocking his phone to check his messages. When you open the messages app you’re met with a small amount of text conversation, but the most shocking thing to you is that your conversation is pinned right at the top next to his parents and Namjoon. You smile softly as you glance down to spot Hoseok’s message.

“It’s Hoseok.”

“What did he say?” 

You read the message, “Uh, he’s asking if we want to have fried chicken later on after we’re all done?”

He nods, “Yeah, if that’s okay with you?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

He shrugs, “Because I’m assuming we’ll be eating it at yours, and that you might not be ready for me, or us, I mean, to come into your space…” he’s stumbling over his words near the end there, making you smile.

“I’d be mad if you didn’t stay.” You look down to the phone but quickly back to him. “Can I tell him we’d love to buy you food for helping?”

He’s about to protest but you cut him off, “Oppa, I’m gonna be so mad if you even think of saying I don’t have to because I know I don’t, I know we don’t but I, I mean, we’re like that. So, let us buy you guys fried chicken and beer–”

“You don’t drink…”

You laugh, “I’ll get myself some Cola…” you relax against the seat, “Okay? So, after all this, please stay, you and your friends, with us to have some chicken. On us. As a thank you.”

Yoongi looks like he’s considering for a moment but he knows he’s lost this battle, “Text him.”

You start laughing and he sighs loudly, making your belly hurt when you laugh even more, “Okay..”

Yoongi [9:47 AM]: Hoseok, it’s me. Yoongi Oppa is driving, but yes, let’s have fried chicken absolutely. It’s on me and the girls. As a thank you for helping us out! (smiling emoji)

You shut the phone again, smiling to yourself at how flustered you both get around each other. You look at the satellite navigation and realize how close you are, “Oh, we’re almost there.”

“Yeah, we are.”

When you return to your apartment it’s nearly noon and you’re both getting hungry again, but rather than eat, all six of you very carefully bring your new pride and joy up those horrible flights of stairs. You have never sweat so much in your life, panting as you watch Hoseok and Jungkook bring up the last piece. Standing at the bottom of the stairs you crouch and take a moment to breathe.

“You good?” Hwayoung asks, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

You’re nodding, looking up, “Yeah, I don’t think I need to work out this week is all.”

She laughs, looking around as if to make sure you’re alone, “So, how did it go with you-know-who?”

You immediately start feeling timid, “It went good. It was nice. He’s a good driver.”

She smacks you over the head, “Yah! You know that’s not what I’m asking!”

“Ouch!” You rub the back of it. “It went fine. The wife thought Yoongi and I were a couple buying the couch, kept…kept calling us cute…”

She starts giggling and kicking her feet, “Oh my god, I wish I was there to see your little face getting all shy!” She reaches over to pinch your cheek as you swat at her. 

“You’re such an ass sometimes.” You tease, shaking your head. You look up again and huff, “He even played into it too. I was so embarrassed, I was sure he would have caught on…”

Hwayoung confidently shakes her head, “Naaaah. I’m sure he doesn’t think he could ever be so lucky to have a girl like you even think of him that way.”

You scoff, “Don’t put me on a pedestal, that’s weird.”

“I’m your best friend, of course I’ll put you on the highest of pedestals…” 

You wearily stand up, every muscle in your body sore from all the moving and lifting, “You’re sweet, I love you.” You walk to hug her, sagging your entire body against hers. 

You hear footsteps behind you, Hwayoung gently tapping your hip to alert you as you remove yourself from her arms. You turn around to face Yoongi who has his hands shoved in his pockets, looking between both of you.

“We’re done upstairs. The guys wanna go get food but we were gonna go back home,” you perk up, concerned, “and we were gonna come back to have that fried chicken…We just all really want showers.” He laughs softly, earning one out of you too. He senses the relief in your body as you shift on your feet. Oh god, he could absolutely tell you were worried he was leaving and not returning. 

“Yeah, yeah, no that makes sense. I mean,” you turn to your friend, “gives us a chance to do the same.” You tuck a loose strand behind your ear. 

