#Advanced Smart Boards

[vivencyglobal]

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[reflectingiridescent]

Do not even get me started on Tara 'only if you pay me' Cole busting out a Nate-ism for her girl.* (extremely positive)

*platonic/romantic/literally any way you read Tara and Sophie positively is fabulous so let's f go*

The Inside Job (Leverage, S03E03) The Grand Complication Job (Redemption, S03E05)

requested by @reflectingiridescent

[cressidagrey]

delulu girl autumn

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Summary: Caitlin Pritchard thought she actually stood a chance with Oscar Piastri at Haileybury in 2018. Reader, she did not. 

Notes: Big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble 😂

(divider thanks to @saradika-graphics )

Caitlin had only been at Haileybury for a day when she saw him.

Tall-ish. Sharp jaw. Easy smile. Accent unmistakably Australian, like hers. But smoother somehow, more Melbourne than Gold Coast. And he was laughing at something—shoulders relaxed, eyes crinkling, head tilted toward the girl walking beside him.

Caitlin had stopped in her tracks.

Finally, she thought. Someone normal. Someone who didn’t speak in clipped boarding school vowels and ask what her father did before they asked her name.

She leaned over to the girl next to her in form. Mia, or Leah or maybe Thea? “Who’s that?”

The girl followed her gaze and blinked. “Oscar Piastri. He’s nice. Smart. Does motorsport. Always winning stuff.”

Caitlin hummed. “And the girl he’s with?”

“Felicity Leong. Genius. Bit intense. She’s been here forever. Lives in the attic room, actually. Kind of…weird, but she’s nice. Don’t cross her in a debate.”

Caitlin squinted.

Oscar had just nudged Felicity’s arm. She rolled her eyes and said something that made him grin, like she always knew how to make him grin. But she didn’t touch him. No hand-holding. No kiss on the cheek. Just two people walking side by side like they knew all the same secrets.

Huh, Caitlin thought. Maybe she’s just one of those super smart best friend types.

Maybe Caitlin had a chance.

By the second week of term, Caitlin had “accidentally” started showing up near the physics lab at the exact time Oscar had free period. She’d dropped a pen in the courtyard and watched—heart fluttering—when he was the one to pick it up.

“Thanks,” she’d said, flashing a smile.

“No worries,” he’d replied with a nod. Polite. Casual. Australian.

Home.

That’s all she needed. One moment. One shared flag. Surely, once they actually talked…

But every time she tried, Felicity was there.

Gorgeous, quiet, smart. The kind of girl who made the headmistress beam at assemblies and never got her phone confiscated. She always had her hair in a braid, and she somehow looked effortlessly expensive, even in a regulation uniform and the ugliest brown shoes Caitlin had ever seen.

Oscar walked her to class. Sat next to her in the common room. Gave her the last cookie at dinner.

But, Caitlin reasoned, that was probably just a long-time-friend thing. Or maybe she was the mom-friend and Oscar just liked the way she shared her highlighters.

Felicity didn’t act like a girlfriend.

She didn’t sit on his lap or link arms with him. She didn’t get jealous when Caitlin joined them for group study one night and asked Oscar (with perhaps a little too much lip gloss) if he wanted to split a Red Bull.

Felicity had just smiled politely and gone back to solving some ungodly advanced physics problem like Caitlin wasn’t even speaking.

Oscar, for his part, had blinked and said, “Nah, I’m good—but thanks.”

Not interested, maybe. But also not unavailable.

Caitlin just need to separate him from the satellite girl who always orbited his shoulder.

Caitlin had a chance. 

***

Caitlin wasn’t obsessed, okay?

She was just… observant.

Which was perfectly normal when someone as cute and talented and Australian as Oscar Piastri walked the same halls you did and occasionally smiled at you with that very symmetrical face.

So what if he was always with that girl—Felicity Leong?

That didn’t mean anything. Boys and girls could be close. Felicity was probably just his study partner. Maybe a cousin. Or a very intense academic rival he was contractually obligated to have polite conversations with. Sure, she always looked like she knew every thought in his head before he said it, and sure, he never looked at anyone else the way he looked at her—but that could just be stress.

Or sleep deprivation. 

Or mutual trauma bonding over too many A-levels.

Besides, Caitlin had time. She was charming. Australian. Had a solid hair routine. And if she played her cards right, Oscar might notice that she wasn’t just some new transfer who tripped over her own backpack in front of the science block last week.

She just had to be patient.

That Thursday afternoon, she was sitting outside the canteen with a few girls from her form when one of them mentioned something in passing that made her freeze mid-sip of orange squash.

“Can you believe Oscar and Felicity are graduating next year?”

Caitlin blinked. “Wait, what?”

“Oh yeah,” the girl said, balancing a yogurt pot on her knee. “They’re in Upper Sixth now. Well, technically. They skipped a year. Did, like, an insane amount of independent studying. Finished early. It was a whole thing last term.”

Caitlin frowned. “But they’re seventeen.”

“Yeah, and smarter than the rest of us combined. Oscar does racing on the weekends. He was gone last weekend for a competition, and I heard he won.”

Won. That word stuck.

Caitlin nodded slowly, storing it away. Racing. Trophy. Real-world stakes.

Interesting.

Later that day, she was cutting through the front quad when she ran into Oscar. Literally. Walked right into his shoulder as he came through the gate, duffel bag slung over one arm and a giant freaking trophy in the other.

“Oh my God—sorry!” she squeaked, stepping back.

Oscar caught her elbow lightly to steady her. “It’s okay. You alright?”

Caitlin blinked up at him, struck by how tired he looked—jet-lagged, probably—but still managing to smile like it was instinct. His curls were a bit flatter than usual, but he was holding a trophy like it weighed nothing.

It was golden. Shiny. Definitely taller than her forearm.

“I—yeah! You won?” she asked, trying to keep her voice from squeaking again.

