#they were very orange these performances

[cryscendo]

kurt hummel in every performance

1x22 - Journey to Regionals

Any Way You Want It/Lovin’ Touchin’ Squeezin’ - New Directions

[girlwiththegreenhat]

seeing that someone I follow was also at anime Midwest makes me wonder if we passed at some point at the con? how many people I follow on Tumblr have I passed in person but didn't know? If you were win cosplay I may have even taken a picture with you? Small world huh?

small world! :V i was not in the cosplay contest as a cosplayer, but my brother was and you can spot him from a mile away (HE WAS IN THE CONTEST AND WON BEST PROP AND I WILL CONTINUE TO SHOVE IT IN EVERYONES FACE HEEHEE)

(... if you saw a scrungy looking lilith clawthorne guiding him around like a blind puppy because he can't see for Shit with this thing on, dat me :3)

[webism]

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎HOT ROD !

After getting hooked on your taste, pornstar!satoru invites you and your pornstar boyfriend to shoot a threesome in the countryside.

pornstar!suguru x pornstar!satoru x fem!reader | part one, two

cw; ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎she/her pronouns used for reader, unprotected sex, creampies, oral (m and f receiving), anal (m receiving), mmf threesome, voyeurism.

The sun has barely risen, the typical tangelo orange of a morning sky is yet to develop—instead, you watch a dull pink canvas the sky, turned more of a rose colour through the car's windshield. Suguru Geto, your lover and costar alike, keeps his hand on your thigh as he drives. Occasionally, he'll tap his fingers against your exposed flesh along to the beat of the old niche rock song blaring through the radio. You have the volume up too high—which isn't good for your ears, but is great for the soul—and the windows rolled all the way down. The wind is in your hair, which aids the setting heat of Summer in Japan. It's quite pleasant out here. You're filming at a location you can only reach through an open road that goes right past some very scenic hills, and you're having a lovely time just enjoying your lover's company. Nothing but the two of you. 

That being said—something sits at the forefront of Suguru's mind. You can tell his thoughts are preoccupied, having been with him so long gets you a sweet look into that pretty mind of his. So, when the strings of an electric guitar die out, you turn the radio down and shift in your seat to face him better. 

“Cold feet?” You ask. 

His hair is up and out of his face, save for a stand that falls over his eyes, though it’s pushed back by the wind regardless. He glances at you, smiles, and looks away.

“I don’t get cold feet," he says flatly, looking at you for half a second before his focus returns to the road. “I'm just interested to see if he'll fuck as good with me there, of if the poor guy will get performance anxiety."

Ah, jealousy it is. The flat kind, because your sweet-boned lover never gets openly jealous. You have to settle for half-bitten quips. You smile, "he didn't seem like the type to get performance anxiety."

Suguru hums in a noncommittal way, his lips pulling inwards. He squeezes the fat of your thigh and taps a finger against your skin.  Your skin heats under his touch, it always does. You might earn your living through the most sensual of touches, but none of them quite set you alight like Sugurus does.

Well, except for Satoru. You try to avoid closing your eyes, in fear of being met with the memory of his cock sinking into you rather than the darkness of your closed eyelids. You feel half-guilty, despite Suguru's obvious itch to see you laid out for Satoru Gojo of all people. You know him, you wouldn't be driving forty minutes through the countryside if Suguru wasn't at least a little bit obsessed with the fantasy.

Satoru Gojo, a known name in the porn industry, got to fuck you stupid only a week ago. He had asked you out for drinks after, and though you rejected him verbally, you’re starting to fear that your mind didn’t reject him in the same regard. You had come home that night to your sweet Suguru, and told him all about being hit on by your co-star, to which he laughed.

And oh the irony, that your Suguru was balls-deep inside of you that night when the two of you got an email from Satoru’s agent– an offer, an expensive one. One shoot, a week from then, a threesome between his new favourite love birds and, of course, him.

Suguru remembers Satoru like he was the season prior, like the winter that bled into you, the spring. They did a few films together, Satoru got a little too stuck in Sugurus mind and then, once their contracts were up, they never spoke again. 

The rising sun makes him squint against the road— he almost misses the turn off to the countryside estate you had been told to meet at. The place is nice, big, and you’re starting to wonder just how widely distributed this porno will be if the producer is shelling out so much money just for an estate to rent out for half a day. 

“With how much they’re paying us, I half expected the budget for location to allow for a crack den at most,” Suguru snorts as he pulls in through the large paved driveway. 

“No kidding,” you hum. With this paycheck, you’d just be greedy looking for work in the next few months. 

Suguru parks and undoes his seatbelt with a sideways glance in your direction. “We’re a bit early,” he notes. “But it never hurts to get a feel for the place, talk to our co-star for a minute or two.”

You smile. “Mhm, talk.”

“Ready to get fucked for cash?” Suguru snorts, and opens his door to get out of the car. You follow suit, rolling your eyes at his crude words when your feet hit the ground and you’re closing your door behind you. 

You walk around the car to meet your boyfriend, and he greets you with a pinch to your ass and a kiss to your temple. You’d recognise something poetic in the contrast of his actions if your mind wasn’t so preoccupied with thoughts of performing for him in only a few moments. 

Despite both being pornstars, you rarely take scenes together. Threesomes aren’t a frequent venture— this is something relatively untapped for the both of you. And though you’re sure it would never jeopardise your relationship at all, you can’t help but entertain the worries that creep in. Will Suguru really not mind sharing? 

You aren’t sure what’s worse— the thought of him getting overly jealous of Satoru and cutting the scene short, or the thought of Suguru not minding in the slightest as you get fucked stupid by another man. A little possession never goes unappreciated on your end. 

“Hey,” Suguru’s silken voice brings you back to the now. “You okay? We can turn around and speed off into the sunrise if you want to leave.”

You grin. “I’m good. Excited, even.”

Your boyfriend nods and leads the way to the estate's front door. It’s closed, which is a little odd considering the production crew will be coming in and out with equipment and the such. You furrow your eyebrows and realise your car is the only one here—maybe you’re earlier than you realised. 

“You checked the shoot time, right?” you ask. 

“Yes, love,” Suguru makes it to the front door and tries the handle only to find it locked. “Fuck, maybe I should have triple checked.”

He presses a thick finger to the doorbell button and glances to you as the sound of an overly upbeat chime echoes through the estate. Maybe it’s the wrong place, too lavish to be true. Maybe it’s the wrong date, even. Maybe—

The door swings open, and standing to greet you with a knowing grin is Satoru Gojo. 

His eyes meet yours first, and then drop to take in the rest of you. Something soft flashes over his face. Lust, perhaps, or appreciation, maybe both.  His arms cross over his chest, leaning his body weight on the doorframe as he flits his gaze to your boyfriend, and his eyes return.

“Long time no see, lovebirds. Just on time," he chirps, stepping aside to let you in. "Excuse the mess, I just moved in."

It takes a moment for your brain to register his words, and Suguru is right behind you in thought. "This is your place?" he asks, appraising the foyer as he walks in. 

“Mhm,” Gojo replies, and though you expect his lilt to be more cocky, he speaks smooth like silk. “The city is too… busy for me. Plus.. saves a dollar on renting out a house to film in, right?”

You can’t help the smile that pulls at your lips: from the looks of his home you doubt he’d blink an eye at paying rent for a night of filming. Still, you don’t know if he’s just trying to show off, or if he really wants his home to play backdrop for the shoot. But whatever the case, he definitely thinks it’s clever on his behalf to lead the both of you here. It worked, you give it to him, but damn.

You look around, taking in everything that catches your eye – the sleek furnishings, a wide kitchen to the left, and an elegant living room straight ahead. All of it feels clean and welcoming. You wonder, idly, what it's like for Gojo to live in a space like this all alone – if he is alone, that is. The question remains unanswered as Gojo leads the two of you down the hall until you reach another door and slip inside.

The bedroom you end up in is stunning; a double bed dominates the centre of the room with fluffy duvets thrown haphazardly over top, whilst the walls are painted a warm, calming shade of grey. The carpet is plush and dark brown in colour, the curtains hanging at either side of the grand windows allow for plenty of natural light to flood the room. There's a tripod set up with a very expensive looking camera pointed directly at the bed: Satoru points to it and grins at you and Suguru, "our camera crew."

You furrow your eyebrows, but Suguru speaks up before you can. "It's just us?" 

Satoru nods, crossing his corded arms and he flits his gaze between the two of you. "Yes. I did specify it was a private shoot, lovebirds."

Your boyfriend settles in closer beside you than before, you can feel the heat from his body as he crosses his own arms, a mirror of the white haired man in front of you. "I figured it was a private production shoot," he speaks cautiously. "The email I got was from an agent, not you directly."

Satoru looks unperturbed. "'Course," he says languidly. "She handles all my correspondence."

Gojo turns to the dresser and, from the top drawer, pulls out two white envelopes. Your eyes linger a little too long on his slender fingers as he hands them over to you, one each. As you peek into the envelope handed to you, you find an obscene amount of cash neatly sat inside. 

"As agreed, plus... a little extra for the commute," Gojo shrugs. "You can take it and go, if this isn't what you want. If it is, well..." He gestures to the bed. "I'm kinda dying here."

You glance down at his insinuation and find that he's beyond hard. His pants are tight and tented, making his arousal painfully evident. You have to force your gaze elsewhere – to Suguru, who is staring almost shamelessly at Gojo, his brows creased in the middle as he thinks.

The silence is deafening, you can feel the tension rising between the three of you, vibrating off the surface of your skin and permeating the air itself. Suguru seems to have made his mind up, because he turns to you with an awfully familiar look on his face: desire.

"Thoughts, darling?" he asks, and your stomach flips. 

There's no point in pretending that there aren't things wrong with how your mind still reels after Satoru's touch. This entire thing has been confusing and disorientating; you're confused about everything – your feelings, your career, your sexual desires – and now, in your current situation, you’re downright torn. And yet, despite that, despite all the questions swirling around in your mind, as soon as your eyes land on Satoru's again – you know you'd die without another taste of his pink glossed lips. That feeling, the desire, the forethought of how he'd pant and whine after you've fucked him senseless – you'll do anything to achieve it. 

This doesn’t feel like work anymore, not with the way these two men are looking at you. The camera isn’t even rolling yet, and yet you find yourself ready to fuck them both to the brink of oblivion.

So, without so much as a second of hesitation you pull away from your train of thought and turn to press your lips to Suguru's in a searing kiss. The action, so swift, causes Gojo's breath to hitch in his throat at the sight. Suguru kisses you back, of course, the hand that isn't holding his envelope quickly makes its way to your waistline and pulls you flush against him, leaving nothing but your clothes between the both of you. You wrap your arms loosely around his neck as Gojo watches the two of you intently, gaze burning into the meeting of your lips. You can feel him watching you, his spectatorship dizzying, and you bite Suguru's bottom lip in an attempt to stifle the moan bubbling up your throat.

“Jeez, didn’t know this was a cuckolding shoot,” Satoru sounds whiney, threadbare with lust. “Though I wouldn’t mind that… another time maybe.”

You place a hand on the planes of Suguru’s chest as you disconnect your lips and turn your head to the white-haired pervert with heart-shaped pupils. Your grin is sweet, sultry - "another time, huh?"

You pull apart from Suguru and move past Gojo, making a point not to glance in his direction, until you're crawling onto the bed and turning to rest with your elbows propping you up. Both Suguru and Satoru standing, your observers - admirers, is a sight for sore eyes. The camera sits between them, propped up and set on you. In spite of it, you feel oddly at home. The same sweet excitement builds within you that you normally feel when it’s just you and Suguru at home. You didn't know the air could weigh so intimately in front of a camera.

It takes a moment of staring at you, jaw slack, for Satoru to finally spring into thought. He steps towards the camera, makes sure everything is looking good, and then clears his throat as he presses record. He almost looks nervous, and if he weren't so cocky in his usual demeanour you'd think he's getting cold feet. But you remember the way his eyes glossed when he pushed into you, how that confidence of his melted into carnal need in just one thrust. You know what you do to him, and god does it seem amplified tenfold with Suguru here.

And your black-haired lover must know it too, because the second Satoru makes a move to speak, Suguru cuts him off with a step towards him and a burning kiss pressed to his lips. Satoru's sound of alarm at Suguru's lips on his is almost enough to send you dizzy, but the true aphrodisiac is the sight of your lover taking charge with him; lips locked onto one another, the lewd noises they make as Suguru cups Satoru's face with one hand and scratches into the back of his hair with the other. Satoru's moans become louder and more desperate, as Suguru's tongue explores the recesses of his mouth, sucking hungrily upon the flesh of his lower lip. When the two break apart they're both breathing heavily, panting as they catch their breath. An undoubted look of longing is etched into every last one of their handsome features.

You feel your stomach roil with anticipation as you watch them, realising the camera is only pointed at you, capturing your wanton expression. But then, it snaps, and suddenly your lovers are pulling apart to instead lay their gaze on you, resting back on Satoru's wildly comfortable bed sheets with a lust-driven smile pulling at your lips.

“You’re a fucking lucky man, Suguru,” Satoru coos, blue eyes raking over you in appreciation. You’re hardly undressed, and yet you feel naked under his gaze. “Don’t know how you can do porn when you’ve got such a pretty thing waiting for you at home. It’d ruin my performance.”

“I know,” Suguru says plainly, truly. "You've never been good at multitasking, have you Satoru?"

"Harsh words," Satoru pouts, giving his best imitation of an overly dramatic frown. "I can multitask just fine, do you need me to prove it?"

Without a word further, he plucks the camera from its tripod and points it at Suguru. "For example," he sing-songs, "I can fuck and film at the same time."

“Can’t do it dressed,” you point out, to which both men turn to find you already stripping yourself of your clothes. Satoru turns the camera onto you, finding it a sin to not capture you revealing yourself with such delicate fingers. You look into the lens, eyes sultry as you’re known for doing, and wonder just how many people are going to slip their hands under their waistbands at the sight of you. 

Once you’ve laid yourself bare, your naked skin feels static with the tension in the air, you reach your hands out and make grabby-hands at Satoru. “Pass the camera,” you hum. “It’s your turn.”

A glance between themselves, and then Satoru is leaning over the bed to slot the camera in your hands. It’s heavier than you’d thought it would be, but feels nice and cooling against your otherwise sweaty palm. Satoru’s fingers brush over yours as he hands it over, something electric stills the room for a moment, and then he pulls away with a cough.

He hadn’t realised that Suguru had fallen into place behind him, because when he steps backwards and his back hits your boyfriend's chest, Satoru gasps. You capture the pink blush that speckles at his cheeks, and the beautiful way in which Sugurus hands snake around his body to caress down his chest.

Suguru has always been gifted in the way of sparking intimacy. It’s why the porn he shoots is usually so artistic, he’s sensual. And Satoru, not for the first time, is falling victim to his seductive ways. The gentle traces of his fingers down Satoru’s chest is testament enough to just how narcotic Suguru’s touch is. When he reaches the hem of his shirt and starts lifting upwards, unwrapping his next meal, Satoru can’t help but lift his arms and help move the process along — he’s feeling beyond restless. 

Now exposed, Satoru’s chest and torso are now at the mercy of Suguru’s searing touch. Each trail of his fingers down the white-haired man’s chest, each tweak over his surprisingly sensitive nipples, each rough kiss against the column of his neck, they all elicit the most pornographic moans from Satoru Gojo’s throat. You study them both through the camera’s screen, and watch as Suguru presses his lips against Satoru’s ear.

He speaks in hushed tones, enough so that you know the camera isn’t going to pick up on his words. You can hear them though, only just, they're low and sensual and entirely full of sin. "You're lucky I'm letting you fuck my girlfriend for a second time," he purrs. "You know, she hasn’t stopped thinking about your last shoot. We watched it together the other night, I matched your rhythm, let her pretend it was you. She’s obsessed."

You're almost embarrassed by the confession, a burn sheens your skin, but the way Satoru's eyes darken impossibly further calms you. Suguru grins, catching your gaze from over Satoru's shoulder, and presses a kiss to his earlobe. "It brought me back, too," he says. "To when I got you to myself. You remember our films, hm? You're just like she is." 

Satoru nods, the tips of his ears turning redder. His breathing is shallow, ragged, needy; and in a split second he's turning around and returning his lips to Suguru's. Desperate hands lift at your boyfriend's own shirt, exposing his tattoo-laden skin underneath. His jeans soon follow, and then so do Satoru's pants.

For a moment it's just the two of them, all clothes bar their boxers discarded to the floor and hands exploring bare skin. The warmth of Satoru's fingers digging into his chest, his ribs, his hips, the hard planes of his body, their bodies pressed together as if to become one. Their lips connect again, hungrily, their teeth knocking together with every brush of tongues. Satoru takes Suguru's lower lip between his teeth and bites hard enough to elicit a choked groan from the back of Suguru's throat.

And when they part, it's obvious just how much heavier the air has gotten. Suguru turns your white-haired tryst and pushes him towards where you sit on the bed. "Move your ass before I fuck that too," he deadpans.

Satoru doesn't blush like you expected he would. Instead, he grins. "That would be a big change from last time, don't you think?" he sing-songs, eyebrows raised as he steps further towards the bed. "Or maybe you don't remember crying from how well I stretched you out, I sure do, all pretty and—"

This time Suguru does flush crimson, and you laugh out loud at this revelation. "I didn't know you bottomed for him," you shake the camera a little with your laughter, capturing the way Suguru glares at Satoru from beneath long eyelashes, "that's something I've got to see."

"Hah," Suguru climbs onto the bed and snatches the camera from you, settling on his knees as he points it down at your form. There, his fingers graze lightly against your bare skin, making you arch your back in anticipation. "Tough luck, pretty."

His black boxers are beyond tented, and he slips them off easily enough, allowing his cock to spring free, perfectly poised and ready for your hand. The sound of Suguru's moan as your fingers wrap around his length is paired with the shuffle of Satoru climbing onto the bed too. He hovers above you for a moment, watching you stroke Suguru through the camera, before taking it from him with a grin. 

Satoru returns the camera to its stand and checks its positioning before climbing back onto the bed and settling himself just behind you. You turn to smile at him, and then gasp as his hands tentatively find your shoulders. He peers over you, to the sight of Suguru’s drooling cock in your hand, and presses a kiss to the skin just under your ear.

“You know I’m fucking obsessed with you, right?” He purrs, glancing down to your boyfriend's cock before pressing another kiss to your shoulder. “Haven’t stopped thinking about you. I dreamt of breaking you and your boyfriend up until I found out it was Sugu, here. Wanted you all to myself, pretty thing, but I think I’m happy enough to share now, because god do I want to see your lips wrapped around his cock.”

“Mm,” you hum, turning your head to meet his gaze. “You haven’t even kissed me yet, and you’re making demands?”

Satoru smiles, his lips glossy and so perfect you could cry. “I want to taste him on you.”

His words light a fire in your core that licks through your body, ravenous. You can't help but oblige at his words, returning your gaze to sweet Suguru before dipping your head down and pressing a chaste kiss to the weeping tip of his cock. Suguru and Satoru both inhale sharply when you do so. You wet your lips with your tongue and then meet his cock again, drawing lazy circles across his tip before closing your lips slowly, reverently around the shaft of Suguru's cock.

Satoru's hand pushes down a little on your shoulder, and you're forced forward onto your lover's length. Your moan betrays you and sends narcotic vibrations down his shaft, making Suguru grunt and buck his hips forward a little. Satoru, who remains behind you, gently takes hold of your hips and manoeuvres you into more of a doggy-style position — your fingers splayed over Suguru's thighs to try and find purchase as Satoru leans over you. 

Gojo's chest presses against your back, skin-to-skin intimacy broken by the feverish kisses he presses to the back of your neck, down to your shoulder blades, your spine, His kisses become hotter, wetter, open-mouthed as he moves down to your waist, large hands playing with the flesh of your ass as he kisses a path down. You moan and shift against his grip, moving your hips in an effort to push yourself back against his boxer-clad erection, but Satoru only snaps you forward, and you choke a little as you're forced to take Suguru's cock even deeper down your throat.

"Fuck," Suguru hisses, pretty purple eyes meeting yours as you look up. Drool glosses his length, slick and hot and heavy against your tongue when he finally gives you a moment to breathe. 

Your mouth immediately goes back to work again once your breathing steadies, hollowing out your cheeks and dragging him down, deeper, faster, more desperately. The receipt of pleasure etched into Suguru's tight-wound face is enough to spur on your own needs, but you nearly choke when Satoru Gojo bites into the fat of your ass. Your body arches up and you squirm and whine, but Satoru is relentless, licking over the indentations left behind as Suguru snaps his hips into your open mouth over and over again.

You barely have room to move before Satoru is pushing your knees apart with a strong hand, the heel of his palm firm against your ass as he spreads you open. He takes a moment, heavy breaths fan against your exposed slick, and you’re suddenly all too aware of yourself. You’d protest, tell him not to stare if your mouth wasn’t full with your heavy-lidded lover's cock. You don’t even know why you’re embarrassed — you’re a pornstar, your job is to lie subject to the most intimate of ogling.

Your thoughts melt into the bedsheets, however, when Satoru groans and connects his lips to your pussy. Stupid off the taste of you alone, he whines against your slick heat, enamoured. His tongue flicks over you, circling your clit repeatedly and making your insides burn. You moan, and it comes out muffled and breathless around Suguru's dick.

"You taste so fucking good," Satoru speaks against your cunt. One hand slips between your legs, running two fingers through your folds in collection of your arousal, whilst his other hand tugs down at his own boxers, pulling his cock free and growling against your pussy as he starts to stroke at himself. "Fuuuuuckkk..." He pushes two fingers into you, easy with just how wet you are, and curls them in tandem with each pump of his cock.

Each thrust of his fingers pushes you just that little bit further onto Suguru's length. And you're thanking god that he's there, because without his muscled thighs to hold onto, you fear you’d be fucked too dizzy to keep yourself upright. You figure you must look a mess now, hair mussed and eyes bleary and drool rolling down your chin and all over Suguru's pulsing cock. 

You feel pathetic with how quickly your orgasm crests. Satoru must feel it too, how you clench around your fingers, the subtle tremor in your thighs, because his tongue only speeds up in its assault.  He's still stroking himself, keeping you open and willing as he sucks your clit harshly. Once you're right at the brink, teetering off the edge of ecstasy, Suguru pulls out of your mouth and leans down to crash his lips against yours. 

"Come," he orders into your mouth, tasting himself on your tongue. "Come for us, darling, come on now."

You're overwhelmed by Suguru's rakish lips over yours, and Satoru's relentless tongue over your sex. Before you can even try to present yourself for the cameras, you're cumming, hard. You writhe against Suguru, and your nails scrape across his thighs until you can hardly draw breath. The world slows down around you, leaving nothing but pleasure to consume.

"Holy shit," Satoru’s breath comes out in a hitched sort of laughter as he pulls back, not bothering to wipe away the sheen of your lust that coats his mouth and chin. “My head’s spinning, I think I’m in heaven. Do I still have a pulse?”

He makes a show of checking his pulse, despite the way you roll your eyes. You’re still coming down from your climax as Suguru peppers feather-light kisses over your face. Satoru, feeling more hungry than doting, brings his two fingers to his own mouth, licking them clean. Suguru catches sight of the action and gently pulls back from you, something knowing in his eyes.

You assume he’s going to redirect your head back to his cock, let you finish your job, but instead he tuts and nods his head to your shared tryst, who is still diligently working at tasting you some more on his fingers. 

“Think someone’s a little pussydrunk,” Suguru grins, and you do too at the sight of Satoru Gojo so blatantly desperate for more. Your eyes drift down to his cock, long and hard and weeping with precum. 

Though, you don’t want to neglect Suguru, so you turn back to him — “you didn’t finish,” you make a move to reach for his cock, still rock hard and achy-looking, but your lover shakes his head gently. 

“Got other plans,” he nods subtly to Gojo. “How about we show our stalker here just how much better the real thing is?”

You grin, catching onto his drift, and watch over your shoulder as Satoru rolls his pretty blue eyes. “You know, I’ve had the real thing, from both of you.”

“You haven’t had both of us,” Suguru shrugs. “And I know you’ve fucked your fist to the thought of it. Don’t lie, or you won’t enjoy this as much as you could.”

Satoru’s loaded remark gets stuck in his throat as Suguru pulls away from you entirely, though not without a gentle kiss to your forehead first. He stands by the bed, rolls his shoulders and nods to Satoru — “go on,” he gestures to you, still on your hands and knees. “Taste me on her lips.”

Satoru would probably blush if he weren’t so dedicated to the promise of a taste, because he’s got a hand under your stomach and is flipping you onto your back with ease in only half a second. You sigh at the reprieve of the strain on your hands and knees, and revel in how soft Satoru’s mattress is, when he’s collapsing on top of you with a strangled growl and his lips are meeting yours.

It’s a strange thing, to taste both Satoru, yourself, and Suguru at the same time. You taste Satoru in the way he kisses, hungry and listless, with knocking teeth and exploratory tongues. You taste Suguru in the remnants of his cock in your mouth, the precum that has coated your tongue, mixed with your saliva that now mixes with Gojo’s. And you taste yourself glossed on Satoru’s lips; your climax, the buildup of pleasure he had gifted you with both his mouth and fingers. 

A strange mix, maybe, but a perfect one nonetheless. You have to close your eyes to stop yourself from growing too dizzy, and also partly to stop yourself from worrying too hard — how were you meant to enjoy anything to its full potential now that you know how this tastes?

Satoru’s cock presses against the inside of your thigh; you can feel the gentle thrum of its pulse — a testament to his aching need. His arms box you in on either side, settled comfortably between your still-shaky legs. When he pulls back, a string of saliva connects your lips to his, and his eyes are darker than you remember. 

“I need to be inside of you, need. You’re fuckin’... god I can’t think.”