And just like that, you all agree to meet a few hours from now.

You can’t quite believe the setting at this moment.

You’re sat on the ground in your living room, leaning against your brand new couch as Jungkook and Hoseok are dancing around the room, laughing and making everybody laugh. Hwayoung and Euni are matching their energy, making the entire evening a hundred times better. 

You glance across the table to Yoongi who is sitting cross-legged, arms crossed over his chest hiding either amusement or embarrassment behind his bangs. He looks so good. He’s dressed extremely casual. A pair of black sweat pants and a black hoodie. Really nothing to write home about but because it’s him? So much to write home about. 

He meets your eyes and smiles at you. 

This entire night you’ve been giving each other little smiles, looking away the moment you caught the other looking. He’s been getting you sodas whenever yours runs out or gets you more chicken when your plate is empty. He’s considerate and pays attention.

But your friends, and new friends, are having so much fun. But you are also getting overwhelmed and overstimulated by it all. Your social battery tends to die down far quicker when you have to think too much about how you are perceived. It’s a day to day worry for you. 

You calmly clean up the empty boxes of fried chicken, making sure there’s at least less of a mess for later but you know they’re all drinking, dancing and singing, and it will most likely last for a few hours. You don’t mind it, you can usually go to your room and your friends just understand when you start cleaning and slip away. 

Which is what happens. 

You don’t mean to, but you’re spent and you are quite honestly overthinking. 

You think nobody notices when you go to your room, leaving the door ajar just so you’re not being completely anti-social, you know?

You go to your en-suite bathroom because yes, you are lucky to have one and you thank your friends all the time that they let you have it. You grab some sweatpants and a sweater, remove your makeup and brush your hair. You take a good look at your own self in the mirror and smile, shaking away the mildly self-deprecating thoughts as you head back out to your room.

You are walking to your bed when you hear the faintest knock amidst the karaoke going on in your living room. 

“Come in…”

The door creaks gently, a tuft of black hair poking through to reveal Yoongi as he meets your eyes. He’s waiting for your permission to let him in, because he would never dare assume he could. You nod, crossing your arms over your chest as he fully steps in and he hesitates to shut the door but does so.

You breathe out in relief, “Loud out there.” You remark. “They’re having fun?”

He nods, facing you but his eyes are dying to explore your bedroom, “Yeah, too much maybe…” he laughs, “You were right by the way. Jungkook said Eunji asked him out on a date.”

You don’t even look surprised, no. You look pleased at your friend’s confidence. 

“I figured…” You watch him, chewing on your lower lip. “You can look around. I’ve got nothing to hide…”

He exhales, taking a few more steps inside to wander as he looks from wall to wall. He doesn’t rush the process. He delicately takes his time looking at every inch of your room, and you stand there watching his back as he learns you. Is he psychoanalyzing me? You don’t think you’d even mind. It seems to be a Yoongi thing to do. He learns people without talking. 

Because sometimes you tell more of a story when you’re not talking. 

You stand still in the middle of your room, over-analyzing every inch of your belongings as you wonder what everything says about you. What can Yoongi see. 

Too many books, for one.

“How many books do you think you have?”

Fuck, seriously?

“Uh,” you’re nodding, and you should know an actual answer to this because you do, “I don’t think I know, too many that’s for sure. Too many for my bookshelves.” You laugh nervously. 

He finally turns to you, standing taller, “You okay? You uh, you left pretty quick…”

The question, you don’t know why, catches you off guard as you nod, “Yeah, my social battery for being around people, new people especially just…depleted…”

He steps towards you a little more, “Should I go?”

“No,” you shut your eyes, because you absolutely said that too quickly, “I mean, no. You can stay.”

You notice the space between the two of you growing smaller and smaller, and soon enough you are almost toe to toe or chest to chest. You make the simple mistake of looking up to him and he’s already staring at you. 

You look from his eyes and briefly glance to his lips before down to your feet, “Have I said thank you for helping?”