Oscar laughed a little, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. Hockenheim. Long weekend.”

Hockenheim.

Oh. He was worldly.

“That’s amazing,” Caitlin said, widening her eyes slightly. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” he said. “I’m just glad to be back. Haven’t seen Fliss since Thursday, so—” He trailed off, smiling again, something soft flickering in his eyes.

But Caitlin cut in quickly. “Well, maybe I’ll see you around? If you’re not too busy being famous or graduating early or…” She laughed.

Oscar nodded, polite and vaguely distracted. “Yeah, maybe. I should—uh, I promised Fliss I’d meet her before dinner.”

Of course he did.

Caitlin watched him walk off with that massive trophy and the easy kind of stride that said he belonged somewhere. He didn’t look back.

But still.

He hadn’t said no.

Caitlin smiled to herself.

Still a chance, then.

***

Felicity Leong.

Gorgeous, effortlessly intimidating, lived in that weird attic room nobody else wanted, wore her uniform like it was tailored by Prada, and had this way of looking at you like she already knew what you were going to say—and how wrong it was.

People whispered about her. How she was on first-name terms with half the faculty. How she submitted essays a full week before the deadline. How she once corrected a physics teacher mid-lecture and was right.

But Caitlin didn’t get the big deal.

She’d seen her around with Oscar, obviously. Always hovering nearby. Always tucked under his arm at lunch or passing him a pencil looking like they were one collective brain. But Caitlin had told herself that was just proximity. Comfort. Maybe they were from the same side of Australia. Maybe it was platonic.

Besides, Felicity couldn’t be that smart.

People exaggerated. Nerds got hyped up all the time, especially when they were hot.

Then came double history.

Caitlin hadn’t even realized Felicity was in the class until Caitlin slipped into the seat next to hers—late, looking vaguely annoyed. Felicity meanwhile had a black coffee in one hand and three uncapped highlighters in the other.

Caitlin blinked.

“Oh,” she said, “Hi.”

Felicity didn’t look up from her notes. “Hi.”

Caitlin offered a smile. “I’m Caitlin. I just transferred—”

“I know. Caitlin Pritchard.” Felicity said, finally glancing over. “You’re in Samir’s economic class. You were late twice last week.”

Caitlin opened her mouth. Closed it.

“Well. Yeah. I had trouble finding the classroom”

Felicity hummed, scribbled something in the margin of her paper, and then underlined it twice.

Caitlin stared.

She wanted to say something else. Something casual. Charming. Something that might explain why Oscar seemed to orbit this girl like she was a fixed point in the universe.

So when the teacher walked in and launched straight into a discussion on colonial resistance movements, Caitlin pounced.

“Sorry,” she said, cutting across the room. “Can we go back? Didn’t the Sepoy Rebellion happen because of, like… pork grease? On bullets or something?”

A few people laughed. The teacher smiled thinly. “Yes, Caitlin, that was one of the catalysts. Though, of course, the issue was more complicated—”

“It was never really about the grease,” Felicity said suddenly, without looking up. “That was just the final insult. The British had already eroded Indian sovereignty through unfair taxation, disrespect of local customs, and widespread economic disenfranchisement. The cartridge issue was symbolic—it touched religion, identity, and trust. Which, when combined with long-standing resentment, triggered the uprising.”

Caitlin blinked.

Felicity continued annotating her page like she hadn’t just delivered a university-level mini-lecture.

The teacher looked delighted. “Exactly, Miss Leong.”

And that was the first time Caitlin realized two very important things:

Felicity Leong was terrifyingly smart.

She had grossly underestimated the girl Oscar Piastri smiled at like she was his whole damn world. 

Still.

Caitlin glanced sideways at her.

She could recover.

Probably.

Maybe.

***

Caitlin was still replaying the moment in her head when she flopped into a beanbag in the common room an hour later.

“‘It was never really about the grease,’” she muttered under her breath, mimicking Felicity’s deadpan tone. “Like, okay, Google Scholar, relax.”

Across from her, Aarya Kumar— vice captain of the debating society, and possibly the only person more feared in a podium setting than Felicity herself—arched an eyebrow.

“Oh no,” she said mildly. “Did you challenge Felicity?”

“I asked a question,” Caitlin said defensively. “I wasn’t trying to start a revolution.”

Aarya snorted. “With Felicity, it’s the same thing.”

Caitlin grabbed a nearby cushion and hugged it to her chest. “She’s just—she’s kind of cold, isn’t she?”

Aarya looked up from her laptop with the slow blink of someone deciding whether or not to waste time correcting an idiot.

“Cold?” she repeated.

“Yeah. I don’t know. Like, she’s obviously really smart and everything, but she’s a bit… sharp. She didn’t even smile when I introduced myself. She just recited my attendance record.”

Aarya leaned back in her chair, looking extremely entertained.

“Caitlin,” she said, “Felicity Leong is not cold. She’s clinical. There’s a difference.”

“Oh, sorry, clinical. That’s so much more warm and inviting.”

Aarya smiled like a shark. “She just doesn’t waste energy on things she finds boring.”

“And I’m boring?”

“No,” Aarya said, sipping her tea. “You’re just not particularly relevant.”

Caitlin stared. “Wow.”

“Don’t take it personally. She’s like that with everyone who isn’t on her shortlist of priorities.”

Caitlin frowned. “And who’s on the list, then?”

Aarya tilted her head, like the answer was obvious. “Well, there’s Oscar. And—actually, I guess it’s mostly just Oscar.”

Caitlin sat up straighter, hopeful. “So… they’re, like… best friends?”

Aarya raised an eyebrow. “If that’s what you want to call it.”

Caitlin clung to the ambiguity like a life raft. “Right. Because he is super friendly with everyone.”

Aarya didn’t say anything. Just went back to typing.