As if by instinct, your legs part further, allowing him the access he so craves. It’s a fluid movement, the way he moves one hand down to direct his cock to your slick folds. He rubs himself against you, his tip kissing your clit teasingly. You suck in a shaky breath between parted lips, and when he doesn’t hurry up despite his desperation, you feel like you could cry.

Though, before a complaint can leave your lips, you're watching as Suguru joins you two on the bed, kneeling behind Satoru and running his long fingers gently down the white-haired man's bare back. Satoru's head falls forward at the touch, and as your boyfriends hand runs lower and lower on his back, you realise exactly where this is going. 

"You're gonna fuck her good," Suguru purrs, graceful in his touch. "Because I'm going to help you -- that okay?" He reaches back up, brushing his knuckles from between his shoulder blades, down the curve of his spine until he reaches his tailbone. 

Satoru's eyes are locked on yours as he answers your lover. "Yes," his exhale is beyond needy. "Please, god. Yes."

And from there, things move with practised ease. It feels normal to submit yourself, your body, to Satoru. As Suguru takes hold of either side of his waist and guides him into you, the stretch is searing. You remember just how hard it was to adjust to his size the first time, having to try and keep your face melted neutral for the cameras. You don't feel that same pressure now, despite Satoru still filming, and your nose scrunches up at the feeling of Satoru inside of you.

"You're..." you try, words stuck in your throat as Suguru pushes Satoru's hips into yours a little more. "Please."

Satoru takes control of the pace, his breath hot and heavy on your cheek, his body moving in sync. You moan as he starts thrusting slowly in and out, stretching every muscle in your body as you get used to the feeling. With every thrust, you feel him getting harder and deeper within you, and his mouth dips down to trail along the sensitive skin on your neck.

It's a narcotic, the way he fills you. He's longer than Suguru, though not quite as thick, but he reaches depths that aren't typical for you. As he sheathes himself deeper and deeper inside of you, with the help of Suguru's hands on his waist, You slowly become spineless; relaxing into the pleasure of his sweet push and pull.

Sweat beads at your skin as Satoru quickens the pace, pulling out and plunging back in again with unbridled whimpers as Suguru works on taking his fill. Your boyfriend, domineering though still gentle, starts working your tryst open with one of his fingers.

"Ah- fuck," Satoru's words are heady with need, the initial discomfort of Suguru's fingers pushing into his ass are quickly forgotten, replaced with a deep yearning for more sensation. It sends his hips snapping into yours, bottoming out inside of you at such depths you can't help but cry out. It's a symphony of wetness and gasps of air, each syllable punctuated by Satoru's frantic movements. Your body grows tighter and tighter around Satoru with every pass as he gets worked open so beautifully by Suguru.

Your mind is clouded by everything Satoru has done to you and by the sheer force of him filling you with his cock and all that comes with it. You're completely and utterly lost in the moment, consumed by Satoru, who is consumed by Suguru, who is consumed in the pleasure of serving you both in turn. 

"More," Satoru is barely able to get the word out as he slams deeper and deeper inside of you. "Fuck, more."

And Suguru isn't one to deny a pretty thing like Satoru such pleasures; he's pulling his fingers out of him in seconds and replacing them with the head of his cock at his ass. Suguru is gentle, but unrelenting as he thrusts himself into Satoru in one fluid motion. The pressure is enough to prick tears at Satoru's pretty blue eyes, which you reach up and wipe away from underneath him. 

A moment is shared, a chance for Satoru to breathe the best he can, before he's testing the waters and pushing back a little, onto Suguru's cock, before thrusting his hips forward, into you. 

This is ecstasy incarnate. The two men seem to merge together, their bodies melting as they meet. Suguru fucks you through Satoru, each thrust into him is a thrust into you, into the both of you. It almost hurts, you'd wager, the way your whole body throbs in synchronization with theirs, the way Satoru moans as Suguru drives you both to insanity. It's a weird way to connect with your lover, but one that works nonetheless, the both of you seem to share an awful yearning for the man sandwiched between you, fucked mindless. 

And then he's driving your entire being towards the edge, and you feel the orgasm coming on, the rush of blood to your head, your muscles tightening around Satoru. It's a strange feeling of being connected to something bigger than yourself, a system working in tandem with each other to chase climax, but it's a feeling you're quickly growing addicted to. It's warm, it's comforting, and most importantly, it's yours. This man right here, his body pressed tight between yours and Sugurus, is yours. Even if only for the early morning.

"Gonna cum," you whine, lips ghosting against Satoru's. He nods, eyes locked onto yours. 

"M—fuck—me too, baby. God, you have to let me come inside of you, doll, can't deny me, please. You—"

"You better," Suguru cuts in, his voice biting from behind Satoru. He thrusts sharply into Satoru, sending him keening forward into you, pressing right into your sensitive g-spot as Suguru hits his prostate in a mirrored pleasure. "Wanna watch you claim her," he bears down, "gonna fill you up, you fill her — watch her face, Satoru. Watch what you do to her."

You gasp as Satoru's fingers dip down to rub frantic circles over your clit, pushing you closer and closer to orgasm with each knock of his hips into your, of Suguru's into his. the room is filled with a chorus of moans and whines and desperate pleas for more and more and more. You know you'll never recover from this level of arousal if you don't come soon, but before you can find purchase in your body and begin your descent into bliss, Suguru is first to come undone.

His hips snap forward into Satoru, head craning into his neck, biting down on the muscle of his shoulders for some sort of physical gag — ever the one to stifle those beautiful noises of his. And the feeling of being filled in such ravaging volumes must be enough to send Satoru over the edge, too, because he's knitting his eyebrows together and cumming ropes into you in only moments.

"Fuck," he whines, once again tears prick at his eyes, overwhelmed by the duality of his pleasure, of you and Suguru, so close to you but also never close enough. He wants to be one with you, a complete unit, bound by sex and soul and the sweet sounds of the most powerful orgasm he's ever had in his life. 

You come in tandem with him, it's completely blinding. Your legs fall apart as you cry out, nails scraping across Satoru's bicep as the world melts away and the sensations start swirling about in your mind's eye and the last thing you register is Satoru collapsing forward, breathing raggedly into your ear. 

You catch the salty flavour of him as you suck in a lungful of air and smile in response, fucked stupid and blissful and never ready to give this feeling up. Never ready to give anyone else this feeling- god, you already despise whoever gets to taste Satoru Gojo next. 

Suguru has to pull out of Satoru slowly, and you wipe at his face with the pad of your thumb when it scrunches up in protest of the loss of Suguru’s stretch. Before he can truly call the scene over, though, Satoru leans down and presses the most gentle of kisses to your lips. A myriad of ‘thankyouthankyouthankyou’s spill from his tongue as he does so, each word cut by a kiss to the expanse of your face.

And when he pulls out of you a sickening gush of his cum follows. It spills from your aching pussy and onto the bed sheets beneath you, though Satoru doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest. He swipes his finger through the mess he’s made of your sex, smiling when you hiss at just how sensitive you are, and brings his cum-coated finger back to his mouth, eyes never leaving yours. 

Your stomach flips at the sight. Great, he’s gone and fucked you lovestruck.

“Satoru,” a clean voice cuts in. Your head constricts in your fucked out daze when you turn to see Suguru standing by the tripod, his eyebrows raised and pretty purple eyes beyond amused. “It’s not even fucking recording.”

Instead of being confused, Satoru looks sheepish. He flops down onto the bed next to you, eyes glossy and cheeks blushed pink. “I…. can explain? I think I’d rather die than share the two of you with the world. But I’d really die if I didn’t get my hands on you both.”

You meet your boyfriend's gaze. Something passes between you, something knowing. In a weird, probably unhealthy way, you both feel the exact same. This was never a scene for the cameras, anyway— not when such strong… feelings are involved.

“I’m not proposing marriage here,” Satoru huffs when he catches onto your shared gaze. “I just, you enjoyed it, right?”

You giggle from beside him, your sweat-soaked skin cool against the air. Suguru chimes in with his laughter, melodic and beautiful. He folds his arms and watches the two of you laid across the bed. 

“Let’s get you both cleaned up, then,” Suguru hums. “I’m not fucking either of you again until we’ve shared a shower.

TAGLIST: @sugurubabe @fullbelieverheart @starrysho @meowforluv @ch3rryistheg @miizuzu @okayiamkassandra @inconcise @sexcults @hotgirlgoob @mistalli @ourfinalisation @graceloveslanadelrey @blessed-princesa @plinkuro @pe4rl-diver @sugojosgf @beachaddict48 @chimmysoftpaws @blendingcaramal @dongh9e @caramelised-onions @kyluskaye @sammywo @4evrglow @hiraethwa @stinkinstuffie @tomiokasecretlover @ser0t0nln @yuzu-ku @lagataprrr @dear-fifi @hel-lhound @kensqueent @sserafin @dabisdolly @zoroisminty @angelkazusstuff @reinam00n @kaeyakaikai @bunny416 @littletittygothgirl @glitterbitch1 @saccharine-nectarine

cont in comments !

[professorcalculusstanaccount]

"But don't let its beauty fool you. This plant can be processed into a powerful neurotoxin which can cause near permanent madness unless treated!"

Professor Calculus, upon developing a state-of-the-art automated hydroponics and pesticides delivery system, has been invited to judge a prestigious international flower show at the largest botanical garden in Belgium.

Botany experts and amateurs from around the world attend - Professor Zalamea is there to showcase his bizarre genetically modified bioluminescent blue oranges, Nash is displaying some of his explorations into living sculpture, and Castafiore is geared up to perform in the evening. Most controversially of all, Professor Fang Hsi Ying, a world leading expert on mental health, is showcasing his research on the Rajaijah plant, a plant historically used to produce madness poison.

It's this exhibit that causes a stir at the event. Security is on high alert. After the poison was used a few years ago in several high profile drug smuggling cases that were embroiled in politics, the plant is anticipated to be a subject of fear and Orientalism. Protestors calling for its destruction flock the event, and there are rumours of a plot to steal the rare plant. The organisers hope that the controversy will generate ticket sales and revenue.

Tintin and Chang are there to report on the goings on, having just confessed their feelings for each other. They're not sure what they are just yet - but even without a madness poison, Tintin's head is in a spin!

I had the idea to bring back Rajaijah juice for some time and was intially going to set it at a garden party, but I received this message from anon some time ago:

And I just loved the Drama of a botanical garden a whole lot more!

Because of the time it takes for me to make stuff and the planning that goes into my posts I do take a very long time to respond to messages, and sometimes multiple people send similar messages anticipating stuff I already have planned, so if I come across as standoffish I apologise, I just have a lot on my plate (by my own design tbh)!

I love every message I receive, I started this blog intending to respond to every message but that's becoming unrealistic ;_; I keep your messages to read back whenever I need motivation, so from the bottom of my heart, thank you if you've sent me an ask!

[gguk-n]

Dreamer's compass (Max Verstappen x Reader)

Summary- In a world where soulmates exist. Some people can see glimpses of their soulmates in their dreams. Max is happy his soulmate is also a cat mom.

Y/N grew up not really thinking about soulmates until she was nine or ten when she had the most vivid dream of being in some sort of racing car. It didn't look or feel like a car but it was going fast, really fast. There was no one on the track, just her soulmate, going round and round at a really high speed. She woke up startled because this wasn't her thought of a nice day or even a fun activity to do with her friends. She recounted her dream to her best friend and they tried to decipher what that could've been. Until, her brother told her what she was describing was a kart and her soulmate was probably into karting, professionally or recreationally. She couldn't wrap her head around why someone would do that, but to each their own.

The second time she saw her soulmate was many years later. She saw her soulmate in a racing set up. It was on a chair behind a screen. After a quick google search, she found out that was called a iracing set up. She was glad her soulmate had moved on from driving out by himself. This seemed a lot more safer. His house looked big and luxurious; he must be a streamer. She did try to find people who would fit the bill, but there were a lot of streamers and this was proving a lot difficult than she had hoped.

Max spent his whole life racing. For him, he knew nothing but Formula One. So, being able to see parts of his soulmate in a dream was a breath of fresh air. The first time he saw his soulmate was when he was seven or eight and she was singing songs, they were songs you hadn't heard on the radio but songs about the mundane tasks she was performing. She sang about watering her fake plants or cleaning up her toy area. Max woke up with a smile, thinking about his soulmate.

The next time he saw her, she looked beautiful. The sun's ray's were shining down on her, he couldn't make out her face properly but she was sat with two sheets in hand, as she strum her guitar, she wrote down the lyrics and the notes. She looked like she was having fun and laughing along to the lyrics she was writing down. He didn't want to wake up from that dream because from some of the words he could make out, she was writing about him, her soulmate.

Max had had a tiring day and fell asleep as soon as he got home. The scene that greeted him when he awoke, gave him a shock. There were not one, not two, not three but five cats in his living room. The five of them were doing there own thing. He knew he had a problem but he didn't remember picking the other two up. He was about to scream when a voice called out; "Dinner's ready" and Max turned to find his soulmate; in his house, cooking. He knew this was a dream; one he would think about till he met his soulmate. The pair chatted, her face still not clear, he could barely make out the features. To Y/N too, who was simultaneously in the dream, watched as her soulmate interacted with her cats. But she couldn't see his face, what cruel fate. The two enjoyed the domestic bliss that would be their reality if they met, until they woke up. Y/N woke up with a smile but was deeply saddened as to why she hadn't met him yet. Max felt like he hadn't felt this happy in a really long time. He wanted to meet his soulmate as soon as possible.

Just like that one of these days, Max came around a petstagram for two cats called pbndj with a brown and a orange cat, who looked eerily similar to the cats in his dream. He ended up following the page and as he found out more about the owner, only glimpses in the post but his heart felt like she was the one. He ended up dming her that he was her soulmate. She was rightfully shocked but when she found his iracing set up, it looked very similar to the one in her dream and decided to believe him. They ended up chatting for a really long time.

Eventually, they were able to plan a meeting time. They decided to meet at cafe. Max was nervous, he had reached earlier. He waited for her, checking every time the door dinged. Finally, Y/N walked in. Max stood up from his seat, when their eyes met, they knew. They were right, it was like all the memories of their dreams cleared up and they saw the face in their dreams clear up. They knew it was them. They walked towards each other and awkwardly shook each other's hands, soon falling into a comfortable conversation.

"I never understood that dream of you strumming your guitar and writing down something" Max stated, months after they met. "But now I do" he explained. "It's because you're a song writer" he smiled. "Bingo" she cheered. "I can't believe I have to deal with anxiety about your profession" she laughed shaking her head. "I'm so good, I'll manage" he cocked his head. "Sure you are, four time champion Max Verstappen" she smiled kissing his lips. "I just wish you were actually a streamer. You look hot" she stated. "Not while racing" he pouted. "I can't see you at all. You're a bobble head" she said. Max laughed deeply and nodded, "Agreed" he said. "You're coming right?" he asked. "If I can find a cat sitter" she stated. "Let's take them too." Max said throwing his hands up in the air. "That country has too many regulations. It'll take us months" she replied. "Mood kill" he stated. "Practical" she replied. "I'll make it. Don't worry" she kissed him on the cheek. Max smiled at her while she helped pack his bag for the next race.

[biahouse]

Perfect for him, Gregory House x Reader

You're House's girlfriend. Wilson doesn't like you, but... 3 times Wilson realized you were the perfect person for house, +1 time he finally admits it

There was something about you that James Wilson made to hate you.

Maybe it was the way you were the silliest nurse at the hospital, and always fell for the patients' stupid conversations.

Or because you always do your coworkers' duties.

Or the way that in every surgery he performs, you insist on being an assistant nurse and talking to her throughout the procedure.

Or maybe he hated having his best friend stolen.

Wilson didn't hate people. That was House's job. It was even comical that in your situation, House adored you and Wilson hated you with all his being.

Don't get me wrong, you weren't a bad person.

He just doesn't like you.

1

The first time Wilson realized you were perfect for his best friend was at lunch. Since the beginning of the relationship between you and Greg, the doctor in question used to have lunch with you in his office.

But on that particular day, you were very busy in surgery. So with no other alternative, House had to have lunch with Wilson.

It was a surprise for James to see his friend entering the room with a packed lunch. House was known for eating junk food with all his meals. So Wilson assumed that if that hadn't changed with your relationship, he was wrong.

"What is that?" Wilson asked with an incredulous look at the lined pots that Gregory placed on the table.

"Food?" House responded as if it were obvious and mocked his friend.

"Okay, I know. But, I mean... you don't usually eat that."

"I know" House threw himself into the chair and opened one of the jars and started poking a carrot. "Carrots are a horrible thing, you know?"

"House" Wilson called his friend carefully. "Is this some kind of diet for addicts that I don't know about?"

"No. Y/n told me that I should eat more vegetables if I wanted to live longer" The doctor rolled his eyes when he remembered the argument he had with his wife a few weeks ago and since then she usually makes him lunch. "So I'm pleasing my girl" And with that he stuffed the orange vegetable into his mouth with a grimace.

Wilson could only look at his friend in shock.

For years he had tried to get House to eat a healthier diet, and you had achieved it in just a few weeks. Wilson had to admit, he liked you a little more now.

2

The second time Wilson realized you were perfect for his best friend was a week after the lunch incident. He and House were bowling, like they did on Wednesdays.

However, there was something strange about House. He was limping and in more pain than usual.

"What is it? Are you afraid of losing to me or did you forget the Vicodin at home?" Wilson mocked his friend as he threw the ball into the pins.

"Neither" House limped closer to the track when it was his turn to play.

"Is the pain getting worse?" Now James asked worried that Greg's leg was getting worse.

"No"

"Okay House, you win. Why are you in pain?"

"Because I'm trying to taper off the Vicodin" House replied with a shrug and celebrated without a strike.

"What?" Wilson raised his voice making people look at him. Which made him apologize immediately. "You. Gregory House, are you trying to stop Vicodin?"

"Y/n said it's going to kill me. She didn't suggest I stop taking it, but she was upset that I took so many. So I'm trying to cut down."

Wilson opened his mouth in astonishment.

Who was that man?

Gregory House would never cut down on your daily Vicodin cocktail.

But he did, for you.

Only for you.

3

The third time Wilson realized you were perfect for his best friend was on a random day at the hospital a few months after the second time.

House entered his office as he always did, without knocking and suddenly, which made Wilson jump out of his chair every time, even though he was used to it. But something felt wrong that time.

The way House for the first time looked nervous and really confused. For a while, James watched his friend limp around the room as if he was begging for something very deep in his own mind.

Wilson waited, he knew that like every other time House would start telling him about his doubts and he would give him one of his beautiful pieces of advice, which House would probably never follow.

"I want to ask Y/n to marry me" House blurted out and looked at his friend nervously.

"What?" Wilson blurted out the question with a laugh. "Marriage?".

"Yes" Greg said, shaking his head and plopped down on the armchair in his friend's living room. "I thought about it all week"

"All week?"

"Are you just going to repeat everything I say or are you going to tell me your opinion on this?" Greg scoffed at his friend and adjusted himself in the chair, his leg hurting a little.

"What do you want me to say House?" Wilson asked and looked through his patient's files once more, before closing the folder and focusing fully on the matter at hand. "I thought I would never get married"

"I know" House passed his hand across the gap in his forehead. "I don't know why I want it. I just want it."

"Gregory House doesn't know why, that's something I never thought I'd hear" James smiled playfully.

"For the first time I want something more. I want her to be my wife. Is that a bad thing?"

"No," Wilson answered honestly. "It just means you're better House."

"Does that mean you'll help me pick out a ring?"

"As long as you don't make me pay."

Wilson would never understand his relationship with House. Or how two very different people could do such great things together.

Wilson didn't hate you. He understood now. It was just jealousy that you achieved everything he always tried to do. Improve House.

He didn't hate you. Now he respected you.

+1

“Hey Y/n” Wilson called out your name when he saw you walking down the hall with a clipboard.

"Wilson, hi!" You waved at him enthusiastically. It was the first time he willingly spoke to you.

"I just wanted to say thank you" James said making the woman frown in confusion.

"What are you thanking me for? I don't remember helping you" Y/n questioned.

"But it helped, with House" Wilson explained. "I'm sorry for treating you badly all this time."

"You didn't treat me" Y/n shrugged with a smile. "I stole your best friend, it makes sense that you don't like me that much. But it means a lot that you like me now."

"I think you two are perfect for each other," Wilson admitted for the first time out loud. "I can't wait to be the godfather."

"Godfather?" Y/n asked.

"You'll see" Wilson smiled knowingly. “I’ll see you around Y/n.”

[crustyfloor]

A new pop-up store dropped for ALIEN STAGE's 2nd anniversary and wow. It's so sick.

It's Interesting what exactly these experiments are focusing on and monitoring.

Instrument practice

I found it interesting earlier that Till was so tame, more so than he usually is when he's going through experiments, but music, and making music is what he loves doing, So he was fully in his element here. This was probably the only thing he was made to do by the aliens that he at least tolerated.

(Additionally, judging by his collar (orange), he was at least calm. maybe he just isn't fazed anymore.)

//Side note, that head contraption looks familiar BUT this most likely isn't related at least i hope

(It puts me at ease, at least..)

Dance practice

This surprised me, but I suppose Mizi needed more skills.

She looks very startled here, and nervous(?) +It looks like she's doing this while singing. And with that face covering I assume this was a test monitoring her dance balance, precision, etc. At first, I did think it was odd, "Why would Shine put her through that" But alas I was reminded that even though Mizi is the flower of the group she was never untouchable, to Shine, this was the equivalent of teaching your dog to sit and stay.

(seeing this it reminded me of those scenes in movies where the people are dancing, and the music gets faster and faster until they fall. I wonder if she was doing through something similar to that)

Singing practice (?)

Similar to Till she also looks quite calm outwardly, if the machine around her neck is an iteration of the collars they have, then this process wasn't something she liked, or given how intense this experiment looks, this was a test of high-pressure to ensure she always stayed calm during performances (?). Then again this could also be a posture practice given all the structure focused on maintaining her position.

(What I believe was another form of this test was shown before so I think so)

(With her hands in a praying stance I wonder if she was praying to herself or singing a religious song (sweet dream?) It's also interesting that the machinery around her looks like a halo, and she looks so...angelic? holy?)

Image making practice

By image making, I think they made Ivan replicate expressions with his face. Whether this process was painful for him or not...I'm not sure. But it looked visibly uncomfortable, maybe that was the point. (His expression, even in this circumstance is so dubious..)

Ivan, among other things, needed to have a spotless appearance to be successful, his image was a priority given his skills were certainly guaranteed.

I assume the aliens eventually took note of his lack of expression, in the real world this can be a detriment to one's career, so the Aliens had to ensure quality was perfect. (To a more...dedicated level)

Superiority test

'Superiority test' Is very vague.

HyunA is very calm here too, likely sedated in that water with all the tablets on her. I guess this was a test to get an idea of a pet human's strengths and weaknesses, endurance, and temperament to compare and contrast them with others, testing who is more viable for Alien stage?

Another interesting, and sad part about this is that HyunWoo was there, watching his sister through her experiments.

(Also, it looks like both of her legs are normal, no alien leg yet.)

Heart rate variability

And finally, the most visceral of them all. The wording 'variability' makes this all the more sickening, the Aliens were testing his heart hours, testing it at different rates, speeds, and states. And he was in agony the entire time. Even the way he's clutching his chest, it gives me chills. This would've been a completely harmless test in a normal setting, as something quite similar to this can be performed efficiently in real life. But he's being tortured in the process.

This is one of the first times we've ever seen Luka's face so truly clear and unprotected, (understandably so.) He's even crying.

[helvegen-s]

step by step

an Oscar Piastri one-shot

Summary: After a devastating crash, Oscar Piastri’s road back to F1 is anything but smooth. Stuck with Mandy, his stubborn physiotherapist, he’s forced to face pain, fear, and emotions he never expected. Racing was always his dream—but now, she’s part of it too.

Word count: 12k (wtf)

TW: graphic depictions of injuries, medical procedures, strong language, emotional distress and trauma, disability, sex (not explicit)

A/N: god, I love oscar (even tho i make him suffer like a bitch in this one...) again, i promise it has a good ending, just bear with me

masterlist

Oscar Piastri was living the best moment of his career.

McLaren had made an incredible leap in performance, and though he wasn’t the main title contender, he was constantly fighting for podiums and key points. The season was a dream come true—strategies were working, his confidence in the car was absolute, and the team supported him every step of the way. There was nothing better than feeling that rush of adrenaline when lowering the visor, hearing the countdown on the radio before the start. Everything in his life revolved around Formula 1, and at that moment, nothing seemed capable of stopping him.

It was a race weekend at Spa-Francorchamps. The track, legendary and imposing, always demanded the absolute maximum. Rain had been a constant threat, and the race had started under mixed conditions, with the asphalt in that tricky in-between state—neither fully wet nor fully dry—that tested a driver’s instincts to the limit. Oscar felt in control, managing the tires with surgical precision, confident in every move.

Until he wasn’t.

The crash happened in an instant, a blink that changed everything. An unexpected touch, the car losing control, the barrier approaching at impossible speed.

The impact shook him like a rag doll. The crunch of twisted metal, the deafening crack of carbon shattering, the sheer violence of hitting the barriers—all of it collapsed into a single second of absolute terror.

And then, silence.

He didn’t lose consciousness. He wished he had.

The world slowed down, as if time itself refused to move forward. The pain didn’t come immediately, as if his body hadn’t yet figured out how to process what had just happened. But when it did, it was a burning wave that consumed him entirely.

His leg.

He tried to move, but he couldn’t. Something was wrong—very wrong. With difficulty, he turned his head and saw it. His right leg… bent at an impossible angle. His stomach lurched. He felt bile rising in his throat but could barely breathe. The blood darkened the bright orange of his suit, sticky, hot. His mind screamed, but his body didn’t respond.