His voice is hoarse, it’s strained from…what? “A couple of times…”

“Good, I just wanted to make sure I had, y’know–” you gasp when you feel his hand wrap around yours. 

You look up at him and there is no denying it. He’s looking directly at your lips and there’s no more questioning it. It’s not one sided. 

Min Yoongi most likely feels the same way you do. 

You feel the way his fingers gently ply yours apart, some of them wrapping around yours as you suddenly feel his breath on your cheeks. Oh god, when did he get so, so close?

You watch the way his eyes search yours, again looking for anything to indicate to him that you want this and you can’t help but wonder how long it will take him because you do want this. Terribly so. 

You reach up on your tippy toes, his fingers tightening around your hand and pulling you closer. You finally think this is it, the moment where you get to know what kissing Yoongi is like.

But sometimes you can’t always get what you want. 

“Unnie!!” 

It’s Eunji, and both of you pull apart, facing the door as it opens with Eunji and Jungkook at the door.

“We’re gonna go out for drinks, do you wanna come?”

She must be so drunk to not realize who she’s talking to but it’s Yoongi who speaks, “She doesn’t drink.” 

You’re shocked but you’re more distracted by the hand he was and is still holding behind your back, squeezing your tangled fingers in reassurance, “I’ll stay in, I think…”

Jungkook looks at Yoongi, “You coming?”

You know he has to go, because otherwise there are going to be questions. Questions that neither of you are ready to answer. Because neither of you have actually processed anything. There is so much that happened in so very little time. 

“Yeah, let’s go.” He let’s go of your hand, stepping around you and as he’s about to step out he looks back to you, “Talk later?”

You hum, and nod. And just like that he leaves you. 

And you’re alone in your apartment with all of your thoughts.

6 PM to 11 PM has been pure torture. 

You haven’t slept a wink.

Everyone has been gone for hours and yet you’re still by yourself at the apartment, lying in your bed staring at the ceiling contemplating what’s next. 

Buzzing. Your phone buzzing is what’s next. 

You reach out to it so fast, it falls to the ground and you fear for it until you grab it. Your face freezes but your heart jumps in anticipation at Yoongi’s text on the screen. 

Yoongi [11:12 PM]: You okay?

How do you answer that?

How do you explain that his being that close to you has nearly reduced you to pieces? That you wish you had locked your door. That you could stay in that moment with him. 

Fear rises in your chest, but it also becomes your inspiration. Your courage. 

Being honest with yourself means being honest with him.

You [11:14 PM]: Being honest?

You [11:17 PM]: I thought you were gonna kiss me in my room. 

And you shut your phone, eyes squeezed shut. Shit, shit, shit.

And just as quick as the text is sent? Your phone buzzes with a phone call. 

And the caller ID? Yoongi.

With little hesitation, and anticipation, you answer, “Hi?”

“Hi…” his voice is strained, and he’s breathing heavily.

You both stay silent on the line with only both of your breathings being the only thing heard you settle in that silence. You relish the moment before everything changes. Because as hopeful as you may be? He could very well want something different. 

“I nearly did.” 

Your heart jumps, “What?”

“Kiss you.” Your heart jumps. “I nearly did. I…I still want to.”

A/N: Here it is! They've almost kissed and there is no more denying for them. I hope you enjoy this, things are gonna get moving soon! :D

tag list: @muchwita @kam9404 @ot72025 @lalazilz @janeelizabeth1216 @rinkud @yngisstuff @lolpanda94 @angelicbunnee @wubbz05 @illicitelle @legendarydreamqueen @flyxfall @mintmango-min @moorepls @gojomyoneandonly @yoongiiuu93 @wobblewobble822 @michaela0901 @ariakamil @watchingover-hypegirl @lovesvt17 @misschelliejeon

Post separator credit to @hyuneskkami

[koebiitwist]

Hi could you do romantic headcanons of dream bbq ena x a male reader that is basically a humanoid basket that can store stuff in there ' he also love gardening and gives any flower from his garden

𖤐ᝰ ENA x Male!basket!Reader .ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

Summary: romantic headcanons between a male!basket!reader and ena

Tags: male reader, fluff

Warnings: none

Word count: 700+

When Ena first met you, she approached you with curiosity, thinking that there was a possibility for a new business opportunity! She rambled on about selling you new items that would harness greater potential for you and your little garden.