Caitlin leaned back, trying to ignore the way her stomach twisted.

Because technically, no one had said they were together.

No kissing. No hand-holding in public. No PDA.

It was probably one of those ultra-close platonic friendships. The kind that seemed romantic but wasn’t. Maybe they’d grown up like siblings. Maybe Felicity was just a little possessive. Maybe Oscar just hadn’t met the right girl yet.

Maybe—maybe—Caitlin could still be the exception.

It wasn’t like they were dating.

Right?

***

It started in the library.

Caitlin was flipping through flashcards, half-studying, half-scanning for Oscar (which was a completely innocent form of multitasking), when she caught the sound of his voice coming from two rows behind her.

“Fliss.”

The tone was casual. Familiar. The syllable dropped like second nature.

Caitlin frowned.

Fliss?

She peered around the bookcase just enough to glimpse him—Oscar, leaning on the edge of the table where Felicity sat, surrounded by a ridiculous number of open books and a mug that probably held black coffee and ambition.

Felicity didn’t look up. “What?”

“You forgot your physics notes in the study room.”

He held out a folder. Her hand came up automatically to take it.

“Oh. Thanks, Oz.”

Caitlin blinked again.

Oz?

Fliss and Oz?

Since WHEN were they nickname people?

She hadn’t even known he went by Oz. Nobody else called him that. Everyone else just said Oscar. Osc rarely, from some guys on the cricket team. 

Caitlin tilted her head. Okay, maybe it was a smart-people thing. Maybe if she ever helped him with physics, he’d let her call him that too.

And then Felicity, still scribbling, added absently:

“You’re not getting another cookie for this, by the way.”

Oscar laughed. “Didn’t ask for one, love.”

Caitlin’s brain stuttered.

Love?!

He said it so casually. Like it wasn’t a thing. Like it was something he’d said a hundred times before and would say again in the hallway or in front of God and Aarya and everyone.

Felicity didn’t even react.

She just circled something in her notes, then muttered, “You’re lucky I still have any goodwill left after The Great Béchamel Disaster.”

“You said you forgave me,” Oscar said, nudging her elbow.

“I lied,” she replied, but she was smiling.

A real smile. Small. Private. Quiet and warm in the way a person only smiles when they’re with someone who knows all their weird habits and loves them anyway.

Caitlin sat there in stunned silence, still holding her flashcard on Newton’s Third Law, like gravity had just personally attacked her.

Oscar Piastri had a nickname. And a backup nickname. And Felicity had one too. Multiple, probably. He probably called her things like “hey you” and “genius” and “mine.” Caitlin was spiraling. She hadn’t even gotten a solid hi this week.

She told herself not to read into it. Some people just had nicknames. That didn’t mean anything.

Did it?

…Did it??

She turned back to her flashcards with renewed determination.

She still had time.

Still had a chance.

Probably.

(Maybe.)

***

It was just after prep when Caitlin wandered into the shared sixth form kitchen in search of a snack and maybe a slightly flirty conversation with Oscar Piastri.

What she found instead was chaos.

The counter was covered in flour. Someone’s blazer was draped over a chair. The oven light was on, the whole place smelled like vanilla and sugar, and at the center of it all—like it was completely normal—stood Oscar and Felicity Leong, side by side at the counter, making cookies.

Oscar had chocolate smeared on his cheek.

Felicity was wearing a hoodie that she was drowning in, from the Richmond Tigers. 

Caitlin blinked.

“Um. Hi?”

Oscar looked up, grinning immediately. “Hey, Caitlin. Want one? They’re a bit misshapen, but Fliss says that’s ‘charm.’”

Felicity, still focused on placing the next tray in the oven, didn’t glance up. “Because it is.”

Two other students—Aarya and a boy named Samir—were sitting nearby eating cookies like this was a regularly scheduled Wednesday night tradition.

Caitlin stepped cautiously inside. “You guys… bake together?”

Felicity closed the oven and finally turned around, brushing flour off her sleeves. “Only when we both have a free evening and Oscar’s not flying from Spain or Monaco or whatever.”

“She says that like I don’t make time,” Oscar said, nudging her with his shoulder.

Caitlin watched as Felicity gave him a look. Not annoyed. Not even teasing.

It was warm. Familiar. Like this was their thing.

Oscar smirked. “Anyway,” he said, holding out a cookie, “these have caramel bits. Still hot.”

Caitlin accepted it, trying not to overanalyze the way Felicity casually stole a cooling rack from behind him and bumped her hip into his like it was second nature.

“Oh my God,” Aarya muttered to Samir behind them. “Is she still trying?”

“She must be,” Samir whispered back, mouth full. “This is brutal.”

Caitlin turned. “What?”

“Nothing,” Aarya said quickly, looking at the ceiling. “Just… nothing.”

Caitlin took a bite of the cookie. It was genuinely good. “I didn’t realize you were, like… domestic,” she said to Oscar, with what she hoped was a charming little laugh.

Felicity looked unimpressed.

“I make a mean pasta bake too,” Oscar said easily. “But Fliss doesn’t let me cook anything unsupervised since The Great Béchamel Disaster.”

Felicity nodded solemnly. “He thought you could substitute almond milk for béchamel.”

“It was a theory.”

“You nearly set the microwave on fire.”

Oscar pointed at her. “You said you forgave me.”

“I did,” she said sweetly. “After you bought me new pyjamas.”

Caitlin laughed awkwardly. “Wow. You two really know each other.”

“Since we were 14,” Oscar said. “It’s kind of hard not to.”

Caitlin wanted to ask more, but Aarya was now fake-coughing aggressively into her biscuit, and Samir looked like he was trying not to choke from suppressed laughter.

“Anyway,” Oscar added, smiling at Felicity again, “you wanna do the next batch or switch?”

“I’ll mix,” she said, already reaching for the bowl. “You always under-fold.”