“Oscar! Oscar, say something!” His engineer’s voice came through the radio, sharp and desperate.

He tried to answer. Tried to tell them he was there, that it hurt like hell, that he couldn’t move… but his throat made no sound. He could only gasp, feeling the pain expand, the panic grow with every beat of his heart.

“Oscar, respond! Can you hear me?” this time, he heard Zak’s voice.

Every second of silence only made the desperation on the radio worse. He knew they were all watching from the pit wall, that the cameras were on him, that the entire world was waiting for a sign.

But he couldn’t give them one.

Fear hit him harder than the impact against the barriers. His career, his life, everything he knew… was it over?

A violent spasm of pain made him clench his teeth so hard he thought they would break. His vision blurred. He heard noises around him—the screech of the safety cars, the hurried footsteps of the marshals running toward him, the sharp ringing in his ears.

“Oscar! We’re on our way! Don’t move!”

The emergency team arrived in seconds, though to him, it felt like an eternity. Firm hands touched his helmet.

“Oscar, breathe. We’re here.”

Breathe.

He tried, but the air came in ragged, shaky gasps. His chest rose and fell too quickly, like he was hyperventilating, but he couldn’t control it. Everything around him was a whirlwind of noise, flashing lights, faces he couldn’t focus on.

They pulled him from the car with the utmost care, but every movement sent unbearable pain through him. A strangled cry escaped his throat, and the voices around him became even more urgent.

Then the helicopter.

He felt it before he saw it. The pounding of the rotors in the air, the deafening roar that made his skull vibrate. He shut his eyes tightly. His body was shaking—he wasn’t sure if it was from the pain, the adrenaline, or pure terror.

Someone placed a mask over his face.

“Oscar, count to ten for me.”

One.

He thought of his wrecked car.

Two.

Of the leg he might never use again.

Three.

Of everything that was at stake.

Four.

Of the fear—the real fear—that maybe, just maybe, he would never be a driver again.

Five.

Darkness.

The days blurred into one another, indistinguishable, trapped in an endless cycle of pain and emptiness.

Surgeries followed one after another. Some days passed without intervention; on others, he woke up to the news that another operation had been scheduled—another attempt to save what was left of his leg.

It was absurd.

He didn’t need anyone to tell him how severe the injury was. He had known from the moment he saw the way his leg had been left in the car, from the instant he felt the indescribable pain as they pulled him out, from the way the doctors spoke in urgent terms, as if every second mattered.

Each surgery was a battle he had never asked to fight.

They administered anesthesia, his body sank into unconsciousness, and when he woke up… everything was still the same.

The same pain, the same feeling of being trapped in a body that no longer responded as it once had.

The same damn certainty that maybe, no matter how many operations they performed, he would never be the same again.

Sometimes, he woke up from the anesthesia feeling confused, disoriented, his mouth dry and his stomach churning. They tried to make him eat, but everything tasted like nothing. The food remained untouched on the tray as he simply turned his head away, unable to even attempt it.

The pain was a constant, a searing presence that settled deep in his bones and refused to let him breathe. The painkillers barely helped, and when they did, they left him in a lethargic state where reality and dreams blurred together in an unpleasant haze.

The only certainty was the passing of the days, marked by the doctors’ visits, by the sound of his own pulse in his ears, by the way night fell without him feeling like he had moved forward in any way.

Nothing.

That was the word that defined his existence now.

Nothing to think about, nothing to do, nothing to look forward to.

Only pain. Only uncertainty. Only the echo of a future that, for the first time in his life, he wasn’t sure still belonged to him.

The hospital clock marked time with cruel precision, each second dragging by like a silent sentence. Light filtered through the window at different times of the day, casting shadows on the white walls, but he never looked away from it.

Looking at anything else meant facing reality.

And he wasn’t ready for that.

His world had shrunk to that sterile room, to the machines beeping around him, to the soft murmurs of doctors coming and going, to the sound of doors opening when someone came to visit.

He didn’t respond. He didn’t look.

He didn’t have the strength to.

His mother had tried to talk to him at first. So had Lando. His childhood friends, the McLaren mechanics, Zak Brown… they all came in with the same worried expressions, with the same look of someone who wanted to say something but didn’t dare to.

He never looked at them.

He couldn’t do it without feeling a raw, burning anger in his chest. He couldn’t listen to them without the frustration building up like a knot in his throat. He couldn’t bear the weight of their concern, their pity.

Because if he did, it meant this was real.

It meant his career was in danger.

That his life was no longer his own.

That he was trapped in a bed, unable to move his own leg without feeling such unbearable pain that sometimes he wished they would put him to sleep and not wake him up until it was all over.

He clenched his jaw every time sharp, stabbing pain shot through his body, every time his leg—or what was left of it—reminded him of his own fragility. The doctors spoke of progress, of successful surgeries, of rehabilitation plans, but it all felt distant, irrelevant.

He knew that at some point, he would have to face it. That eventually, someone would force him to move, to try, to do something other than just lie there, feeling himself wither away.

But not today.

Today, he only stared out the window, lost in thoughts that ate away at him from the inside.

He replayed every second of the accident, like a broken film looping in his mind over and over again.

Could he have avoided it? Could he have turned sooner? Braked differently?

His brain tortured him with every possibility, every alternative, every little thing he could have done to not end up here.

To not be… this.

To not feel like a useless, broken piece of flesh.

And then she arrived.

The first time he saw her, Oscar barely lifted his gaze.

He heard her voice before he saw her—clear, firm, with not a hint of hesitation.

"Oscar, I’m Amanda, your physiotherapist. From now on, we’ll be working together."

He didn’t respond. He had no intention of doing so.

But then she stepped closer, placed a few papers on the table next to his bed, and waited. Not with endless patience, not with the forced sweetness he had noticed in other visitors. She simply waited.

And when he didn’t react, she continued.

"I know you probably hate me. Everyone does at first."

That, at least, made him look at her.

She wasn’t what he expected.

She wasn’t the image of an older therapist, hardened by years of experience. She wasn’t someone who radiated the wisdom of decades in the profession. She was young. Incredibly young to be standing there, to be the one McLaren had hired to fix him.

But she didn’t seem uncertain. Not even for a second.

She didn’t smile, didn’t try to soften her words. She simply looked at him with an impenetrable professionalism.

Oscar didn’t know what he had expected from the person who was supposed to give him his life back, but whatever it was, it wasn’t this.

It wasn’t someone who introduced herself with that much confidence, who spoke with that much honesty.

It wasn’t someone who, with complete calmness, made it clear that the worst was still ahead.

The sessions started the next day.

And within hours, she became the embodiment of his worst nightmare.

The pain was unbearable.

Oscar thought he knew physical suffering. He had felt it after minor accidents, after grueling races, after brutal training sessions. But this… this was different.

This had no purpose. No satisfying end. It wasn’t the consequence of something great, but of something that had taken everything from him.

“Move it.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

“I. Can’t.”

“Oscar.”

He hated the way she said his name. As if she had absolute certainty that he would succeed. As if she knew more about him than he did himself.

Sweat beaded on his forehead as he tried, unsuccessfully, to move his leg. A single centimeter felt like a monumental task, and every time he tried, the pain blurred his vision.

She didn’t flinch.

She didn’t offer empty words of comfort. She didn’t try to minimize his suffering.

She just waited.

Waited for him to try again.

And when he did—when he managed even the slightest progress—she nodded ever so slightly, as if she had expected nothing less.

She never praised him. Never told him he was doing a good job.

As if, to her, getting better wasn’t an option, but an inevitable fact.

Oscar hated that. He hated the certainty with which she believed in his recovery, because he didn’t believe in it himself.

But more than anything, he hated how, despite it all, every morning when he woke up, she was still there.

Always there.

Always with that same determined look.

Always with that same certainty.

Oscar didn’t know what was worse—the pain or the feeling that, somehow, she had no intention of letting him fall, when all he wanted was to let go.

When Oscar left the hospital, he didn’t feel relief.

He had expected that being back to his home in England, near the McLaren headquarters,would make everything easier. That the air wouldn’t smell of antiseptic, that his days wouldn’t be dictated by visiting hours and surgeries, that he could find some peace in the familiarity of his home.

But reality was different.

Being home meant facing life outside the hospital, and that terrified him.

His mother was there with him, helping with everything he needed. She never complained, never made him feel like a burden, but that only made things worse.

This place had once been his sanctuary. Now, every corner felt like a reminder of what he had lost.

Especially the garage.

He had turned that space into his personal gym back when he would spend hours training relentlessly. Now, that same space had been transformed into his rehabilitation room. The weights and machines were covered in dust, replaced by support bars, resistance bands, and a therapy table.

And Amanda—Mandy, as his mother insisted on calling her—was there every day.

She entered with the same energy she had at the hospital, unfazed by his silence or his bad mood. She greeted his mother with a smile before dragging Oscar’s chair to the garage, waiting for him to start the session.

And he did, because he had no choice.

The exercises were unbearable.

The pain burned.

Every time he tried to move, his leg felt like someone was driving a red-hot iron through it.

And Mandy showed no mercy.

“Up,” she ordered, arms crossed. “One more time.”

Oscar gritted his teeth and glared at her.

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

“Mandy, for fuck’s sake…”

“Oscar, for fuck’s sake.”

He let out a sarcastic laugh, incredulous.

She didn’t budge. She never did.

At night, when he dragged himself back to bed, exhausted and aching, he swore he hated her.

But no matter what he did or said, the next morning, she was always there.

Waiting.

But without a doubt, what he hated most about rehab were the days when Mandy helped him lie down on the therapy table, his right leg lifted, pink scars in plain sight.

Oscar hated these moments.

Not because they were the most painful—he reserved that for the rehab sessions where Mandy made him sweat until his muscles trembled—but because they left him completely exposed.

The massage sessions were necessary. He knew that. His leg had been through too many surgeries, too many stitches, too many hours of immobility. The skin was tight over the scars, the muscles stiff, and every movement reminded him that he wasn’t the same as before. Mandy said they needed to work on elasticity, circulation, pain relief. He listened to her say it in that neutral, almost dispassionate voice, as if she were talking about any other patient.

But that didn’t change the fact that it hurt like hell.

At first, he tried to endure it in silence. He closed his eyes, clenched his jaw, and held on. But the longer the session went on, the more unbearable it became. Mandy wasn’t exactly gentle, and even though she used oils and her hands were firm and skilled, she didn’t hold back when she needed to press on the tension points.

So, without thinking too much about it, Oscar started talking.

“You know Eau Rouge has a 17% incline?” he blurted out, his jaw tight.

Mandy didn’t stop but responded calmly. “Doesn’t surprise me. Spa is a brutal circuit.”

Oscar winced as her fingers ran over an especially sensitive scar.

“Technically, the corner isn’t just Eau Rouge. It’s part of Raidillon, but people say it wrong.”

“Mmm. Fascinating.” The lack of emotion in her voice told him she didn’t care at all.

But that didn’t stop him.

“Did you know Formula 1 had its first season in 1950? And that the world championship only had seven races?”

“Oscar.”

“Did you know Niki Lauda won the title in ‘84 without taking a single pole position all season?”

“Oscar.”

“Did you know—”

“Oscar.” This time, Mandy stopped, pressing his leg a little harder than necessary. She raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re trying to distract yourself, aren’t you?”

He frowned but couldn’t deny it.

Mandy smirked and went back to work, massaging his leg with precision.

“It’s fine. Keep going. Surprise me.”

Oscar eyed her warily. “You don’t mind me talking?”

“I’d rather you talk than start yelling at me. Besides, I’m learning a lot. Like, what was that Spa incline again?”

“Seventeen.”

“Uh-huh. Good to know.”

The irony in her voice made him click his tongue, but for some reason, his initial frustration faded a little.

The conversation continued in a disjointed rhythm. Sometimes, Oscar complained about the pain; other times, he got distracted enough to forget why he was even talking so much. When Mandy pressed on an especially tight spot, he let out a grunt and muttered,

“I hate you.”

She didn’t even blink.

“You’re not the first to tell me that.”

That response, so unexpected and casual, made a laugh slip past his lips. Almost immediately, Oscar regretted it. He didn’t want to laugh with her. He didn’t want to like her.

But the truth was that, for the first time in a long while, the session hadn’t been just pain and frustration. And deep down, that terrified him.

The months passed, and though Oscar hated to admit it, he was starting to see results.

They weren’t huge, not yet. He wasn’t running, not even walking, but every day, there was something new. A little more mobility, a little less pain, a small victory that Mandy celebrated as if he’d just won a Grand Prix.

And the worst part was… he appreciated it.

The anger was gone. He no longer spent his days hating his leg or cursing his luck. Now, all that remained was frustration. The unbearable, slow, agonizing frustration of not being able to do what his body had been programmed to do for as long as he could remember.

But Mandy was there. Always.

And somehow, she had become the most constant thing in his life.

“Well, Piastri, today we’ve got a new set of exercises.” Mandy flipped through her notebook with a nonchalant air. “And by ‘new set,’ I mean you’re going to suffer.”

Oscar let his head fall back against the wheelchair and groaned.

“Why do you enjoy torturing me?”

“Why do you enjoy complaining?”

“Because you give me reasons.”

Mandy laughed and patted his good leg. “Come on, up.”

The sessions were exhausting. But Oscar had learned to tolerate them, partly because Mandy had stopped worrying about keeping up a strictly professional façade. Now she messed with him, made jokes at his expense, gave him ridiculous nicknames.

“That’s it, champ. You’re an inspiration.”

“Shut up.”

“No, seriously. Netflix probably wants to make a documentary about you. The Rebirth of Oscar Piastri.”

“Mandy.”

“One man, one mission. To reclaim his leg. But first, he must survive his physiotherapist.”

He scowled at her, but the amused glint in his eyes gave him away.

That was the other part of the equation: Mandy knew when to push him and when to let him breathe. There were days when, instead of doing the scheduled exercises, she simply pushed his wheelchair to the park behind his house.

She was sitting on a bench beside Oscar’s chair, the cool breeze on his face, and he took a deep breath.

"You know I want to come back, right?"

Mandy stared ahead, arms crossed over her chest, enjoying the warming sun.

"I know."

"You know I will come back."

She took a moment to respond.

"I know you want it with everything you have."

"That’s not the same."

Mandy turned to him, her expression serious.

"Oscar, if anyone can do it, it’s you. But I won’t lie to you. I don’t know how this is going to end. No one does."

It was the conversation he dreaded most. But it was also the one he needed the most.

"And if I can’t?" he asked quietly.

Mandy was silent for a moment. Then she sighed and nudged him lightly.

"Then you’d find another way to be happy."

Oscar glanced at her from the corner of his eye.

"Easy for you to say."

"No, it’s not. But it’s the truth."

They fell into silence.

Oscar thought about everything that had changed in the past few months. About the person he had been before the accident and the person he was now. He thought about Mandy, her laughter, her persistence, how she had become one of the few people he could truly be honest with.

And for the first time, he allowed himself to consider that maybe he wasn’t so alone in all of this.

The moment came without warning.

One day, after months of grueling exercises, of falls, of frustration, of pain, Oscar stood up.

It wasn’t heroic or cinematic. His legs trembled, his breathing was ragged, and every muscle in his body screamed in protest. But he did it.

With a crutch in one hand and his heart pounding in his ears, he took his first step without completely relying on someone else.

When he looked up, Mandy was watching him with a smile that held no trace of mockery.

"You’re a damn beast, Piastri."

He let out a shaky laugh, dropping his head forward as he tried to catch his breath.

But the victory was short-lived.

Because as soon as the news reached McLaren, so did the calls.

"How long do you think it’ll take for him to get back in a car?"

"What does his physiotherapist say?"

"Next season is already on the horizon. The sponsors are asking."

Oscar had lost count of how many times he had heard the word "normal" in the past few days, but every time he did, his stomach twisted.

He convinced himself that all of this was helping. Pressure had always been his fuel. If he worked harder, if he gave everything, if he pushed his body to the limit, maybe he could come back faster.

Maybe he could be himself again.

But what he refused to acknowledge was that, when left alone with his thoughts, the idea of coming back terrified him.

It wasn’t just the physical recovery. It was the uncertainty, the insecurity of not knowing if his body would hold up. If he would hold up.

And that was when the invitation arrived: an event at McLaren’s headquarters, with sponsors, staff, executives… Oscar had the sinking feeling they had invited him to reassure people. To put him on display, to let everyone see. "Look at him, he’s fine. He’s still alive. He has both legs."

The last rehab session before the event started like any other.

Mandy had set up a series of stability and mobility exercises. Nothing new. Nothing he hadn’t done before.

But at some point, everything started to fall apart.

The attack came without warning.

Oscar was standing, one hand gripping the crutch, the other pressed against the wall for balance. He had done this before, hundreds of times over the past months. One step, then another. Control the breath. Keep the posture.

But this time, something felt different.

First, a slight dizziness, a sharp pang of weakness in his injured leg. Then, his heart started pounding too hard, too fast. His skin felt hot and cold at the same time, a cold sweat running down his back.

He tried to take a deep breath, but the air wouldn’t fill his lungs.

No. Not now.

He couldn't breathe.

Panic hit him like a clenched fist to the chest. His heart pounded so hard it hurt, his hands trembled, his muscles tensed as if his entire body were in high alert.

Oscar staggered, and Mandy saw it before he could even get a word out.

"Oscar." Her tone changed in an instant. Firm, but concerned.

He tried to lift his gaze, but the room tilted around him. Everything was moving too fast and too slow at the same time.

"Oscar, sit down."

He didn’t know if she helped him or if his legs gave out on their own, but in the next instant, he was sitting on the bench against the wall, his head in his hands.

Everything was spinning.

He couldn’t breathe.

Each gasp of air got stuck in his throat.

“No… I can’t…”

His voice sounded strange, broken, like it didn’t belong to him.

Mandy knelt in front of him, hands on his shoulders, trying to ground him.

"Oscar, look at me."

He tried, but his vision was blurred, his chest so tight it felt like he was suffocating.

“Breathe with me, okay?” she said, taking his hand without hesitation. Her fingers were warm and steady around his. “Inhale. One, two, three. Exhale.”

Oscar trembled, his whole body shaking with chills, with the unbearable tension making him feel like he was about to fall apart at any moment.

“No… I can’t…”

“Yes, you can.” Mandy didn’t budge an inch. Her voice, though calm, held a note of urgency. “Listen to me, Oscar. You’re safe. You’re here with me. You’re not alone.”

You’re not alone.

Those words shattered him.

Oscar squeezed his eyes shut, but the tears came anyway, burning as they slid down his cheeks.

Months.

Months of holding everything in.

All the pain, all the frustration, all the anger, all the fear.

Months of pretending he was fine. Of smiling at the doctors, of enduring the pressure, of telling himself he had to be strong, that he had to keep going, that he had no other choice.

But there, in that moment, with Mandy holding onto him, with his ragged breathing and trembling body, everything broke.

Oscar gripped her with both hands, without even thinking, burying his face in her shoulder.

And he cried.

He cried like he hadn’t since the accident.

His body shook with every sob, every uneven breath. Mandy didn’t say anything, didn’t try to stop him or brush it off. She just wrapped both arms around his back and let him fall apart.

“I’m here,” she whispered, her fingers brushing the nape of his neck in an instinctive gesture of comfort. “I’m here, Oscar.”

He could only nod against her shoulder, because words wouldn’t come.

Everything he had buried crashed over him like an unstoppable wave.

The fear of never being the same.

The pressure of the entire world waiting for his return.

The terrifying possibility that, even if he came back, maybe he’d never be enough.

He didn’t know how long they stayed like that. Only that, eventually, his breathing evened out, his grip on Mandy loosened a little, his head no longer felt like it was about to explode.

And she was still there.

She didn’t tell him to be strong.

She didn’t say everything was fine when it clearly wasn’t.

She just stayed with him.

When he finally pulled away, his eyes were still wet, but the storm inside him had quieted, at least a little.

Mandy handed him a tissue without a word.

Oscar took it, wiping his face with a tired, embarrassed laugh.

“Don’t tell me you’ve got a list of clients who’ve cried in your arms.”

Mandy smiled, but her eyes still held concern.

“No, but you’re officially my most dramatic case.”

He let out a shaky chuckle.

She sighed, studying him with a sharp, assessing gaze.

“You don’t have to go tomorrow.”

Oscar looked down, twisting the tissue between his fingers.

“Yes, I do.”

Mandy didn’t argue.

She just placed a hand on his injured knee, steady as always.

“Then we do it your way. Not theirs.”

He didn’t answer right away.

But this time, when he looked at her, he felt like he could breathe.

The morning of the event arrived too fast.

Oscar looked at himself in the bathroom mirror, adjusting the collar of his shirt with trembling hands. He had spent months preparing for this moment. To prove to the world—and to himself—that he was ready, that he could come back.

But now, with the weight of expectations pressing on his shoulders, the fabric of his shirt felt too tight against his chest, like an invisible noose.

A soft knock on the door pulled him from his thoughts.

"Ready to dazzle the media?" Mandy peeked her head in with a half-smile.

Oscar exhaled sharply, letting his shoulders drop.

"If by ‘dazzle’ you mean not falling flat on my face in front of everyone, then yeah, I guess I’m ready."

Mandy stepped inside, crossing her arms as she looked him over.

"That’s not going to happen. You’ve worked too hard for this." She moved closer, automatically straightening his tie. "Besides, I’ll be there."

Oscar blinked.

"What?"

"I’m going with you."

He frowned, confused.

"Mandy, you don’t have to—"

"I’m not here because I have to," she cut him off, her tone firm, the one she used when she wasn’t taking no for an answer. "I’m here because I want to be."

Oscar didn’t know what to say.

There was something different in the way she looked at him now, something softer, warmer. It wasn’t just the professional watching over her patient. It was Mandy, his Mandy, the person who had seen him at his worst and never once backed away.

So instead of arguing, he just nodded.

"Thank you."

And this time, he didn’t just mean for the event.

The McLaren conference center was packed. Journalists, executives, sponsors—everyone was waiting for Oscar Piastri’s return.

Camera flashes flickered through the air, and voices blended into a constant hum. For a second, Oscar felt dizzy, the grip on his crutch making his knuckles turn white. Then, he felt a hand on his back.

Mandy.

"Breathe," she murmured next to him, so quietly only he could hear.

He did.

Every step he took was deliberate, measured, the cane clicking against the floor. He knew every eye in the room was on him, assessing him.

But he wasn’t alone.

Mandy walked beside him—his shadow, his anchor. Not in an obvious or overprotective way, but just enough for him to feel steady.

They approached the small stage where Zak Brown and Andrea Stella were waiting. The McLaren executives smiled at him, and though their words were encouraging, Oscar could feel the pressure behind every question.

"When will we see you back in the car?"

"How are you feeling physically?"

"Are you ready to compete again?"

Each question was a reminder of everything expected of him.

He smiled. Answered calmly.

"I’m working really hard on my recovery. I’m focused on coming back as soon as possible, but I want to do it right."

It was the right answer. The answer everyone wanted to hear.

But deep down, his chest tightened again.

The press conference went on, and while Oscar kept his composure, Mandy knew him well enough to notice the stiffness in his posture, the subtle clench of his jaw every time someone mentioned his return to normal.

When it was all over—when the cameras were lowered and the executives drifted into side conversations—Mandy stepped closer, leaning in just enough so no one else could hear.

"How do you feel?"

Oscar didn’t answer right away.

He looked around at all the faces expecting something from him. Then, he glanced down at his crutch—the constant reminder that he wasn’t where he wanted to be yet.

But when he lifted his gaze again, the first thing he saw was Mandy.

She wasn’t looking at him with pity, but with confidence.

And something in his chest, something that had been too tight all day, loosened just a little.

"Good," he finally said, with a half-smile. "A lot better because you’re here."

Mandy smirked.

"Of course I am."

And though Oscar knew he still had a long road ahead, for the first time in a while, he felt like he didn’t have to walk it alone.

The afternoon of the event passed in a blur.

After the press conference, Oscar endured the conversations with executives, the unwavering smile on his face, the pats on the back, and the promises of a bright future. He handled every question with the patience of a saint, but when he finally stepped outside, with Mandy beside him, he felt like he could breathe again.

They stood on the sidewalk for a moment, neither in a rush to leave.

"Alright," Mandy said, crossing her arms. "On a scale of one to ten, how unbearable was that?"

Oscar huffed.

"A fourteen."

She laughed—that soft sound that always did something to his chest—and shook her head.

"You survived."

"So did you," he replied with a slight shrug. "You had to sit through all of it with me."

"I always do," she said, looking at him with an expression he couldn’t quite decipher.

Oscar felt a tingling at the back of his neck. Not discomfort, but… awareness.

Suddenly, he was more aware of her than ever before. Of her presence, the way the breeze lifted a strand of her hair, the ease with which they talked, as if there was no longer any barrier between them.

Oscar cleared his throat and looked away.

"Are you hungry?" he asked suddenly.

Mandy raised an eyebrow.

“Are you asking me out to dinner, Piastri?”

“No,” he replied immediately. “I mean, yes. But… as a thank you, you know? For being here.”

Mandy looked at him with amusement.

“A thank you, sure.”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t argue.

Dinner started with the same relaxed energy as always.

Mandy didn’t sit across from him but beside him, in the corner of a small Italian restaurant that smelled of basil, garlic, and freshly baked bread. It was a cozy place, unpretentious, the kind of spot where people talked loudly and steaming plates of homemade food kept arriving at the tables.

“You do realize this is technically a date?” Mandy commented lightly, flipping through the menu without looking at him.

Oscar scoffed, taking a sip of his water.

“No, it’s not. It’s a thank-you dinner.”

“So you’re thanking me with food?”

“Yes.”

