#((NO GOOD THINGS FOR CHARLOTTE I HATE IT HERE))

[broken-musicbox]

good charlotte being from maryland is the only cool thing about also being from this state

[july-19th-club]

i love when characters suck and are bad people like the thing about murphy is that i liked him before he was the incredible wife guy (which is also pretty great, dont get me wrong) but like. i thought he was cool when he was a horrible jackass that everyone hated . like he was interesting before he got morals; he was interesting as a guy who gets lynched in a frontier justice display of retaliation for a murder because he just seems like the kind of dude who would murder someone. and he is! just not that dead guy, specifically. whereas the actual killer is a twelve-year-old girl who the whole crew spends the episode trying to proctect from any kind of punishment, while murph runs around trying and failing to get anyone to admit out loud that the only reason there's a difference between punishing him and punishing her is because he has a bad personality . and also the murders but at that point in the show he hadn't killed anyone, he just seemed like he would

[lvrclerc]

✶ THE EX EFFECT

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

F1 MASTERLIST | OP81 MASTERLIST

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

wc: 19.2k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still, you decided to try again.

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

You went for humor instead. A joke. 

Terrible idea, in hindsight.

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

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

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

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

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

He didn’t even look away from the road.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah. This was a good morning.

You should have known it wouldn’t last.

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

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

“Y/N?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Small world,” he added to your silence.

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

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

You stared at him.

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

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

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

How surprising.

“So─”

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

You lied.

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

Theodore paused, eyebrows lifting. “Oh?”

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

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

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

Not today, Satan.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You finally turned to face him fully.

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

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

That’s when something clicked.

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N’s told me a lot about you.”

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

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

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

“The highlights?” Theodore asked, dumbfounded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So small,” you nodded stiffly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You paused. “Huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Deal,” you said. “Never again.”

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

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

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

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

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

Lando studied you. Waiting.

“Do I have to guess, or…?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

One you didn’t have an answer to.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It took a while for reality to set in. 

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

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

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

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

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

“No way.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Come again?”

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

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

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

“There it is.”

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

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

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

“Never heard of that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fake dating Oscar Piastri. How hard could it be?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Glitter? Really?”

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

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

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

“Right side.”

“Wrong answer. It’s mine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, maybe I didn’t. At first.” 

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

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

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

“How?”

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

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

“Uh… yeah? It was unnecessarily arrogant!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s because you are.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

His voice cut through the fog. “Tired?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I made a mistake─”

“You made a choice,” you spat.

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

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

“Well─”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Everything alright there?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You couldn’t agree more.

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

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

You gave a small nod.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blinked. “Do you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You closed the space.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yet, you still went to bed alone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The expression on his face stopped you cold.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The world tipped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A beat.

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

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

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

“And what about you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And with it, everything else.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eventually, it came.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why not?”

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oscar’s lips thinned. “Fine. Busy.”

“That’s good.”

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

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

“I’m glad.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And did they?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But that’s not what he did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So… what do we do now?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I wonder whose fault it is, Oscar.”

“I’m just saying, I─”

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

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

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

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

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

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

[sharlsworld]

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆ nonsense - 𝐋𝐍𝟒 𖤓

（ 𝗅𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗈 𝗇𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗂𝗌 𝗑 𝗅𝖾𝖼𝗅𝖾𝗋𝖼 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 ）

（ 𝗌𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒 ）𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖺 𝖻𝗎𝗇𝖼𝗁 𝗈𝖿 𝗇𝗈𝗇𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗌𝖾 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗅𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗈 𝗇𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗂𝗌， 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖾𝖼𝗅𝖾𝗋𝖼 𝗌𝗂𝖻𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌，𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺 𝖻𝗂𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝗋𝗂𝖽

✫ i started this last summer and literally just finished so i had to go back and change lando and kikas username also just pretend like it’s mother’s day if you’re from the UK 😭

🝮

yn

liked by pierregasly and 1,134,875 others

yn gangs all here

charles_leclerc Are you still mad at me bug?

charles_leclerc I didn’t mean to push lando off the boat but it was a silly coincidence right after he slapped you

⤷ lando you make me sound bad i just slapped her butt

⤷ charles_leclerc Don’t test me Lando.

⤷ lando sorry 😔

francolapinto hot (in the respectful kinda way)

⤷ lando i will k word you

⤷ alex_albon ur gonna kiss him?

⤷ francolapinto yes kith me lando!!!! 💋 i’ll go put on my chapstick real quick

⤷ maxverstappen ally!

⤷ yn i knew you were gay for my brother

⤷ maxverstappen1 ???

⤷ charles_leclerc no???

⤷ yn it’s ok guys we all know lestappen is real

kikagomes body tea 😍😍🥵

alexandrasaintmleux Hey pretty girl 😍

⤷ yn hey cutie pie 🥰

♥︎ by alexandrasaintmleux

estiebestie i know the pain she goes through with having 3 over protective older brothers 😭

mclaren Our favorite 🧡

lovely_leclerc the things i would do to see charles push lando off his yacht 😭

scuderiaferrari Have a good break queen, you deserve it 😉

⤷ arthur_leclerc She literally just walks around with alex and eats???

⤷ scuderiaferrari And she does it well

landolovesyn omg the picture of leo & alex 🥹

🝮

yn

liked by carmenmmundt and 2,699,714 others

yn pictures i sent to the family gc this week

lando why did you make alex look aesthetic but not me?

⤷ yn baby i tried you looked clapped in every picture i took

joris__trouche Giving your brothers wrinkles and grey hairs in their 20s

⤷ yn it’s okay though cause it’s me 💖

♥︎ by charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc, lorenzotl, and leclerc_pascale

lilymhe lando ruining the aesthetic as always

⤷ yn that’s what alex was saying too

⤷ kikagomes she’s right

lorenzotl Surpried lando wasn’t eating in his picture 😂

⤷ lando what he say fuck me for??

⤷ arthur_leclerc almost every picture y/n posts of you you’re eating something

⤷ lando so you’re saying i’m dumb ugly and fat then?

⤷ charles_leclerc well…

⤷ lando WOWWWWW i’m telling bug you’re bullying me charles

⤷ charles_leclerc nonono!!! i was just kidding! please she’s still mad at me for tripping you the other day

arthur_leclerc 1st picture “we’re talking about all of you except maman and cha” (charlotte not charles she was very clear) 2nd “why do you guys only get me bunnies where’s the diversity”, 3rd “this is gonna be gone in 2 minutes”, 4th “bro finally decided to hit the gym instead of the pantry”

⤷ lando OH SO YOURE CALLING ME DUMB UGLY AND FAT??

⤷ charles_leclerc wellll…….

⤷ lando @yn

⤷ yn quit bullying my boyfriend you fucking loser that’s why people always think your french cause you’re a fucking bitch

⤷ charles_leclerc wow you really know how to make a grown man cry…

⤷ pierregasly Hey what’s wrong with French people?? 💔

⤷ yn nothing i love timothée chalamet

⤷ lando babyyyyyy

⤷ yn jk i hate timothée chalamet

⤷ tchalamet whad i do 💔

⤷ yn jk i love you timothée

⤷ lando babyyyyloveeeeee

⤷ yn jk i HATE you timothée

⤷ tchalamet wow 😔

⤷ yn AGH FUCK LEAVE ME ALONE

🝮

lando

liked by oscarpiastri and 1,126,974 others

lando my babylove I LOVE YOU FOREVER 🤍

charles_leclerc Bro…you look really handsome

⤷ lando i knew you loved me 🥹

⤷ georgerussell63 So I sense bug had a stern talking to with you Charles

yn i fw u heavily 🩷

⤷ lando i’ll take what i can get 🥰

alex_albon i’m gonna telling my kids that this was romeo and juliet

pierregasly 🔥🔥

tchalamet mkay

⤷ lando if i see you in my girls comments or dms i will find out where you live and i will sneak in at 3am and stand over you until you wake up and when you do i will kill you

⤷ danielricciardo “there were no signs”

leclerc_pascale Mes bébés 🥰🥰❤️

⤷ lando ❤️❤️

arthur_leclerc That jawline though 😍😍

⤷ lando you ol’ charmer 🙂‍↕️

carlossainz55 Cute mate 👌👌

alexandrasaintmluex Oooh who took this super duper cute and aesthetic picture?? 🥰

⤷ lando the best third wheel ever

⤷ alexandrasaintmleux 😐

maxverstappen1 I just want everyone to know he sent this to the gc to ask if it was cute

⤷ lando you bitch

lorenzotl 😍😍

⤷ lando omg enzo stop, you’re practically a married man 🙂‍↕️

🝮

yn

liked by demitrakalogeras and 1,792,204 others

yn miami you will always be famous 🤍 super proud of my baby lando & my sassy brother

lando i tried my best for you

⤷ yn and you did so well

⤷ lando wow im so easy you just warmed my heart up

kikagomes fitted asf 😍

charles_leclerc Thank you petite étolie 💛

oscarpiastri What about me?

⤷ yn of course i’m proud of you oscariño dafuqqq that griddy after the race?? 👌👌👌👌

alexandrasaintmleux 🩷🩷🩷🩷

landosland the L charm on her necklace for lando i can’t 🥹 they’re endgame i fear

♥︎ by author & lando

mclaren Our boyyy 🧡4️⃣

⤷ yn …get dafuq out my face before i have a b.f

⤷ mclaren A b.f?

⤷ charles_leclerc She’s gonna have a bitch fit!!!

⤷ landossluttywaist she put mclaren in timeout

⤷ scuderiaferrari Best believe she’s gonna be in our garage in Imola 😊😊

♥︎ by author & charles_leclerc

carlossainz55 I can’t believe I had to witness you and Lando do body shots off of each other

⤷ lando you literally bought the shots for us

⤷ charles_leclerc You did what to my sister??

⤷ lando NO NO NO CARLOS WAS ENCOURAGING US PIERRE LITERALLY HAS A VIDEO OF HIM CHEERING FOR US TO DO IT

⤷ charles_leclerc PIERRE WAS THERE?

⤷ pierregasly ALEX INVITED ME AND KIKA DON’T BE MAD AT ME

⤷ charles_leclerc MY OWN GIRLFRIEND WAS THERE?? WHEN WAS THIS?????

⤷ yn our first night in miami

⤷ charles_leclerc When you told me you two were staying in cause you didn’t feel good so lando was taking care of you??

⤷ yn yeah

⤷ charles_leclerc You’re giving me grey hairs kid

🝮

lando

liked by terrycrews and 1,416,873 others

lando back with my favorite person (we were never apart we’re just back home)

kimi.antonelli Thank you for clarifying I was going to ask if she had an identical twin

charles_leclerc Are you guys ever apart? 🙄

⤷ lando no 🥰 i need her for emotional support

mclaren Our favorite couple 😍

⤷ yn don’t piss me off

alexandrasaintmleux Best double date buddies

⤷ yn oh heck yes double dates for life

carlossainz55 “back with my favorite person” i’m confident that haven’t spent a single minute apart since getting on that jet back to Monaco

⤷ arthur_leclerc Can confirm he made her go into the airport bathroom with him

⤷ charles_leclerc And you didn’t stop her??? Who knows what they did in there

⤷ arthur_leclerc 110% sure he literally just went pee they were in there for like 2 minutes

⤷ yn can confirm i just held it for him

⤷ charles_leclerc BUG??? WHAT???? THATS DISGUSTING WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT

⤷ yn it was a joke fawk 😔………..😏

⤷ charles_leclerc I don’t even wanna know if you’re just messing with me or not

⤷ lando she’s not

⤷ charles_leclerc you two are freaks

maxverstappen1 This is why you canceled our paddle date?

⤷ lando soz mate we can have our date today

⤷ maxverstappen1 Can’t wait 👌

⤷ charles_leclerc Can I come

⤷ carlossainz55 Me too

⤷ yn my charlos & lestappen & versainz & charlando & carlando & norstappen heart 🥹🥹

🝮

yn

liked by sydney_sweeney and 2,709,175 others

yn little bit of this little bit of that

pierregasly When did lando become such a good photographer

⤷ yn i’ve trained him well

alexandrasaintmleux Last picture is so real

⤷ yn me waiting for a happy mother’s day text from lando after breastfeeding him like one 🙄

⤷ charles_leclerc what…

⤷ yn must’ve been the wind

⤷ arthur_leclerc NO OMG WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT I CANNOT UNREAD THAT OMG YOU TWO ARE FREAKS I HATE YOU OMG STOP MY EYES

⤷ yn girl

lando my biggest supporter 🥰

⤷ danielricciardo Acting like you didn’t just traumatize your brother in laws

mclaren What?

⤷ yn must’ve been the wind

yn if aaron taylor johnson likes this comment i’ll give lando the most nastiest messiest toe clenching cum guzzling head of his life

♥︎ by aarontaylorjohnson

⤷ charles_leclerc WHAT?