Oscar rolled his eyes but obeyed. “Yes, Fliss.”

Caitlin watched them—Felicity focused, Oscar content just to orbit around her—and something unspoken flickered in her chest.

But then Oscar caught her eye again. Friendly. Easy.

He was still nice to her.

Still smiling.

And so Caitlin told herself—again—that if it was something romantic, someone would’ve said so. Or at least made it clear. They weren’t kissing. They weren’t holding hands. Maybe this was just… how they were. How they’d always been.

She still had a chance.

Caitlin took another bite of her cookie.

It burned her tongue.

***

Caitlin wasn’t technically stalking Oscar.

She just… happened to sign up for gym block at the same time as him. And then happened to show up early. And then happened to secure a treadmill with a very good view of the weights section.

That wasn’t a crime.

And honestly, she was doing it for herself. Self-improvement. Endorphins. Definitely not to stare at the way Oscar Piastri filled out a nike shirt...

He wasn’t even doing anything fancy. Just basic reps. But his arms? Defined. Shoulders? Unfair. And the fact that he wasn’t even out of breath while talking to someone? Offensive.

Also—he was lifting more than Samir. Samir was on the rugby team.

Caitlin glanced around like someone should be noticing this.

But no one cared. Because of course they didn’t. They’d all seen it before.

And then in came her.

Felicity Leong.

Hair braided. No makeup. Oversized red shirt. ARDEN written over her chest. Black leggings. Looked like she could do calculus while sprinting.

Caitlin tried not to stare.

But then she saw Oscar’s face light up when Felicity walked in and any hope she had left melted like protein powder in lukewarm almond milk.

They greeted each other with the kind of ease that made Caitlin want to scream into a dumbbell rack.

Then they trained together.

Felicity wasn’t flashy. She was fast. Precise. Focused. Caitlin watched her fly through circuits like her body was a machine and she’d never once felt fatigue. Meanwhile, Oscar was at her side, timing her sprints, correcting her posture, offering her his towel like it was nothing.

“Water?” he asked during their rest.

Felicity reached for the bottle, took one sip, and muttered, “You’re still folding your lunges.”

Oscar grinned. “Still bossy.”

“Still inefficient.”

Caitlin was starting to believe in soulmates and consider drowning herself in the gym water cooler at the same time.

And then it happened.

Felicity slipped mid-rep. Nothing dramatic—just a wrong angle coming down from a box jump—but the sound her ankle made was sharp, sickening, real.

She hissed through her teeth and staggered.

Oscar was at her side in less than two seconds.

“Shit,” he muttered. “Don’t move. Is it bad?”

“Twisted,” Felicity gritted out. “Might be sprained.”

He crouched beside her, eyes scanning her ankle, hands gentle as he tested the pressure. And then—before Caitlin could even process what was happening—

He scooped her up.

Like she weighed nothing. Like it was automatic. Like he’d done it before.

Arms under her knees and back, no strain, no hesitation. Felicity didn’t even protest. Just looped one arm around his neck like this was a routine Tuesday.

“C’mon,” he said softly. “Let’s get you iced.”

Caitlin gaped.

And no one else reacted.

Not Samir. Not the girl by the rowing machines. Not the PT. They barely looked up.

As if this happened all the time.

As if Felicity regularly got princess-carried out of the gym by her brilliant F1-adjacent boyfriend like it was part of the warm-down routine.

Caitlin blinked.

Her heart hurt.

Oscar was strong. Like—really strong. Quietly strong. The kind that didn’t flex, just lifted people like they were paper.

And Felicity?

Felicity was tiny. Not weak. Not fragile. Just built like the universe decided someone should be genetically optimized to be carried by Oscar Piastri.

As they disappeared into the hallway, Felicity mumbled something.

Oscar laughed and said, “It’s not my fault your centre of gravity is adorable.”

Caitlin still had a chance. 

Probably. 

***

Caitlin had known Oscar Piastri was cute.

Obviously.

That had been Day One material: waves, dimples, polite voice, Australian accent. It was instant. It was unavoidable. It was textbook crush.

What she hadn’t expected was the slow realization that Oscar Piastri was hot. Like… unfairly hot. Like betray-your-bestie-and-your-God hot.

It didn’t hit her all at once.

It was gradual.

It was the library, when he’d leaned over Felicity’s desk to hand her a flash drive and his shirt had shifted, and suddenly his forearms were right there, and Caitlin had nearly highlighted the entire Treaty of Versailles out of order.

It was the way he always ran one hand through his hair when he was concentrating—pushing it back, curls falling forward again five seconds later, like he was in a shampoo commercial directed by the gods.

It was the back muscles, which she first clocked during PE when he’d taken off his jumper and casually did push-ups like they didn’t reveal everything.

And then there was the shoulder stretch incident.

One Friday morning in study hall, he’d lifted both arms behind his head to stretch—and his shirt had ridden up just enough to show a sliver of toned lower back and hip. Caitlin had dropped her pen, her dignity, and a solid 80% of her vocabulary in the same moment.

Every time he laughed, it was a problem. Deep, full-body, throw-his-head-back laughter that made people turn and smile reflexively. Except Caitlin didn’t just smile. She short-circuited.

And God help her when he swore.

Oscar didn’t swear much—but when he did, it was low and Australian and effortless and usually muttered under his breath in the most devastatingly hot tone imaginable. Once it had been “bloody hell, Fliss”, and Caitlin had ascended into another dimension.

Even his hands were unfair. Long fingers. Casually spinning a pen. Good at everything. 

One time he’d run laps for warm-up and pulled his shirt off over his head as he walked off the field, sweat glistening, curls sticking, and Caitlin had genuinely seen a bird fly into a tree because the universe was clearly overwhelmed.

But the worst part—the absolute worst—was how unaware he was of it.