“May I indulge you in a divestment opportunity, my dear floral customer?” “LET’S CUT THE CRAP—Is this what a sucker like you does for a living? AND WHAT THE HELL ARE THOSE ON YOUR HEAD?!” She points, mentioning the flowers stored in your compartment that were peeking out.

After that small interaction (and somewhat skillfully avoiding Ena’s persuasion for her divestments), you started seeing her wander around the Uncanny Streets now and then, interacting with other figures that roam the place.

It wasn’t easy to cultivate a garden where you reside, but you did what you could, and everything went smoothly. You created a small area of paradise for yourself in this digital world, and Ena was certainly impressed.

“My my! Good day to you, fellow entrepreneur!” “I HOPE IT RAINS HARD, MORON!” (don’t worry she wishes for it to rain so you wouldn’t work too hard-) (and don’t mind the way she quickly hides her blushing face with her cap right after she says that-)

Since then, Ena has passed by your garden almost every single day. Whether you're out watering the flowers or staying cozy in your humble abode, Ena still makes it her mission to stop and inhale the scent of a flower you’ve carefully cultivated.

One time, you managed to see Ena crouch in front of a bed of flowers, carefully observing a singular stem that was budding. She looked uncharacteristically serene, too serene as if she were lost in her own little world without her meanie side taking over or her salesperson side talking business.

At that point, you were interested in her. Maybe it’s the way her gaze had something else in it. Perhaps it was longing? You weren’t sure.

In another instance, she approached you once more, “Care for me to lend you a helping hand? Don't worry! I'll treat this job opportunity as a voluntary act. It's better to hone skills in different fields, no?” “Do you want help with trimming those damn bushes or what? I don't offer free labor all the time, y'know…”

Soon, both of you started to get closer to one another. It became the norm for Ena to visit you before or after her business endeavors and chat with you while gardening.

You’ve gotten used to her extravagant behavior. Quick, witty banters and flirtatious sentiments were now regularly exchanged between you. Despite the shyness bubbling in your chest, you can’t help but feel as if there was more than gardening in your daily routine now.

“Do you have any plans after this? Why don’t we touch base to keep this ball rolling~?” “HEY! Snap out of it, I’m asking you a QUESTION!”

Picnic outings, fleeting touches while arranging flowers, and whispers between flowing petals in the wind. All of these ended in a bed of digital roses. Only they know what you both laugh about.

Salesperson Ena usually initiates the flirtatious lines that leave you red in the face, using business jargon while actively getting close to you. (you don’t know if she’s trying to sell you something or not, but when she winks at you while holding a flower in her mouth, you’re pretty sure it’s something different-)

Meanwhile, Meanie Ena grumbles under her breath about how good you look when you're focused on tending to the flowers. (she secretly wishes that you’d always keep your gaze on her… not that she’d ever say that out loud, but you do hear it sometimes-)

Whenever you give her flowers, she always keeps them. Every. Single. One. She doesn’t care if she’s flooded with thousands of various flora. Ena would happily swim a marathon through them. Sometimes you help her carry all the flowers she picked from the garden for her to keep using your compartment.

“This is better than any type of currency, sweetheart!” “Tch, you’re lucky I’m not allergic…”

Amongst the shared sentiments between you two, Ena can’t help but be curious about you. The material that you are made of, how would it feel if she were to hug you tight? How many things can you physically store? All these questions float in her mind, but one thing is sure.

“Ah… I wonder how many flowers you can carry in that lovely compartment of yours. Surely there’s enough room for my love too, yes?” “There better be! OR ELSE I’LL SHOVE MY HEART WHERE IT SHOULD BELONG-”

Hi! I absolutely love this request! Sorry if it's too long, I got a bit carried away and was having fun while writing. And for one of the dialogues, Salesperson Ena used business jargon such as: "Let's touch base" (Means to check in with someone later or schedule a meeting) and "To get the ball rolling" (Initiate a project or activity).