⤷ lando @aarontaylorjohnson PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE BRO HELP A GUY OUT IK YOU SEE MY DMS BRO

⤷ charles_leclerc I HATE YOU AARON TAYLOR JOHNSON AND I HAGE YOU LANDO NORRIS AGH IM GONNA RUN YOU BOTH OVER

⤷ lando she’s busy bro

⤷ oscarpiastri 27 year old French man found dead after realizing his little baby sister isn’t a little baby anymore

⤷ charles_leclerc I’M NOT FUCKING FRENCH OSCAR!!! LANDO NORRIS I’M COMING FOR YOU

⤷ lando oh someone’s definitely cumming alright

⤷ charles_leclerc YOU SLUT I HATE YOU I CANNOT BELIEVE I WELCOMED YOU INTO MY HOME AND LET YOU EAT WITH ME

⤷ danielricciardo why is bug not helping 😭

⤷ lando she’s busy bro

⤷ francolapinto can i join?

[scarletmika]

hi! i'm mika ❤︎ she/her ❤︎26 ❤︎ usa Requests are open! - not all stories are 18+, but many do include mature themes. MDNI (i am not responsible for the media you choose to consume) if you don't see a character listed that you want to see a story for, don't hesitate to ask! and don't hesitate to shoot me a message just to talk, i love talking to you all! my writing does not and will NEVER use AI (I hate that I even have to add this disclaimer). my writing is fueled solely by my yearning for fictional men. i do not consent to having my writing scraped, copied, or mimicked in any way Last updated: 7/26/2025

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Find me on Wattpad at @mikammadi for longer-form stories!

[bbitches]

don’t you

Charles Leclerc x Reader

synopsis: angsty fic based on the song ‘don’t you’ by taylor swift 😃 lmk if you want a sad ending or a happy ending

warnings: kinda sad and kinda shit ngl, i wrote this in math class so probably a shit ton of mistakes, and its not proofread :)

no hate to alex!!

Hey, I knew I'd run into you somewhere It's been a while, I didn't mean to stare

It was inevitable. You knew this. You remember Charles vaguely mentioning that he was invited to some movie premiere, but you didn’t know it would be this one.

And he must’ve known you would be here, you were quite literally in the movie.

Maybe he’s moved on, so he doesn’t feel the need to avoid you.

But it’s only been 6 months, how could he move on so quickly when you feel like the hole in your heart would never close up?

You let out a sigh, brushing your sweaty palms on your dress, rehearsing things you’re supposed to say on your interviews: the dress is by Antonine Guerin.. makeup sponsored by Charlotte Tilbury..

Once the staff gave you the signal to step onto the red carpet, your name was frantically called by one of the interviewers.

“Y/n! Hi!” the woman said, “We’re so glad we caught you!”

You gave a polite smile in return, “What do you have for me?”

The woman smiled, “We love your dress! Tell us, who are you wearing? What inspired it?”

Bingo. “Thank you. My dress is Antoine Guerlin. Umm- The gold details are, obviously, inspired by greek-“ You continued, repeated lines your publicist made you memorise, when you saw someone approaching in your peripheral vision.

You didn’t realise who it was, until the lady said, “Thank you, Y/n. Charles! Do you mind stepping in with Y/n?”

Charles. Charles. Charles.

You lifted your gaze to look at him.

Those eyes. The eyes that stare down at yours, tired, lustful when you make love.

Eyes filled with so much pride after he wins a race, eyes that look for you as soon as he steps out of the car, eyes that tease when you reluctantly wear the extra jacket he brings you every time because he knows you were cold and that you didn’t bring one for whatever reason, eyes that comfort when you blame yourself for not being good enough, when you don’t win an award. Eyes that-

The lady cleared her throat.

Fuck.

Charles falters when he catches your gaze- your stare.

You both gave a nod in greeting.

“Great!” The woman said, “Now, I know it’s tense with you guys, since you broke the whole internet with your breakup announcement a couple months ago-“

God.

“What happened? You two were going strong, with almost 8 years together.” The lady finished, looking pleased with herself, and you fought the urge to bitch-slap her across the face.

You opened your mouth to repeat the same answer you gave every time, the one your publicist carefully crafted for you, when Charles beat you to it.

“Yes, Y/n and I broke up.” He started, “I’ve.. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love Y/n, and I know she feels the same. But sometimes love isn’t enough to fix a relationship. Trust me when I say we’ve tried everything, but somethings were bound to end.” He swallowed, “We will always love each other. Y/n was- is a very special and important person to me. She always will be. And I hope you-“ His eyes flickered to you for a millisecond. “-she never stops smiling that beautiful smile of hers, and I wish her nothing but the best.” He finished.

The woman stared at him for a few seconds, “Wow- Thank you, Charles! I’m sure she’s falling right back in love with you right now-“

Wrong. It only made the ache in your heart worse. The longing you felt for him strengthen.

-

F1gossip shared a new post!

liked by user1, user2, alexandrasaintmleux and 368 others

F1gossip: BREAKING! Y/N L/N AND CHARLES LECLERC HAVE BROKEN NO CONTACT AT THE GLADIATOR II PREMIERE! When asked about their breakup, Charles Leclerc gave a VERY emotional answer! (link to the video on our story)

user1: the pain in y/n’s eyes omg

user2: isn’t @/alexandrasaintmleux the girl charles was seen sneaking around with after chary/n broke up? why’s she liking this

user3: CHARY/N COME BACK TO ME

user4: The way they look at each other is the definition of LONGING

user5: can they stop being so angsty and get back together?!

user6: what did charles want to achieve with that answer tho

-

I heard she's nothin' like me

They confirmed it.

You’ve heard rumours, sure, but you didn’t think he would move on this quickly.

Alexandra and Charles confirmed their relationship with a story of them cuddling in bed. At least, that’s what your friends told you.

You and Charles had long unfollowed each other, on both your public and private accounts, and viewing his story would be.. awkward.

You scrolled through Alexandra’s photos from google, since her Instagram was private.

She was tan, her hair was perfect, her body.. Perfection. She was perfection. She was everything you were not. Her appearance exuded grace, class.. At least, that’s what this gossip article says.

She’s private, nobody knows anything about her, and her life was peaceful.

She was everything you weren’t.

I'm sure she'll make you happy

Charles finally found what he wanted. Peace. In her.

*flashback*

“Chérie, please, understand that I- I can’t do this anymore.” He whispered.

“Come on,” you pleaded, “we’ve made it work for years, I don’t see why it-“ You said, but Charles cut you off, “Mon dieu, Y/n, they broke into our apartment!”

You stared at him.

“I-“ You started.

“No, Y/n.” He said, “No.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, “You knew what you were signing up for- Hell. you were the one who said not to worry about- about the fame, the press, the paparazzi, the fans- You told me to go for it.”

“I know, and I’m sorry.” He said, “Je suis désolé.” (I’m sorry)

“It’s not like- You have to deal with the fame too, I don’t see why mine is an issue-“

You’re rambling now, trying to salvage what’s left of your relationship with the love of your life.

“Y/n, listen to me.” He said, grabbing hold of your shoulders, “First, some fucker flew a drone to our bathroom window, hoping to catch you naked. Then they flew it into our goddamn apartment throw the balcony.” He said, moving a hand to grab ahold of your chin, making you look up at him.

His voice softens when you make eye contact, his gaze softening, “People stalk you. Everyday. You can’t go out without a bodyguard anymore.” He leans his forehead onto yours and whispers, “I can’t take it anymore. I can’t live my life when I know I’m being watched, Constantly. I’m used to it, I know I have to deal with this with my own career, but with you- It’s different. The- The hollywood fame is different from my kind of fame. And it’s too much for me. I need some peace for-“

“So what, this is the end?” You cut him off, pulling away.

“I just-“ He sighs, pulling back his arms, “I just mean that we should take a little break. Put some distance between us to clear our minds, then we can talk.”

You swallowed, “But what if we don’t?” You continued, “What if- What if we don’t talk- What if we don’t come back to each other?”

Charles stared at you for a beat.

He ran a hand through his hair, the same hair that you run your hands through every night.

“Listen, let’s just.. Take a break for a couple of months, and when we feel like the time is right, we’ll reach out, alright?” He said, his voice softening at the end.

He cupped your cheek with his hand, kissing away your tears.

*end of flashback*

She had the one thing you couldn’t give him. Peace.

But don't you Don't you smile at me and ask me how I've been

It was inevitable that you bumped into him sooner or later, Monaco was a small place.

So you weren’t surprised, but you certainly weren’t prepared when you quite literally bump into him when you’re on your way to the bathroom at your (and his) favourite restaurant in Monaco- Étoile Monte Carlo.

“Y/n!” He said, a warm smile and dimples plastered on his face, “Comment as-tu été?” (how have you been?)

How have you been? How have you been?

“Just fine,” you said, forcing a smile on your face, “And you?”

“Great,” he said, smile widening, “I’m here with my girl-“ he caught himself, smile slipping from his face.

You cleared your throat, “That’s great, Charlie.” You said, “Have fun.” Giving him another small smile, you slipped into the bathroom.

Don't you say you've missed me if you don't want me again

“Y/n!” He called after you.

She’s not you, he wanted to say, she’ll never be you.

“I miss you.” He blurted out. It was the best he could do.

You turned back to look at him.

Without a word, you vanished into the bathroom.

He collected himself, and went back to his table- The table you two sat at, every time. Every week. Your table.

You don't know how much I feel, I love you still

And the only thing on his mind was you, even when his girlfriend welcomed him back to their- your table, was a kiss to the cheek.

You.

The only thing he wanted to do was to come back to you.

So why don't you, don't you?

-

Sometimes, I really wish that I could hate you I've tried, but that's just somethin' I can't do

“Yes, my girlfriend- My Alex is here today.” Charles’s voice pours from the TV in your living room, “She’s my number 1 supporter. I couldn’t have done it without her.”

He won the Monaco Grand Prix.

All those late nights, and warm afternoons on his yacht talking about how you’d celebrate with him when he finally wins. Sipping champagne together, with his head laying on your chest, and your fingers playing with his hair, discussing where to eat on the night of his Monaco win- Because he would rather spend that night with you, rather then going clubbing.

You always go back to one conclusion: Étoile.

You were his biggest supporter. You were the one who picked him back up, the one who stopped him from spirally after every bad race.

You were the one who talked about his dreams- His home win with him.

But you don’t hate him for saying otherwise.

“..This win is for you.” He said, quietly, to the camera. Others would think he directed that to Alexandra. But you- You knew it wasn’t.

You hate him. You hate him for leaving you when you were at your worst, when you needed him the most. You hate him for moving on so quickly- Or, pretending to, at least. You hate- try to hate him for saying everything he’s said, for doing everything he’s done after your split.

You try, but you can’t.

My heart knows what the truth is I swore I wouldn't do this

You stared at your phone.

‘mon coeur ❤️’

It wasn’t your fault- The ‘delete contact’ button was right next to the ‘call’ button.

And it wasn’t your fault that you were slightly tipsy. You just got a leading role in what you believe will be the biggest movies of the year, you had to celebrate.

Fuck it, you thought.

YOLO, right?

You hit the call button.

It rang- One, two, “Allo?” You heard.

His voice was rushed, a hint of shock in it.

“Y/n?” He said, his voice rushed- worried, “Êtes-vous d'accord?” (are you okay?)

Maybe it was the dramatic side of you that was controlling you right now, because for some reason, you burst into tears.

“Y/n.” He said, “Listen to me.”

After a beat, “Mon ange, listen to me.”

“Tu me manques, Charlie, tu me manques-“ you said. (I miss you, Charlie, I miss you)

”Hey, hey, hey,” he soothed, "listen.. I can't do this."

Your heart dropped, "what?"

You heard some shuffling from his end, "I'll just go straight to the point, Y/n. I can't do this. I 'm with Alex now, and.. it's serious. She's.. she's sleeping right now-"

On your side of the bed. Where the nightstand was once overflown by your little trinkets- Jewelry, mints, your chargers, now filled with her perfume- Her.

"-And I can't do this to her." He finished.

You stilled.

Can't do this to her? You can't do this to me!

"But you said that this was only gonna be like a break. Some temporary space, and that things will go back to how it was." You rambled, "You promised." Your voice cracked.

He promised, didn't he?

"I can't do this to her, Y/n, I'm so sorry." He repeated.

"And what about me?" You said, finally, "What about me?"

"I'm so sorry, Y/n." He said, for the tenth time, "I'm so sorry."

So I walk outta here tonight Try to go on with my life And you can say we're still friends (But I don't wanna pretend)

"You'll always be welcome, Y/n. With me or with my family," Charles continued, his voice cracking a little, "We can be friends, still, if that's what you want."

A beat of silence, "I don't want to lose you, Y/n. You're really special to me."

You didn't lose me, you left me.

"Okay." you said, "okay."

"Y/n," he started, but you beat him to it, "good night, Charlie."

So if I see you again

Don't you (don't you) Don't you smile at me and ask me how I've been

Sometimes you find yourself wearing his hoodies to sleep.

Don't you (don't you), say you've missed me if you don't want me again

He texts you 'merry christmas' or 'happy new year', and things like that on special occasions.

He still invites you to family brunch with Pascale, Arthur and Lorenzo.

His brothers still catch up with you from time to time.

You still go to brunch with his brother's girlfriends, pretending that you don't mind when they cancel on you for Alexandra.

You don't (you don't), know how much I feel I love you still

You're at brunch with Arthur and his girlfriend.

It's turned into a once-in-6-months thing, when it used to be a weekly or monthly thing.

You pretend that doesn't hurt you.

"You know, he's really sad you never come to brunch with everyone anymore." Arthur commented.

"Why would I? I'm not his girlfriend anymore, and it'd be weird." You said, "Besides, what would his girlfriend think?"