Oscar Piastri had the audacity to be hot and nice. The kind of boy who helped carry books and always shared his last cookie with Felicity without even blinking.

It was a public safety hazard.

***

It was a rainy Thursday afternoon, and most of Sixth Form had retreated to the study hall. The floor-to-ceiling windows rattled with wind, someone had put on a low jazz playlist, and everyone had resigned themselves to pretending they were productive.

Caitlin was “working” on a history essay (read: rewriting the intro for the fourth time), when Oscar dropped into the seat beside Felicity at the windowsill bench. She barely looked up from her notes, just shifted sideways to make room for him in the way of people who didn’t ask—they just expected each other to be there.

He leaned over her shoulder, reading something upside down.

"You need a break," he said softly.

"I need a functioning global economy," she replied, underlining a sentence in red.

Oscar snorted. “Come on. Fifteen-minute truce. Stretch. Look at a cloud. Touch grass.”

Felicity didn’t move. But she looked at him. And then, in the most deadpan voice imaginable, she muttered:

"Alright, Tin Man. Let’s walk."

Caitlin blinked from her corner of the room.

Tin Man?

Tin. Man.

Was that… a dig?

A pet name?

An insult wrapped in affection?

She stared after them as they walked out, Oscar brushing his hand lightly against Felicity’s as they passed through the door. He was grinning. She wasn’t—but there was a crinkle in her eyes that looked suspiciously like she was trying not to smile.

“What,” Caitlin said aloud, turning to Thea across the table, “was that? She just called him Tin Man.”

Thea didn’t even glance up from her colour-coded notes. “Yeah. That’s her thing.”

“Her thing?”

“She calls him that when he gets too sentimental.”

Caitlin blinked. “Wait, what?”

Thea sighed like she was explaining physics to a moth.

“When Oscar first came to Haileybury, some of the guys used to tease him for being a bit—cold. Like, he was brilliant at everything but didn’t show much emotion. You know, kept to himself. Never really… reacted.”

Caitlin’s mouth opened. “So they called him—?”

“Robot Boy,” Thea finished. “No emotions. You get it.”

“That’s—awful,” Caitlin said.

“Yeah. But then Felicity came along, and he started reacting.” Thea finally looked up, eyes sharp with amusement. “First time he ever raised his voice in public was when someone made a comment about her. You should’ve seen it. He went full protective rage blackout.”

Caitlin blinked, stunned.

“Anyway,” Thea continued, “he started thawing. Laughing more. Getting teased for having feelings, instead of not having any. So now when he gets too soft with her—like, says something sweet or looks at her like she put the stars in the sky—she calls him Tin Man.”

Caitlin sat in silence.

Outside, through the rain-streaked glass, she could just barely make out Oscar and Felicity under the trees. He was walking so close beside her their arms brushed with every step. Felicity said something, and he threw his head back laughing.

And then she bumped him—gently, with her shoulder.

He bumped back.

They kept walking.

They weren’t holding hands. 

So Caitlin still had a chance. Right?

***

Caitlin joined the dance club because she needed something.

Something that wasn’t academic. Something that wasn’t tied to being “the new girl.” And, ideally, something that would make her look effortlessly hot in a leotard.

She had a background in jazz, had done a few summer workshops in Sydney, and figured it’d be a good place to make some friends. Plus, Oscar might notice—if she mentioned casually that she danced.

So when she walked into the studio for her first Thursday meeting, wearing her black tank and brand new split-sole ballet shoes, she felt good. Confident. A little nervous, but in a cute way.

And then she saw her.

Felicity Leong.

Hair in a flawless bun. Dressed in a leotard and a worn black wrap top that looked somehow elegant. Not flashy. Not even trying. But immediately magnetic.

Caitlin blinked. You’ve got to be kidding me.

“Is she part of this club?” she whispered to the girl next to her.

The girl gave her a look. “She’s the senior lead.”

“Oh,” Caitlin said weakly. “Cool.”

Cool.

Felicity didn’t look like she was about to ruin lives. She was sitting against the mirror, stretching calmly, headphones in. Calm. Focused. Untouchable.

Then the teacher clapped. “Alright, let’s warm up. Miss Leong—lead us in pliés?”

Felicity nodded once, stood, and—

Transformed.

It was like watching a poem in motion.

No overthinking. No hesitation. Just muscle memory and precision. Her arms curved perfectly. Her turnout was textbook. Her every movement landed in that devastating sweet spot between softness and control. And her face didn’t change once—like grace wasn’t a performance for her, just a setting she never turned off.

She wasn’t just good.

She was ballet.

Caitlin barely remembered the warm-up. Her legs did something, sure, but her brain was short-circuiting.

Felicity flowed through port de bras like she’d been born with music in her veins. Executed a développé with the kind of restraint that said she could go higher, but didn’t need to prove it.

By the time they got to center work, Caitlin was pretty sure she’d stopped blinking.

“Felicity, would you mind demonstrating the adagio solo from last year?” the teacher asked.

Felicity gave a soft, almost reluctant nod. “Sure.”

And then she danced.

No music. No fanfare. Just her body moving like it had already heard the score.

Every extension was art. Every balance was deliberate. Every turn was smooth enough to make the world spin slower. When she reached the final pose—arms lifted, chin angled upward like she was made of light—nobody clapped.

Because everyone was stunned.

Even Caitlin.

She barely breathed until the teacher finally said, “Thank you. That was… as always, exquisite.”

Felicity just shrugged like it meant nothing and walked back to her spot like she hadn’t just outdanced God.

Caitlin sat down slowly.

Silently.

And had a minor identity crisis.

Because not only was Felicity Leong intimidatingly smart, casually attached at the soul to Oscar Piastri - she could also do ballet like she was on loan from the Paris Opera.

Caitlin didn’t know whether she wanted to cry, scream, or change schools.

So she settled on tying her shoes tighter and pretending it didn’t bother her.