“Doesn’t that sound exactly like what someone does on a date?”

Oscar slowly turned his head to her, narrowing his eyes.

“Do you want it to be a date?”

Mandy shrugged, but the amused smile on her lips threw him off.

“That depends. Are you paying?”

“Yes.”

“Then yes, it’s a date.”

Oscar huffed but couldn’t stop the smile that twitched at his lips. Mandy had this way of turning any conversation into something light, of pushing him just a little outside his comfort zone without him realizing it until he was already laughing.

When the food arrived, Oscar leaned over his plate of pasta with the hunger of someone who had spent too much energy pretending to be fine all day. Mandy, on the other hand, picked up her pizza with a calmness that could only be described as irritating.

“You know,” she said, chewing thoughtfully, “if you were as fast on track as you are when you eat, you’d be unstoppable.”

Oscar froze, fork halfway to his mouth, staring at her in disbelief.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. You’re always complaining about recovery being too slow, but at this speed, you should be running marathons.”

Oscar set his fork down with an exaggerated thud on the table and turned to her, feigning outrage.

“Are you challenging me, Mandy?”

“I’m just saying what I see, Piastri.”

“Fine.” Oscar picked up his glass and took a slow sip, not breaking eye contact. “Then I say your pizza choice is terrible.”

Mandy placed a hand over her chest as if she had just been stabbed.

“What?”

“Pineapple, seriously?”

“Oh, please, we’re not starting this debate.”

“There is no debate,” Oscar said with a shrug. “Just facts. And the fact is, you’ve committed a crime against Italian cuisine.”

Mandy shook her head, laughing.

“You know what’s worse? I’m helping rehabilitate someone with a child’s palate.”

Oscar rolled his eyes.

“Says the one eating pineapple pizza.”

“It’s not the same.”

“Of course, it is.”

“No, it’s not. But that’s okay, Piastri. Not everyone can have good taste.”

Oscar shot her a look of disbelief before shaking his head, a reluctant smile breaking through.

It was strange. Unexpected. But it felt good.

Easy.

For the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel the weight of recovery on his shoulders. He didn’t feel the pressure to become the driver everyone expected him to be again. He was just there, with Mandy, eating at a small restaurant, joking about nonsense.

And for the first time in months, he allowed himself to enjoy it.

The weeks passed, and their dynamic only continued to evolve.

Mandy was no longer just his physiotherapist.

She was the person who showed up at his door with extra coffee when she saw he’d had a rough night.

She was the one who sat on the floor with him when he got frustrated in sessions, saying nothing, just staying there until he was ready to talk.

She was the one who called him an idiot with the sweetest smile when he tried to push himself harder than he should.

She was the one who made him laugh when he thought he couldn’t anymore.

And without realizing it, Oscar started looking forward to seeing her more than he wanted to admit.

He started noticing the way her eyes lit up when she talked about something she was passionate about. He started remembering little details about her without meaning to—how she liked her coffee, how she scrunched her nose when she was focused, how she had a particular way of tilting her head when she was about to give him advice.

And worst of all… he started realizing she was looking at him differently too.

There was something in the way she watched him now, a softness in her gestures, a tenderness in the way she touched his arm to support him, in the way she whispered, “You’re doing amazing” after every small progress.

One night, after a particularly exhausting session, Oscar collapsed onto his couch while Mandy packed up her things.

“I hate you,” he muttered without conviction.

Mandy smiled, not even looking at him.

“I know.”

There was a moment of silence before Oscar spoke again.

“Would you stay a little longer?”

Mandy turned to him, surprised.

"What?"

"You don't have to. But… I don’t want to be alone tonight."

She looked at him for a moment, evaluating him. Then, without a word, she set her bag on the floor and dropped onto the couch beside him.

Oscar didn’t know what that meant.

But he didn’t feel the need to ask.

The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable. It was something else, something deeper, as if a silent understanding had settled in that brief moment.

Mandy didn’t ask why Oscar didn’t want to be alone. She didn’t need to. She didn’t tell him everything would be okay because she knew that wouldn’t help. Instead, she just stayed.

Oscar turned his head toward her, noticing how relaxed she looked on his couch, as if she somehow belonged there. It was strange how Mandy, who had once been just his physiotherapist, had now become a part of his life in more ways than he could fully grasp.

"Do you want to watch something?" she asked suddenly, pulling out her phone.

"If it’s another video of cats trying to jump and failing, I’ve already seen them all."

Mandy scoffed.

"Don’t underestimate my ability to find quality content."

Oscar let his head fall back against the couch and closed his eyes for a moment.

"Prove it."

Mandy wasted no time playing a video. It was a compilation of funny falls—people slipping on ice, dogs miscalculating their jumps, kids getting scared by their own reflection.

And against his will, Oscar ended up laughing.

At first, just a small smile. Then, a quiet chuckle. Until finally, he let out a real laugh—the kind that rumbled in his chest and left him breathless.

Mandy glanced at him from the corner of her eye, smirking.

"Well, looks like you do have a soul after all."

Oscar wiped away a tear from laughing, his eyes still shining.

"And what about you? Are you going to admit you have a heart?"

She raised an eyebrow.

"Who says I don’t?"

"You hide it well."

Mandy smiled but didn’t reply. She simply leaned back against the couch, crossing her arms over her chest.

The silence returned, but this time, it felt different.

Oscar felt the urge to speak, to say something important, something he had been trying to understand for weeks. But instead, he just exhaled slowly and said,

"Thanks for staying."

Mandy didn’t look at him, but her voice was soft when she replied,

"Always."

After a while on the couch, Mandy stretched her arms and stood up.

"Alright, I think it’s time I eat something. And you too."

Oscar groaned from his spot.

"I'm not hungry."

"I don’t care. You’re eating."

Oscar shot her a look of feigned exasperation as Mandy walked toward the kitchen like she owned the place. He had seen her move around his space so many times over the past few months that it didn’t even feel strange anymore.

"You do know this is my house, right?" he said, dragging himself off the couch with the help of his crutch.

"I know," Mandy replied without turning around, rummaging through the pantry. "But someone has to make sure you don’t starve to death."

Oscar huffed but didn’t argue further. He followed with unsteady steps, still slow, but more confident than he had been weeks ago.

"What are we making?"

"Something simple. I don’t want you collapsing halfway through the recipe."

Oscar rolled his eyes but leaned against the counter as Mandy pulled out ingredients. They ended up cooking together, at their own pace. Mandy did most of the work, but she let Oscar help where he could—stirring the sauce, chopping a few things with effort.

It was a ridiculously domestic scene.

After everything they had been through, after months of rehab and pain, cooking together in his house felt like a line he hadn’t expected to cross.

When they finished, they sat at the table with steaming plates of pasta in front of them. The dim kitchen light cast an unexpected intimacy over the moment. Oscar watched as Mandy took the first bite and nodded approvingly.

"Not bad, Piastri. Maybe you’ve got a future in cooking if this F1 thing doesn’t work out."

Oscar smiled, tired but genuinely warm.

"Maybe I’ll open a restaurant. ‘The Cripple’s Pasta.’"

Mandy burst out laughing, and he was surprised by how much he liked the sound.

After a while, Mandy set down her fork and looked at him.

"How do you feel?"

Oscar lowered his gaze to his plate, idly stirring the leftover pasta with his fork.

"Tired. Sore."

Mandy said nothing, waiting for him to continue.

He lifted his eyes.

"But… good."

She tilted her head slightly, intrigued.

"Good, huh?"

Oscar swallowed.

"Yeah. Because I’m here. With you."

There was a moment of silence. Mandy looked at him with an expression he couldn’t quite read. Something soft, something that made his throat tighten.

"You’re an idiot," she said finally, but there was more fondness than anything else in her tone.

Oscar smiled.

"I know."

Mandy sighed and stood to clear the dishes, but Oscar stopped her, his hand gently wrapping around her wrist.

She froze, surprised by the gesture.

Oscar wasn’t sure what he was doing either—only that he didn’t want this moment to end just yet.

"Mandy…"

She waited, her gaze locked on his.

He could feel her pulse beneath his fingers.

He could feel the line between them blurring more and more.

Mandy didn’t move. She didn’t pull her hand away, didn’t make any gesture to tell him to let go of her wrist. She just looked at him, expectant, as if she knew he had something to say but wouldn’t pressure him to say it.

Oscar swallowed. His mouth was dry.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Mandy smiled, but there was something in her expression—something softer, more intimate.

“You won’t find out,” she said quietly.

Oscar stared at her. Something tightened in his chest.

That was when he realized how close they were.

How close they had been for months.

Only now, for the first time, he truly felt it.

The warmth of her skin, the way his breathing matched hers. The way his thumb, without thinking, traced the lightest touch against the skin of her wrist.

Mandy noticed.

And she didn’t pull away.

“Mandy…” he whispered.

He didn’t know what he was going to say next. He wasn’t sure of anything in that moment, except that he wanted to stay there. That he wanted her to stay there.

Mandy exhaled softly. Her fingers moved against his in the slightest motion—a touch so faint it barely registered, yet enough to make something inside Oscar go taut.

“Let’s watch a movie,” she said suddenly, cutting through the tension like a blade.

Oscar blinked, disoriented.

“What?”

Mandy gently pulled her hand away and started gathering the dishes, as if nothing had happened.

“A movie. You need it. And I don’t want to see you overthinking anything else tonight.”

Oscar watched her move around the kitchen, trying to process what had just happened.

But, for some reason, he didn’t feel disappointed.

Because Mandy hadn’t run.

Because he didn’t want to force anything.

Because this—whatever this was—made sense.

So he let out a soft laugh, shook his head, and got up to follow her to the couch.

The movie played on the screen, but neither of them was really watching.

Oscar tried to focus, tried to follow the plot, but his mind was elsewhere. On the way Mandy sat beside him, on how their bodies seemed to drift closer without either of them making a deliberate move.

Under the shared blanket, their legs brushed every now and then, and each fleeting touch sent a shiver down his spine. The first time, Oscar thought it had been accidental. The second, he wondered if he’d imagined it. But by the third, the fourth, the fifth—he wasn’t so sure anymore.

He took a deep breath, trying to ignore it.

And then he felt her hand.

Just a touch, the lightest brush of fingers, but it was enough to make the air between them feel heavier, charged. Mandy didn’t move away, and neither did he. Somehow, their hands remained still under the blanket, their pinkies barely touching, neither of them daring to be the first to move.

But Oscar felt every heartbeat like a drum, each passing second unbearably slow.

The tension was almost tangible.

Mandy swallowed.

“This movie is kind of boring, isn’t it?” she murmured.

Oscar let out a quiet laugh.

“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t been paying attention.”

Mandy turned her head to look at him, and Oscar felt the exact moment the air shifted between them.

She felt it too.

Her gaze flickered down to his lips for the briefest second, barely noticeable.

But Oscar noticed.

And that was all he needed.

His hand slid under the blanket until his fingers intertwined with hers, and Mandy didn’t pull away. On the contrary, her grip tightened slightly, her thumb tracing a small circle against his skin—a gesture so intimate and silent that Oscar instinctively leaned toward her.

Their faces were only inches apart.

He could feel her breath, her perfume, the warmth of her skin so close to his.

The moment stretched.

One heartbeat.

Two.

Three.

Oscar wouldn’t be able to say who closed the final distance. Maybe him, maybe her. Maybe it had simply been inevitable.

But when their lips finally met, when the kiss sealed with the sweetness of something held back for too long, Oscar knew there was no turning back.

The kiss started soft, hesitant, as if neither of them wanted to break the fragile bubble they had enclosed themselves in. Mandy was the first to react, tilting her head just slightly, parting her lips, giving Oscar the answer he hadn’t dared to ask for out loud.

And then, there was no more hesitation.

Oscar cradled the back of her neck with one hand, pulling her closer, losing himself in the warmth of her mouth. Mandy moved without doubt, her fingers tracing his cheek, his jaw, before tangling into his hair.

It was everything he had wanted, everything he had ignored for weeks.

The brush of their lips deepened, grew more intense. Oscar felt his chest expand with a sensation he didn’t quite recognize, something intoxicating that left him insatiable. She was fire and calm all at once—a refuge and a storm.

Mandy pulled back for a moment, breathless, her nose brushing against his.

“Oscar…”

There was no doubt in her voice, but there was something else—something that felt like a warning. As if she were giving him the chance to stop.

Oscar met her gaze, darkened by something he could feel echoing in his own body.

He didn’t want to stop.

So instead of answering with words, he kissed her again.

Mandy smiled against his lips before matching his urgency, her fingers tracing a slow, torturous path over the fabric of his shirt. Oscar shivered when she pressed her palm against his chest, feeling him beneath her fingertips, sliding her hand lower toward his abdomen with a boldness that made his pulse race.

The blanket slipped from their bodies as Mandy shifted onto his lap—carefully, with a near-imperceptible gentleness, as if she knew exactly how far she could push his limits without causing him pain.

Oscar buried his face in her neck, breathing in her scent, whispering her name against her skin. Mandy let out a shuddering sigh, and he felt satisfaction ripple through him.

For the first time in months, Oscar didn’t think about his injury.

He didn’t think about his rehabilitation, the pressure, the fear.

He only thought about her. About the way her body fit against his as if it had always been meant to be there.

And how, for the first time in a long time, he wanted more.

The atmosphere had shifted. Desire still burned between them, the electricity was undeniable, but amidst the urgency, the hungry kisses, the clumsy touches, there was something else. Something much deeper, much more intimate.

Oscar barely registered how they got here, how their clothes started to disappear. He only knew that at some point, Mandy slipped off the couch, kneeling in front of him with effortless ease, helping him remove his pants with the same delicacy she always treated him with.

And then, everything stopped.

Oscar felt the cold air against his skin, against the scarred skin of his leg. He tensed, the instinct to hide, to pull away, flaring inside him like a reflex. He felt ridiculous for thinking about it—Mandy had seen his scars countless times, had touched them, had studied them.

But Mandy didn’t look away.

She didn’t flinch, didn’t make any expression of pity.

Instead, she placed her hands on his leg with a tenderness that completely disarmed him.

Her lips, warm and soft, traced over every scar, every mark that told a story of pain and struggle. She didn’t skip any, didn’t avoid a single one. She took her time, as if she wanted to memorize each line, each ridge, each imperfection.

Oscar didn’t know when his throat started to burn, when the pressure in his chest became unbearable. He only knew that before he could stop it, a tear slipped down his cheek.

He didn’t understand why.

It was affection, it was tenderness, it was sorrow. It was everything at once.

Mandy lifted her gaze, and their eyes met. She didn’t say anything, but her look spoke volumes. Of acceptance, of devotion, of a love without cracks.

Without moving her hand from his leg, she reached up to his face, brushing the tear away with her thumb, unhurried.

Oscar leaned toward her and kissed her.

It was a slow kiss, deep, filled with everything they couldn’t put into words.

When they pulled apart, Mandy rested her forehead against his, closing her eyes for a moment.

“You’re incredible,” she whispered. And Oscar didn’t know if she meant his body, his recovery, his strength—or just him.

But it didn’t matter.

Because, for the first time since the accident, Oscar Piastri didn’t feel ashamed of what he was.

The night continued with an unexpected tenderness. There was no rush, no urgency. It was just the two of them, wrapped in a cocoon of warmth and whispers, tangled in kisses and caresses that seemed endless.

Oscar had never felt so vulnerable, so exposed—and yet, so safe. Mandy touched him as if every part of him deserved to be cherished, as if his scars were testaments to his strength, not reminders of what he had lost.

When they finally rested, their bodies intertwined beneath the blanket, Oscar felt something new settle in his chest. Something that had nothing to do with passion or desire, but with peace.

Mandy traced lazy circles on his arm, her breathing slow, steady.

“What are you thinking about?” she murmured, her voice still drowsy.

Oscar took a moment to answer.

“That I don’t know how we got here.”

Mandy let out a soft laugh.

“If you need me to explain it in more detail…”

He rolled his eyes, laughing against her hair.

“That’s not what I meant.”

He fell silent for a moment, searching for the right words.

“When I first met you, I hated you.”

“I know,” Mandy replied with amusement.

“No.” Oscar propped himself up on one elbow to look at her better. “I mean it. I thought I’d never be able to stand you. You were too stubborn, too optimistic.”

“Guilty.”

“But then…” Oscar exhaled, running a hand down his face. “Then you became the only thing keeping me sane.”

Mandy looked at him in the dim light, her expression softening.

“Oscar…”

“No.” He cut her off, feeling that if he didn’t say it now, he never would. “I just want you to know. That without you, I…”

He stopped, swallowing hard. Mandy reached up and placed a hand on his cheek, making him hold her gaze.

“I know,” she whispered.

And Oscar knew, with a certainty that scared him a little, that she really did.

That Mandy understood him better than anyone.

That if there was a way to truly heal, it was with her by his side.

Oscar remained silent after that, his mind caught in a whirlwind of thoughts. Mandy was resting against his chest, her breathing steady, but he couldn’t fully relax.

“Mandy…” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper in the dark.

“Mhm?”

“Is this okay?”

She lifted her head slightly to look at him.

“What do you mean?”

Oscar hesitated.

“Us. What just happened. The fact that you… you’re my physiotherapist. Or at least, you were. And that we’re crossing a line.”

Mandy watched him in silence for a moment before sighing with a small smile.

“Are you worried I’ll get you in trouble?”

“No, I’m worried you’ll get fired,” he answered honestly. “That this isn’t allowed in your contract or that—”

Mandy interrupted him with a soft touch to his cheek.

“Oscar, my contract ended weeks ago.”

He blinked, surprised.

“What?”

“McLaren only asked me to get you to take your first step. That was my goal as your physiotherapist,” she explained calmly. “After that, your physical trainer was supposed to take over.”

Oscar was speechless.

“So…?”

“So I stayed because I wanted to. Because I wanted to keep helping you. Because this was never just a job for me.”

Oscar felt something inside him crumble. All the doubts, all the insecurities, the nagging thought that maybe she was only there because she had to be… vanished in an instant.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

Mandy smiled, that infuriatingly calm smile of hers.

“Because I know you. If you had known, you would’ve pushed me away. You would’ve said you were fine just so I wouldn’t feel like I had to stay.”

Oscar couldn’t deny it. Because it was true.

“So…” he said slowly, intertwining his fingers with hers. “This whole time…”

“This whole time, I’ve been here because I wanted to be.”

Oscar swallowed.

“And now what?”

Mandy rested her head on his chest again, tracing light circles on his arm.

“Now, you sleep. And tomorrow… we’ll see.”

But Oscar knew that, no matter what happened, she was already a part of his life.

And he didn’t want that to change.

The air in the garage feels heavy. No one talks much. The team of engineers and mechanics works around him with meticulous precision, preparing him for the private test. It’s just a test—no media, no spectators. But for Oscar, it’s much more than that. It’s his ultimate test.

Mandy stands to the side, arms crossed, watching him closely. She’s not supposed to be here—officially, her job ended months ago—but that hasn’t stopped her. And Oscar hasn’t tried to stop her, either.

When he finally sits in the car, when he feels the pressure of the molded seat against his back, when the cockpit surrounds him, when the steering wheel is in his hands and the tires are ready to hit the track… it happens.

The memory strikes like thunder.

A flash of light. The impact. The raw, metallic sound. The pain.

He can’t breathe.

He’s not here, in this garage. He’s back on that day, in that moment. He’s trapped in the wreckage of the car, the smell of fuel filling his nose, his leg crushed under the destroyed chassis.

He feels the same sharp pain in his leg. Almost two months without feeling it, and suddenly, it’s as if the injury is fresh. As if it just happened.

Someone says his name, but he doesn’t hear them. His breathing quickens. His fingers tighten around the steering wheel. His eyes lock onto the halo, the carbon fiber, the chassis that isn’t broken, the helmet protecting him. Everything is fine. Everything is fine.

But it’s not.

Sweat beads on his forehead. A ringing starts in his ears. He wants to move, wants to get out, but his muscles won’t respond.

A hand touches his arm.

Oscar blinks, as if snapping back to reality.

Mandy is there. She’s reaching for him from.above the car, her hand firm on his forearm. Her eyes, dark and steady, find his.

“Oscar.”

Her voice is low, calm, but not condescending. She doesn’t treat him like he’s fragile, like he’s going to break.

“I’m here,” she says, and those two words cut straight through him.

He doesn’t respond. He can’t. His breathing is still uneven, his heart still racing.

Mandy watches him for another second before moving her hand to his. Her fingers slide over his, carefully loosening his grip on the wheel.

“Look at me.”

Oscar lifts his gaze.

“You’re here. Not there. You’re in 2025, in this garage, in this car. And you’re okay. That was a year ago. You are okay”

He swallows hard. His jaw is clenched, his mind still filled with ghostly images.

“I don’t have to do this.”

It’s the first time he’s said it out loud.

Mandy nods.

“No, you don’t have to. But you want to. And that’s different.”

The team is still waiting. The mechanics pretend not to look, but Oscar feels their eyes. He knows they expect him to start the engine, to go out on track, to do what he does best.

But it’s not that simple. Not when fear is eating him alive.

Mandy squeezes his hand once more.

“You can step out right now, and no one will say a thing. It’s okay. But if you want to try, just try. Don’t think about anything else.”

Oscar closes his eyes for a moment. Takes a deep breath. Tries to find the ground beneath him, even though he’s in the car.

When he opens them, he sees her. She’s holding his hand, but she’s not keeping him there. She’s just there.

And that’s enough.

Oscar nods, slowly.

His fingers wrap around the steering wheel again, but this time, with control. Mandy releases his hand and steps back.

The mechanics get ready. The engineers check the data.

The garage fills with the roar of the engine as he starts it.

The fear is still there, like a weight in his chest. But now, there’s something else, too.

Oscar focuses on that.

And he drives.

The roar of the car echoes in his chest, a familiar vibration running down his spine and seeping into his blood. His hands grip the steering wheel tightly, and for a moment, doubt whispers in his mind.

What if he's not the same? What if he never will be?

But then he presses the throttle.

The tires bite into the asphalt, and suddenly, the world makes sense again. The wind slams against his helmet, the colors of the circuit blur around him, and adrenaline surges through his veins like an unstoppable force. The first corner comes faster than expected, but his body reacts before his mind does—steady hands, precise turn, clean acceleration on exit.

It’s like breathing. Like remembering who he is.

Every lap is an affirmation. Every brake, every change of direction, every fraction of a second shaved off the clock.

He is where he belongs. He is home.

When he finally returns to the pits, the echo of the engine still thrumming in his chest, Oscar allows himself to close his eyes for a moment.

He feels no fear. No doubt.

Only relief.

Lando is the first to reach him, landing a hard smack on his helmet before ruffling his hair once he takes it off.

"Seriously? After almost a year out, and you set a faster lap than me on your first run?"

Oscar smiles, taking a deep breath.

"I try."

Lando scoffs, but there's pride in his expression.

Zak, Stella, and the rest of the team surround him in seconds, congratulating him. Even a few drivers from the grid have come to see him, asking McLaren for permission just to be there. George pats his back, Alex and Charles can’t help but pull him into a hug. Even Colapinto is there, planting a loud, wet kiss on his cheek.

But there’s one person Oscar searches for among them all.

Mandy stands at the back of the garage, not intruding, but with a small smile on her lips. Her dark eyes scan him up and down, as if making sure he’s truly okay.

And he is.

Later, as the sun begins to set, the two of them sit on the empty grandstands of the circuit. The roar of the engine is gone, but the day’s echoes still vibrate in the air. Mandy rests her elbows on her knees, gaze lost on the track.

"I saw you at Turn Five," she says suddenly. "There was a moment when you hesitated."

Oscar lowers his head, smirking.

"Yeah. But it passed quickly."

She nods. A long silence stretches between them, but it’s not uncomfortable.

Until Mandy sighs and says, "McLaren offered me a contract."

Oscar blinks, turning to her.

"What?"

"As the team's physiotherapist. They were impressed with my work with you and thought I could be useful."

Oscar stays silent, waiting for her to continue. Something in her tone tells him there’s more.

"I turned it down."

He frowns.

"Why?"

Mandy wets her lips, as if searching for the right words.

"I didn’t want my work to mix with… this. With you."

Oscar feels something warm in his chest. He can’t quite name it—gratitude, relief, something else—but it’s strong.

"So… you turned down McLaren?" he repeats slowly. "The team that treated you so well, gave you access to the best facilities, let you work with the most prized gem of their lineup?"

Mandy blinks.

"You?"

"Obviously."

Mandy laughs, shaking her head.

"You’re insufferable."

"And you clearly made a terrible decision."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. Because tell me, which team signed you now?"

Mandy stretches with satisfaction before answering.

"Ferrari."

Oscar frowns, his brain processing the information.

"Ferrari?"

"Ferrari."

"Maranello’s Ferrari?"

"Unless there’s another one."

Oscar blinks.

"So now you’re going to be one of those people who speak Italian all the time and say ‘Forza Ferrari’ every five minutes?"

Mandy smiles, almost wickedly.

"Forza Ferrari."

Oscar looks at her with feigned disappointment.

"Mandy, for God’s sake, you haven’t even started yet and you’re already lost."

She laughs, giving him a gentle shove on the shoulder.

"Come on, it can’t surprise you that much. After all, someone has to be in the paddock to make sure you don’t do anything stupid."

Oscar watches her with a half-smile, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

"Oh, I see how it is. You didn’t stay because you like red—you just can’t live without me."

"Definitely not for the red. It’s hard to match."

"You’re not denying you can’t live without me."

Mandy rolls her eyes, but there’s a smile on her lips.

"I’m going to request to be assigned to Charles just to spite you."

Oscar places a hand on his heart, feigning a stab wound.

"Betrayal!"

Mandy bursts out laughing, and before she can reply, Oscar turns to her with a sly grin.