Arthur and his girlfriend stared at you for a few seconds, "You don't know?" Arthur finally blurts out.

"I guess that bastard wasn't lying when he said you two don't talk anymore." Arthur said.

"Know what?" You said, eyes flickering from Arthur to his girlfriend.

Arthur cleared his throat, awkwardly.

"They're engaged."

So why don't you, don't you?

-------------------------------------------

so, any ideas for part two? something like that fic called wistful yearning (One of my fav fics) or just angsty shit?

[bumblesimagines]

Headcanon:

Dating Lottie Matthews

Request: Yes or No

Pronouns: They/Them/Theirs, GN!Reader

Lottie Matthews they can never make me hate your kleptomaniac ass <3

~~~

LOTTIE. Lottie, Lottie, Lottie. Charlotte 'Lottie' Matthews who was born into wealth but resorts to stealing clothes from T.J Maxx only to return them, who grew up having anything she needed at her fingertips but nothing she actually wanted, who grew up listening to her parents argue until their inevitable split, who spent half her life hiding her medication and likely pushing down parts of herself because of her father's disapproval. Lottie Matthews who is lonely and tightly wound. Lottie Matthews who unexpectedly grows a crush.

Lottie's naturally quiet, more of an observer and commenter rather than someone constantly in the action like Taissa or even Natalie. She grew up with an emotionally distant father who held her at arm's length and threw money at her to keep her appeased, even when she was just a kid searching for her parent's approval. She wants to be wanted, she wants to be needed, she wants to be embraced for who she is. But she doesn't know how to get that from others.

So, when you pop into the picture with a friendly smile and a soothing voice, she isn't entirely sure how to proceed.  

"Hey," Lottie's eyes drift away from the window and turn upward, her brows twitching in faint confusion when your face registers as new in her head. You smile at her, all teeth and laugh lines, and she finds something comforting in it. "Can I sit here?"

Lottie immediately nods, fingers brushing the bangs resting over her forehead as she pushes the bottom of her shoes onto the floor so she can straighten up in her seat. "Of course." She adjusts her backpack and watches you settle into the desk pressed against hers, curiously taking note of the other empty seats scattered across the classroom. "Are you new here?" She asks, and then desperately hopes you are so she avoids looking like a total bitch.

Thankfully, you nod and confirm her thoughts. "I just moved here to live with my cousin for... the foreseeable future. You probably know him." She watches your eyes drop down to her letterman jacket draped over the back of her chair. "He's the assistant coach for the Yellowjackets. You must be... Charlotte or Genevieve?"

"Charlotte, but everyone calls me Lottie." Lottie's a little thrilled to have been (somewhat) correctly identified and she immediately wonders what Coach Scott must've said about her; all good things she hopes but she doesn't believe Coach Scott to be capable of malice. Her fingers toy with her dark hair, a little smile appearing on her lips. "I can, uh, show you around, if you want?" 

You look appreciative and a warm feeling blooms in her chest. "I'd like that. Thanks, Lottie."

Lottie's quick to make herself your very first friend at Wiskayok High School. She knows what it's like to feel alone in a big place, it's a feeling that follows her whenever she steps into the house she's meant to call home, so she ensures to introduce you to the other Yellowjackets as she leads you through hallways and helps you find your classes. Coach Scott's pretty pleased with her by the end of the day, which is simply a bonus.

While the team's pretty close-knit, most of them are just friends due to having soccer as a common interest, save for a few like Shauna and Jackie. Unless there's a school event or a party, they don't really hang out outside of school property, which leaves Lottie with only herself to keep her occupied when there's nothing else going on. Of course, now that you're in the picture, she has someone she can call and ask to hang with.

Coach Scott's surprised, especially when (on only your third day of living in Wiskayok) Lottie calls up the house phone asking if you're available. He's all for it. He himself has few real friends and as someone who views himself as more of a brother to you, he readily accepts your growing friendship with Lottie. He knew from the start he could count on the team to take you under their wing, he just expected it to be Jackie or Van seeking you out.

Lottie's eager when you agree to hang, so eager it's a little embarrassing. She knows deep down if she asks one of the girls to hang out that they might accept but she wants to have her own person. Jackie and Shauna have each other, Tai and Van are decently close, and Melissa and Gen are attached at the hip. Nearly everyone on the team has their own best friend, yet she doesn't. And she definitely doesn't want to awkwardly third wheel. That leaves her with you and she's happy with it.

Lottie immediately takes you to all her favorite spots and gives you a decent tour of the town, though not all 8,723 square miles. The town's a mixture of things; fancy suburbs and rundown trailer parks, plenty of shiny new strip malls and crumbling shops, residents driving in the latest cars while others had all their belongings stuffed in stolen shopping carts. She coaxes you into shopping and assures you it's on her as a welcome gift. Of course, when you aren't looking, she swipes a few small things from the stores she can gift you later.

Your friendship with Lottie steadily strengthens. You begin attending soccer practices much to her glee, spend the shared classes chatting away, hang out after school doing homework, and go to parties together. Lottie's feelings grow. She feels free, even though she doesn't dare mention her medication or diagnosis. Her father has made it clear it's something she must keep hidden and she doesn't want to weird you out.

She promises herself she'll tell you. Eventually. But she's too caught up in the bliss, especially when the friendship takes a turn into more romantic territory.

The air's growing chilly with the sun setting over the horizon and you take a moment to rub your fingers over a napkin before adjusting the jacket further over your shoulders to escape the cold. Lottie giggles beside you, her leg kicking back and forth, the bottom of her doc martens occasionally scuffing against the concrete and kicking up little rocks. She twirls a fry between her fingers before popping it into her mouth, big brown eyes crinkling with amusement and affection. 

"Did I mention-" You pause to sip on your cold beverage, washing down the mozzarella sticks you'd eaten moments prior. "-that I got asked out?" Your tongue darts out to collect the droplets still clinging to your lips, momentarily distracting Lottie before your words fully register in her head. 

Lottie blinks, a little alarmed at the revelation, and she straightens up in a way she hopes comes off as intrigued instead of worried. "Really?" She shoves another fry into her mouth and chews fast. There's a small edge to her tone but you don't seem to pick up on it given how you nod and reach for a fry. "Who?" 

You give a little sheepish smile and it makes her heart drop to the pits of her stomach. Her leg stops swinging and the rest of the fries grow ignored. "Uh, Gen, actually. She wanted to go to the mall on Saturday and called it a 'date'. Melissa looked too proud of her for it to be anything but a date. I don't know. Gen's nice and all but... I don't really know her."

"Yeah," Lottie agrees immediately, nodding her head so hard her hair bobs along with her movements. "You should get to know someone first before dating them. I mean, I haven't seen Gen in a relationship before, either. She could end up breaking your heart for all we know. I'd think about it if I were you." 

"Mm." You hum, propping your chin on your fist and gazing out toward the eruption of colors in the sky being chased away by the dark blue of the approaching night. "I wouldn't mind having a proper date to the dance, you know? Jackie's been talking about it nonstop in fourth period and she seems really excited about it. I think she's rubbed off on me." You laugh lightly and take a bite from another fry.

Lottie watches you for a good, semi-long beat, contemplating her next approach while anxiety creeps up along her spine. She scoots forward, closer to your side of the bench, until her knees knock against yours. You look back at her. "Come with me to the dance." She offers softly, her eyes studying your face to soak in your reaction.

"I already am, Lot."

With a smile and warming cheeks, she clarifies, "Not as my friend."

Things don't really change, honestly. Lottie remains as thoughtful, observant, and sweet as ever, though she's more touchy. While she's not all over you (she's not huge on PDA and prefers keeping most of it behind closed doors), she takes the liberty of holding your hand more often, leaning against you, and being close to you. 

Her gifts get a little more extravagant. She can't help it. She mimics the love she was taught and besides, most people like gifts, don't they? It's what she tells herself when she gifts you something and thinks of her father, at least. 

It's safe to say that Lottie enjoys quality time. She wants to be around you because your presence brings her immense comfort and keeps her relaxed. She loves simply hanging out, whether in silence, listening to music, or watching a movie.

Lottie doesn't keep the relationship a secret, but she doesn't go around bragging about it. If it comes up, it comes up. If one of the girls asks about it, she answers truthfully. Eventually, the team learns about it (including Coach Scott) and it surprises little to no one apart from a few.

Sexually speaking, Lottie isn't as needy as other Yellowjackets can be. Maybe while tipsy she gets a little giggly and more touchy, something often reciprocated, but she prefers sleeping together while sober. It's incredibly intimate for her, something she considers to strengthen the bond between you and her, but it's not a need for her. She doesn't randomly drag you into janitor closets or empty bedrooms during parties.

In the bedroom, control is really up in the air for whoever wants it more. Lottie can be submissive or dominant, sweetly romantic or stern. It simply depends on the mood and how she feels, as well as what led up to the moment. Lottie generally prefers things sweet, gentle, and romantic. 

Lottie is an amazing girlfriend, and of course, when the team makes it to Nationals, she wants you to be a part of the experience. She regrets it at first when the plane crashes... but her opinion drastically changes as time passes. 

[portagas-chan]

Yours Forever and Ever : Part 1

Yandere Katakuri x Isekai Reader

Summary: [Y/n] is part of the Strawhat Crew. She followed Luffy and the others to retrieve Sanji. However, she was separated from her friends and was kidnapped by Big Mom's children. Luckily, she wasn't going to be killed but held as a hostage by none other than 'Charlotte Katakuri' who is considered to be the strongest sweet commander in the Big Mom Pirates.

Part 2: https://www.tumblr.com/portagas-chan/748738024063516672/yours-forever-and-ever-part-2?source=share

Nobody knew she was from another world, not even the straw hats. She never told anyone and when she first arrived here, she came up with a lie and they all believed her, even Zoro which was surprising. The straw hats accepted her and welcomed her to their crew. She felt joyful.

Anyways, that's not important. [Y/n] was in trouble. She got separated from Luffy and the others in the Seducing Forest. She would be doing okay if she encountered an opponent who was not a sweet commander. However, she would stand no chance against them if they were a sweet commander. She hoped Lady Luck would be on her side today.

[Y/n] walked and walked, she didn't know where she was going but it didn't matter. It wasn't like she could fly. There was nothing she could do. Suspicious enough, the trees shifted to form a path where she found herself outside the Seducing Forest. All the thinking was giving her a headache and she decided to be meh.

[Y/n] looked around in awe at her surroundings. The whole island was literally made up of sweets. It was even crazier seeing this in person. Suddenly, she felt her leg go numb and fell onto her knees. The last thing she saw was the triplets -Smoothie, Citron, and Cinnamon- staring down with Flampe laughing at her.

She widened her eyes in realization, 'I knew it was too good to be true. This was a trap made by Brulee.'

A harsh splash of water stung her face as she scrunched her nose and slowly opened her eyes. She looked at Flampe who had a now empty bucket of water, glaring at her, "Was that necessary?"

"You were sleeping so soundly. I thought you weren't going to wake up," Flampe retorted to which she rolled her eyes. She was tied up in a chair.

[Y/n] analyzed her surroundings. Sitting in front of her was Big Mom who stared at her with that creepy grin on her face. It was frightening to see her in person.

Then there was Katakuri and his triplets -Oven and Daifuku- looking intimidating as ever. There was Perospero licking his lollipop and Smoothie with her triplets and of course, Flampe. All attention was on her and it was not in a good way.

"[Y/n] from the StrawHats. I will admit, your captain is a brave one but to survive in the New World, bravery is not enough. Mamamama!" Big Mom laughed.

[Y/n] stayed silent. She would be lying if she said she wasn't scared at all. In fact, she was terrified. Terrified of what would happen to her. But she had faith in Luffy. Even if she was kidnapped, she knew Luffy would eventually come and save her. He would never abandon his crew member. That's just how he is.

"So, what do you think we should do with her, my children?" Big Mom asked.

"I say we kill her!" Flampe demanded.

'Bitch,' [Y/n] cursed in her mind.

"Now, now, don't be hasty. Taking her hostage can give us so much advantages in many ways," Perospero suggested.

Big Mom's expression seemed to brighten a little. It seems she likes Perospero's suggestion. "Taking her hostage? I like that! Which one of you would like to take on the job?"

Katakuri stepped up, "Mama, please allow me to deal with her. There's no way she can escape me."

"Katakuri?" Big Mom looked at him, studying his face. When she saw that he was dead serious, she laughed, "You're right! Then it's settled!"

[Y/n] didn't expect Katakuri to voluntarily choose to deal with her. She thought he wouldn't bother with this stuff. Either way, Lady Luck seems to hate her. She knew Katakuri had a soft side behind that mask of his perfect demeanor but it wasn't like she could suddenly bring out his soft side to her. If she ever saw what was under that scarf, he would be blinded by anger and accidentally kill her before he could even hear her out.

Big Mom placed cuffs on her wrists that explode if she disobeyed Katakuri. Crazy, right? She didn't even know you could give certain commands to the cuffs.

One thing she noticed about Katakuri was that he never let her out of his sight. She must always be with him but of course, she was left alone when he had something important to do but he always made sure it ended quickly. But she paid no attention to it, shooking it off as him doing his job and that it was due to the loyalty he had for his mother.