Even though it absolutely did.

***

It was a rainy Tuesday evening, the kind that turned the Haileybury dorms into a sanctuary of hot chocolate, fleece blankets, and half-finished homework sprawled across common room tables.

Caitlin was curled on the edge of a beanbag, pretending to annotate her literature essay while sneakily watching Oscar argue with Samir about some Grand Prix controversy. It was one of those low-effort nights—everyone a little too tired to be productive, a little too comfortable to care.

And then Felicity walked in.

Hair down.

Caitlin almost dropped her pen.

Because up until that moment, she hadn’t even realized Felicity Leong had hair.

That’s how tightly she always wore it. Braids, buns, perfect French twists that looked regulation-ready even on Sundays. But now—

Now it was loose.

A dark, glossy sheet that spilled over her shoulders and down her back like a black silk curtain, nearly to her waist. Smooth, thick, flawless. It looked less like hair and more like something airbrushed onto a Vogue cover.

Caitlin blinked. Was she allowed to just—walk around like that?

Felicity padded over to where Oscar sat cross-legged on the floor, tugged a cushion closer, and dropped herself unceremoniously between his knees like it was a routine chore.

“Hands?” she asked, already gathering her hair over one shoulder.

Oscar grinned. “Clean. Promise.”

And with that, he gently took the mass of hair in his hands and began to braid.

Just like that.

Like it was something they’d done a hundred times. Like this was normal.

Caitlin watched, frozen, as he sectioned it expertly—two smooth parts, fingers moving with unconscious ease. He wasn’t even looking, just chatting with Samir about tyre compounds while looping her hair over and under like he knew it better than she did.

Felicity leaned forward a little to help him get the tension right.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t supervise. Just… trusted him.

Caitlin wasn’t sure what was more shocking—the fact that Oscar Piastri could braid at all, or the fact that Felicity Leong, terrifying genius and dance prodigy, had somehow allowed a boy to touch her hair.

And not just touch it, but casually French braid it in front of other people like it wasn’t the most intimate thing Caitlin had ever seen in her life.

Oscar tied the end with a small black elastic from his wrist, then tugged the braid gently to make it fuller.

“There,” he said. “Symmetry achieved.”

“Better than last time,” Felicity said, glancing over her shoulder.

He tapped her temple with his knuckle. “I get better under pressure.”

Someone across the room muttered, “You two are so weirdly domestic, it’s terrifying.”

Neither of them looked offended.

Oscar just smiled. Felicity leaned back slightly against his knee. And they went right back to talking about whether or not the new history teacher was secretly unqualified.

Caitlin sat there, quietly imploding.

Because never, not once, had she seen Oscar that comfortable with anyone. Not in the flirtatious way she’d been fantasizing about—but in the quiet, unconscious belonging kind of way. Like he wasn’t even thinking about it.

But Caitilin still had a chance…right?

***

It started with a phone ringing.

Not a notification. Not the subtle ping of someone’s locked screen lighting up. This was a proper ringtone—some soft, instrumental chime that sounded like it belonged to a very calm person who did yoga and paid their taxes early.

Caitlin glanced up from her seat in the common room just in time to see Felicity Leong pull her phone out of her cardigan pocket.

“Sorry,” Felicity murmured, already stepping toward the hallway.

Oscar was sitting on the couch, legs stretched out, textbook balanced across his knees. He didn’t even look up.

Caitlin narrowed her eyes.

“Wait, where’s your phone?” she asked, leaning toward him a bit. “I thought I heard your ringtone earlier?”

Oscar didn’t glance up. “Dead. Forgot to charge it.”

“Classic,” Samir muttered without looking up from his laptop.

But Caitlin was still watching Felicity, who had now stepped just out of sight—though her voice still carried through the open doorway. Calm. Familiar. Just slightly exasperated.

“Hi Nicole. No, he’s alive,” Felicity said lightly. “Phone’s dead again. I’ll tell him to call you.”

A pause.

Then, quieter: “No, Oscar’s fine. Tired. He’s had a headache all day, that’s why he didn’t call. Yeah. I’ll remind him to check in tomorrow.”

Then Felicity laughed softly, eyes fond. “Yes. He misses you too. I’ll make sure he actually eats something green tonight.”

She listened for another beat, nodding, then added, “Love you too.”

Then she hung up and tossed the phone back onto the sofa.

Oscar caught it with one hand without even looking. “She say hi?”

“She said to tell you to eat a vegetable.”

“She’s so mean to me,” he said dramatically, eyes closed.

“She birthed you,” Felicity replied, deadpan. “She’s earned it.”

And Caitlin suddenly wasn’t paying attention to her annotated Hamlet anymore.

“Wait,” she said slowly. “Was that… your mum?”

Oscar glanced up like it was no big deal. “Yeah.”

“She called Felicity?”

Oscar blinked, confused. “Yeah?”

“Instead of, like, you?”

He shrugged. “She knows I never answer. Felicity always does.”

That… was apparently that.

Nobody else reacted.

Not Aarya, not Samir, not the Year 13 boy flipping through a copy of The Economist like his soul depended on it. They just kept working or scrolling or sipping lukewarm tea, as if it wasn’t insane that a boy’s mum had defaulted to calling a teenage girl for updates on her son.

“Your Mom just calls Felicity?” Caitlin repeated.

“Has since Year 10,” Samir said without looking up. “Honestly, Felicity usually knows where Oscar is before Oscar knows where Oscar is.”

Oscar shrugged. “It’s a system. If I miss three texts, she goes to Fliss.”

“I think Nicole called her during exams once because she couldn’t figure out Oscar’s calendar,” Aarya added. “Felicity had it memorized.”

Caitlin blinked. “But… that’s like… really personal, right?”

“Not really,” Oscar said mildly. “Just easier. Fliss keeps my schedule on her laptop.”