"You know what? It doesn’t matter. Everyone in the paddock knows you love me more."

Mandy raises an eyebrow, amused.

"Oh, really?"

"Of course. And if they don’t know yet, they will as soon as they see us together."

Before Mandy can throw back another sarcastic remark, Oscar leans in and kisses her. It’s warm, with the night breeze around them and the thrill of the day still running through his veins.

When they pull apart, Mandy exhales softly.

"You know what? Maybe red does suit me after all."

Oscar smiles, resting his forehead against hers.

"Forza Ferrari, I guess."

And Mandy laughs, kissing him again.

Throughout the season, Oscar and Mandy’s relationship had become an open secret in the paddock. Not because they had been careless—on the contrary, they had done everything possible to keep it private—but in a world where every gesture was scrutinized, some things were hard to hide.

Photographers had never caught them together outside the circuits, and in the paddock, they always maintained a professional distance. Mandy was disciplined about it, ensuring she never gave him special treatment in front of others, making sure no one could accuse her of favoritism at Ferrari for being with a McLaren driver. But inside the garages, in the hallways, in the small interactions away from the cameras, something was building between them—something any keen observer could notice.

Those closest to them—Lando, Zak, the McLaren team, Ferrari—knew. Lando had thoroughly enjoyed teasing them in private, dropping hints whenever he could, like when he caught Oscar glancing sideways at Mandy on the grid or when she walked past the McLaren mechanics and Oscar pretended to be engrossed in telemetry.

Their dynamic was simple: Mandy didn’t treat Oscar like a driver but as himself. She didn’t care about his lap times, his points, or championship statistics. She cared about whether he was sleeping well, whether the pain in his leg returned after grueling races, whether his mind was calm before he put on his helmet.

For Oscar, that was invaluable. In a world revolving around competition, having someone who saw him beyond the driver was a breath of fresh air.

Sometimes, when race weekends became too intense, they found themselves in the quieter corners of the paddock—a back hallway, the furthest spot in the Ferrari or McLaren hospitality, anywhere they could share a few minutes without cameras surrounding them. Mandy always had a sarcastic comment ready, and Oscar would respond with his dry humor, their back-and-forth banter momentarily making them forget the pressure.

And on tough days, when things didn’t go well on track, she was there. Not with empty words, not with forced motivational speeches, but with a hand on his back when no one was looking, with a quick message after a disappointing race: “I’m waiting at the hotel with ice cream. Don’t argue.”

That’s how it had been all season—care, attention, and a love woven in the margins of F1, in moments beyond the reach of headlines.

On the other hand, Oscar’s comeback season was exceeding expectations. He had returned stronger, more consistent, racking up podiums nearly every weekend. But the long-awaited first victory since the accident still eluded him. Despite it all, he didn’t feel frustrated. He knew it was only a matter of time.

But now, they were in Spa-Francorchamps. And with that came the second anniversary of the day everything changed.

Before practice sessions, interviews, and the inevitable noise of a Grand Prix weekend began, Oscar made a decision. He wanted to go to the crash site. To the exact corner where his life took an irreversible turn.

The rain was relentless as he set off. It was nearly nightfall, and the paddock was slowly emptying. People were retreating to their hotels, seeking rest before the intense day ahead. Mandy, however, stayed.

“You can still go back to the hotel. It’s cold, it’s raining, and I don’t want you to get sick because of one of my whims,” Oscar murmured, hands in his pockets, eyes fixed on the wet ground.

“And miss a dramatic moment of personal development like this? Not a chance. I’m about to witness a canon event,” Mandy teased, giving him a light shoulder bump.

Oscar let out a quiet chuckle, but his steps slowed as they neared the corner. It was strange how, after two years, his body still reacted to the sight of it. The memory of the impact, the pain, the fear—it all returned with chilling clarity.

He stopped a few meters from the exact spot, a tingling sensation running through his bad leg. Almost unconsciously, he tapped his thigh as if trying to shake off the feeling. Mandy glanced at him from the corner of her eye before intertwining her fingers with his, squeezing firmly.

“What are you feeling?” she asked softly.

Oscar swallowed hard.

“I don’t know. It’s weird. Like I can still feel it. Like I can see everything again.”

Mandy nodded, waiting to see if he needed to say more. But he just stood there, eyes locked on the track, the sound of rain filling the silence.

Finally, Mandy spoke, her tone light yet sincere.

“You know… in a way, we should be grateful to this corner.”

Oscar turned his head, frowning.

“What?”

“Well,” she shrugged, “if you hadn’t crashed here, McLaren wouldn’t have hired me, we wouldn’t have spent so much time together, and we wouldn’t have fallen madly in love with each other. So technically, if you think about it, Eau Rouge is the real matchmaker in this story.”

Oscar let out a genuine, warm laugh that cut through the cold night air.

“That is, without a doubt, the most twisted and optimistic way to look at it.”

“Better than being stuck in a pit of trauma and existential despair? Absolutely.”

Oscar shook his head, but the smile didn’t fade. He turned to look at Mandy, watching how the rain made her skin glisten under the dim glow of distant floodlights. He had no words to describe how much he loved her in that moment.

So he didn’t use any.

He simply leaned in and kissed her, with the rain falling around them, with memories losing their sharp edges little by little. Because Mandy was right. Eau Rouge had changed his life. But not just because of the accident. Somehow, it had also led him to her.

On Sunday, Oscar rounded the final straight for the penultimate time, each lap bringing him closer to something he had dreamed of but never imagined quite like this. The rain had eased, the track still damp but stable under his tires, and the McLaren was responding with surgical precision. From the first corner, he had dominated. He knew this day was his. No one could touch him.

His engineer’s voice came over the radio, filled with barely contained excitement.

“Last lap, Oscar. Last lap.”

Oscar took a deep breath. The roar of the engine, the vibration of the steering wheel beneath his hands, the feeling of the car as an extension of himself. It was him, fully. No doubts, no fear. Just speed, precision, victory drawing closer with every meter.

In Ferrari’s garage, the atmosphere was electric. With Leclerc securing second place, mechanics had their arms raised, team members were jumping, and in the middle of it all—Mandy. Her nails dug into Alex’s jacket, Charles’s girlfriend, both of them on the verge of losing their voices from screaming so much. Her faith in Oscar was absolute. She knew how this was going to end—she had known since the first lap.

When Oscar crossed the finish line, something inside him shattered and rebuilt itself at the same time. The radio exploded with the team’s cheers, his engineer repeating his name over and over, but he could barely hear it. Laughter escaped him uncontrollably, mixed with tears and a relief so deep it made him feel breathless.

He had won. He had won in Spa.

His hands trembled on the steering wheel as he slowed down for the cool-down lap. He looked around—the grandstands on their feet, flags waving under a gray sky that threatened more rain. It was poetic, perfect, as if the circuit itself was giving something back to him.

“Yes, Oscar! Yes, yes, yes!” Zak Brown shouted over the radio, and in the background, he could hear the McLaren garage erupting like they had won a championship.

Oscar let go of the wheel for a second, running his hands over his face, still in disbelief. He had dreamed of this moment, visualized it a thousand times, but now that it was real, it was overwhelming.

When he finally parked the car in parc fermé, his body moved before his mind could catch up. He unbuckled his harness clumsily, climbed out of the car, and jumped into the sea of McLaren mechanics. He let them hug him, shake him, pat his back—but his eyes scanned the crowd, searching.

Mandy.

And there she was.

In her red Ferrari polo, still wearing the team’s headset around her neck, eyes shining and lips trembling with a smile.

He didn’t think. He didn’t hesitate.

He pushed through the McLaren crew, dodged the drivers climbing out of their own cars to congratulate him, and reached her where she stood with the Ferrari team. It didn’t matter who was watching, it didn’t matter if there were cameras, the press, or social media.

He grabbed her by the Ferrari polo, stretched over the barrier, and kissed her.

With the raw emotion of someone who had fought against the worst version of himself—and won.

With the certainty that, in the end, she had always been there.

As the world roared around them, Oscar leaned in, his forehead resting against hers, both of them breathless, both of them smiling like idiots.

"You know," Mandy whispered, her fingers still curled around the collar of his suit, "if you wanted to kiss me that badly, you could've just asked."

Oscar huffed a laugh, his hands firm on her waist. "Figured winning was a more dramatic way to earn it."

Mandy tilted her head, pretending to think. "Mm… I don’t know. Might need a few more wins before I’m fully convinced."

His smile widened. "Challenge accepted."

She kissed him again, softer this time. "Good. Now go collect your damn trophy, Piastri."

@smoooothoperator

if you want to be added to my permanent taglist, just let me know!

[delulujuls]

young, dumb & bwoke | ln4

hi! as u can see i couldn't stop myself from writing about last saturday events in amsterdam with mr norris as main star (he was more popular than the king himself lmao). lando is literally what i always bring to the function and yup, enjoy him being the chaotic drunk bestie while max and y/n are his literal party parents. its nothing crazy and without plot basically, i just added sum to this years' koningsdag so yeah, enjoy!

summary: there is nothing that lando loves more than a good party and his beloved dutch friends so imagine him with drink in his cup surrounded by whole orange nation. it could be nuts and it was

warnings: TONS of alcohol, lando being drunk (and hurted), mentions of blood, basically sum chaos

pairing: fem!dutch!bff!reader x lando norris (ft. max verstappen)

Lando couldn't wait for the plane he was on to break through the heavy cloud cover and land in Amsterdam.

China and Miami, which were the next rounds on the calendar, were separated by two weeks that were nothing else, in Lando's case, than a time of stagnation. Add to this the fact that Lando had bad memories of his performance in China and, what's worse, the sprint he failed so badly and which constantly played in his head like a jammed record, one could go crazy. That's why the Brit was extremely happy when he received an invitation to spend the weekend in the capital of the Netherlands. He was invited to Amsterdam to celebrate King Willem's birthday by none other than his favorite flying Dutch.

The friendship of Y/N, Max and Lando began in 2019, practically from the very moment he entered Formula 1. The kid, who was barely 20 years old but looked like 12, immediately won over the Dutch couple with his smile and sense of humor, who, due to their sometimes severe temperament, could not boast of having many friends in the paddock. Even though the three friends were only two years apart, Max and Y/N naturally became Lando's racing parents, with whom the Brit spent practically every moment, from time in the paddock, through celebrating on the podium, to time away from competitions. So it was no surprise when they invited him to spend the weekend together, to which he, of course, eagerly agreed.

When the plane landed, Lando pulled the hood of his orange sweatshirt over his head and slung his backpack over his shoulder, in which he packed everything he might need for the coming days. As you could guess, there wasn't much of it, he actually had everything he needed on him and the most important part was an oversized orange sweatshirt. Waiting for him at the airport was Y/N, who couldn't wait to see him. She didn't have to wait too long, because a moment later he walked out in front of the terminal. Y/N smiled as she saw her friend walking towards her and she hugged him tightly.

"You knew I was coming, you could have asked the king for better weather," Lando joked, trying to sound serious, which only made the girl giggle.

"If you think that the weather will have any influence on what will happen in the evening, then unfortunately I will have to disappoint you," she replied, getting into the car. "It's already starting to get crowded in downtown, and it's not even noon."

Lando threw his backpack into the backseat and got into the passenger side. He smiled like a child, looking forward to how the weekend would unfold. It looked like he would spend a nice few days, able to finally de-stress and relax, and in the company of friends. But speaking of friends, one of them was missing.

"And where's Max?" he asked as they left the airport and were on their way to the girl's apartment. "I thought he had been waiting for me with the welcome committee since yesterday."

"He's already in town, I dropped him off while I was on my way to pick you up."

"He's fast," Lando laughed and shook his head, "I hope he's still on his feet when we get to him."

At that moment, Lando didn't think about the fact that no one else but himself would be able to stay on his feet. When the Brit set off for Amsterdam, he obviously expected to spend two days drunk, with legs sore from dancing and a sore throat from singing, but he forgot that he has absolutely no immunity to alcohol.

When the three friends were finally together, alcohol quickly appeared in their hands. Y/N and Max started with beer, but Lando had no intention of wasting his time drinking something that would only cause pressure on his bladder. As soon as he boarded one of the barges floating on the Herenbracht Canal, he drank several shots at once. Y/N and Max just exchanged glances as he drank the drink standing on Garrix's console in one gulp, who didn't care one bit about it, being already in a good mood himself.

"I'm a little worried about how this might end," Max said in her ear as she took a sip of her cider, watching Lando jump happily.

"Even if he's drunk, so what," she replied, handing him her bottle and taking away the body paints in circulation, "He didn't come here to be bored."

Max was about to say something, but she pushed his hand slightly, bringing the bottle he was holding to his lips. Max shook his head and took a few sips from it, while the girl started painting flags on his cheeks. When she finished, she waved them up, attracting Lando's attention, who understood what she meant and nodded eagerly. The girl squeezed through the console and stood next to him, leaning him against the barge rails, because Lando had trouble not bobbing to the music for a moment.

The smile that never left his face wrinkled his cheeks, on which she tried to paint Dutch flags. When she finished and turned to pass the paints, Lando took off her sunglasses and put them on himself.

"Have a drink with me!" Lando shouted, holding out his empty cup to her, and she raised her cider bottle in response. He rolled his eyes in dissatisfaction when suddenly a bottle of vodka appeared in the crowd and someone handed it straight to his hands. Without much thought, Lando unscrewed the cap and took a few sips as if the contents were water, which of course met with the crowd's approval.

Y/N took the bottle from his hands, fearing not the amount Lando drank, but the relatively short time it took him to do so. However, not wanting to seem boring, she tilted the bottle herself, letting the liquid burn her throat. Delighted, Lando clapped his hands and hugged his friend, causing some of the alcohol to flow down her chin. She smiled, wrapping her arms around his waist as well, and raised her hand in a toast, which was joined by everyone who had something to drink.

Max also raised his beer bottle a bit. However, somewhere in the background of his mind there was an image of Lando and what he would look like in the near future. However, the Brit himself did not care at all about this. As long as he was in the company of his friends, his plastic cup was full and he could jump to the music and sing along, he was happy. Even the fact that his face was in the wrong place at the wrong time, when someone, completely by accident, punched him in the face, didn't disturb it.

Y/N, who also decided to pick up the pace after drinking her cider, immediately sobered up when she saw blood on her friend's face. She quickly pressed a tissue to his nose, but he tried to assure her that he was fine. His brain didn't encode the impact or the pain, didn't acknowledge that he was bleeding, even when he ran his tongue over his lips and tasted blood on them. People in the crowd started calling out to each other to see if anyone had a first aid kit. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a bandage appeared, and just as Y/N, being drunk, thought it would be a great idea to wrap Lando's face in a bandage, Max started asking people if they somehow had band aids. He couldn't let that dumbass parade around like that for the rest of the evening.

“I've sobered up a bit, I can keep drinking,” he said as Y/N finished clumsily bandaging his face, “I probably look worse that i did when i crashed in Vegas.”

Her friend tried to be serious, but it was impossible to stay serious around Lando. "You have to be careful, Lan," she said, trying to retain some sanity and touching his cheek, looking into his eyes, "I hope it's not broken."

"Bwoken," he repeated in silly voice, giggling "Oh no, it couldn't be bwoken"

"Honestly, i also hope it is not," Max interjected when he managed to rejoin his friends after some time, "Getting to the hospital now would be a near miracle."

"Hey, I'm fine," he said as Max waved the Band-Aids in his face and began to remove the clumsy bandage into which their friend had probably poured her whole heart and a few drinks that she drank earlier.

"I'm glad you don't feel anything, but that doesn't change the fact that I won't look at it," he replied, lifting his chin and examining his nose from every angle. Luckily this one seemed fine.

Once Max had placed two tiny patches on him, Y/N handed him his mug with a fresh drink again. "Brave patient," she smiled at him.

"In a state like this, I'd be surprised if he felt something," Max admitted, taking a bottle of vodka standing nearby. He decided that since Lando had had an accident, nothing worse awaited them and he could allow himself to loosen a bit more. He took a few sips and handed the bottle to the younger one, who smiled, tightening his hand around it. He looked at his friends standing in front of him, slightly drunk but still fully focused on him. He knew he was important to them and that he is not alone in all this madness.

"I love you guys," he said, with a bottle in his hand, pushing himself off the railing and hugging them, "You are the best in the world, simply the best."

The rest of the day and later in the evening took place in a great atmosphere and the party lasted until 3. in the morning. For the rest of Amsterdam it probably lasted longer, but for Lando it began to end after two o'clock, when he was barely able to stand. Partly from being drunk, partly from being tired. He didn't stand still during a single song, so the next day, apart from his face, his legs will certainly be visible. Taking a break for something warm to eat, Max, Y/N, and Lando sat down at one of the wooden tables. While waiting for their orders, Lando rested his head on Y/N's shoulder and closed his eyes. It was obvious that he just needed something to lean on to fall asleep.

"I think it's time for us to go," the girl announced, directing her words to Max. "The baby is only fit for bed now."

"He's been in great shape for a long time anyway, judging by how much he was on his feet today," Max concluded, glancing first at him and then at the girl, "But you're holding up pretty well, aren't you?"

"Yes, I do," she nodded and hugged Lando, who began to slide off her shoulder, "But I'm also getting sleepy."

"Me too," Max rubbed his face with his hands, "At least we can be sure that no one will wake us up first thing in the morning to explore the city."

He said, glancing at Lando, who was dozing with his mouth open on his friend's shoulder. After eating casseroles and fries, which were for Lando and which he was unable to eat, the three of them went to the girl's apartment. Of course, only she and Max were walking on their own, Lando was between them, leaning on their arms. He was muttering something incomprehensible under his breath, so it was obvious that he was alive and everything was fine, besides the fact that he was completely drunk.

When they arrived at the address and crossed the threshold of the apartment, they immediately went to put him in the bedroom, not wasting time in unfolding the couch for him. Max was in the process of stripping him of his shoes, pants, bloody sweatshirt, and all the necklaces and ribbons he had collected the previous day, while Y/N placed a large bottle of water, painkillers, and a bucket by his bed, as if the contents of his stomach had suddenly decided that they wants to get outside. However, there was no indication that Lando was going to have a restless night, because he started snoring softly as soon as his cheek touched the pillow. Max covered him with the blanket and took a few steps away from the bed, standing next to his friend who was looking at the sleeping boy.

"Can you hear that?" Max whispered, glancing at her, and she frowned questioningly, "It's silence, listen to it, because when he gets up, the only thing you can hear will be his lamentations about how hungover he is."

The girl snorted quietly and shook her head, taking Lando's clothes to the laundry.

"The most important thing is that he had a good time. And a little hangover never killed nobody."

The next day, however, did not bring anything unexpected. When Lando woke up, the first thing that hit him was a terrible headache that got worse when he sat down and tried to get out of bed. When he stood in the doorway of the bedroom, Y/N and Max's eyes immediately went towards him and Lando could swear that they looked like they spent the entire last evening on the couch.

"Hi honey, did you sleep well?" Max asked playfully, in the perfect mood for jokes since he himself was fine after last night.

Lando just blinked several times and wanted to wipe his face with his hands and collect some words to answer, but when he touched his cut nose, he cursed loudly.

"What the fuck?"

"A souvenir from yesterday," the girl answered him, getting up from the couch and taking out a frozen package from the fridge, which she handed to him, "I recommend a shower and I'll make you some coffee."

He closed his eyes and put the package to his nose, sighing and grabbing the bathroom door handle. Before he disappeared, Max just shouted after him.

"And don't puke in the shower!"

[loverangels]

cupid cods

pairings: percy jackson x fem!reader

synopsis: percy finally reveals his feelings towards you. After a few small interuptions

The lake was calm, a perfect mirror for the streaks of orange, pink, and purple in the sky. You and Percy were perched on the edge of the dock, your legs dangling over the side, toes skimming the surface of the water. The evening had been filled with lazy conversation and jokes, but now, a quiet stillness had fallen over you both.

Except it wasn’t quite still.

There was an energy in the air, a charged kind of silence that wasn’t there before. Percy kept fidgeting—tapping his fingers on the dock, brushing his hand through his hair, shifting closer to you bit by bit like he didn’t want you to notice.

“Nice view, huh?” he said, breaking the quiet. His voice was light, casual, but it had an edge to it.

You smiled, tilting your head to look at him. “You mean the lake or the sunset?”

His green eyes widened for a moment, his face flushing as he tripped over his words. “Uh—both? Yeah, both. Definitely both.”

You laughed softly, leaning back on your hands, but your heart was hammering in your chest. You could feel the weight of his gaze lingering on you, and when you turned your head, sure enough, he wasn’t looking at the lake.

“What?” you asked, your voice quieter now.

“Nothing,” he said quickly, then hesitated, his hand brushing against yours. His gaze flicked to your hand, then back to your face. “Actually, no. Not nothing.”

Your breath caught as he leaned in slightly, close enough that you could see the faint freckles on his nose and the way his lashes curled just a bit at the ends. “Percy?” you murmured.

“I just… There’s something I—”

Before he could finish, there was a massive splash.

You jumped, startled, as water sprayed up from the lake, soaking both of you. “What the—”

Another splash followed, and then another, as fish began leaping out of the water like they were performing some kind of synchronized routine.

“Are you kidding me?!” you exclaimed, shielding your face from another spray of water.

Percy groaned, his head dropping into his hands. “Oh, come on.”

You turned to him, bewildered. “What is wrong with this lake?!”

“Uh…” Percy sat up, his smile tense and unconvincing. “Must be, uh… feeding time! Yeah, fish feeding time. Totally normal.”

You squinted at him, unconvinced. “Feeding time?”

“Yep! Happens all the time. Fish stuff. Nothing weird.”

Another fish jumped, splashing water directly into your lap, and Percy groaned louder, muttering something under his breath.

“What was that?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing!” He shot you a quick, sheepish look, then turned back to the water and hissed, “Guys. Stop it. Right now.”

You blinked. “Wait, are you talking to the fish?”

“What? No! That’s crazy.” He laughed nervously, then muttered through clenched teeth, “I swear, if you don’t knock it off, I’m going to—”

Another fish jumped, this one with an almost gleeful flop. Percy slammed a hand over his face. “They’re, uh, supportive. That’s all.”

“Supportive?” you repeated, staring at him.

“Yes! They’re very… invested in my personal life, apparently.” He glared at the lake, his jaw tight. “I was going to do it, you morons! You didn’t have to—ugh!”

The realization hit you all at once. The fish. Percy’s weird behavior. His red cheeks. You couldn’t stop the laugh that burst out of you.

“Are you telling me the fish are trying to set you up?” you teased, grinning so hard your cheeks hurt.

Percy groaned, dragging his hand down his face. “Yes. Okay? Yes. They’re ridiculous, and now they’ve completely ruined—” He cut himself off, glancing at you nervously. “I mean, uh…”

You tilted your head, still smiling. “Ruined what?”

His face flushed deeper as he sat back, rubbing the back of his neck. “Nothing. Forget it.”

You leaned closer, your voice softening. “Percy. Ruined what?”

He looked at you then, really looked at you, and the tension from before came rushing back. “I was going to…” He hesitated, swallowing hard, then let out a breath and gave you a small, lopsided smile. “Do this.”

Before you could ask what he meant, he leaned in and kissed you.

It was soft, sweet, and a little tentative, like he wasn’t sure if he’d read everything right—but the way you kissed him back told him he had.

Somewhere behind you, a fish splashed loudly, but for once, Percy didn’t pull away. Instead, he broke the kiss just enough to mutter, “Finally.”

You laughed against his lips, your hand brushing his cheek. “I think they were rooting for you.”

He groaned, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, they’re going to hear about it later.”

You both laughed, the moment perfectly imperfect—just like Percy.

[wonupatootie]

SVT Social Media AU Fic Recsᡣ𐭩 Part II

오늘 날씬 너를 많이 닮아 너에게 가는 길은 꽃길이 되고~

Main Recs Masterlist

➣Part I // Part II // Part III

MINORS DNI!!!!!!!

Please like and reblog the fics to show the creators love and support~

Yoon Jeonghan

“Death By A Thousand Cuts” by @ssssssssssssscoups

Fem!reader || fluff, angst || Status: Completed

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･y/n loves books. she loves the way they make her feel any emotion, to get lost within the pages and words that suffocates her heart. jeonghan loves performing, loves the way his voice makes the public go wild. if they fall in love, will they fall out? 

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮

“Iris Beauty” by @wonunuu

Fem!reader || romance, fat angst, drama, comedy || Status: Completed

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･you and mina have been best friends for as long as you remember. after your parents passed from a horrible car accident, mina's parents kindly took you in, tending and caring for you as their own. at such a young age, you have learned the meaning of debt as this is your constant feeling towards your best friend and her parents. to compensate, you have showed them undoubtable loyalty, respect, love and kindness, just as they have showed you; you do everything they tell you without question. so when your best friend asks you to pretend to be her in meeting a guy she has been talking to online, your loyalty and trust are tested when you unintentionally develop feelings for him.

Hong Jisoo

“You Were Beautiful” by @viastro

Fem!reader || modernised cinderella au, strangers to lovers, humour, fluff, angst || Status: Completed

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･in which you and joshua meet through your love for boba popsicles, but end up living out your very own complicated, mess filled, cinderella story.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮

“Love On The Air” by @suhnshinehaos

Gn!reader || uni au, childhood friends to ???, pining, fluff, angst || Status: Completed

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･joshua hong wants you to know how he feels about you, but god forbid he actually say it out loud. instead, he settles on the next best thing : dedicating a song to you every week on the campus radio. too bad you’re too dense to actually figure out it’s all for you.

Wen Junhui

“Moonlight” by @nonononranghaee

Based on Hidden Love, orange cat x black cat || Status: Completed

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･Jun as the boy who makes you believe in the existence of love

Lee Jihoon

“Yearning” by @jihoonotes

Gn!reader || sunshine x grumpy, fluff, humour, angst || Status: Completed

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･for yn it was love at first sight, but for jihoon it was annoyed at first sight.. oops?