Sitting across him, she could feel the hard stare Katakuri was giving her. He always had that kind of stare whether he was doing it intentionally or unintentionally. Nevertheless, it made her feel nervous as she uncomfortably shifted in her seat.

"Why did you join the Strawhat pirates?" Katakuri started.

She looked up at him, "Are you using your observation haki thing again?"

Katakuri closed his eyes before opening it again, "I asked you a question."

"I will take that as a no," She muttered. "There's no deep meaning behind it, actually. They seemed fun and interesting, that's all."

Katakuri raised his brow, "That's all?" She nodded her head.

"Then will you join our crew under my wing if I promise to make it fun and interesting? I will make sure you stay happy too," Katakuri said.

[Y/n] was puzzled. Why would Katakuri want her to join the Big Mom pirates and be under his wing at that? She tried to think of a good reason but there simply was none. Sure, she could fight but she wasn't all that strong. She wasn't special at all. So, why?

"Why would you want me on your crew? I'm not strong," [Y/n] said.

"You don't have to be strong because I will protect you," Katakuri said and he meant it. He was not joking around. He was being serious.

To [Y/n], this was weird to see Katakuri acting like that. It was out of his character. It has just been a two days since they first met and he's acting like they have known each other for years.

[Y/n] remembered something important. "Why are you asking me that when you already know the answer?" She raised her hands to show the cuffs.

Katakuri smirked behind his scarf and [Y/n] could tell because his eyes changed a bit.

Katakuri stood up from his chair and walked towards [Y/n]. She tensed up when she saw him approached her. He sat on an empty chair beside her and dragged it closer to her.

He suddenly picked her up and placed her on his lap. His hand on her thigh slowly rubbing it while the other hugged her in place.

Don't get her wrong. She loves Katakuri but being this close to him like this and having no choice but to obey him in real life was scary. He was so huge too and it didn't make it any better.

"Katakuri?" She called out nervously.

"Are you scared?" Katakuri touched her hair, twirling a strand of her hair around his finger.

If she were to answer him honestly, it would be a yes and a no. He looks intimidating and scary, but she knows he's actually a cutie inside. He was getting touchy with her and she honestly doesn't know how to feel about it.

In the end, [Y/n] is unable to answer at all.

"It's okay. I won't hurt you," Katakuri reassured her. "And I promise you, no one will lay a finger on you."

[onlyangel4]

picking up the broken pieces. seth rollins. roman reigns. part two.

cheater!seth rollins x reader. roman reigns x reader.

synopsis: after your world turns upside down overnight, roman is there to help you put the pieces back together.

faceclaim: eiza gonzález

part one // part two // part three// part four // part five // part six

series taglist: @tinyxrose @daemyratwst

authors note: no hate at all to seth and becky i love them so much this is just for the plot. this is going to be quite a few parts. do comment if you want to be tagged in this series.

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showing up at charlotte flair's house uninvited probably was not the best decision that roman had ever made in his life but he needed to see you. he needed to be there for you. you had been for him before, in the smallest of ways.

he could remember a time after a particularly difficult match you had swung by his dressing room with a bottle of water and a cookie that you had baked at the home you shared with seth. it was a smile action on your behalf but it had pulled roman out of his head and brought him back down to earth. he had been incredibly grateful for you.

he wasn't even sure if you would consider him a friend but he saw you in that light. he cared about you even if you did not talk often. he had always thought that you could do way better than seth but you had been happy with him and that was enough for roman.

when roman arrived at charlotte's house he could see your car parked in the drive and a sigh of relief left his lips. you were here and that meant that you were safe, that was what meant the most to roman. he parked his own car before walking to the front door knocking on it.

a stunned charlotte opened the door looking at him with a furrowed brow, "roman, what are you doing here?", she spoke keeping her voice hushed.

"is she here?"

charlotte didn't even need to ask who he was talking about. she simply stepped out of her front door shutting it behind her before turning to face him, "she is upstairs, asleep. she got here at 6am", charlotte explained, failing to notice you wrapped in a blanket peering out of the window.

"how is she?"

charlotte let out a humourless laugh, "about as good as a girl whose boyfriend cheated on her with her best friend could ever be"

"has he tried to see her?"

"becky and him were calling her so much that she threw her phone at the wall and smashed it, things fucked"

"i just needed to know that she is okay, we don't talk much but i was worried"

"i know, she has this energy, like sunshine and the idea of him ruining that has made me so angry", charlotte spoke and roman nodded in agreement.

roman was about to thank charlotte for looking after you and leave but the faint sound of the doorhandle rattling caused his eyes to shoot to the doorway.

and there you were wrapped up in a blanket, hair a mess, eyes red and puffy from the countless tears that had fallen from them and as soon as he saw you roman felt a deep anger in his soul, how could someone do this to you?

you didn't say anything as you stepped towards him, he instinctively opened his arms and you collided into his chest recieving the tighest hug from the man, more tears fell from your eyes and onto his shirt. his large hand rubbed your back, "i don't know what i did wrong"

"nothing, you did nothing wrong y/n", he whispered softly. he waited for you to pull away from the hug before looking down at you, "you are going to be okay. you have me and charlotte. we will make sure you are okay. we are here for you", he spoke the words like a vow.

y/ninsta

liked by charlottewwe, romanreigns, paulheyman and 682,982 others

tagged: charlotteflair

y/ninsta: the rumours are not true. i am not leaving the wwe and that is all thanks to this woman (and a couple others) who have been my support system at this time. thank you to everyone who has been there for me, especially you charlotte. i don't know what i would've done without you.

comments on this post have been disabled

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y/ninsta posted a story

written: back on raw tonight, missed y'all

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in the middle of everything you did contemplate moving companies, just to get away from it but that felt like a major coward move in your opinion. you would be running away from everything that had happened instead of facing it face on in order to get proper closure.

today was going to be an easy one, cut a promo that you are back and better than ever, get interrupted by liv morgan, have an argument in the middle of the ring, setting up a singles match between the two of you, no actual fighting just a way for you to ease yourself in without pushing yourself too far.

you had been walking backstage of the arena looking for a quiet place to prepare yourself when your eyes landed on a pacing roman.

when his eyes landed on you, his pacing immediately stopped. as he turned his head to give you a smile. you and roman had text and called quite a bit after that day at charlotte's house but with his busy schedule this was your first time seeing him in person.

"you look good", he said, his voice a little lower than usual.

"well i was a mess the last time you saw me so anything is better than that", you said with a small laugh.

"you look good when your crying too", he chuckled and you just shook your head at him with a smile.

he opened his mouth to say something else something about how proud he was, how strong you’d been but he knew you didn’t need to hear that right now. instead, he took a step closer.

"you sure you’re ready for this?"

"i have to be, everyone needs to know i'm not just going to disappear because of what happened" you said quietly, the edge of nerves creeping into your tone.

"then go out there and remind them who the hell you are."

that comment made you smile softly, "thank you for your support roman", you said honestly, "are you sticking about?"

"i'm not missing this"

he ended up walking you right to where you were entering from and when your music hit you gave him a wink and then walked out into the arena, the cheers from the crowd swallowing you whole.

you climbed through the ropes of the ring grabbing the microphone that was handed to you, "you know i've been away for a while", you started and the crowd began chanting 'we missed you'

"i missed you too" you started again, "i just needed sometime to sort some stuff out, and you know at one point there i wasn't sure if i was actually ever going to come back", the crowd went silent.

"but i realised something. when everything felt like it was falling apart, the world crumbling around me, this ring still felt like home. no matter everything life threw at me, i was still dreaming of the day i got to come back here and come back to you lovely people to do what i love the most.", the crowd cheered again.

"so anyone back there that thinks that they can break my soul, you are going to have to try a lot harder because i belong here. in this ring"

you were confused, liv's music should be playing by now that was the plan but instead you felt a strong impact on your back. a chair shot. they were easy to to take when you expected them but this was unexpected and hard. you fell down onto the mat dropping the mic.

a mic the assailant picked up, "you talk too much", becky's voice rang in your ears before she walked out of the ring leaving you there dumbfounded.

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roman was quick to come looking for you after what had happened. you had not told him that the plan was to have becky interrupt you, he could have sworn liv was supposed to be the one to call you out.

his suspicions were confirmed when he heard your voice down the hall and he began to follow it.

"what the fuck happened out there!", you were shouting

and when roman entered the room he realised you were shouting at adam pearce.

"she told me she spoke to you, decided that it was best for business"

"what is best for business?", you spoke not shouting now but still rage in your system.

"she wants a match against you at wrestlemania"

"oh fuck that", you spoke shaking your head. roman gently reached a hand out placing it on your shoulder, in an effort to help calm you down from your heightened emotional state.

"it would have a lot of public interest", adam continued, people love your story.

"it isn't a story it actually happened", you retorted.

"think about it y/n it would be good for the company"

"no i'm not-"

"make it a mixed tag match", roman interrupted and your head whipped round to look at him.

"becky and seth, you and me"

"you want me to go against my ex boyfriend and ex best friend"

"you said you wanted closure"

"there is no way they would let us win", you spoke.

"then we are going to have to win properly, not rely on them to sell moves"

your eyes looked at adam, "could we do that?"

"i'd have to talk to them but it would work"

"oh so you will tell them about that but not me about becky", you spoke still salty from earlier

"wait", roman interrupted, "let me tell seth, next week. i won't play dirty, won't lay a hand on him i just want to be the one to tell him"

adam paused for a moment weighing up his options in his mind.

"you really won't touch him"

"i promise"

"okay you can tell him next week"

and with that adam left the room leaving you and roman alone.

"are we really doing this?"

"not only are we doing this, we are going to win this", roman spoke tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

and you began to believe him.

[fawnlotties]

being charlotte matthew’s assistant…

you were forever grateful that charlotte had decided to take pity upon a broke college student and hire you as her assistant. you were skeptical of her ‘intentional community’ at first, but charlotte was the furthest thing from a demanding boss. being able to sit in a homely office with guaranteed hot meals and a gorgeous older woman to check in on you constantly - how could you complain?

speaking of, charlotte was always around you. you’d find it overbearing if you didn’t love the scent of her bergamot perfume, or the way her hand would linger on your shoulder when she’d ask you to chase up client information. as the weeks went on so did her watch over you, to the point where your office became merged with her own.

“but, no one’s meant to come in here… are you sure?”

“of course, darling. it’ll only make things more efficient, won’t it? and… i could use the company.”

you had a growing suspicion that charlotte was favouring you. you weren’t required to wear purple like everyone else, in fact, charlotte went out of her way to begin supplying you with ‘uniform.’ skirts and dresses teetering the line of sensual corporate, whatever that meant. she’d insist you left the top buttons of your blouse undone - “it’s getting quite warm in here, right? maintenance are useless…” - she’d even begun to expect a little fashion show whenever new heftily-priced clothes were placed atop your bedsheets. you couldn’t lie, it excited you to see her so endeared, so proud as you meekly show off your new not-very-sensible black pumps with a price tag that could send you into cardiac arrest.

you soon learnt that charlotte is very tactile. not only in her work within the community, but in her work with you. the first time she suggested you give her a massage, albeit half-joking, you wondered when your daydreams had turned so vivid. as your manicured fingers dug into the junctures of her tensed neck and she lets out a breathy moan, you thanked all your lucky stars.

charlotte declared that your fingers “work magic,” and you tried move past the obvious innuendo that had your cheeks heated red every time you’re around her. it’s hard, though, when she began to use your affection as a stress reliever. it’s not like you hate it, anything but. behind closed eyes, your nights are filled with visions of her slender fingers enclosed around your wrist, tugging you impossibly closer, slipping between your stocking-clad thighs. you sensed that charlotte can somehow read your thoughts, though the thought both scares and excites you.

it started with more massages, where she slips the soft material off her shoulder because “i’m so tense here, lend a hand?” her calloused fingers began to clasp at yours, guiding them just a little further down to where you think the boundaries of your position are blurred. but at this point, self control is out the window, especially with the way her doe eyes completely pull you inward.

everything about her pulls you in, really. all she has to do now is whisper a soft “darling,” when you appear in the doorframe, maybe even a little coax with her finger, and you’re practically floating right into her lap. it’s a proven stress reliever for her, and you’re more than happy to provide. that’s what a good assistant does, after all!

her lips find your neck because she says the scent of you relaxes her, sometimes whispering that you taste good, and you’d never admit how excited that gets you. meanwhile her hands toy with the material of your cardigan’s hem, and you get the hint.