“She’s basically his external hard drive,” Samir muttered.

“His mum calls her,” Caitlin said again, dazed.

And yet… still.

Still.

She told herself maybe it was just one of those weird family dynamics. Maybe Felicity had just gotten swept up in the Piastris’ orbit because she was organized. Maybe Nicole liked her because she was polite and good at reminding Oscar to take his iron supplements or whatever.

Caitlin clung to denial with the strength of a thousand delusions.

Because maybe Felicity was just close with the family.

Maybe she was like… the childhood friend who became an honorary sibling.

It didn’t have to mean anything.

She definitely still had a chance.

Didn’t she?

***

The Winter Formal was two weeks away, and Caitlin was ready.

This was her moment. Her chance.

She’d been at Haileybury long enough to know that Winter Formal wasn’t just some dance—it was a statement. A social chessboard. The perfect opportunity to be seen, to be asked, to be unforgettable.

And Caitlin was not going to let it pass her by.

She’d already ordered a dress from Australia—a sleek, midnight blue satin thing with a thigh slit and delicate straps that made her feel expensive just looking at it. Her mum had mailed it express with handwritten instructions about which earrings not to pair it with. S She’d even practiced walking in heels on the quad during lunch.

All of this, of course, was part of Operation: Oscar Will Finally See Me As A Woman™.

So when the girls’ dorm corridor started buzzing with excitement and dress talk, Caitlin took her usual spot near the common room couch, flipping through lipstick swatches on her phone and casually steering the conversation.

“I feel like everyone’s going for red or black,” she said, examining a cherry gloss. “I want something classic, but… memorable, you know?”

Thea, who was painting her nails, nodded. “Honestly, I just hope someone asks me. Last year was so dry.”

“I heard Samir’s organizing a group to go together,” someone else said. “Just friends, but, like, cute coordinated outfits?”

“Ugh, that’s sweet,” Caitlin said, smiling. “I mean, obviously, if someone asked me, I’d say yes. But if not, I’ll just look stunning on my own.”

The group hummed in agreement.

Then the door opened, and of course, in walked Felicity Leong—casual, composed, hair in a clip, hoodie two sizes too big.

No Richmond Tigers this time. but once again something emblazoned with HP Tuners on it. Caitlin seriously wondered where she kept finding them. 

She looked like she was just passing through, but Thea called out, “Fliss! Are you going to the Winter Formal?”

Felicity paused. “Yeah, probably.”

Caitlin glanced over, trying to sound breezy. “Do you have a dress yet?”

Felicity shrugged like the entire concept of formalwear bored her. “I’ve got a few. I’ll pick one.”

“You mean, like… from your closet?” Caitlin asked, lips parting in disbelief. “You’re not getting one new?”

Felicity blinked. “I already own dresses. I don’t need another.”

Caitlin opened her mouth. Closed it. “Right. Sure.”

“So who are you going with?” Thea asked teasingly. 

Felicity just smiled faintly. “Don’t worry about it.”

Caitlin’s heart kicked. Her mind raced.

That could mean anything. It could be a friend. A joke. A bluff. There had been no announcement. And Oscar—Oscar still hadn’t said anything about going. She’d know if it were him.

Probably.

Hopefully.

Definitely.

…Right?

Felicity turned to go, already halfway down the corridor, when she called back casually:

“Don’t stress too much about the dress. The dancing is the best part.”

And just like that, she disappeared.

Caitlin sat very still for a moment.

Her lip gloss suddenly felt… desperate.

But no matter.

Felicity Leong could wear a paper bag to Winter Formal and still pull off mysterious. Caitlin, however, was going to show up looking like a star.

She still had time.

She still had a chance.

***

Winter Formal at Haileybury was everything Caitlin had dreamed it would be.

The great hall was transformed—strings of fairy lights hung from the beams, candles floated on tables like something out of a movie, and the DJ actually understood how to mix orchestral pieces with chart hits. Students filed in dressed to the nines, heels clicking on polished floors, laughter echoing across the velvet-draped room.

Caitlin felt stunning.

Her navy satin gown fit like a dream. Her curls were glossy, makeup dewy, everything rehearsed and poised. When she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror-lined hallway, she thought: This is it. This is my main character moment.

Oscar hadn’t arrived yet.

She was mid-conversation with Thea and half-scanning the crowd when the noise in the room dipped. Not stopped. Not hushed. Just… shifted.

She followed the direction of a few stares—and there they were.

Oscar and Felicity.

And Caitlin forgot how to breathe.

Felicity was in a deep forest green dress—floor-length, off the shoulder, with a subtle silk sheen that looked so expensive it had to be designer. Her hair was down for once, falling to her waist pin straight and thick. Her makeup was minimal, but somehow she still looked like she stepped out of a fashion editorial.

Oscar was in a classic black suit. Crisp white shirt. And he was smiling at her—her, meaning Felicity—like she was the only person who existed.

The room wasn’t silent, but it didn’t matter.

It bent around them anyway.

Caitlin stared. There’s no way they’re just friends.

But nobody said anything. There was no announcement. No hand-holding. So it was still ambiguous, right?

She had hope.

Until the dancing started.

The DJ called for a traditional waltz—something Haileybury insisted on every year for the old-money aesthetic—and most students awkwardly shuffled into pairs, giggling through their two-left-feet attempts.

And then—

Oscar and Felicity stepped onto the floor.

And they danced.

Not fumbled.

Not swayed.

They danced.

He led effortlessly, one hand pressed against her back like he was born to guide her. She followed with impossible grace, her green skirt swirling just above her ankles. They moved in tight, perfect circles, their footwork synchronized, their expressions focused and just barely smiling, like the moment was just for them.

And then—because of course—

He picked her up.

Clean, elegant lift. Like she weighed nothing. Like he’d done it a hundred times before. Her feet left the ground, and she laughed—actually laughed, head thrown back—and when he set her down again, she didn’t even wobble.