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮

“FORELKSET” by @escapewriter

Fem!reader || idol au, fluff, humour, romance, slight angst || Status: Completed

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･a boring summer with you and your best friend led you both to do some dumb things, one being texting your number neighbor. however, things take a toll when your number neighbor isnt the person who they say they are.

Kim Mingyu

“My Melody” by @networkluvs

Gn!reader || college au, band au, strangers to lovers, slice of life, comedy, angst, fluff || Status: Completed

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･in which you become the muse of the overly cocky rising rockstar on campus, kim mingyu.

Xu Minghao

“What I Would Do!” by @sungbeam

Fem!reader || acquaintances to lovers, pining, fluff || Status: Completed

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･minghao is kinda sorta maybe in love with you, but he thinks you're so out of his league.

Boo Seungkwan

“Company Policy” by @whatsk-poppinhomies

Fem!reader || idol au, romance, fluff, drama, comedy, angst, smut || Status: Completed

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･Being an intern at Hybe was a dream come true for you. It was simply a summer program where you got to experience and be a part of the behind the scenes work that pushed the artists to the top. Three months working with some of the biggest k-pop artists, it wasn’t a big deal, that is until Boo Seungkwan entered your life and you both began to question the Company Policy.

Lee Chan

“PANG!” by @kkumawrites

Fem!reader || college au, strangers to friends to lovers, angst, drama || Status: Completed

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･You'd consider yourself a simple college student, a freshman who just wants to survive their first year - but things get complicated when you're suddenly falling for someone you definitely shouldn't be, especially since he has a girlfriend already.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮

“The Fiancé” by @wondernus

ft. Pi Cheolin || est.relationship, romance, humour, mystery || Status: Completed

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･a mysterious pink fishing vest. a fiancé who wakes up in the middle of nowhere. and an upcoming wedding on the line. there's only so much you can take before you let your perfect future crumble before your eyes.

Unspecified End Game

“Choi Seungcheol Must Die” by @princessleechan

Fem!reader || Potential endgame: seungcheol, mingyu, seokmin, chan || college au, slight angst, romance, humour, eventual smut || Status:Completed

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･Mingyu wasn't the one with his heart broken. It was his little sister. And Seokmin's older sister. And Chan's best friend. Choi Seungcheol is a menace to society and needs to be put down. Immediately. The sure fire way to do it is to give him a taste of his own medicine: break his heart.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮

“REDAMANCY” by @escapewriter

Fem!reader || Potential endgame: junhui, minghao || college au, slice of life, fluff, humour, romance || Status: Completed

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･your best friend was lucky enough to have two boys pining after her. you on the other hand were unluckyenough to be in love with one of them.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮

“Newsflash!” by @cupidhaos

University harem, angst, humour, fluff, slice of life || Status: Completed

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･university life can be hard when you get caught up with the SVT boys

⤷“Move!” (sequel of Newsflash!)

University harem, angst, humour, fluff, slice of life, mystery || Status: Completed 

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･a new school year means new beginnings and new memories - but that can be hard with unfinished love stories in the way

Please let me know if the links have any problems~

[narrycherries]

ivy: an incandescent glow

She just wants to have a fun night out, but Harry has a tendency to ruin things..

[part 2]

masterlist // ivy series

word count: 10.9k

warnings/tags: enemies to lovers, harry x fem oc, angst

Although the week had been quite packed with things at work, Ivy had decided that maybe it would be best if she did go out for the night. It would only be for a few hours, and Niall had assured her when he came over the other night for dinner that it would be a good time. Emma begged a few times, of course, and she didn’t want to admit to giving in to her, but she did.. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for her to go out, it had simply been a while.

“Is Niall riding with us?” She asked Emma when she popped in Ivy’s room to borrow a pair of earrings that would better match her outfit.

“No, he’s going with Zayn. They usually go early to meet with the owner and stuff.” She explained as she looked in the mirror, slipping the earrings into her piercing holes. “He might ride back.. I’m not going to drink very much, probably just one drink when we first get there. He’ll want to celebrate after and you know how he is.”

“He definitely doesn’t need to be in a driver’s seat.”

Emma sighed. “He doesn’t even need to do that when he’s sober. He pays horrible attention to the road.”

“Your dress is cute. I love the red on you.”

“Thanks! I love your skirt.. even though it covers your ass too much.” She joked with a grin.

Ivy rolled her eyes. “I don’t want my ass hanging out all the time.”

“When it looks that good.. you should.”

“Do I need to change?”

Emma smacked her lips and grabbed Ivy’s hand, knocking the makeup brush out of her grip. “Stop! You look perfect, Ivy, I’m only teasing because your ass is nice and mine is nowhere near as big.” A laugh fell from her lips as she wrapped her arms around Ivy. “You’re hot, girl.”

“Am not.” She huffed back, embracing Emma just as tight. “But thanks.”

“The skirt is hot. The style is cute on you, plus the sparkles on your shirt are going to shine so much in the bar. Like a disco ball.. all eyes on you, sugar.”

Ivy chuckled at Emma’s flattering statements. She was glad to have an encouraging friend like her. Before all the joking, she did have a thought or two about the skirt and the bright orange shirt covered in fake rectangular gemstones. The straps were thin, and the necklace was low but straight across, covering any opportunity for cleavage to show. It was definitely not a shirt someone would wear on a daily basis, but it was perfect for going out.

“Are you wearing heels?” Emma asked, looking down to see her shoeless feet.

“Probably the chunky ones with the straps, the black ones. Are you?”

She nodded back. “I’ll make Niall rub my feet tonight.”

Ivy snickered. “I’ll make you rub mine.”

“I mean, I will. You’re my best friend.. as long as you aren’t sweaty.” Emma’s lashes hit her cheek as she winked.

“Don’t you need to finish getting ready?” Ivy said as she turned back towards the mirror to work on her makeup.

Emma was notorious for being late, and it took everything in Ivy to wrangle her up and out of the door when they were going places together. Niall didn’t give them a specific time to be at the bar, but he did say when the band would start. Emma needed to get ready quick if they wanted to make it on time.

The car ride was full of quick conversations with random topics in between their performances of some of their favorite songs. They had hit a karaoke stage as a duo before, plenty of times, so they were confident in their list of songs. In between the belting and off key singing, they had a few longer talks. Emma asked if Ivy was nervous about going to a bar she’d never been to before, in which she said ‘no, I’m excited’ and then let Emma tell her all about the layout of the place.

“You said something about.. Niall celebrating after?”

Emma nodded as she kept her eyes on the road ahead of them. “They don’t play the entire night. Usually have about two afters until closing. Depends on if there’s any requests.”

“Requests?” Ivy lifted her brows, surprised by the seemingly popularity Niall’s crew had. “They must be really good?”

Although she had seen videos of Niall, she hadn’t seen any of his band. Emma didn’t really use social media a lot, so she never posted anything or shared posts about their shows. Ivy was going to be completely surprised by whatever was to come tonight. She knew it would be good though. If they could continue to book the same venue time and time again, then they must bring in a good audience.

When the silence rose between them, Ivy took the opportunity to look at Emma’s outfit. She was humming softly to the song playing on the radio as she drove, her concentration on the road and not on her friend’s gazing eyes. Emma had such pretty dark hair that Ivy thought was perfectly placed strand by stand on her head. It had a natural wave to it that was easy to style, whereas Ivy had to place heated curls into her long, straight hair whenever she wanted it to look cute. Emma had a slimmer build than she did, her legs were longer despite them being a similar height. No matter how hard she tried not to look, her eyes always naturally fell to catch a glimpse at the gap between Emma’s legs. She never looked at it in a weird way, like she was attracted to her, but in an envious way. When she stared down at her own thighs or burned holes through her mirror, she always frowned and swallowed harshly as her skin pressed together - the inside of her thighs always touching. It wasn’t the biggest deal to her, but it was noticeable in her eyes, so she assumed it was.. noticeable for everyone else. Emma had small boobs, but they fit perfectly on her frame. While Ivy had a small cup size, they didn’t necessarily match her body, she believed. Her hips were wider, her ass fuller - as Emma reminded her often - and her stomach was pudgy. She wasn’t skinny, nor tall and lanky. She was short, plump, and her thighs touched.. She never thought she was unattractive but she figured she wasn’t conventionally attractive, she didn’t possess those things that society craved and demanded of women.

Emma’s outfit tonight was perfectly sculpted to her slim body. The red dress had a satin finish to it as it draped carefully over her cleavage, the swell of her breasts peeking out just enough to keep someone guessing. Her tanned skin was littered with delicate gold jewelry - her signature flower ring on her right hand was accompanied by a few random ones, and a ruby necklace hung over her collarbones, Niall gifted that to her for Christmas.

Ivy was confident in her outfit for the night, she was comfortable in the articles of clothing. She was very used to wearing heels when going out, she believed they made the outfits even better, so her feet weren’t going to be hurting that bad later on. She thought her makeup was done nicely, a dark grey smokey eye with a shimmery white covering her lid and a pink nude gloss over her thick lips. Her lips, that was the one thing she was confident in each and every time she looked at her reflection. They were plump, full, and much thicker than the average person’s. She had been told several times that her lips would do wonders - although, she hadn’t gotten to that with anyone yet. She had kissed a few people, though, and they told her it was heavenly. She took the praise to heart and was proud of it. Her thighs might touch and her hair might dry straight, but she had pretty lips.. that would surely be enough to attract someone one of these days, right?

After a couple of minutes of silence, more than Ivy had realized, Emma spoke up. “Are you feeling okay?”

Ivy stuck her tongue out to wet her lips, smearing her lip gloss in the process. “Yeah. Why?”

Emma shrugged. “You’re quiet.. you seem like you’re thinking about something.”

“I’m fine, promise.”

They became quiet again. She knew that sometimes she became mute when she was anxious or thinking thoroughly about something, and she hated when people noticed or pointed it out. She wasn’t intentionally trying to be that way, it just happened. She assumed it was normal, but perhaps she did it too much?

“Ivy, if you’re worrying about your outfit, please don’t. You look hot. You always do.” Emma suddenly said, a smile laced in her words. “There’s gonna be guys dropping to your feet tonight, like they always do.”

“They don’t drop to my feet.” She huffed, pursing her lips at the thought. “They just want to hook up with me.”

Emma smirked. “It’s your ass, I’m telling you. They love it.”

“Emma, please.” Ivy was fighting back a chuckle.

“I promise, swear on every little thing, Ivy, your outfit is perfect and you look perfect.”

A weighted sigh escaped through her lips as she relaxed in the seat, her eyes shifting to look out of the window. “Thanks, Em.”

While Ivy had never been to the establishment they arrived at, she was no stranger to a bar or club setting. Emma no longer seemed to be worried or concerned about any lingering doubts Ivy might have about her outfit or how the night would go. They strolled to the door, hand in hand with giggles pouring from their mouths as Emma joked about how excited she was for what Niall was going to give her after the show. Apparently, performing gave him a boost of confidence, energy, and testosterone. Emma was not shy about telling every detail and making sure Ivy knew all the craziest parts.

“There’s a good bit of people here.” Ivy said as she raised her brows, looking at the good sized line forming to the door.

“Yeah, it’s always packed out. This is one of the best places around. Decent prices, good djs and bands, obviously.” Emma grinned at her own comment. “And the food is actually great. I never came before I got with Niall though.”

“Yeah, I’m kinda surprised we never popped in here during school.”

Emma’s smile turned to a smirk. “They couldn’t handle our karaoke performances.”

Once they paid the cover charge and made a quick trip to the restroom before getting settled anywhere, they headed to the bar, still hand in hand as they weaved through the crowd of people already dancing. Ivy took notice of the interior as they waited for the bartender to come over to them.

The place was pretty big for what it was. The main room had a large dance floor space, a stage lined the back wall. Apparently, the place always had live performers or guest djs. It used to be a small theater that was renovated - the seating ripped out to transform the venue, but the stage remained untouched. Along the left side of the huge open room were tables with booth style benches shaped in half circles. Most of them were already occupied, but she could tell it was more of a casual thing - instead of a ‘being seated and waited on’ space. There was a doorway close to the opposite end of the bar covered with a long, sparkling beaded curtain. The sign next to the door read ‘VIP’. She pursed her lips at the idea of this place being so popular that they had a special seating area. Her eyes darted to the bartender as she heard Emma start saying her order. Ivy ordered a drink consisting of rum and pineapple juice, intending to get something stronger later once the show started.

“Hey there, strangers.” A familiar voice called out over the music.

“Oh, hi, Niall!” Emma was cheerful as he sat down on the stool closest to them. They had been standing, though, not wanting to claim a seat at the bar. “What are you doing out here?”

He shrugged. “We’ve got a few minutes to kill. Getting started?” He nodded his head towards the drink in Emma’s hand.

“Yeah, just having one.. since you’ll be drinking whatever’s left at the bar later.”

Ivy laughed at their banter, which caught Niall’s attention. “I expect you, missy, to have fun tonight. I want everyone to experience how wild you can get.”

“I told her she needs to have fun!” Emma exclaimed, reaching over to grab Ivy’s elbow and give it a squeeze.

“I’ll have a few.. but I’m not going to go crazy.”

They both gave her a dramatic eye roll, Niall adding a huff to his reaction. “C’mon, Ivy, live a little!”

“Yeah, a little, not a lot.” She smiled back, amused by their mix of excitement and disappointment.

“I’ll make sure you have a few rounds of tequila later. On me, of course.” Niall said, looking from her to Emma. “If you don’t drink yours.. then I’ll take it, babe.”

“Are you guys doing requests tonight?” Emma changed the topic after shaking her head at him.

He slowly lifted his head in a nod. “From what I was told. As long as we know it.. we’ll play it.”

“Do my song, okay?” Emma begged with a pout of her lips.

He shaped a grin on his. “It’s on the set list, baby.”

“What kind of music do you play?” Ivy asked, genuinely curious about it. Emma hadn’t really given her much of an idea about what to expect, just a guarantee that she’d love it and have fun.

“Mostly rock.. We do a lot of nineties.. early two thousands songs. Bunch of classic rock, though. Little bit of grunge, dad rock.. if that’s what you wanna call it. Sometimes we branch out.. but mostly stick to that stuff.” Niall said as he stood from the stool, a sigh following his final words as he ran a hand through his puffed up dark hair.

“Time to get ready?” Emma pouted, her free hand slipping onto his waist.

“Yeah, gotta round up the lads.” He breathed out, his eyes focusing on Emma now. “I’ll be watching you, babe. Make sure ya dance for me, yeah?” He teased with a lick of his lips, which clearly fell downward to meet hers.

Ivy swallowed a sip of her drink and let her eyes move to the floor. She wasn’t grossed out by their display of affection, she just felt like she was intruding. Emma was always so open with her about the things she did with Niall and others before he came along, but she never had those kinds of stories to tell back to her. She had been with one person, the summer before university began, and it was terrible. Aside from that, kissing people was the extent of her experience. She enjoyed most of the times she had almost gone far with people, but it never got to that point.

Emma hugged Niall quickly as he said something about needing to go. When he disappeared in the crowd, Emma turned to face Ivy again.

“Niall might stay over tonight.” She said, taking a sip of her drink. “Just to let you know.”

“Alright, that’s fine.”

Emma slid her gaze around the room, taking in the familiar setting, before looking back to Ivy. “I hope you like the music. There’s a bunch of songs you definitely know on the set.”

“M’sure I will.”

“Are you good?” Emma smiled sweetly, not trying to pry or seem too nosy, but she noticed how Ivy had shied away from her and Niall just before he left.

“I’m fine. You worry too much.”

Ivy sighed lightly as Emma took her hand. “Maybe we can find you a hot guy tonight. I know you know how to use those lips.”

“Don’t say it like that!” Ivy laughed, covering her mouth as her cheeks blushed.

“Kissing, I mean! But I’m sure you can do the other stuff, too.” Emma just smirked, knowing that her attempt at making Ivy feel better was working.

They didn’t have to wait too much longer for everything to start. But as they stood next to the bar, partially resting on the stools, the place filled up to more than capacity. It was like a big name musician was in town. Emma told Ivy about the popularity of the bar again and how it was always sold out and packed floor to ceiling with people. She was very impressed by the crowd that had formed around them, and she wondered how much of that was just from the place’s atmosphere and how much was for the live show.

Just as the guy who was normally over the music appeared on the stage to announce that the show was about to begin, Emma grabbed Ivy’s hand and they shoved their way to the front of the crowd, not quite in the center but close enough. Emma wanted to be in front of where Niall would be standing. The lights dimmed, replaced with flashing colorful lights and white strobing flashes. Emma was cheering with the crowd while Ivy waited in anticipation. She was excited to see Niall perform live, but she was more interested in seeing the rest of the band.

A small group flooded the stage suddenly, instruments in a few of their hands, including Niall’s. The lights were purposely not flashing on to the stage yet, so it was too dark for her to tell. She thought she recognized the person getting behind the drum set, but she wasn't sure. Emma let out a piercing squeal as the show finally began.

Ivy happily smiled and started to sway her hips from side to side as a familiar opening instrumental of a song started to fill the room. The lights on the floor of the stage popped on, lighting up the band as the singer started the first verse of “Come As You Are”. She was nodding her head to the music as she watched Niall pluck the strings on the guitar, he was pursing his lips and seeming to be enjoying what he was doing. His eyes shot up and he gave them a quick grin before focusing back on the guitar in his hands and the microphone placed near his mouth. Emma had told her that he sings backup vocals sometimes, depending on the song. She let her eyes roam over the rest of the band. She kept getting a bright red light shot into her eye from one of the stage lights above them, so it was difficult to see at first.

“Oh, Zayn!” She yelled out over the music, hitting Emma on her arm. She hadn’t told her that he was in the band - in fact, she didn’t know much about the band at all.

There were two other people she didn’t recognize, one was a girl playing a keyboard and a guy with dark blond hair playing a bass guitar. Another gasp came from her as she finally got to clearly see the person tightly gripping the microphone. She truly didn’t expect to recognize more than just Niall and Zayn. There stood before her, in the middle of the stage with two big hands wrapped around the microphone and the top of the stand was a third familiar face. Sweat was already rolling down from his hairline, his long curly hair was messy on his head as he jerked around while singing. A white t-shirt hugged his body, sticking to him like glue, and a pair of dark jeans over his legs. The jet black ink of the snake tattoo stood out against his skin as the lights flashed over it, the creature wrapping perfectly around his arm. It was Harry.

The next song started almost immediately and it was another one that she recognized right off the top of the first note played. Ivy’s dad had a thing for rock music, and she knew the start of “Highway to Hell” like the back of her hand. She was impressed by the vocal range Harry was able to belt out into the microphone. Niall and the other guy she didn’t know the name of were singing the chorus with him. Emma was dancing like it was the actual band performing the song, but her behavior made Ivy more comfortable and soon she was doing the same.

Every now and then, Niall would flash them a toothy grin and give them a nod of his head, approving of their performance and dancing. Ivy was on her second drink, this one they grabbed soon after Niall left them and it was stronger than the first. She was feeling the blood rushing to her cheeks, and not from the dancing or close quarters of the crowd. It had been a while since she went out, so she was starting to feel that sensation flood through her - she wanted to have fun tonight.

For almost an hour, Ivy and Emma danced with each other, screaming out the lyrics they knew to different songs. They would do an impersonation of Niall every now and when he'd look towards them, air guitars and rock star head bangs acted out - all of which made him throw his head back and laugh. Like they usually did when they went out together, they’d grab onto each other and hug while singing or playfully run their hands down each other’s sides. It was all in fun, of course, and the alcohol contributed.

They both let go of their embrace as the music dialed down, twisting so they could face the stage. Niall was guzzling a bottle of water as Harry shoved his hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face. The bass player grabbed a stool from the back of the stage and brought it to Harry. Emma was familiar with this portion of the show, so she grabbed Ivy’s forearm to get her attention.

“I’m gonna get some water, do you want another drink?” Emma asked as she took a deep breath, exhausted from trying to outdo the performance on the stage.

“Yeah, get me another one of these.” Ivy nodded as she passed her empty cup, knowing she’d toss in the bin for her. Emma disappeared into the crowd to fight her way to the bar just as Harry adjusted the microphone stand and sat on the stool.

He was holding a bottle of water as he leaned into the microphone. “We’re gone slow it down for a bit.” His deep voice rattled through the speakers, a quick smirk shaping to his lips before he put the bottle to them.

Ivy couldn’t help but watch him as he swallowed half the contents of the bottle. It sloshed out, spilling over the corners of his mouth and running down his chin. Water droplets soaked and trailed down the fabric of his shirt. She was still so shocked by the fact he was the singer in Niall’s band. Maybe Emma just didn’t tell her because she knew they didn’t know each other. They met once, but they were strangers. He tossed the half empty water bottle on the ground, some of it spilled out since the top wasn’t screwed all the way on. His eyes roamed over the crowd as he grabbed the microphone. He glanced over his shoulder towards Niall, who gave him a nod and started up the next song.

Ivy had thoughts spinning in her head, the buzz from her drinks wasn’t helping her concentrate on just one thing. She wondered what songs they would do next. What kind of slower songs did they prefer to do? She figured it would be some of the same artists and bands they had covered thus far. Her eyes were glued to the floor, thoughts circling her mind at a hundred miles an hour. Had that second drink really been that strong or was she dizzy from being so close to the speakers?

She lifted her head the moment she realized what song was being played. She shot her gaze to Niall, then over to the bass guitarist. She knew those chords better than any other song that existed. All those running thoughts vanished in her head as Harry’s voice dropped low with the first verse of the song. The way he sang the words just as slow as they originally were done made her heart skip a beat. This song was special to her. This was something she wasn’t even sure Emma knew. She talked about losing her mom quite often with Emma, but her brother was a different story. And as his favorite song was being sung, she couldn’t help but feel a sadness creep over her joyful mood. All the energy she had jolting through her veins like lightning had slowed to a dull pulse. She gulped as she glanced next to her, Emma hadn’t returned yet. Niall was too busy focusing on the chords he was playing to give her any looks. She felt like she was about to pass out, not from the heat built up from the crowd or the alcohol in her system - but from the overwhelming feelings washing through her. Ivy’s strained blue eyes flicked to Harry, and for just a split second he locked his gaze on her. It was gone before she could understand what was happening. She was sure he didn’t notice her, and if he did then he didn’t recognize her or care to remember the glimpse of her face he got at the tattoo shop.

She thought maybe watching Niall would distract her, but witnessing him playing the music she so easily knew was making it worse. She wasn’t sure how long she had been standing there with her eyes glued to the floor. The song wasn’t over yet, that’s all she was sure of.

“Oh, this is new! They’ve never done this one before!” Emma suddenly appeared next to her, a smile over her lips as she passed Ivy the drink.

She turned her head, glad to see that her friend had returned but sort of upset that she left in the first place. Emma couldn’t have known what song was going to be next, clearly she was unaware of it, and she didn’t know the intense attachment Ivy had to it. She couldn’t blame Emma for anything.

“Thanks. I’m running.. to the restroom!” She yelled over the speaker that was extremely close to them.

Emma gave her a thumbs up and a quick ‘be careful’. Before Emma could drop her arm, Ivy was pushing her way through the crowd towards the restroom, well she actually wasn’t sure where she was heading. She had to get away from that stage. She had to disappear for a few minutes to collect herself. It wasn’t the performance that bothered her - Niall was amazing, as were the others playing instruments, and Harry was doing the song justice. It was just her mind. Sweaty bodies bumped into her as she elbowed through everyone. She felt like she was drowning in a sea of people. It was so loud in the place that her ears were ringing. She couldn’t even hear the music anymore, she was unaware the song had finished and a new one was being played. She broke through the crowd, sucking in a quick breath as she realized she was free of the constraints of people around her.

The restroom was close by, and she stopped just outside the door to chug the alcohol from the cup Emma had just brought her. It was gone within a few seconds. She didn’t care about the sticky drops landing on her chest or the few rolling down her lips, smudging her lip gloss and tracing light lines in her makeup. The bathroom was cold, arctic cold at that. It was a feeling of utter relief to be free of the music, the crowd, the lights.

She stumbled to the sinks, almost forgetting the height of her shoes. Her hands gripped the cold porcelain of the sink in the farthest corner of the bathroom. The fuzzy feeling in her head hadn’t faded yet. She stared at the sink bowl, the silver lined drain gazing back up at her. Ivy spent far longer in the restroom than she meant to.

After ten minutes of her being gone, Emma decided she was going to check on Ivy. She was in still in the restroom, and after Emma asked her several times if she was alright or feeling upset, they chose to return to the front of the crowd. Ivy convinced her friend that she was just having an upset stomach from the drinks, despite them stopping by the bar so she could get another before they got back to the stage. Emma didn’t think anything of it and just assumed that since it had been a while since Ivy had alcohol, maybe she really was just having a stomach ache.

The band continued on for a while longer, taking a few breaks here and there to drink water and take requests. Ivy considered submitting a song to Niall, but she was hesitant to. Besides, several other songs had been yelled out from the crowd, along with some people pushing their way to the front to the stage to call out a song title. She assumed this wouldn’t be the last time Emma drug her out to one of Niall’s shows, so she’d just request something next time. Instead of waiting around for the final song, she returned to the bar on her own and ordered a shot. The memories of her brother were faded by now, but she was determined to flood them out with alcohol. Tonight was supposed to be fun anyway, not filled with sadness.

Emma cheered loud for the band as they finished their last song and said a quick thank you to everyone. Ivy was perched on a bar stool, her eyes filling with stars as she stared at the bar, trying to stay awake. The usual dj returned to the stage to get the music going for the patrons of the bar. It was obvious that some people only showed for the live music because a good bit exited out the door once the set was over, but it was still a pretty big crowd in the building.