charlotte loves when you talk. she’ll ask you to drone on about your day whilst her teeth are just lightly puncturing the soft skin of your neck, tsk if you stutter whilst she pries your thighs apart. you want to please her, after all, and she knows this too. it’s why her praise now comes in a constant stream, whispers of “good girl, that’s it, you’re making me so proud…”

you make her especially proud when you sink to your knees, under the mahogany of her desk. it’s only ever when you notice she’s particularly tense - knuckles white as she grips the edge of her desk, brows pursed into a quaint frown. you have her like jelly in almost no time as you slip underneath her kaftan, and the only sounds that fill the grandeur of the room are your muffled hums and charlotte’s shaky gasps, curses and praise slipping through her lips like a mantra. only when her thighs are shaking and her eyes are rolling back does she forget about the tasking role that is being head of her commune, all thanks to her doting assistant.

[verstappen-cult]

SWEET LIKE VANILLA, M. VERSTAPPEN.

PAIRING. female reader x max verstappen.

SUMMARY — You send Max some ice cream from your brother’s company.

GWEN’S RADIO MESSAGE. i saw a lot of people talking on tw about charles sending max some of LEC ice cream for him to try and i thought. . . why not write that with reader? so here we are. hope you like this silly little thing. comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

“Hey,” You say, scrolling through your phone as your brother flops down next to you. “Could you give me a box of the Vanillove ice cream?”

Charles looks at you for a minute without saying anything, until he shrugs and focuses on the TV. “I thought you hated vanilla.”

“Well, yours is pretty good so,” You shrug, turning to look at him with a pout on your lips and puppy eyes. “Would you do that for your favorite sister?”

“You’re my only sister.” He says, rolling his eyes. “And you’re annoying, but you also know I can’t say no to you.”

“Say no to what?” Arthur pops up from behind the kitchen counter. What is he doing? You don’t know.

“To give me a box of ice cream.”

“You say you couldn’t do that!”

“Of course I can, I just didn’t want to do it for you.” Charles laughs, dodging the water bottle your younger brother throws at him. “Are you two going to the masters this Sunday, right?”

“Yes!” Arthur shouts before disappearing into his room.

“Who is going to the masters again?” Leo wakes up from his nap next to you and climbs on your lap, demanding attention.

“Well, I think Enzo and Charlotte. Lando, Arthur.” He says, checking something on his phone before saying, “And Max.”

Your heart skips a beat at the mention of Max Verstappen.

The thing is, ever since you decided to partner with Joris and help with whatever thing he and Charles needed and, of course, his social media, you’ve been traveling with them since Las Vegas last year. Which means that you’re a constant presence on the paddock these days. And, thanks to that, you’ve become very close with some of the drivers, especially with one more than the others.

You weren’t looking for it, it kind of just happened when you bumped into him at a nightclub in Las Vegas after your own brother ditched you to make out with some random guy in the bathrooms. Max was kind enough to keep you company and then, when your brother stumbled out of the bathroom too drunk to remember his own name, he drove you both back to your hotel. He even made sure you were in your room before saying goodbye and going to his own hotel.

From then on you couldn’t stop bumping into him literally everywhere, so, it was only natural that you’d start making conversation, then following each other on Instagram was just as natural as moving the conversation to text messages (it was easier).

Your friendship has developed so much that you’ve been running together around Monaco lately, after you bumped into him at seven in the morning, surprised to see him running the same path as you.

And if you had a crush on the Red Bull driver before you started to be friendly with each other, well, nobody needs to know that — especially not your brothers or you’ll never hear the end of it. It was hard to act normal around him at first. You were just a girl with a crush, after all. But things have become a lot easier with time to the point of forgetting about the big, fat crush you have on the Dutchman. Well, that is until he does or says something that has you blushing and stuttering and acting like a complete fool in front of him.

Knowing that Max is going to be there this Sunday is equally mortifying, and exciting.

“Oh, okay.” You smile, scratching behind Leo’s ears while your brother has his eyes on you. “I’m coming, by the way.”

Charles hums, “The box is going to be here tomorrow.”

Your belly erupts with butterflies at the thought of what you’re about to do with that box of ice cream.

It’s Sunday, sunny and everyone is wearing their best clothes while waiting for the match to start.

You’re standing next to Lando, who is talking to Charles about the next race, when you see Max Verstappen coming in.

He’s wearing some blue navy linen pants with a white button down of the same material, a pair of dark sunglasses and his singular smirk.

Max is greeted by your older brother, who is quick to engage in conversation about some random thing you can’t hear from where you are standing.

But then he’s excusing himself and walking over to you.

You don’t know if he’s actually looking at you thanks to the sunglasses covering his eyes, but you feel small and shy nonetheless.

“Hey, mate.” Lando claps his shoulder, making space for Max to stand between you and him.

“Hey,” This time you know he’s looking at you because his entire body is turned in your direction.

“Hey, Maxie.” You say, the corners of your mouth curling up. “Nice clothes.” You cringe the second the words leave your lips. Nice clothes, really?

Max just chuckles before looking over to your brother. “Hey, Charlie. Thanks for the ice cream.”

Oh. My. God.

Shit.

Fuck.

You had forgotten about that.

Well, no. You hadn’t forgotten about it because, in fact, you've been thinking about the box of LEC ice cream that you sent Max all week.

You didn’t think he was going to bring it up, because you were sure he was going to think that Charles was nice enough to send his friend some of his ice cream. Or even that it was some PR move from his part.

However, he brings it up in front of you. And Lando. And the owner of the ice cream who doesn’t know anything about it. All he knows is that you wanted some vanilla ice cream because you said you liked it.

“What are you talking about?” Charles asks, confused. “It’s not being sold in Monaco yet.”

It’s Max’s turn to look confused. “What?” He takes off his sunglasses. And you’re not at all ready to see his deep blue eyes, so you avoid looking up at him. “You sent me a box of… Vanillove is it called? I didn’t know you knew I only liked vanilla.”

You want to die. You want for the earth to swallow you right now.

“Max,” Charles says at the same time you look at him, eyes pleading not to say anything. “What?” He asks you, eyebrows raised in question.

And then you have two more pairs of eyes on you.

You decide, right at that moment, that you’re not going to talk to Charles ever again. Why does everyone talk about that silent connection between siblings where they know what is going on with just a look? Because you, certainly, don’t have it with Charles.

Lando snorts, hands immediately covering his mouth. He looks at you, amusement on his face.

Oh, that is just great. Lando knows.

And your brother still has no clue, “What happens?” He asks again, this time grabbing your arm softly to make you look at him, but your sandals are more interesting.

“The match is about to start.”

Thank God for Lorenzo. You could kiss him just because he came at the right moment to save you from embarrassing yourself even more without even knowing.

Everybody talks and moves at the same time, making their ways over the seats.

“Hey,” Max touches your shoulder, making you turn around. “Are you okay?” Max touches your forehead with the back of his hand and you pray to all the gods above that he doesn’t notice you shivering because of it.

“Oh, yeah, it’s just the sun. It is a little hot.” You smile, dismissing the topic with a wave of your hand.

“I’ll get you some water,” He drops his hand and you immediately miss his warmth. “save me a seat?”

You feel your heart hammering in your ears as you nod, walking away with his question and the little smile that came with it replaying in your head.

You find your seats behind Arthur and his girlfriend, in the rows next to yours separated by the stairs is Charles and Lando, yapping like their lives depend on it, next to them is Lorenzo and Charlotte.

You’re thinking about what to say to Charles because he is, eventually, going to ask you about what is going on and you know he will not rest until you give him an answer. You are a shitty liar, so you need to practice.

Max calls your name, drawing your attention back to the present.

“You have your head in the clouds today.” He hands you a water bottle and you take a long sip, trying to gain some control over yourself.

“I’m sorry.”

“Will you tell me what is going on?” Max looks intently at you, a small smile still on his lips.

You sigh. Well, he needs to know, right? You owe him that.

But then, Max is leaning closer and pushing a strand of hair out of your face, resting his hand in the back of your neck and stroking ever so softly.

“You smell,” He says, closing his eyes for a second and inhaling. “sweet like vanilla.”

His words send a thrill down your spine, words stuck in your throat. Max expression softens, mixed with something you can’t describe.

He rubs his thumb gently over the sensitive skin of your neck.

“You sent the ice cream, didn’t you?”

You take a sharp intake of breath.

The closeness and the warmth emanating from his body along with his touch are making your brain go fuzzy at the edges.

“Y/N?” He smiles at you when you make eye contact, his blue eyes deep as the ocean. “It was you?”

You nod, blood rushing to your cheeks. “Yes.” You breathe, embarrassed and shy and feeling like an idiot.

“I knew it.” He says, chucking. You tilt your head to the side in a silent question. “I told you about my favorite ice cream flavor just a few weeks ago. And suddenly I have a box full of vanilla ice cream from LEC?” Max pulls his hand away, but is still close to you. “I mean, Charles and I are friends but we’re not that close.”

“Oh, God.” You hide your face behind your hands. “I was going to tell you. Eventually.”

“Why didn’t you?”

You look at him from between your fingers. “I don’t know.”

Max sighs, lopsided grin plastered on his face. “Now you have to come to my apartment and help me with them. It’s a lot for one person.” He shrugs, trying to look nonchalant but you see the blush quickly spreading over his cheeks.

“I would love to.”

Max flops his head on your shoulder and gazes up at you with those big blue eyes of his. “It is a date.”

Max definitely doesn’t need to know that you hate vanilla ice cream.

[cr0g-0]

Guys so some highlights of the production i saw

(It was also outside and I also have some pictures <3)

-Marvin and Whizzer play chess during Trina's therapy. Whizzer mostly files his nails.

-Jason draws in notebooks frequently and also has a teddy bear and a starwars bed.

-Marvin holds both Trina and Whizzer close during tight knit family and it is HILARIOUS

-Whizzer hanky codes with a blue hanker chief in his right pocket. He uses it to bug marvin and its used to emphasize the line "what a joy is chastity"

-they dance most of tofl and are honestly less aggressive and rather sweet :]

-Whizzer files his nails and also plays chess with Jason in his room during Marvin's therapy.

-Mendel says its queer mr marvin <3

-Whizzer is called an asshole by marvin when hes telling jason to go to therapy

-whizzer is much sillier generally and has a headache when he remembers dinner is late

-Trina asks an audience member for help "you're just laughing" and she walks away <3

-Trina's breakdown results in her reaching into her pot for her phone to call mendel

-trina threatens marvin with a knife during the end of jasons therapy and Marvin has real fear its so funny

-mendel, jason and marvin all need and wear glasses

-trina holds jasons teddy bear during her song and its sweet

-march of the falsettos features marvin whizzer and mendel using puppets while jason wears a tutu and a propeller hat

-marriage proposal has Whizzer dying laughing behind a chair and hiding behind it for the bits about biblical times and its so funny watching him dip and laugh

-chess game is played standing up and Marvin shoves whizzer away, but never outright kicks him out. Whizzer taunted him with his hankerchief and abandons it here on out

-whizzer mopes in jasons bedroom with him during making a home and trina and mendel are lovey dovey

-jason attempts to go after marvin after marvin hits trina

Act 2

-cordelia is jewish in this production!!!! She also cooks really good and everyone eats her food earnestly its cute as hell

-everyone hates his parents has trina and marvin peaking from behind chairs and its hilarious because they go up and down

-cordelia is PREGNANT!!! (Or heavily implied to be)

-baseball game has everyone bring in lawn chairs its actually so fucking cute they match each other

-jason cant swing <\3

-mendel is friends with charlotte its so fucking cute oh my god they sit next to each other and yap and trina is miserable next to marvin and whizzer

-caroline js NOT sleeping with her boss but she is heavily considering her career paths between staying and going to ibm

-mendel puts on a sweatsuit over his normal costume and i found it funny. Also trina snacks during her bit of waiting for the lesbians

-marvin and whizzer bring raquetball bags with their raquets

-marvin puts on whizzers sweatshirt part one in what more can i say and are visible on set in the background during something bad is happening before leaving

-more raquetball had Marvin cradling Whizzer once he fell and takes him off and when Trina comes on for holding to the ground, she collects their things

-jasons teddy bear makes another appearance with Trina again

-days like this starts with whizzer being generally sleepy as all get out and Marvin and Cordelia shennanigans that were sweet as hell.

-cancelling the bar mitzvah results in jason shoving trina and mendel when he leaves, and he was more angry with his no when its mentioned to cancel it.

-something bad reprise ends with Marvin leaving in tears (very upset) and charlotte shaking her hands up at the sky and looking so upset as well and when i tell you the actors were in genuine tears i mean it you could tell they cared so much

-you gotta die sometime. He fell a lot and the teddy bear was representing death. He falls into bed, curls up, and cries for majority of jasons bar mitzvah. He is VERY stagnant and his actor was a mess and it hurt

-cordelia and charlotte notice whizzer dead first and check his pulse and jason is actively reading his prayers and YALL

-they cleared his bed on stage after he died and left just his sweatshirt and teddy bear on the bed and yall that hurt more

-marvin part two wearing whizzer's sweatshirt. What would i do DESTROYED ME. Marvin ends up curled into a ball crying with the teddy bear.

-trina and jason come out and sit beside marvin and the lesbians are in their home area and then it ends guys

This show had SUCH talented actors and you could tell they were all very emotional about it. It was phenomenal. They felt nice and sweet and like a real family and friends and it was nice to see less aggression and more playfulness