I hope you enjoyed reading! Anyone can message me to be included in a tag list if they want!

[miss-cholo4]

Ninjago Season 3 Part 2 SPOILERS/THEORY

Read at your own peril. I couldn’t help myself, so taking all precautions to shield people from my thoughts. Lmk if any tags are missing!

So Ras killed that random person by dragging them into the casket of bones. At least that’s what’s inferred by the trail of belongings leading to the casket itself. We know that the person must have been alive to be sacrificed. So it couldn’t be one of the skeletons in the underworld.

From the belongings it looks like an explorer to me? Perhaps some rando traveller? Orrrrr maybe it’s a character we’ve seen before? Considering if this is important to the plot somehow-which it might very well not be… we have to ask… who’s known for disappearing to travel? Clutch powers? Misako?!

Now just imagine if it is Misako… a terrible death really but the impact of this would be HUGE!

She is probably the most of note parent to one of the ninja apart from Garmadon, making many appearances throughout the long lived series. She is known for showing up at random times such as in season 8 (SOG) and her extensive travelling. It very well could be her that happened to be in the underworld exploring.

We know Misako can fight and use spinjitzu. Making sense that she would fight Ras if necessary. However she has been shown to be bested at times, such as in the oni trilogy, especially season 9. And her being taken for Harumi’s ritual in season 8, in which she showed up imprisoned by the Sons of Garmadon. Like in season 8 she was searching for something, that something being Wu, perhaps this is a similar situation in Dragons Rising…

We see from Arin and Sora’s reaction to the prospect of someone dying for the icon to be forged. Fear, but inevitably, understating that it wasn’t worth it. With Arin realising that no life is worth sacrificing for his parent’s revival despite his sadness of ‘never seeing them again.’ A great character moment for him.

If it is Misako, and Ras drops that bombshell at Lloyd, we could not only see him at yet another low point but maybe even in oni form again. It would be an easy way to reinforce the oni whilst making Ras even more villainous to the audience. Leading well into the next season which is speculated to be oni based?

It would also give Lloyd an opportunity to break free from the group, as the only ninja I believe to not have had a solo adventure since the Merge (if you don’t count his time isolated in the monastery). Maybe this would give him space, time to mourn, find himself ect. Would also be a great way to bring Garmadon back.

This act of killing Misako would seal Ras’ downward spiral into villainy. There would be very little possibility of redemption after this. Even if there is. Which I doubt. We call into question Lloyd’s morals. How much is he willing to forgive to be this caring and all loving figure of hope that is the green ninja. That he has always been since the very beginning of Ninjago. The one who followed his father into his madness without loosing hope. Could he forgive that? We know Lloyd doesn’t like Ras but this could seal the deal. Forgiveness is also a huge theme in Dragons Rising, Arin forgiving Sora, Lloyd and Arin forgiving each other, and maybe even the ninja forgiving Wu in the future…

Not to mention the idea that Arin got both his parents back only for Lloyd to loose one would be INSANE. The whole oni form idea comes in secondary to the angst this would cause. However oni form for Lloyd was only achieved through the supposed death of Garmadon, a moment of pure rage and sadness, so why not Misako as well? It would be dark and heartbreaking but also show the power and fear of the oni. Already established in season 3 part 1 with Frak and their group’s time in the Dragonian’s lands. It might even backfire on Lloyd having witnesses to his oni form for once. Maybe his students see his transformation?

Now there’s also things that prove this wrong. The items we see shown leading to the casket we never seen Misako with in canon. We also don’t know if their identity is important at all to the plot. But I just thought this would be a CRAZY and DRASTIC writing decision if it turned out to be correct. Anyway the rambling is insane sorry. Lmk if anyone has any other theories.

Edit: @mxystarry who commented about the hat being present in a crystallised comic ‘Bad Boys Night Out’