“Hey! There you are!” Emma shouted as she walked to the bar, her hand reaching out to take Ivy’s. “Feeling okay?”

“Yeah. Just got some water.” She presented a drunken smile as she held up the small cup of ice water.

“Good! You need to take a break.” Emma grinned back, glad to see that Ivy was enjoying herself, but wary of how much she had consumed. “C’mon, Niall and the others are gonna be in the back room for the rest of the night.”

“Okay.” Ivy didn’t really have a choice on what to do as Emma yanked her off the bar stool and towards the beaded curtain she noticed earlier. It was sparkling from the lights reflecting on the crystals. “Where are we going?”

Emma gave her a laugh, amused by her obvious buzzed behavior, and just pulled her through the curtain. Ivy smacked a few strands of beads away from her face as they tried to tangle up in her hair. The same music that was playing in the main room was also playing in this one. She was intrigued by the new setting, curious to know what kind of important people would be filling it. Was it just for the bar’s usual customers or did you have to have some kind of pass? She wasn’t sure, the disco ball hanging from the ceiling distracted her and made the thoughts dissipate. Her eyes shifted around the room as she took in the new sights. Heavy velvet curtains dripped from the ceilings, covering the walls but not actually any windows they were simply decorations. There were three big, fancy leather sectionals placed in the room - two in each corner and one in the middle of the wall. Curtains hung to separate them, but they appeared to be pulled back tonight. Glowing purple lights centered on short tables in the middle of each couch lit up the leather, making everything seem magical and ethereal. She couldn’t miss the stripper’s pole that was in the middle of the small dance floor, elevated a few feet off the ground on an even smaller stage.

“Hi, Emma!” A girl appeared in front of them, and Ivy recognized her as the girl who was playing the keyboard on stage. The girl’s natural red hair was glowing under the mix of lights flashing in the room. “Who’s this beauty?”

Emma grinned, letting go of Ivy’s hand so she could gesture to her. “This is my friend, Ivy. We live together.”

“Oh, nice to meet you!”

Ivy mustered up a polite smile and a small wave. “Hi.”

“This is Michelle.” Emma said, glancing at Ivy to make sure she was okay.

“You were awesome on stage.” She said to the girl who’s eyes she found to be pretty, the piercing icy blue lighting up even in the dark room.

“Thank you!” She nodded towards the table in the back corner. “I think we’ve claimed that one for the night if you girls wanna sit.”

“Sure!” Emma followed behind her, which led Ivy to do the same.

Michelle and Emma plopped down on the leather couch, immediately starting up a conversation as Ivy sat next to them, but not as close as they were together. She let her eyes move around the room again, searching for a familiar face. There were a handful of people already in the room, most of which were talking to a girl to place their drink orders. She moved her head a little, trying to see past someone. In that same moment, a security guard pulled back the beaded strings and let a group of people in. By the way they were dressed and how some of them had a smug look on their faces, she assumed these were the higher paying patrons of the establishment. Emerging from behind that crowd, Ivy saw Niall brush past the beads. His eyes roamed around until he spotted them in the back.

“Oh, there’s the guys.” Michelle nudged Emma to get her attention as she pointed towards them.

“Finally!” Emma jumped up as Niall got closer to them, she was ready to pounce on him. Their eyes met and he put on a big smirk for her, just as excited as she was to finally get his hands on her.

“Have you met everyone else?” Michelle asked as she slid over next to Ivy, their thighs touching as she offered a kind smile.

“I’ve met Zayn.” She said with a soft sigh. “Kinda met Harry, but not really.”

“Oh, well, that’s Cory!” Michelle pointed to the guy that walked past Niall and Emma as they hugged and twirled each other around. “He plays bass.”

Ivy gave her a nod, silently letting her know she was paying attention. The guy approached the couch before Niall did, since Emma was holding things up with her pecks to his cheeks and lips. He gave Michelle a smile and shot his eyes to Ivy His brows furrowed and he held his hand out in a loosely pointing gesture towards her.

“Don’t think we’ve met.” He said, his confused look morphing to a smile as he sat in the spot across from her. “Niall told me Emma had a friend coming. Ivy, right?”

“Yeah, that’s me.” She turned her lips up, giving him a gentle nod of her head.

“Not drinking tonight?” Michelle asked him with a cock of her brow as she noticed his empty hands.

He laughed back. “Harry’s bringing us a round.”

“Oh, of course he is.”

“Hey, Ivy!” Niall greeted her with a loud voice, happy to see that she was finally apart of their small crew. “How was the show?”

Emma took a seat on the opposite side of the coach, letting Niall claim the place closest to Cory. “I think she loved it!”

“It was so good. You guys are amazing.”

“Saw me shredding the fuck out of that guitar, yeah?” He joked, getting a laugh out as everyone rolled their eyes and smiled at him.

“You killed it, for sure.” ivy took a sip of her water, wishing she had more than that was left in the cup.

“What are you drinking?” Michelle asked curiously.

She pushed out a breath. “Just water right now. I.. had a few already.”

“Your outfit is stunning. I love the top.”

Emma beamed as she heard the compliment. “I told you, Ivy, you look so hot tonight!”

“I’ll say.” Michelle teased just as her phone buzzed in her hand, her eyes falling down to check the message.

Ivy felt a bit of uneasiness building in her stomach as she realized she was feeling out of place all of a sudden. Cory was also focused on his phone while Emma had thrown her leg over Niall’s lap and her arm around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. While she wasn’t with complete strangers, she didn’t really know Michelle and Cory. The only other person she knew hadn’t come over here yet, Zayn wasn’t anywhere near that she could see. Emma was distracted with Niall, leaving Ivy to fend for herself. She swallowed a lump that was forming in her throat and ran her hand over the ends of her skirt, adjusting it on the tops of her thighs. She reverted back to those insecure thoughts she had while on the drive here. Michelle was skinnier than Emma was, leaving her to feel even more vulnerable and uncomfortable. She tried to ignore it by picking up her head, wanting her eyes to catch something interesting to stare at for a bit - but instead she saw someone she recognized coming their way, two people actually.

“The party’s here!” Michelle announced as she, too, looked up and saw what was heading their way.

Everyone looked up to see Zayn walking to them, a girl on his arm, and Harry leading one of the bartenders from the front room to the table. The woman had a tray of beers balanced on her palm. Zayn sat down next to Niall, the woman holding onto his elbow sitting beside him. Ivy figured that was Alyssa - Emma had mentioned her several times while telling stories. The bartender sat the tray down and replied as Niall and Cory both thanked her for bringing them out. She disappeared, leaving them to all to reach for a cup.

“Take one, take one. Drink this damn shit.” Harry yelled with a joyful tone as he grabbed a cup before taking the space next to Michelle.

“Shit, I forgot to tell Harry about Ivy.” Niall said with a groan, glancing at Emma as he got them each a cup.

“What?” Harry smacked his lips as he heard his name, not sure what Niall was referring to.

“My friend, Ivy. She was with me at the shop when I got my tattoo.” Emma said, motioning her hand to where Ivy was sitting.

Harry leaned up to look past Michelle towards the person he had only briefly laid his eyes on before. He shrugged his shoulders, seemingly not concerned with her presence.

“I got the usual number, so she’s shit out of luck.” He casually said the harsh words.

Emma stood up to pass the drink to Ivy. “She can have mine! Here, Ivy, I’m not drinking anything else.”

She gladly took it and brought the cup to her lips, taking just a sip. That caught Zayn’s attention. He jolted up, pointing towards her with a grin on his face.

“Hey! I need to see you chug that since you’re so good at it.”

Emma clapped her hands together, remembering that she’s mentioned Ivy’s secret talent to him before. “C’mon, Ivy! Show ‘em how it’s done.”

“No, no. Not tonight.” Ivy let out a nervous laugh and slowly sipped the beer. It wasn’t her favorite drink, but she wasn’t going to be rude and turn down the offer.

Niall let a smirk grow on his lips. “I need to witness this, too. C’mon, we’ll get ya another one.”

She shook her head again. “I can’t, I might throw up. I’ve had a few.”

“What is it, can she chug quick?” Cory asked, leaning his elbow on his knee as he was now curious with the excitement coming from them.

“Fast as fuck, Cory. I swear, she’s insane.” Emma said with a proud smile.

“She’s exaggerating.” Ivy shook her head, trying to hide her flushing cheeks by turning her head.

Niall stood up, his cup still full, and stepped around the table to where Ivy was sitting. He grabbed her hand and yanked her up to her feet, laughing as she stumbled but quickly caught herself. Emma was cheering her on, knowing that Niall was about to challenge her.

“C’mon! Let’s see who can finish first.” Niall said, hitting his cup against hers, the liquid sloshing around in the clear plastic.

She let out a heavy sigh and rolled her eyes at them, aware that she wouldn’t hear the end of it if she chose not to do it. She cleared her throat, took a deep breath, and nodded.

“Fine.”

Niall boasted with excitement, screaming like his favorite team just won a game. Emma watched with a wide grin, her hands clasped together - she hadn’t seen Ivy have this much fun in a while, so she was ecstatic over it. Cory counted them down from three. Ivy relaxed her throat and let the liquid flow into her mouth. She closed her eyes, trying to dissociate herself so that she didn’t think about drinking quickly. The trick was to forget what you were actually doing and just.. do it. She was fairly good at the trick, seeming to perfect it. Niall still had about a third of his beer left when she dropped the cup on the table, not a single drop let.

Michelle jumped up and raised her hands high, screeching loud as she felt like she witnessed a miracle. Emma was laughing hard at the drop of Cory’s jaw and the impressed smirk on Zayn’s face.

“Fuck.” Niall choked out as he finished, his hand covering his stomach as he felt the beer rushing down his body.

“It’s all in the throat.” Ivy joked as she gave him a playful shove.

Niall chuckled, patting her on the back as if she achieved something so great. “M’glad you’re better with your throat than I am with mine.”

“Wait, wait. Now I’m feeling competitive.” Cory said with a laugh, glancing at his own drink that was still full.

“I can do one more, but that’s it.” Ivy said, her stomach bubbling from the contents filling it.

“Here. I barely drank any.” Michelle offered up her beer, more focused on the entertainment than drinking it herself.

“C’mon, let’s do it.” Cory jumped up, ready to put his previous years of being in a fraternity to the test.

Niall led the count this time, and as soon as the word ‘go’ left his mouth, Ivy had her lips on the rim of the cup, tipping it back into her mouth. Everyone watched again with amazement as laughter and cheers filled the space they shared. Well, all but one let out a joyful noise. Harry was sitting against the back of the couch with his arm over his chest, watching but seeming to not be amused by it. He thought Cory was being a flirt and Niall was just weak because he couldn’t get it down quicker than this girl.

“Damn, you’re good.” Cory couldn’t even finish his drink, he just gave up.

Ivy sat back down next to Michelle, who was definitely her newest cheerleader. Michelle had heard some positive things about Ivy, so she was glad she was enjoying her company.

“I told you she was good.” Emma said with a smirk as if she had placed bets and won.

“Got a throat on you, for sure.” Cory sighed out as he fell against the couch, his gut churning.

Harry scoffed to himself. “Throat like a whore.”

Niall heard the comment, but he wasn’t sure who else did. He shot Harry a stern glare, but he obviously didn’t care. Michelle slid her arm around Ivy’s back and tightly gripped her shoulder, pulling them closer together.

“This girl is a champ.” She declared. “Welcome to the group, Ivy. You’re officially one of the girls.”

Cory lifted his hand in a pretend toast. “It was an honor to get my ass kicked.”

“That’s a talent right there.” Zayn added, having not said that much tonight but he was definitely paying attention.

“That’s kind of gross.” Harry added to the conversation, a cocky smirk on his lips as he looked away from Ivy.

She furrowed her brows lightly, catching what he said this time. “You’re probably just scared I’d beat you, too.”

It was most definitely the alcohol that was causing her to speak so freely to the person she knew the least about in the group of people surrounding her. Sure, she was confident in herself when she wasn’t sober and she wouldn’t let a rude comment slide by unnoticed, but she was ready to spit out another line if he tested her patience.

Harry snarled his lip up, not liking that she was speaking to him in that manner. “Please, you wish.”

Michelle was never one to shy away from talking back to Harry, so when she added a few words, Ivy was pleased to know she wasn’t fighting this battle alone. “You’re such a douche. You’d probably cry if she out drank you.”

Harry shot her a glance, but he wasn’t concerned with his friend’s comment. He wasn’t too content with the idea of some random girl he didn’t know coming into his circle of friends and grabbing all the attention. Maybe he was jealous, or maybe he really was just a douche.

“I wouldn’t be braggin’ about a loose throat.” He sat up, his elbows hitting his knees as he eyed Ivy with a cold stare. “Probably take down dicks faster than beer.”

Ivy didn’t feel comfortable with him staring at her like he wanted to throw his fists into her body. She pursed her lips in an effort to let it go, not wanting to start any unwanted drama among her newfound friends - well, some of them were friends. Emma nudged Niall and mumbled to him about controlling his friend, but Niall knew there wasn’t much he could do.

“Give it a rest, Harry.” He sighed out, knowing that if he didn’t at least try then Emma would be upset with him.

Harry let out an unamused laugh. “Truth hurts, Horan.”

“Y’don’t have to be a dick about it, Harry. Give the girl some respect.” Zayn added, taking a sip of his drink after. He was staring at the table, not even wanting to give Harry the extra attention of a spared glance.

“All m’saying is it’s not that impressive.” Harry shrugged, standing up so he could make an exit from the group and go occupy himself with something else. But before he walked away, he stopped in front of Michelle and let his eyes fall down to the girl he knew nothing about. “Does your mother know you drink like a grown man?”

“Har-“ Emma tried to quickly intervene, but it was too late. Ivy was already responding to him.

“My mom’s dead. So, no, probably not.” Her cold tone and narrowed eyes made

Harry gently furrowed his brows. He heard exactly what she said, but he didn’t seem to care. Niall got up to grab his elbow, knowing that he should do something before any more hurtful comments were made.

“C’mon.” He pulled Harry away from the seating area, mumbling something about him needing to relax.

“Sorry about him.” Cory was the first to apologize as Niall and Harry disappeared into the small crowd.

Ivy fell back against the couch, her arms crossing over her chest. She licked her lips and nodded to him, not wanting to talk for fear of losing control of her emotions. Michelle gently rested her hand atop Ivy’s thigh, not wanting to be too overbearing but hoping to give her some comfort.

“I’m sorry, Ivy. I told Niall to make sure he was nice tonight.” Emma frowned, knowing that the comment Harry made would haunt Ivy for the next few days, if not longer.

“Yeah, he’s a bit of a dick.” Michelle said, a disappointment expression covering her features. “He doesn’t do well with change and.. I guess you being here is changing things. But it’s not your fault.”

“It’s fine. I.. I’m just going to ignore it.”

Ivy felt a burn in her chest that wasn’t from the drinks she downed minutes ago. This was a type of feeling erupting from the insults she caught. She was so upset with what was said to her, not just the thing about her mother, but more than that.. she was confused as to what she did that warranted that sort of treatment. Had she been rude to him by not greeting him like she did the others? He was so standoffish though, he didn’t appear to want to be spoken to. He acted like she wasn’t even sitting there when he walked up, even though he looked at her when he saw her next to Michelle. Was something said about her to him from someone else that he didn’t find appealing? Had Zayn not liked her when they met the second time, perhaps he made a comment to Harry? No, she shook that thought off. Zayn seemed to enjoy her company.

Cory mentioned something about getting a few shots, to which Ivy just nodded and agreed that it would be fun. He left the girls and Zayn alone, which made Zayn start up a conversation. Ivy was listening, but she wasn’t contributing. All she could think about was the rude behavior Harry displayed towards her. Surely, there must have been something she did to him. She couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Over towards the beaded curtain that was rattling from the vibrations of the music pounding through the building, Niall stood in front of Harry with a clearly irritated look on his face. Harry leaned against the wall, listening with a blank stare as Niall scolded him.

“Are you fucking serious? Why are you so rude?” Niall spat out, throwing his hands up in the air as the disbelief stuck in his mind. “Emma invited her out, you have no right to be such a dick to her.”

“I don’t fuckin’ know the chick.” Harry shrugged, not caring to listen to Niall’s parenting but he knew he couldn’t escape just yet.

“It doesn’t matter, Harry. I told you she was going to be here tonight and to be fuckin’ polite to her. At least treat her like she’s a person and not a piece of garbage.”

Harry huffed and moved his eyes to Niall’s. “I don’t know her. I don’t care about being polite to her.”

Niall shook his head, not believing what he was hearing. “Get to fuckin’ know her then. She’s not going anywhere, that’s Emma’s friend. Act like you have sense.”

“Look, I didn’t fuckin’ know her mom was dead.”

Niall wanted to wring his neck, he wasn’t getting the point. “It doesn’t matter! Act nice. Pretend to have a fuckin’ heart for once.”

Harry pushed himself off the wall, the conversation now boring him. He gave Niall a wave before deciding it was best if he just found a distraction for the rest of the night. Niall couldn’t quite understand why he was being so rude to Ivy, but there was nothing else that he could say. If his words worked, then that would be a miracle.

Ivy sat there quietly for a handful of minutes, ignoring the small talk that was going on around the table. Her eyes were roaming out through the crowd that had thickened since Niall stormed off with Harry in tow. The pole fixed to the ceiling was now occupied by a dancer in a lace bodysuit, strategically placed rips and holes scattered on the fabric. She seemed to have some of the people’s attention. One person she didn’t have, though, was Harry, and Ivy took notice of that only because she saw him with his forearm secured around some woman’s waist. He had pulled her close to him, smirking and biting his lips as the woman spoke to him.

Ivy wasn’t intending on finding him in the crowd to gaze at him, it just sort of happened. She was unfamiliar with the surroundings, so her eyes fixated on something she recognized - even if it wasn’t the nicest person she’d ever met. He was completely unaware of anything happening around him, all he was concerned with was what lived between that woman’s legs. The sight of him groping her ass and leaning down to whisper things in her ear left a nasty taste in Ivy’s mouth. She found it unpleasant to witness. That sort of thing should be private.

Michelle suddenly interrupted her trance with a pat to her leg before she stood up. “Do you wanna dance?”

Ivy looked up and let out a nervous laugh. “I think I’m okay sitting here for a bit.”

Michelle groaned and grabbed her hand, tugging her up with all her strength. “C’mon! Let’s go have some fun!”

She couldn’t stop Michelle from dragging her into the crowd, so she just let it happen. Emma gave her an encouraging cheer before they vanished from the table. The girls were shoving between people to find a more open spot on the dance floor, and once Michelle was pleased with where they ended up, she turned towards Ivy and grabbed onto her waist. She decided it was best to just let all those thoughts about the things Harry said and the way he acted go. Tonight was meant for fun, not dwelling. She relaxed her body and began swaying to the music with Michelle.

“That ass!” Michelle teased in a loud shout as Ivy shook her hips to the song that was blasting through the ceiling.

All she could do was laugh as a layer of blush covered her cheeks. The music was rattling the building and the alcohol was still cycling through her veins. She was enjoying herself again, no longer fixated on that song or those comments. It wasn’t long until Emma and Niall appeared next to them. Emma turned towards them while Niall placed himself behind her, hands secured on her waist. The three of them danced and sang along with the music while Niall mostly laughed and kept his hands on Emma.

Ivy had been nervous about going out tonight - not only going to a new place, but meeting a group of new people. She was worried that her first impression wouldn’t be good, that they wouldn’t like the energy she brought. It was obvious that all of them, aside from Harry, actually enjoyed her company. Even though she didn’t get a chance to talk to a few of them, like Alyssa, the way she did Michelle, she was confident that her impression was well made. The pulsing of the music through her ears pushed out the thoughts regarding Harry. Maybe he was just in a bad mood, or maybe he was just a bitter person. She didn’t know for sure, and she didn’t care that much anymore.

Niall disappeared to get himself a beer, leaving Emma to take Ivy’s hand and lift it in the air, jumping to the beat of the song and screaming the lyrics. Michelle was thrilled to have another girl to be around, and she hoped that it wouldn’t be the last time they saw each other. She knew she’d have to beg Emma to let her and Ivy get together again. Ivy wasn’t surprised by Emma’s energetic, sober performance. She didn’t need alcohol running in her system to enjoy a good song. The night was starting to feel endless and free, in the best way. That wouldn’t last too long, though.

At some point, her eyes were absentmindedly looking over Michelle’s shoulder and were pretty much out of focus until her brain registered that familiar face again. Harry. She tried to look away, but she couldn’t force herself to as she saw that same woman he was with earlier place her lips on his. Something deep inside of her gut churned and she furrowed her brows at her own thoughts. She shook her head lightly and cut her eyes away from them. Almost as if there was a gravitational pull she couldn’t stop, her eyes shifted back to him after a few seconds.

His hair was slick with sweat, his curls shining under the flashing lights. The sweat on his skin shined like diamonds as the woman ran her hand down his forearm. Her nails scratched over the tattoo he showed off at the shop, veins popped out and skin tight around his muscles. It was like she noticed every single thing about him. Someone got in her way, blocking her view entirely. She huffed and looked towards Emma, who was still singing happily to the song playing.

Ivy was genuinely confused as to why she was thinking about him so much. Why did she care what he was doing? Why did she care who he was with? She hardly knew him. She rolled her eyes to herself and lifted her head in time to see Niall walking up, three drinks in his hand. He offered one to her and one to Michelle. They cheered together, laughing as Niall stumbled his way back to Emma. She jumped back into the song and started singing again, enjoying herself for the rest of the night.

—•—

When morning rolled over, Ivy didn’t move an inch in her bed until well after eleven o’clock. She knew Emma would sleep in with Niall, so she didn’t bother trying to be up before them. Niall stayed over every now and then, and of course he always requested a meal be made if the girls were up for it. Ivy was put on breakfast duty since Emma said she’s better at it. Niall slurred a quick beg to her last night before Emma drug him to the bedroom to get changed and tucked in. Ivy agreed to it, despite knowing her head would be pounding in the morning.

And it most definitely was. She groaned as she squeezed her eyes shut, the sunlight peeking through the curtains was enough to blind her. There was no point in sleeping any more of the day away, so she reluctantly got out of the bed after taking a few minutes to compose herself. Her arms stretched high above her head, her back popping as she twisted slightly. She sighed in relief, a weight was lifted from her as her body contorted with her stretches and groans.

Her trip to the bathroom presented her with a horrific reflection in the mirror. Her makeup had not been properly removed before she fell into her bed last night, and her hair was a wreck. She debated on taking a shower, but eventually decided it would be best to get it over with. Emma and Niall were still passed out down the hall, so she wasn’t worried about waking anyone or not having the food done in time. Niall would definitely still want breakfast no matter the time.

After her quick shower, she got changed into a set of loungewear and headed to the kitchen. She gathered all the items from the refrigerator and the cabinets, staying mindful of Niall’s large appetite. He did say he would throw in some money on their next grocery run, so she wasn’t concerned with rationing any particular item. She wasn’t in there very long by herself. Emma strolled in after a few minutes, having smelled the food starting to cook.

“Good morning, sunshine.” Ivy smirked as she saw Emma’s tired expression and tangled hair.

“Morning.” She mumbled back. “Niall slept like an animal last night.”

“Did he move around a lot?”

Emma groaned. “A lot? He moved constantly. Usually he doesn’t. I’m so tired.”

Ivy held back a laugh and just smiled. Emma sat down at the dining table, her eyes focused on what Ivy was doing. She just watched in silence for a while, too tired to say anything. They were by themselves for the majority of the cooking process. The bedroom door opened down the hall, but the bathroom door shut moments after. Niall spent a bit of time in the bathroom, which made Emma groan and hope that he wasn’t throwing up or suffering a bad hangover. He had quite a few drinks.

Eventually, almost the same time the food was ready, he walked in the kitchen with a smile on his face. Emma rolled her eyes as he tried to give her a kiss and a hug, and an apology about sleeping so roughly. Ivy let out a chuckle as he threw his hands up in defeat.

“Thanks for cooking, Ivy.” Niall said once he fixed his plate and sat down at the table with them.

“You’re welcome.”

Emma looked up from her plate and gave Niall a stern glare. He was confused at first, but when she shot her gaze to Ivy, he miraculously remembered the conversation they had in the middle of the night when he woke Emma up complaining about his head hurting. It took them a while to fall back asleep, so they just talked for a bit.

He cleared his throat after taking a sip of his water. “Um, Ivy.”

She looked his way. “Yeah?”

Niall took in a deep breath and slowly pushed it out. He seemed a bit hesitant at first, but he was trying to figure out what to say. He licked his lips and leaned back in his chair, forgetting the food for now.

“I want to apologize to you.”

Ivy dropped her brows, spared Emma a glance, then looked back to him. “What?”

He lightly sighed. “Harry.”

She was still unsure what Niall meant for a few moments, but suddenly everything came crashing back into her mind. She adjusted herself in the chair and started picking at the pancake with her fork, not really wanting to bring it back up but knowing she can’t avoid it now.

“It’s fine, Niall.”

“No, it isn’t.” Emma said, just as embarrassed by the situation as Niall was.

“He said some shitty things to you.. and I’m sorry. I.. I didn’t want that to happen, none of us did. Zayn sent me a text this morning telling me to tell you he was sorry, too.”

Ivy a wallowed gently, surprised that someone else had reached out about the situation. She thought what happened was unfortunate, but she didn’t think she’d receive such a reaction from them. Emma had a frown fixed on her lips as she kept her eyes on Niall, waiting for him to continue.

“The last thing Emma and I wanted was for you to think our friends didn’t like you. They do, they really do. I can’t speak for him but.. the rest of us are sorry.”