[peachyjinx]

LYHOM: Ch 4: Before The Storm

Summary: Charlotte works the early shift with Kate. Loki grades some papers. W/C 2.7k

Warnings: None

Author's note: Sorry this is a short chapter, but I promise it won't be the norm 😅

Masterlist / Ao3

“How’s your semester going so far?,” Kate’s voice cut through Charlotte’s fog of fatigue. An opening shift following a closing shift was not great for sleep, and the grey weather wasn’t helping, either.

Charlotte looked to her boss, mentally chastising herself to wake up as she stifled a yawn with her hand. “It’s mostly going well…”

Kate smiled knowingly, “I think you need a pick-me-up. Want me to make you something strong?”

“Yes, please. Something that could resurrect the dead would be ideal,” Charlotte playfully smirked.

While Kate worked the espresso machine, Charlotte moved through her opening routine. The gentle rhythm of preparation was soothing, and she felt the gears of her mind slowly grinding into action. By the time Kate handed her a steaming mug, Charlotte had almost convinced herself she was awake.

“Triple shot. You’ll be vibrating through your shift in no time,” Kate winked as she handed Charlotte a small cup. Charlotte took a grateful sip, the rich bitterness of the espresso cutting through the dull in her brain. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“I know.” She leaned against the counter, her blue eyes curious. “So, it’s mostly going well?,” she repeated Charlotte's response.

“Yea…I really love my evolutionary psychology professor,” Charlotte replied, a fond smile softening her tired features. The professor’s lectures were among the few bright spots in her increasingly demanding schedule. 

“Who is it?”

“Dr. Caldwell, do you know her?”

Kate’s expression brightened as recognition dawned, “Oh yeah, she’s great! My sister had her for undergrad classes– a really good lady.” She wiped the counter with a practiced swipe, her multiple rings glinting under the soft lighting.

“Yea! Quite the contrast to Professor Laufeyson,” Charlotte remarked, a touch of irritation unintentionally lacing her voice.

“Oh my god, yea– how’s it going with him?,” Kate asked as she pulled a chair off a nearby table with practiced ease, setting it on the floor with a soft thud.

“Well, I’m pretty sure he hates me because I mouthed off here that day,” she confided. “He’s already given me a “D” on my first paper. And he completely ignores me most days. But then, out of nowhere last week, he decided to finally call on me, and proceeded to rip my answer to shreds. I don’t get it!,” Charlotte explained, setting down another chair with more force than necessary, the wooden legs scraping loudly against the floor.

“And this paper I just turned in yesterday– I swear, Kate, I worked on it forever. Ten hours straight, no breaks. He can’t possibly fail me on that one.” She wanted to believe her own words, but doubt lingered. She could hear a hint of desperation in her voice, a need for reassurance that made Kate pause in her work. She set down the chair she was holding and faced Charlotte directly.

“Look, don't take it personally,” Kate said, her voice softer now. “The guy is a dick, you already knew that.” She reached out and gave Charlotte’s shoulder a brief, comforting squeeze. “Some professors just get off on making students feel small. It says more about him than it does about you.”

Charlotte nodded, though she wasn’t entirely convinced. “I know, it’s just the principle of the thing– I try really hard! And I get nothing but The Menace in return. It’s exhausting,” she sighed deeply.

“Honey, at some point you’re going to have to let it go. You want to be mad for the whole semester?” Her voice carried the wisdom of someone who’d seen her fair share of battles, both personal and professional. 

“Look at it this way– it’s only what, fifteen weeks left? And one final?,” Kate suggested, her head tilting slightly as she considered. “You should start a countdown on your calendar, it’ll make this waaay easier!”

The suggestion evoked an unexpected sadness within Charlotte, although she found herself nodding, a tentative smile on her lips. This was the class she had looked forward to the most. She had to start her thesis soon, and she had hoped A Study in Asgardian History and Culture would be the spark of an idea for it. None of this was going according to her plan.

“Yeah, maybe I should,” Charlotte agreed half-heartedly, returning to the front counter. “Fifteen weeks. I can survive fifteen weeks of anything, right?”

Kate chuckled, “That’s the spirit. And hey, who knows? Maybe he’ll have some kind of divine revelation and stop being such a nightmare!”

Charlotte snorted, her mouth curving into a genuine smile. “Right. And maybe I’ll win the lottery.”

She began opening her register, fingers automatically logging into the system by muscle memory. Just as she finished, the bell from the front door rang with the arrival of their first customer of the morning. 

Charlotte looked up to see none other than Professor Laufeyson enter the shop, leather briefcase in hand. Her heart skipped as she watched him approach, his tall figure commanding attention as always. She felt a sudden, irrational fear that he could somehow sense they’d been talking about him just moments before. 

The professor approached the counter with unhurried steps, his gaze sweeping over the empty café. The morning light caught the angles of his face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw and the subtle hollows beneath his cheekbones. He looked like he belonged in a Renaissance painting, not standing in a college town coffee shop at 6:30 in the morning. His eyes– those startlingly blue eyes that seemed to shift shade depending on the light– finally settled on her face, and Charlotte felt pinned in place by the intensity of his attention.

Okay, remain calm. Don’t drool. Don’t piss him off. 

She plastered on her sunniest smile, the one she reserved for difficult customers. “Good morning, Professor, what can I get you?”

“Good morning, Miss Baker,” he smiled with a grin that could easily be taken as malicious. 

Charlotte felt her stomach flip– something about him flipped a switch in her. Whether it was anger, lust– she didn’t know. But he affected her. And she hated it. 

“I’d like a cappuccino, please,” he requested with the air of regality he always had. 

Charlotte tried not to look worried as she glanced at the barista on duty who was clocking in. He was good, so hopefully there would be no issues today.

She punched the order into the register, hyperaware of his gaze on her. Her fingers felt clumsy suddenly, as though they’d forgotten the motions they performed dozens of times each day. “For here or to go?,” she asked, not meeting his eyes.

“For here,” he replied, and Charlotte felt a flicker of dismay. So he was planning to stay. The idea of trying to work while he sat somewhere in her peripheral vision, possibly grading papers– her paper– was distinctly unnerving.

Charlotte said nothing else, and barely glanced at her teacher as she finished the transaction. If Professor Laufeyson noticed the tension, he didn’t bother to act on it. Naturally, he was as placid and confident as ever. 

“See you tomorrow,” he noted with a nod as he walked away.  A shiver went down her spine, and she bit her tongue to prevent responding. She didn’t want to acknowledge his difficult class. 

An older man stepped up to the counter with a large smile on his face. “Morning, Jim. The usual?,” she asked, tucking a stray lock of wavy hair behind her ear. 

“Yes, ma’am!,” he replied with a grin that crinkled the corners of his eyes.

As she punched in the order, Charlotte caught a glimpse of her professor out of the corner of her eye. He walked with the porcelain mug set, his movements graceful and deliberate as he chose a seat at one of the tables in the back by a window. 

Luckily, it was her turn to do inventory today, so she would be able to escape to the pantry. She’d hide in there as long as Kate would let her, hoping to avoid the cranky former god.

“Hey Kate– do you mind if I get started on that inventory?,” she asked her boss as she brought up “to go” supplies to the register, nodding towards Professor Laufeyson settling in. The gesture was subtle, but Kate caught her meaning immediately.

“Just give me twenty minutes, then you can go hide,” Kate replied, her voice tinged with understanding. “I’ll cover the front.”

“Thanks, Kate.” A small smile of relief crept onto her face as she busied herself refilling a straw holder. Why did he have to be a regular here? She couldn’t escape him. 

“Fifteen more weeks. Just fifteen more weeks,” she muttered quietly to herself. The mantra offered little comfort as she glanced once more at Professor Laufeyson, only to find his piercing blue eyes looking directly at her, one eyebrow raised slightly as though he’d heard her whispered words from across the room.

Charlotte quickly looked away, heat rising to her cheeks as she turned her attention towards the front door to see more customers walking in. It was going to be a very long morning.

Loki sat at a small table in the back corner, facing the entrance of The Mudd Puddle. The strategic position afforded him a clear view of everyone who entered and left– an old habit he couldn’t quite break despite the relative safety of his current exile.

The coffee shop began to bustle with the morning rush, a mix of people chatting and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and sugary pastries filling the air. These sounds and smells, a mundane symphony that accompanied his reading, reminded him that this world, while not Asgard, had its own kind of charm.

A piercing shriek rang out and his gaze quickly darted to the front of the cafe to see a toddler melting down. A clearly overwhelmed woman, hair frazzled and arms full, attempted to soothe her crying boy at the order pickup area while she bobbed an infant strapped to her chest, as other customers looked on with sympathetic expressions. 

Charlotte stepped forward and handed the toddler a small cup of whipped cream with a warm smile on her face. The mother, obviously relieved by the distraction, thanked her profusely. He watched Charlotte beam at them, her warmth radiating as she waved at the now-content child. The toddler’s cries turned to happy babbles as he happily followed his mother to a table, his face covered in whipped cream as he devoured his treat.

Loki felt a smile on his lips, warmed by her gentle and compassionate act for a woman who needed help. This small kindness, offered without expectation of reward or recognition, touched him in a way he hadn’t anticipated. It was a rare glimpse of sincerity, different from the determined exuberance she displayed in his class or the basic professional courtesy she’d shown him at the counter. 

He found himself briefly distracted by Charlotte as he watched her take a clipboard from her boss with a smile. Her willful defiance and unrelenting cheerfulness irritated him, but he couldn’t tell why. He had not had a student like her before. His cold indifference towards her in class didn’t break her spirit, but seemed to only encourage her enthusiasm. 

Loki shrugged off the momentary interruption, moving on to what he was here for: grading papers (he insisted they give him hard copies- he refused to read them on a computer). The task was painfully mundane. He didn’t mind lecturing, teaching the students about his people, his life. Even if sometimes it left a bitter taste in his mouth. 

But the grading was torture. Now he had to see if they absorbed anything he taught, and every year it was painfully obvious they were nearly all idiots. Yes, a few here and there were decent enough. But, not to his surprise– mostly idiots.

Most students didn’t understand the nuance of Asgard. Its beauty. They thought only of the gleaming surface– the grandeur of the palace, the feats of warriors, the spectacle of celestial phenomena– without grasping the complex social hierarchies, the ancient traditions, the delicate balance of power that had sustained the realm for millennia. They reduced his home to a collection of colorful stories and superhero anecdotes, never seeing the shadow beneath the golden facade.

He scoffed at his own sentimentality. Asgard, where he was raised but never truly belonged. Jotunheim, the land of his birth but never his heritage. And now Earth, his prison and yet, increasingly, the place where he felt most...not at home, perhaps, but at least not actively out of place.

He opened a file folder, and pulled out a paper: An Analysis of Symbolism of Asgardian Beasts in the First Age, by Charlotte Baker, and let out a sigh. The paper was neatly typed, the margins precisely aligned, the font correct– all up to his standards. Even before reading a word, he could see the care that had gone into its preparation. Charlotte Baker might be many things, but she was not careless.

Loki took a sip of his cappuccino, now cooled to a perfect drinking temperature, and began to read. Against his better judgment, he found himself hoping the content would match the presentation. It would be...refreshing...to read something of substance for a change.

Her analysis was unexpectedly nuanced, drawing connections between the mythological beasts of early Asgard and the sociopolitical structures they represented– connections that many scholars, even on Asgard, often overlooked. She had somehow intuited the symbolic relationship between the great serpent Jörmungandr and the cyclical nature of Asgardian diplomacy, a parallel that was typically only discussed in the most advanced texts.

As he finished reading her paper, Loki set down his cup and leaned back in the stiff wooden chair, allowing himself a moment of concession. It was really good. Incredibly good. She even had details on weaponry and beasts that he hadn't revealed in class.

Loki felt a shadow of a smile flirting with his otherwise stoic expression. He reveled in the complexity of emotions she stirred within him, a blend of irritation and admiration that was infuriatingly intoxicating.

For moments of rumination, Loki stared off in the distance, not focused on anything. The shop continued its morning bustle around him, customers coming and going, the hiss of the espresso machine punctuating conversations, but he remained in his own world.

He knew that she deserved at least a B...probably an A. The paper was original, thoughtful, meticulously researched, and elegantly presented. By any objective standard, it was exceptional work, particularly for a student with no firsthand experience of Asgardian culture.

But something ancient stirred inside of him. The darker part of him– that part that he had been ignoring for years– made him feel otherwise. The desire to create chaos for its own sake, the perverse pleasure in subverting expectations and watching the resulting confusion.

He reminded himself of the way she had looked at him in the coffee shop when they first met– the fiery willfulness in her eyes agitated something in him. An urge to show her who was in charge– to put her in her place. She thinks she’s clever. She did some extra curricular studying to try to impress– no– appease him. 

She's awfully desperate to please me. 

Loki felt a shudder of arousal down his spine, warmth spreading through his body. Now was when he should fight that wicked side of him, and he knew that.

But he was curious what would happen if he gave her a poor grade. What would she do if he failed her? Would she crumble, her confidence shattered? Would she rage against the injustice, demanding reconsideration? Would she work even harder to prove herself to him? The dark thrill of causing a stir was a familiar friend, whispering sweet nothings of discord into his ear. 

Loki slowly wrote an “F” on top of the paper, and leaned back in his chair with a devious smirk. He didn’t need to fail her. He really shouldn’t have.

-> Chapter 5: A Mistake

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[empressdede]

The Secretary - 9

Chapter Nine

Previous

Serena had never in her life wanted to strangle three people at once, but Naomi, Jey, and Jimmy were testing her patience.

She was already trying to navigate the fact that she had stopped running from Roman, that she had let herself feel this thing between them—now she had to deal with his messy family rubbing it in her face?

It was too much.

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Are we done here?”

Jey smirked. “I mean… we could leave, but this is too much fun.”

Serena exhaled sharply, looking up at Roman. “Can you control your family, sir?”

Roman was grinning, clearly enjoying the hell out of this. “Nah. They do what they want.”

Serena glared. “That’s helpful.”

Naomi smiled sweetly. “You know, I could get them to leave, but…” She trailed off, tapping her chin. “I feel like we deserve one more moment to celebrate the fact that you’re finally letting yourself be happy.”

Serena groaned dramatically, flopping against Roman’s chest while the Usos cheered.

Roman laughed, shaking his head. “Y’all done now?”

Jey held up his hands. “Aight, aight. We’ll let y’all breathe.” He pointed at Serena. “But for real? You good?”

Serena sighed, lifting her head.

And to her surprise… she was good.

For the first time, she wasn’t fighting this. She wasn’t pushing Roman away. She wasn’t convincing herself she was making a mistake.

She was letting herself have this.

She nodded. “Yeah. I think I am.”

Jey’s grin softened just a little. “Good. ‘Cause my Uce don’t play when it comes to you.”

Serena glanced at Roman, who was already looking at her like she was the only person in the room.

Her stomach flipped.

She cleared her throat, looking away. “Y’all can leave now.”

Naomi chuckled, grabbing Jey by the arm. “Come on, boys. Let’s let them be in love in peace.”

Serena gaped. “NAOMI!”

Naomi just winked. “Love you, boo!”

And then, finally, blessedly, they were gone.

Serena exhaled, pressing a hand to her forehead. “I hate all of you.”

Roman chuckled, sliding his arms around her waist. “You don’t.”

Serena sighed, finally looking up at him. “This is insane.”

Roman smirked. “Maybe. But it’s real.”

Serena studied him for a long moment.

This was real.

And for the first time…

She wasn’t scared of that.

She let out a slow breath, her hands resting against his chest. “So, what now?”

Roman tilted his head. “We figure it out. Together.”

Serena exhaled. “Together.”

Roman smiled, pressing a slow kiss to her forehead.

And just like that, she knew—she had never been more sure of anything in her life.

Two weeks later, Serena was finally settling into a rhythm—both in her actual job and whatever this thing with Roman had become.

She and Naomi were in the women’s locker room, chatting while Naomi laced up her boots for her match later that night.

“So,” Naomi smirked, leaning in, “y’all ‘taking it slow’ still?”

Serena rolled her eyes. “Don’t start.”

Naomi laughed. “Girl, I been started. I told you—you’re stuck with me and my nosiness forever.”

Serena sighed dramatically. “I regret becoming friends with you.”

Naomi grinned. “No, you don’t.”

Serena chuckled, shaking her head. “Fine. But to answer your question—yes, we’re still taking it slow.”

Naomi gave her a look. “And how’s that going?”

Serena hesitated.

Because technically, yes, they were taking it slow. They weren’t flaunting anything, weren’t making anything official in front of the entire company.

But behind closed doors?

Roman was Roman.

Attentive. Protective. Intense in ways she definitely wasn’t ready to unpack yet.

Serena exhaled. “It’s… going.”

Naomi smirked knowingly. “Mmm-hmm.”

Before Serena could respond, the door to the locker room swung open, and in walked Charlotte Flair, a smirk already painted across her face.

“Well, well, well,” Charlotte drawled, arms crossed as she leaned against the lockers. “If it isn’t WWE’s new golden girl.”

Serena blinked, caught off guard. “Excuse me?”

Charlotte’s smirk deepened. “Oh, come on. You didn’t really think people wouldn’t notice, did you?”

Naomi immediately tensed beside Serena, her eyes narrowing. “The hell is that supposed to mean?”

Charlotte ignored Naomi, keeping her gaze locked on Serena. “I mean, it’s interesting how much pull you have around here, considering you’ve only been here a couple months.”

Serena folded her arms. “I got here the same way everyone else did—hard work.”

Charlotte chuckled. “Oh, I don’t doubt that.” She tilted her head. “But I do find it funny how much special treatment you seem to get.”

Serena’s jaw clenched. “I don’t get special treatment.”

Charlotte shrugged. “If you say so. But, you know, people talk.” She smiled innocently. “And they have noticed how close you and Roman have gotten.”

Naomi shot up from her seat. “Girl, you better choose your next words real carefully.”

Charlotte held up her hands in mock surrender. “Relax. I’m just saying—when you’re that close to the top guy, it’s only natural for people to wonder if that’s why you’re still here.”

Serena inhaled sharply, her fingers itching to throw something.

She had worked for this job. She had earned her spot.

But now, because of Roman, people were questioning whether she had actually earned anything at all?

She opened her mouth to snap back, but Naomi beat her to it.

“You know what’s funny?” Naomi said, tilting her head. “You’re always worried about someone else’s business instead of minding your own. Maybe if you focused more on yourself, you wouldn’t have time to be jealous.”

Charlotte’s smirk faltered for just a second.

Serena stepped forward. “Listen, Flair,” she said, her voice steady. “I don’t need to explain myself to you or anyone else. I’m here because I worked my ass off to be here. Roman had nothing to do with that.”

Charlotte’s smirk returned, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“If you say so,” she said smoothly, before turning to walk out.

Naomi scoffed. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

When the door shut behind Charlotte, Serena exhaled, rubbing her temples. “I hate people.”

Naomi sighed, placing a hand on her shoulder. “You good?”

Serena hesitated.

Because, honestly? She wasn’t.

She had worked too hard to have her credibility questioned because of who she was dating—even if they hadn’t even gone public yet.

And if Charlotte was saying it out loud… that meant others were already thinking it.

Serena exhaled sharply. “I need to talk to Roman.”

Just a lil something to post this cute Sunday🫢

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[arkaiveofurown]

Between Thrones and Ashes - Part I

Pairing: Sabo x Celestial Dragon!Reader

Part 2 SOON!

A spoiled Celestial Dragon, used to getting everything with a snap of her fingers. A reckless Revolutionary, defying the world with every step. What would happen when their worlds collide?

tags: series, enemies to lovers

my masterlist here ♡

——

There were three kinds of people in Mary Geoise: those who served, those who groveled, and those like you—who never had to lift a finger unless it was to point at something you wanted.

You lounged on a throne-like chair, legs tucked beneath you, surrounded by an entourage of attendants. One brushed your hair with a golden comb. Another held a chilled drink to your lips. A third waved a fan carved from phoenix feathers, despite the temperature being perfectly controlled.

“It’s too quiet,” you sighed, snapping your fingers.

Within seconds, a pair of violinists emerged from behind a silk curtain and began playing something soft and expensive-sounding.

You rolled your eyes. “Not that again. Play the one I heard in the Rose Ballroom last week. The one with the sparkle.”

The violinists flinched. “Y-Yes, Lady Y/N!”

At your feet, two maids knelt beside your jeweled slippers, ready in case you decided to grace the corridor with your presence. Behind you, silent guards stood with their heads bowed, hands resting on the hilts of ornate weapons—not to protect you, not really, but to remind everyone else what happened if they disrespected a Celestial Dragon.

Not that anyone dared. You were a Holy Noble, a World Noble—one of the so-called gods who lived above the clouds.

You didn’t breathe the same air as the rest of the world. Literally. A clear glass bubble helmet sat beside you on a velvet pillow, polished daily by the same maid who washed your sheets with milk and flower oil. You wore it any time you descended to the “lower world”—the Red Line or, heaven forbid, the Blue Sea below.

That helmet was your inheritance. A symbol of status. A barrier between you and the filth of the outside.

And you hated it.

You hated the way it fogged up your vision, made your nose itch, flattened your hair. It turned you into a walking snow globe, admired but untouchable.

“Lady Y/N,” a voice piped up beside you—your head maid, gentle and a little too observant for your liking. “Shall I summon the bathing fountain? Or perhaps the exotic pet parade? The squirrel-lions arrived from Totto Land this morning.”

You flicked your nails. “No. I’m bored of panthers. And squirrel-lions are so two seasons ago. Bring me something fluffier. Maybe from Wano this time. None of that North Blue trash.”

“Yes, my lady.”

A butler with graying hair and shaking hands stepped forward and bowed so deeply you thought his spine might snap. “You have a poetry recital scheduled in the East Wing with Saint Charlotte.”

You stared at him. “Cancel it. Tell her I’ve fallen into a sugar-induced coma.”

His face paled. “A-ah, very good, my lady.”

Once he scurried off, you laid your head against the silken cushions and closed your eyes. Everything smelled like perfume and honeyed tea. Too sweet. Too still.

You were surrounded by luxury—cherry blossom incense burning from dragon-shaped censers, fine gold-thread carpets from Dressrosa, imported desserts so rare entire villages starved to grow the ingredients—but it all felt dull lately. You didn’t know why.

Maybe it was just the silence. Or maybe it was the way no one ever spoke to you like a person. You were always “my lady,” never “you.”

Even your own family treated you like an object—something delicate and glittering that couldn’t be let out in the rain.

You liked nice things. Shiny things. Compliments. Attention. But you didn’t like cruelty.

No, you’d made that decision very early.

You didn’t own slaves like your uncles did. You refused to attend the Human Auction, no matter how many invitations you received. Your cousin called you “soft,” “silly,” “a girl playing princess instead of goddess.”

But you preferred your servants paid, your animals pampered, and your furniture not made from people.

You were spoiled, sure. But not evil.

“Lady Y/N,” the maid said again, “shall we prepare the sky garden for your afternoon nap?”

You exhaled. “Has it been re-perfumed with the jasmine fog?”

“Yes, my lady. As requested.”

“Fine,” you muttered, standing slowly. They draped you in a soft robe of sunspun silk and slipped your slippers on like a coronation. “Bring the strawberry milk. And the parasol shaped like a koi fish.”

As you were escorted through the palace halls, walking on plush rugs embroidered with family crests and history you didn’t care about, your slippers made no sound—just like everyone around you.

It was a life of softness. Of silk and silence.

And somehow, it was still never enough.

——

You walked, your thoughts drifting idly, as your entourage followed closely behind—just as they always did. But today, the weight of being constantly observed felt heavier than usual.

“Leave me,” you muttered under your breath, already irritated by their proximity.

“My lady?” one of the guards asked, stepping forward.

“Leave,” you repeated, sharper this time. “I wish to be alone.”

After a moment of hesitation, they bowed and scattered, disappearing behind the rows of hedges and fountains. Finally, silence. Alone, you felt the tension in your shoulders ease for a brief moment.

You were about to take a seat when a figure caught your eye—an unfamiliar face stepping out from behind a pillar, his presence unmistakable in the otherwise empty space.

You froze.

Without hesitation, you called out. “Who the hell are you?”

He didn’t flinch, but the slight shift of his eyes told you he’d heard you loud and clear. Slowly, he raised his head to meet your gaze, his posture casual, but there was a quiet intensity in his eyes.

“Didn’t think I’d run into someone like you here,” he muttered, his voice smooth but with an edge. “This garden’s a bit too perfect for my taste.”

You stood taller, narrowing your eyes. “This is my garden. Who are you, and why are you here?”

He took a step forward, his hands tucked in his pockets, like he was in no hurry. “I’m just looking around. What’s it to you?”

Your gaze sharpened. “You’re trespassing. Leave.”

A small, almost amused smile tugged at his lips. “I’ve got a bit more time to kill, and I don’t take orders from people who think their titles mean something.”

You felt a flicker of anger in your chest. “You’re speaking to a Celestial Dragon. You think you can talk to me like this?”

“And you’re proving my point.” he replied coolly. “Entitled. Arrogant. Completely disconnected from reality.”

His eyes darkened, but his tone didn’t shift. “People like you hide behind power and titles. But all I see is someone who thinks they can walk around acting like the world owes them something.”

You could practically feel the judgment in his words, and it stung. The audacity. The arrogance. He was just another person lumping you in with all the other Celestial Dragons, assuming you were no different than the rest.

“You think you know everything about me?” you said sharply, stepping closer. “You don’t.”

He scoffed. “I know enough. You people don’t lift a damn finger unless it’s to point at what you want.”

“You don’t know me.”

There was a beat of silence. He looked at you for a long second—long enough to maybe question you, but not long enough to care.

“No,” he said flatly. “And I don’t need to.”

——

You stormed back into your private quarters, the doors swinging shut behind you with a thud. Your maids stood at attention, but you waved them off without a word. You didn’t want company. You didn’t want anyone. Not after that.

That man. That arrogant, presumptuous man with his sharp eyes and sharper mouth. Who even was he? How did he get in? And who had the nerve to speak to a Celestial Dragon like that?

You paced, arms crossed tightly, the hem of your silk robe dragging behind you. The words echoed in your head:

“I don’t need to.”

So smug. Like he knew everything. Like he had the right to judge you.

You didn’t own slaves. You didn’t scream at servants. You didn’t punish people for breathing too loudly in your presence. Sure, you were spoiled—what of it? You were raised with everything handed to you. That was normal. It didn’t make you cruel.

Still, his words lingered. The way he looked at you—not with awe or fear, but with… disgust.

You frowned, then marched to your balcony and leaned over the marble railing, trying to cool off. That’s when you saw him again.

Down in the courtyard.

You blinked.

The same man.

He wasn’t skulking around this time. He was just walking, like he belonged there. Like this place wasn’t crawling with guards who’d kill an intruder on sight. Except—there were no guards. You’d told them all to leave earlier. That was on you.