“Niall, it’s not that big of a deal, I promise.” Ivy tried to sail past it, but it wasn’t going to go down that easy.

“Yes it is, Ivy.” He breathed out. “He’s an ass and he says some messed up things. We’re all used to it.. and you aren’t. You shouldn’t have been spoken to that way.”

For a second, she was just ready to ignore it all again, but she changed her mind. Niall was genuinely upset and trying his best to make up for it, and she could tell Emma felt the same way. She remembered how everyone reacted when Harry said what he said last night. She thought about the way she saw Cory pinch his nose and shake his head in disbelief, and how Alyssa smacked Zayn’s arm in an attempt to get him to intervene. She remembered all the little things each of them did and how they all seemed to be in shock, embarrassed, or annoyed with it.

“Okay.. I accept the apology.” She finally said, trying to give him the best smile she could. “I promise, it’s okay.”

“I’ll beat his ass if he says something like that to you again.” Emma crossed her arms over her chest and huffed.

Niall couldn’t resist laughing at her, and Ivy quickly joined her. Although the previous night had a rollercoaster of events, she was glad that she had this new group of people to consider as her friends. For now, she’d just forget about Harry and focus on the positive memories she was able to create. As far as she was concerned, she would be perfectly fine if she never saw him again.

[a/n: I’ve been very sick these past few days but I wanted to get this out so pls ignore any spelling mistakes and all that, I’ll fix them later. if you want to be on the taglist, let me know! anyways, hope you enjoy this! love uuu! Also just a reminder that while this is lhh, he’s older in this series than actual lhh was]

** if you’re here for a reread, i did change this character to an oc so she has a name now!!

taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @victoriasigaard @ariiscringe @harlowsgirl l @lomllover @haniaaa04 @sideboobrry11 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @fangirl509east @fruity-harry @sassamanda77 @lizsogolden @prettygurl-2009 @boopookie @mypolicemanharryyy

[crsssie]

cherry red pies, pretty pink skies

word count: 1.5k || pt2 of sparkling green eyes, dazzling green lines

summary: Damian's sweet baby has her first ballet recital

"Dami, can you—"

"Don't worry." He hums, showing you the pamphlet he had picked up earlier. 

You never thought you'd be worried over ballet lessons. His sweet daughter was having her first recital, and he had cancelled a whole day's worth of plans in order to make sure that everything would go smoothly. You found it cute, though you were no less worried than he was. You could just never quite know what would go wrong in Gotham. The possibilities were endless... even with private security around the vicinity of the theatre.

You wonder if it's possible to be even more anxious than Damian.

"We'll be safe." He hums, hand reaching for yours as he runs his thumb over your knuckles, and you exhale.

"We'll be fine." You mumble. "We'll be fine."

"And if not then I get to shoot at Drake once."

"WHAT." 

Damian doesn't elaborate more on it, but when you catch a blur of orange in the dark, you get the general idea.

Well, at the very least, you feel a little more at peace knowing that someone is taking care of security. You wonder if Tim's out on the roof only to hack the cameras, though.

"Is he?" 

"No." Damian shakes his head, showing security the ticket. "Not this time."

You wonder just how worried Damian is over this entire situation, then.

"Are you worried that she'll mess up on stage at all?" You follow him to the center seats in the middle row, sitting down as he helps you down first.

"She's our blood. She's perfect even if she somehow does mess up. In that case, it would be improv, which we both know is something only the most talented can dream of doing."

You hold back at laugh at Damian's words. 

"Besides. We've both seen her practicing. She'll be alright." His hand covers yours, tapping gently at your fingers.

"I think she'll be fine." Cass hums as she slides next to the two of you, small bouquet in her arms, Bruce following shortly after.

"She's going to do the best out of all her peers." Damian rolls his eyes. 

You can only laugh.

In a way, Damian isn't wrong. Out of all those in her age group on stage, only your daughter somehow manages to remember the routine from start to finish, and when it's the end, you can barely contain your excitement to greet her. Damian follows after you with the flowers he had put in the trunk, small bouquet of congratulatory flowers in his arms as you pick up your precious baby girl and spin her around.

"You were great, baby." You grin, bouncing her in your arms.

"Thank you, mama." She mumbles. "Hi daddy."

"Hi, princess." Damian imitates a light curtsey, offering her the flowers. "Well done on your performance."

"Thank you, baba." She mumbles, cheeks flushed as she takes the flowers from her dad. "I didn't mess up."

"I know." He hums, holding her hand. "We're proud of you."

Your moment is interrupted when she spots Cass, eyes lighting up as she reaches from your arms for her. You hand her over with a gentle roll of your eyes, and Damian watches as she babbles nonsensical things that Cass entertains, flowers handed to her as she continues, thanking her in the same breath, going back to speaking.

"She takes after me for all that talking." You grin, patting Damian's hand as he rests it on your elbow.

"She's much more formal than her peers." Damian scrunches his nose. "Perhaps due to my influence."

"It isn't a bad thing." You wave as you watch Tim and Jason walk in. "You guys missed the whole thing."

"Oh, no we didn't" Tim shakes the camera in his hand, popping out the SD card and tossing it to Damian. "All on video with photos."

"Much appreciated." Damian nods. 

You wonder if Damian's family adores your little girl a little too much. She greets the rest of her uncles with a grin, excitement that only a child can experience making her little body shake with excitement. At one point, Dick calls to let you all know that dinner was ready at the mansion, and you offer to take your little girl from Cass.

"I wanna stay with aunt Cass." She pouts.

"What if she's tired?"

"Baba will carry you." Damian opens his arms for her, and she leaves Cass' embrace reluctantly. "Good girl." 

"Sorry about that." You laugh. "She was excited that you watched her perform."

"Thank you for inviting me." Cass hums. "She'll be great."

"I'm sure it's because she saw that photo of you doing ballet that one time while visiting Bruce. She's been enamored with the idea ever since." 

Cass only hums, glancing to the side as she waves at your daughter — who's still looking at her.

"I'll take her off your hands tonight after dinner." Cass laughs. "I'll bring her back tomorrow."

"Well, it is her summer vacation." You sigh. "Baby, you wanna stay with Aunt Cass for the night?"

"Can I?" She blinks up at you expectantly, and you look up to Damian.

"Do you want to?"

"It would be nice..."

"Then yes." He hums. "Don't trouble her too much, alright?"

She nods, grinning at Cass as she smiles back.

You have dinner with the rest of the family, their soulmates all present, handing your daughter small gifts of celebration as she thanks everyone with a polite nod. She reminds you very much of Damian, and from what Talia had told you when he was a baby, your daughter seems to be the exact image. At the very least, you hope that she'll grow up without the trauma that Damian had to experience because of his blood. He does a great job at keeping her separate from his life in the streets of Gotham. 

You wave goodbye to the family as your daughter gives you both a small kiss goodbye, promising she'll be good for Cass for the night. You have a feeling that means she's going to stay up past her bedtime practicing ballet with Cass again, but as long as she doesn't stay up too late, she'll be fine.

"How late do you think she'll be up until?" You mumble to Damian as he holds your door open for you.

"I'd argue anywhere around 11 to midnight." He nods as he closes the door for you.

"I hope she has fun, then." You chuckle, watching as the manor's doors close once more.

"We'll have our fair share of fun."

"Ugh, I can't wait to get a glass at home."

"Would you like to look through what just arrived? Drake dropped it off before patrol to me."

"You know, for someone who claims to just tolerate him, you sure do rely on him for a lot." You turn your head to glance at him, and he sighs. 

"Siblings."

You found that Damian was highly sentimental after marriage. From the wedding invites to the clothes he wore first when he met you, he knows every moment and minor detail of you. In your room, other than the shelves of mangas he collected as a teen, he also keeps photobooks of the two of you through each year, and all six failed engagement ring attempts are framed on the wall in the living room. You are lucky, you think. Your hopelessness had paid off... or rubbed off. You hadn't known it was possible to be so enamored with someone. Maybe his brothers rubbed off on him.

"Do you want a snack with the wine?" Damian hands you a glass, lips curled upwards gently as you grin at the package.

"I'll be fine. You kept it in the delivery box?"

"You like opening boxes." He hums, settling next to you on the couch as you open the box to find a booklet.

"Oh, from our wedding?"

"These were the behind-the-scenes that Drake got." He hums. "I did not enjoy that he got to see you first on the day of the wedding, but he did give this to us... even if it is years late."

You smile, patting Damian's shoulder gently as you flip through it with him, humming as you point at certain photos, watching as Damian texts Tim to send him the digitals later. You raise brows at certain people, and he tells you each one's name, lips quirking up in amusement when you roll your eyes at some of your friends. You wonder if the development would have happened had you not taken the risk and asked him to be your plus one to the wedding so long ago.

You yawn at one point, and Damian's hand rubs circles on your back.

"Bedtime, habibti?"

You yawn more in response, nodding slowly as you cover your mouth. "Bedtime. Are you going to frame any photos from it?"

"Most likely the one in the back. We should get a family portrait sometime as well."

"Yeah?" You start getting up, pausing mid-way to yawn. Instead, Damian picks you up with ease, waiting for you to wrap your arms around his neck, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Thank you, Dami."

"Anytime. Rest well, habibti."

"Mm... you too, beloved."

[beiasluv]

arrow and papaya | o. piastri (81)

a/n: this series performed a LOT better than I expected lmaooo thank you. Enjoyy

yn.png

liked by landonorris, daniel3.jpg and 9 others

yn.png my boy graduated kinda vibe. proud of youu

view all 13 comments

oscarpiastri you did not just give me an earring (love you)

yn.png i did 😙 you looked good (ilym)

oscarpiastri thank YOU 😎

yn.png also. did you see what happened with lance??

oscarpiastri tell me 😧

yn.png dm.

landonorris TELL ME

logansargeant oscarsplaining??

yn.png better than logansplaining ✊

logansargeant freedom of speech, yn

yn.png tell me. what’s a kilometer, logan

georgerussell63 who gave you the power to run from mercedes to mclaren paddock after every race?

yn.png only god knows (OSCAR JACK PIASTRIII)

liked by oscarpiastri

yn.png

liked by aussiegrit, carlossainz55 and 8 others

yn.png he is sad because mark couldn’t make it. crying, throwing up, ripping my hair off.

view all 9 comments

aussiegrit Looking forward to seeing you guys at the next Grand Prix! Don’t pull your hair off, please.

yn.png Markkkkkk come back soon!

oscarpiastri I’m pretty sure I was sad because you didn’t buy me the orange juice but okay.

landonorris you miss mark webba, oscar?

oscarpiastri i do not sound like that

yn.png don’t bully my aussies 🤨 (yes, you sound like dat)

daniel3.jpg one aussie protector spotted!!

yn.png thank! you! can i have tim tams??

oscarpiastri my suitcase is open for you for the next visit

yn.png yessssss ilysm. get the dark chocolate ones.

yn.png

melbourne, australia

liked by charles_leclerc, lewishamilton, and 29 others

yn.png happy winter breakkk. also. spot the american challenge

view all 18 comments

charles_leclerc when are you coming to monaco this winter break??

yn.png wydm winter? I only know hot christmas 😙 (please come and get me I’m scared of spiders)

landonorris bro you have to visit us

yn.png if only oscar is going as well.

landonorris oscarpiastri approved?

oscarpiastri nah. hot christmas first, then maybe we’ll visit.

oscarpiastri wydm about spiders? I killed nearly 4 for you :(

yn.png thank you my knight in shining armor 😚😭

oscarpiastri you’re welcome. also. I don’t look like a koala

yn.png yes you doooo. you’re my favorite koala.

oscarpiastri fine. You’re stuck in Australia with me 🩷

danielricciardo yn.png thy need more aussie training

yn.png no, thank you. I cannot physically look at them.

landonorris I see you’ve posted 3 pictures of oscar. very thoughtful.

yn.png ikrrrr

logansargeant easy. the one with freedom of speech.

yn.png what is one quart of milk 😭

logansargeant do you want your pop tarts?

yn.png I deeply apologize, mr. sargeant.

lando.jpg

liked by oscarpiastri, carlossianz55, and 286,727 others

lando.jpg somebody (oscarpiastri) stole my camera 😒

view all 82,198 comments

yourinsta I think this somebody is a good photographer 😗

lando.jpg a little ‘thank you’ for me taking my time to post this would be nice

yourinsta of course, thank you to my favorite photographerrrr/ camera owner

danielricciardo i thought i was your favorite photographer

yourinsta this danny ric guy is my favorite texian, ngl

liked by oscarpiastri

oscarpiastri correction, you left it in my driver’s room 🤷‍♂️

yn.png

liked by danielricciardo, alex_albon and 38 others

yn.png about last night…lmk what are you even yapping about, zak 😉

view all 27 comments

oscarpiastri you’re going to get me fired one day.

yn.png if you’re willing to join me in mercedes 🤭

georgerussell63 What do YOU mean???

yn.png just assumptions 🤷‍♀️😗

georgerussell63 toto’s hearing about this. and roscoe.

yn.png NOOOOO don’t tell roscoe please.

yn.png dw, i can spoil you oscar 😚

oscarpiastri no :( I’m going to spoil you

landonorris GO AWAYYYYY

oscarpiastri this is the internet, log off 🤷‍♂️

landonorris I thought we were best friends :(

oscarpiastri yn is my best best friend

yn.png yeah, Carlos is waiting for you lan 😘

landonorris you guys are meannn

lilymhe miss you since last nightt

yn.png i miss you tooo 😩

alex_albon what about my taggg

yn.png sorry albonnooo 😭

danielricciardo thank you for the honorable tag

yn.png anything for my favorite aussie

oscarpiastri sorry???

yn.png okay, second favorite aussie

danielricciardo fine ☹️

yn.png’s story

reply

oscarpiastri: love you, p3

: you did not have to rub it in my face

oscarpiastri: had fun spraying you with champagne 🤷‍♂️

yn.png reacted with 😒

: can you buy me tim tams?

oscarpiastri: yes, and with milk and grapes?

: yesss, you are the best 😗

oscarpiastri: can I have your number though?

: i think you can have my house key first 🤭

oscarpiastri: no :( we’re going to live in Australia

: not with spiders.

oscarpiastri: I’ll kill every single one for you.

mclaren’s story

reply

like, reblog, do withever the heck you want if you enjoyed it. If you don’t, imma steal your security number 🤭 jkkk

(lets be moots????)

today’s a great day to take care of yourself!!!

[f1tales]

now he's thinking about me, every night - mv1

that's that me espresso || part one

next part

pairing: max verstappen x ofc!piastri

summary: oscar's older sister is a singer, who's taylor swift's opening act for the eras tour. she goes to a few races on her break. she meets max; who thinks about her every night now. much to oscar's annoyance.

author's note: this is my first time posting on tumblr, so still figuring stuff out. no use of y/n.

face claim: sabrina carpenter

liked by ivypiastri, maxverstappen1 and others

oscarpiastri: Got to see my sister perform in our hometown in front of 96,000 people over the weekend. So proud of you!

View all comments

ivypiastri: thank you thank you thank you for coming!! ily 🩷

formuladr: that's oscar's sister?!

landonorris: an introduction is overdue, mate!

oscarpiastri: not a chance.

ivypiastri: oscar, you should totally introduce me to lando!!

oscarpiastri: like i said, not a chance

ivysgarden: omg oscar what did you think of the nonsense outro?

oscarpiastri: she's done worse tbh, glad she kept it somewhat pg. didn't need to know the size was underwhelming, tho

ivypiastri: omg oscar! 😐

ivypiastri_fan: is anyone else noticing max in the likes cause like...

ivysgarden: he's literally on the grid with max, it's not that deep

liked by landonorris, maxverstappen1 and others

ivypiastri: melbourne 🩷 thank you, thank you, thank you. this was by far the most incredible experience of my life. thank you so much to @/taylorswift for making this happen, ilysm. i will never forget this. 🩷🩷

View all comments

ivypiastriy_style: ivyyyyyy you killed it! ❤❤❤

piastrisupremacy: uhhh max verstappen in the likes?

oscpastry81: i know he's on the grid with oscar, but like??? i'm sure him and ivy have never met...

oscarpiastri: you were amazing! making melbourne proud.

ivysgarden: omg our girl is so happy, look at that first picture! 💖

liked by ivypiastri

hattiepiastri: i wish you could've seen oscar during the nonsense outro. highlight of the night. ily 💘

formulaop81: don't be shy, drop the video

liked by ivypiastri

landonorris: the coolest piastri for real

oscarpiastri: ouch?

ivypiastri: hihi thank you 🤭

ln1999: lando flirting with ivy on main?

Oscar groaned from where he was sitting next to his sister. She giggled as she typed away on her phone. He gave her his deadliest glare.

"Please stop flirting with Lando."

Ivy looked up from her phone. She locked in and then put in down in the seat next to her. "I can do whatever I want." Her phone made a beeping noise again, indicating another message coming through.

"Vee, seriously."

Ivy ignored him as she opened her phone again. She could barely contain her laughter as she watched the video on her phone. Hattie had just sent her the video she took of Oscar during the outro she did for her song Nonsense.

It's a thing she started on her previous tour. She usually tried to make them as dirty as possible, but with her family in the crowd the other night she tried to keep it as PG as possible.

Look, she tried okay?

Oscar appeared very uncomfortable throughout the whole video. The outro wasn't too bad, in Ivy's opinion: broke up cause the size was underwhelming. Tried to give him pointers, wasn't helping. Maybe I just need a boy from Melbourne.

"Delete that."

"Introduce me to Lando."

"No."

Melbourne, March 23rd 2024

Ivy grinned as she entered the paddock alongside Lily and her mum. Oscar had instructed her to stay far, far away from any of the drivers.

She followed her mother towards the McLaren hospitality. Her mother seemed to be some kind of local celebrity here as she was greeted by the many people in orange- sorry papaya, shirts.

They soon found her sisters Hattie, Edie and Mae sat in a corner with their step-father, Chris. She greeted them all with hugs and kisses on the cheek.

Ivy settled next to Hattie as she looked around the hospitality. She opened her phone to scroll through Instagram to kill some time whilst she waited for Oscar to come and say hello.

liked by ivysgarden, maxverstappen1 and others

op81updates: @/ivypiastri has been spotted entering the paddock for the first ever at Oscar's home GP. She arrived alongside Nicole and Lily.

She's currently on a break from touring. She will return to The Eras Tour for the London shows in June and August.

View all comments

ivysgarden: so do we think she's finally been introduced to lando?

oscarspastry: uhhh max in the likes again? hello???

oscpastry81: it's getting low key suspicious 🤨

oscarspastry: on a different note, love your username 😜

verstappennation: aaaaaah f1 and ivy piastri! my two worlds colliding

Ivy and Hattie giggled as they read through the many comments underneath the post on Instagram that informed the world of Ivy's F1 Paddock debut.

Oscar joined his family soon after. Ivy smiled at the man standing next to him. Dark, curly hair; tanned skin and a boyish grin on his lips. This could only be Lando Norris. Oscar made the introductions between the F1 driver and the singer.

"I love your album, it's on in the garage a lot to annoy good ol' Osc over here."

Ivy grinned as she looked at the flustered expression on her brother's face. Lando quickly put an arm around Ivy's shoulder and pulled her in close. "Maybe your next album could include a couple of songs about me."

"Right," Oscar clapped his hand as he broke the laughing duo up. "That's enough."

Ivy and Lando looked at each other, both of their faces red with laughter.

Melbourne, March 24rd 2024

Ivy walked around the paddock on the Sunday after the race. Her family had gone back to the McLaren hosiptality to wait for Oscar to come back from his post race interviews. She opted to have a look around. She hadn't had the time yet.

He had just missed out on the podium. P4. Ivy was still immensly proud of him.

She stopped in her tracks to look around. She squinted her eyes, the orange papaya of McLaren catching her eye in the distance. As she turned around to walk back, she collided with something hard.

Someone. Someone's toned chest.

She looked up, "I'm sorry I-," her words got lost in mouth somewhere. Her green eyes were met with the most gorgeous blue eyes she'd ever seen.

"It's okay."

Ivy quickly took a step back. "I'm Ivy, O-,"

"Oscar's sister. I know, I like your music." The man shook her hand. "Max. Nice to meet you."

part two coming soon.

[absolutebl]

Best 24 of BL 2024 - Quirky Awards

ONLY shows that ENDED their runs in 2024 are up for awards.

SHOCK & AWE AWARDS

1. Biggest BL surprise of 2024:

Cherry Magic Thailand. TayNew's version was truly a lovely experience and very much its own take on the original, an adaptation rather than a remake. I'm so relieved and grateful that GMMTV managed to pull it off, and sad it wasn't more widely available.

2. The “that country did WHAT?” award:

Meet You At the Blossom from China. From start to finish it is exactly as it claimed to be, wuxia BL, including more than the expected amount of sexual claiming (dubious consent to the point of rape) and actual kisses, wife language, floaty sleeves, you name it. FROM CHINA!!!

3. Biggest casting whoa! where did you come from? award:

Up & Poom in My Stand-In. I mean, WHERE did you two come from and how did this happen? Holy smokes. My goodness are we grateful!

4. That studio did WHAT now? award:

Youku putting Unknown out wide and easily avaiable on YouTube (for most of us). It's just really rare for a Taiwanese BL to get any kind of distribution. And to do that with arguably the best TaBL of the year and not some sad little mew mew? Amazing.

5. I’m sad you were ignored award:

Sugar Dog Life - such a charming JBL, so hard to find. I'm so sad it didn't get distribution. It's charming, one of my favorites of the year, worth tracking down if you can.

6. 2024 BL That Actually Made Me Lose My Mind Award?

I gotta be honest, it was The Sign. I was such a chaotic mess of a show but never once was I bored. It was the only one that drove me into memes and captions and silliness.

I did go a bit feral for a while over Love for Loves Sake and Wandee Gooday not to mention The Only One (until it went tits-up).

NARRATIVE AWARDS

7. Best story 2024:

Cherry Magic (Thai remake). I know, but it worked just as well in another country, if not better. I always enjoy this kind of magical realism concept (after all Color Rush is one of my all time favorite BLs) and despite the increased length, the pacing was solid on this one... even from Thailand.

8. Best narrative structure 2024 award:

Love For Love's Sake. A KBL isekai about a man who must win a game by convincing a reserved teen outcast to fall in love with him. Of course, that teen represents himself and his own unhappiness. I drowned in this show and liked it that way.

9. Best 2024 dialogue (script) award:

We Are, it was just so much fun. And so FUNNY.

10. Favorite scene 2024:

Like anyone needed to ask. Unknown, of course.

11. The most rewatchable BL of 2024 award:

We Are

It's just all the couples are so cute and the core friendship group is so charming and endearing.

ACTORS & CHARACTERS AWARDS

12. Best performance of a queer actor in a leading role:

no award this year, yeah the whole damn industry should be thoroughly ashamed of itself

13. Best pining 2024:

The Time of Fever. That feeding him orange while lying on the floor scene ALONE.

14. Best wingman 2024 (The Namgoong Award)

Yai in The Sign.

15. Biggest OMG I LOVE you boys together, YAY!

SailubPon from Pit Babe & This Love Doesn't Have Longbeans, from the softness of one to the health code violations of the other. Sure their shows are bonkers, but man are these two good at bonkers (and bonking).

With a nod to BigPark from Monster Next Door.

16. Most unexpected return of a BL pair? award:

OffGun. There were rumors that Off was out at the beginning of 2023. And then they came back with 2 shows in 2024 (Cooking Crush and The Trainee)!

17. Well aren't you two just the prettiest? award:

I dithered a lot (Babe's damn waist and OMG The Sign's sex scenes hawt), but in the end it had to go to GreatInn. They were just so good at showing their characters having FUN together. There is a lot of beauty in enjoying sex and another person's company. It's so rare to see that portrayed in a BL (and it shouldn't be rare).

18. LIFETIME ACHIEVEMENT AWARD

I'm actually giving it to OffGun. Ya know, where others falter, these two just keep going. It's kinda amazing.

RANDOM PICKS

19. Favorite Linguistic Moment of 2024:

The general flirtatious banter from Last Twilight.

20. Biggest disappointment of 2024:

Addicted Heroin (Thai version). Some of the very best original material + one of my favorite Thai actors (who I've been waiting eons to see in a BL again) and THIS was the result? They could have fixed China's worst BL mistake, instead the made everything worse. I'm gonna be bitter for a really really long time.

I gotta sat The Only One comes a real close second tho. And I'm still mad about Last Twilight, too.

21. Best Wardrobe/Prop Use 2023

Meet You At The Blossom - I love a pretty boy pissing contest over who has the biggest sleeves. Twirl you beautiful bastards, TWIRL!

22. Best Queer Rep 2024

Again, not great this year. I loved the fun sex and play in Wandee, but there were precious few femme characters, and in general it felt like we took some steps back from queerness this year. So I'm gonna give it to Deep Night, because at least they gave us honest poly for the first time.

23. Best Meta Trope call out

Love for Love Sake - Korea taking to task the Dead Fish Kiss when they are often the worst offender was...... amusing.

But Deep Night having male sex workers having to act like they were in a BL for a couple chicks...... literally gay for pay depicting gay for pay and just, well, that's frankly a gut punch. There was some sarcastic clapping on my side of the screen.

24. Well aren't you getting all Live Action Yaoi retro with your bad self?

Dominant Yakuza and Wimpy Corporate Slave gets my vintage af award. I flipping LOVED it. Would I recommend it? Only if you, yourself, are a bit vintage.

Final question: which of the 24 was the hardest for me to pick?

20 Biggest disappointment of 2024. Look I had some pretty high expectations of some returning pairs, some great ideas, and some intriguing remakes. 2024 was full of disappointments.

2022's Version of the Quirkies

2023's Version of the Quirkies

Remember I only pull from shows that were completely finished by the end of 2024.

(source)