Your hands curled into fists.

Without thinking, you threw open your balcony doors and yelled, “You again?!”

He looked up, completely unfazed. “Huh. You live up there. Figures.”

You nearly threw your glass at him.

“What the hell are you still doing here?!”

He shrugged. “Walking.”

“This is private property!” you snapped. “You’re lucky I haven’t called anyone to throw you in the sea!”

“Then call someone,” he said calmly. “I’m not stopping you.”

You stared at him, lips parted in disbelief. “You’re asking to be arrested?”

“I’m asking you to think for yourself,” he replied coolly. “Not just fall back on the guards and the status and the stupid bubble.”

You clenched your teeth. “You are the most infuriating—!”

“Good. You needed it,” he said and turned to leave again, as if you weren’t worth his time.

You raced down the steps barefoot, fury boiling in your chest. You caught up to him in the next hallway, breathing hard. “You don’t get to walk around here and insult me like that! You don’t know anything about me!”

He stopped, slowly turning. “Then show me I’m wrong.”

Your chest heaved, but the words caught in your throat. You wanted to argue. Scream. Prove him wrong. But all you could say was:

“Why are you even here?!”

He paused.

A flicker of something crossed his face—calculation, maybe—but he covered it fast. “Because someone has to see what’s really going on behind these gilded walls.”

You blinked. For a moment, you heard more than just the insult. Behind these walls. As if your entire world—your life—was something shameful. Something fake.

Your brows furrowed. “You’re not just a trespasser…”

He huffed a breath, low and cold. “No. I’m someone who’s sick of the way this place pretends the rest of the world doesn’t exist.”

You bristled. “You don’t know anything about it.”

“I know enough,” he snapped. “I know what it looks like when people live in gold palaces and the rest of the world burns for their comfort.”

Something in your chest twisted—sharp and unwelcome. “You think I asked to be born here?”

“I think you’ve never questioned it,” he said, stepping in close, his tone still hard. “I think you wear that bubble helmet and walk past people like they’re decorations.”

You stared at him, your breath caught in your throat. You had nothing to say—not because he was right, but because you didn’t know if he was wrong.

Then, before you could stop yourself, the words slipped out:

“…Then take me with you.”

He stopped dead.

“What?”

You stepped forward, voice lower now but steady. “If you think I’m just another sheltered noble, prove it. Take me outside these walls. Show me how wrong I am.”

He looked at you like you were insane. And maybe you were. But you held his gaze anyway.

“I don’t do charity,” he said flatly.

“Good,” you shot back. “I’m not asking for a favor.”

He let out a cold laugh and turned his back on you. “Stay in your palace, princess. You wouldn’t last a day.”

This time, you didn’t stop him. But your hands stayed clenched at your sides long after he was gone.

——

He disappeared around the corner, coat swaying behind him like a challenge. The hall felt too quiet without his voice cutting through it.

You didn’t think. You just moved.

No slippers, no guards, no reason. You just stormed after him, fists tight, steps echoing off the pristine floor. You caught him at the foot of the west garden stairs, already halfway to the lower terrace.

“Hey!” you called.

He didn’t stop.

You picked up your pace. “I’m talking to you!”

Finally, he glanced over his shoulder. “Changed your mind? Gonna summon your guards now?”

You reached him in three long strides and shoved his shoulder. “What is wrong with you?!”

He barely moved, just raised a brow. “You’re really not used to people saying no, are you?”

“I’m not used to people insulting me without even knowing me.”

“I don’t need to know you,” he replied, eyes narrowing. “I’ve seen what people like you do. How they live. That’s all I need.”

“You keep saying people like me,” you shot back. “But you don’t know a damn thing about me.”

His mouth twitched, not quite a smirk. “Then why don’t you educate me, princess?”

You ignored the sarcasm. “You think I’ve never seen outside these walls? I’ve been to other islands. I’ve seen what the world looks like.”

He tilted his head. “From inside a bubble helmet and a guarded procession? Spare me.”

You stepped into his space. “You don’t scare me.”

“Good,” he said. “Because I’m not here to scare you.”

He leaned in slightly, just enough to make you feel like the marble under your feet might crack.

“I’m here to make sure people like you don’t get to keep playing god while others die for scraps.”

You flinched. Just barely.

Then you gritted your teeth. “So that’s it. You see one noble and assume the worst. You’re not here for justice. You’re here for revenge.”

The look in his eyes changed. Just for a second.

You didn’t wait for an answer. “Fine. Go ahead. Run your little mission, spy on whoever you’re here to spy on. But don’t act like you’re some kind of saint. You’re judging me for things you’ve never even seen me do.”

He stared at you. Then finally—finally—his voice dropped to something almost thoughtful.

“Why are you following me?”

The question hit harder than it should’ve.

You paused.

“…Because I’m tired of everyone pretending I’m like the rest of them. And you’re the first person who’s had the guts to say it to my face.”

He studied you again. Longer this time. The edge was still there, but something behind his eyes shifted.

He turned away.

“If you follow me again,” he said, “you better mean it.”

Then he was gone—into the garden shadows, coat trailing behind him like a closing door.

——

Two nights passed.

You didn’t tell anyone what happened. Not the guards, not the maids. You just sat in your chamber, ignoring the pearls and silks they tried to dress you in, staring out at the edge of the garden where he vanished.

You met again in the garden. This time you didn’t pretend it was an accident.

He was already there when you stepped into the moonlight. Sitting on the edge of the fountain, arms resting loosely on his knees, watching the stars like they owed him answers.

You stood a few feet away, arms crossed. “You’re brave. Coming back again.”

He looked over, that same amused expression twitching at his lips. “Or maybe I was waiting to see if you would.”

You stepped closer. “You still haven’t told me why you’re here.”

“And you still haven’t kicked me out.”

You huffed. “Don’t mistake that for kindness.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

He straightened up, facing you fully. His voice dropped, not threatening—just serious. “Why are you really talking to me?”

Your fingers tightened over your arms. “Because I want to. Does that bother you?”

“No. But it surprises me.”

You stayed silent.

He kept watching you. “Most Celestial Dragons wouldn’t waste a second on someone like me.”

“I’m not most Celestial Dragons.”

He tilted his head. “No. You’re not. But you still live like one.”

You bristled. “Is that your problem with me? That I have more than you?”

He leaned forward slightly, voice steady. “No. My problem is you don’t question why.”

That hit harder than it should’ve.

You looked away, swallowing the flare of shame before it could rise.

“I didn’t ask to be born into this,” you muttered.

“Neither did the people you’re standing above.”

The silence stretched again.

Then, quietly, you said, “I don’t own slaves. I don’t hurt people. I don’t even let my guards punish the staff. That’s more than you expected, isn’t it?”

He blinked. It was the first time you’d seen his expression falter.

“No,” he said after a pause. “But it’s not enough.”

You stepped closer, now only a foot apart. “Don’t pretend you know everything just because you’ve seen the world from a gutter.”

He didn’t flinch. “And don’t pretend you understand it just because you’ve read about it in books.”

Your eyes locked.

Neither of you moved.

Not a breath of wind between you, but the air crackled—tension, challenge, and something else. Something neither of you dared name yet.

You spoke first. “You’re infuriating.”

“So are you,” he said, almost fondly.

But then the fondness was gone, hidden again under his calm.

You took a slow breath, your words coming out carefully. “I want to leave here. Just for a while. I want to go with you. See what it’s really like out there.”

His brow furrowed, the surprise barely visible in his eyes. “You want to go with me?”

You nodded, your voice soft but firm. “Not forever. Just… I want to know what it’s like beyond this place. What it means to be free. I’m tired of being stuck in here.”

He regarded you for a moment, silent. “You don’t think it’ll be dangerous?”

“Maybe,” you said, a hint of a smile tugging at your lips. “But it’s better than staying here.”

He stood, taking a step closer. “I can’t promise it’ll be easy. You won’t be able to go back to the way things were.”

You didn’t flinch. “I don’t want to.”

He studied you for another long moment. Finally, he let out a small sigh, shaking his head. “You’re something else, you know that?”

“Is that a yes?” you asked, almost daring.

He hesitated, then nodded. “Alright. For a while, at least. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

A small grin tugged at your lips. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

The tension between you two lightened, just slightly, but it was enough. Something had shifted, and maybe for the first time in a long while, you felt like you were about to do something real.

——

You managed to make some excuses—said you needed time alone to reflect, maybe take a short trip to another island for a change of scenery. It wasn’t perfect, but it would work for now. No one would question it for a while.

“Just don’t get caught,” He warned, his gaze sharp.

“I’ll be careful,” you assured him, feeling the tension of sneaking away for the first time in your life.

The night air was cool against your skin as you and the man you met slipped out of the luxurious estate. You stuck to the shadows, careful to avoid any patrolling guards. The further you got from the center of Mary Geoise, the lighter the weight on your chest felt. For the first time, the shackles of your title seemed miles away.

“You sure you’re okay?” He asked, glancing at you.

“Yeah,” you replied, your voice steady though the uncertainty still lingered in the pit of your stomach. “It’s just… different. I never thought I’d actually leave.”

He let out a low chuckle. “That’s the point. You don’t need to stay tied to something that’s never been yours to begin with.”

He offered a knowing smirk. “You’ll get used to it. Trust me, there’s more to the world than your gilded cage.”

As you walked side by side through the quiet streets, your thoughts raced. You were outside the walls, a step closer to freedom, but the fear of getting caught still gnawed at you.

“Are we really doing this?” you asked, mostly to yourself, as you glanced back toward the estate.

“We are,” He replied without hesitation. “No turning back now.”

You gave a small, shaky laugh. “Guess not. So, what’s the plan? How do we get out of here without making too much noise?”

His eyes flickered ahead, and for a moment, you could see the strategist in him, calculating the safest route. “We’ll take the back roads to the nearest port. I’ve got a ship waiting. After that, we’ll decide where to go. But for now, the less attention we draw, the better.”

You hesitated. “You’re sure no one will notice I’m missing?”

“They might, eventually,” He admitted. “But we’ll be long gone by then.”

He gave you a sideways glance, his expression softening for a moment. “Don’t worry. You wanted out. This is your chance.”

Your stomach flipped, excitement and fear mixing in equal parts. “And what happens if I want to go back?”

His smile was small, almost unreadable. “When you’re ready, we’ll figure it out. But right now, focus on getting away.”

The two of you continued walking in silence, the weight of your decision sinking in as the walls of Mary Geoise receded into the distance. It wasn’t a perfect escape. There were too many risks. But for the first time in your life, it felt like you were doing something for yourself.

The world beyond those walls was waiting. And you were finally free to explore it.

[chronicbeans]

Romantic Lucifer x Cutely Flirty Reader

We're not using "Hey babe" here. Here, we got that "You're a cutie patootie, pookie". That's the best way I can describe the Reader's vibes on this.

TW: None, unless you hate fluff

• You both met when he visited the Hazbin Hotel. You actually met him as he was leaving and you were heading back to the hotel with some supplies you were buying. You were more than a little surprised by the carnage that had occurred while you were gone... However, you noticed Lucifer, and decided you might as well say hello.

• He's surprised by how polite you are compared to, say, Alastor. You talk for a bit, before you let him go back to his place. The first thing that you end up telling Charlie, once you talk to her, is pretty simple! "Your dad is adorable-"

• Thus begins your flirtation, whenever he is around. However, you do try to make sure he's not uncomfortable with it, to you keep it very low-key at first. The most you'll do is wave to him, saying "Hey, pookie!" as a greeting. He's probably a bit confused, at first, but shrugs it off.

• A bit confused means very confused, in this case. Especially when he notices Charlie looking embarrassed by it. Sure, he's heard pookie used romantically, but he's also heard it used platonically, so the fact that you're flirting hasn't hit him... yet.

• You both become friends rather quickly, sharing a love of things you find cute, like rubber ducks, Razzle and Dazzle, and Keke. You decide that, since you've become such good friends, it's time to up the ante a bit. You are now more prone to waving him over, saying things like "Hey there, sweetie!" or "Pookie bear, look what I've found!"

• It's at this point, he feels he's getting the hint. You're definitely flirting, in your own way. He likes you back, yes... However, he doesn't want to ruin such a good friendship. That, and he wants to be sure you like him for him, and not his looks. So, he starts waiting for you to show signs that you truly like him outside of flirtation - things that have more of a meaning than that, or cliche love tropes.

• And he gets that sign. One day, you come running up to him, holding what looks to be a rubber duck. "Pookie! Look! I found a duckling!" "Oh, that's such a cute little thing-" "quack" Oh, it's not a rubber duck... It's a real, living, breathing duckling. He's rather impressed by the fact that you found one in Hell, of all places. It's not even a demonic duck, either! It's a normal duckling! You must've went through a lot of work to get it, just for him...

• He takes it from your hands, looks down at it for a moment, before saying "This is our child now." And with that, you're dating. And you have a duckling baby, now. He's named it Charlotte, and it has it's own bedroom.

• He loves your flirting, to be honest, and may start to mimic it. You both call each other pookie all the time. You love to call him random names you come up with, like sugar bear, baby bean, cutie patootie, pookie wookie, and he loves all of them. His face practically burst into flames whenever you call him something like that. He likes to call you his little honeycrisp or apple pie. You two are drowning in fluff and Charlie is watching in pure shock, wondering how she got a duck sister and how you managed to rizz her dad by using cutesy flirting and ducks.