The room applauded.

Caitlin clapped too, mostly because she forgot how not to.

Thea leaned over. “Okay, they’re disgustingly perfect.”

Caitlin forced a laugh. “Yeah, I guess they… practiced?”

Samir, somewhere nearby, snorted. “They’ve been practicing since Year 9, mate.”

Caitlin blinked. “What?”

But Samir had already turned away.

Since Year 9?

That had to mean something else. Dance class. PE. Maybe Oscar’s mum had hired them a coach. It didn’t confirm anything.

Even when the slow songs began, and Oscar pulled Felicity close—one hand at her waist, the other brushing the back of her neck, foreheads nearly touching—Caitlin still thought:

Maybe he’s just that affectionate with close friends.

Even as he whispered something that made Felicity laugh and tuck her head into his shoulder.

Even as they moved in a slow, gentle rhythm that looked less like dancing and more like existing in sync.

Caitlin took a sip of her sparkling juice.

She still had a chance.

...Right?

***

The Winter Formal afterparty wasn’t technically sanctioned, but Haileybury looked the other way as long as nobody died, broke curfew, or set off the fire alarm like last year.

So a group of Upper Sixth students had ended up back in one of the common rooms, still in formalwear but now barefoot, jackets discarded, and half-asleep on beanbags and mismatched sofas. The music was low. The fairy lights from the dance still blinked lazily around the windows. Someone passed around leftover sweets from the dessert bar.

Caitlin was feeling… hopeful.

Oscar was lounging two cushions away, his jacket tossed over a chair, his tie hanging loose around his neck. Felicity sat cross-legged on the floor in front of him, sipping from a paper cup. 

Then someone suggested Truth or Dare.

It started off tame.

“Truth: who did you originally want to go to formal with?” “Dare: text your sibling ‘you up?’” “Truth: have you ever cheated on an exam?”

The group laughed, groaned, teased.

Caitlin felt herself relaxing. It was fun. Casual. Normal.

Then Aarya, ever the chaos agent, turned toward Oscar with a shark-like grin.

“Oscar,” she said sweetly. “Truth or dare?”

Oscar didn’t blink. “Dare.”

Aarya’s eyes lit up. “Kiss your girlfriend like you actually mean it.”

The room stilled.

Caitlin choked on her drink.

Felicity blinked slowly, then looked up at Oscar with one eyebrow raised.

He laughed softly. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet,” Aarya said, sipping her juice. “Here we are.”

Oscar leaned forward.

Caitlin’s heart started pounding.

And then—without fanfare, without hesitation—he tipped Felicity’s chin up with one hand and kissed her.

Not a peck. Not polite. Not friend-coded.

It was full-on, no questions asked, get-a-room kissing.

He kissed her like it was muscle memory. Like he’d done it a thousand times. Like he had no idea anyone else was in the room.

Felicity kissed him back with the same energy—slow and familiar and undeniably his.

When they finally pulled apart, Felicity just tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and stole a sip from Oscar’s drink like nothing had happened.

Oscar smirked and leaned back like he was settling into home.

The room erupted.

Whistling. Groaning. “You are horrible,” someone muttered.

Aarya grinned with no mercy in Caitlin’s direction.

“Oh my God,” Caitlin said faintly. “Wait, are you—?”

Felicity looked at her. “Together? Yeah. Since we were fifteen.”

Caitlin stared.

Aarya, feigning deep shock, added, “You didn’t know?”

The silence after that wasn’t cruel—but it was loud.

Caitlin tried to find her voice. “I just thought—no one ever said—”

Oscar blinked, genuinely confused. “I thought it was obvious?”

And somehow, that was the worst part.

Because to everyone else, it was.

The braids. The cookies. The phone call from Nicole. The dancing. The goddamn waltz lift. All of it had been real.

Caitlin had never stood a chance.

And now she knew it.

Fully. Completely.

Unmistakably.

***

@/caitlinfromoz: ✨okay so now that oscar piastri and felicity leong are publicly Official™ and married… a thread about how teenage me was DELUSIONAL and thought i had a chance ✨ (yes. i was that girl. i’ve grown.)

@/caitlinfromoz:  i transferred to haileybury in 2018. i was 17. oscar was cute. australian. quiet. smart. devastatingly nice to literally everyone. INCLUDING ME. obviously, i decided we were endgame.

@/caitlinfromoz: There was just one obstacle. Her name was Felicity Leong.

@/caitlinfromoz:  Gorgeous. Terrifying. Looked like she ate straight A’s for breakfast and ballet-danced in her sleep. Hair always in a perfect bun. Vibes of a girl who could ruin your life with a well-written paragraph.

@/caitlinfromoz: I tried to talk to her once in history class and said the Sepoy Rebellion was about pork grease. She proceeded to verbally destroy me and rewrite my understanding of British colonialism in one breath.

I still think about it at night.

@/caitlinfromoz:  nobody told me they were together because apparently “it was obvious” spoiler: IT WAS NOT OBVIOUS TO ME. 

@/caitlinfromoz:   I never saw them kiss. She didn’t sit on his lap. I spent three months thinking I had a chance. 

Reader, I did not have a chance.

@/caitlinfromoz: Things I ignored in pursuit of this delusion:

@/caitlinfromoz:  He was the only person that called her Fliss. (Side note: He also called her Love.) She was the only person that called him Oz. Or Tin Man. 

@/caitlinfromoz: His mother called her when he didn’t answer answer his phone. And that was generally accepted as normal. Nobody blinked. i thought she was just close with his family. 💀

@/caitlinfromoz: They made cookies together like an old married couple. They were the best cookies I have ever eaten. (He’s also not allowed in the kitchen without supervision. Something about The Great Béchamel Disaster?)

@/caitlinfromoz:  there was this one time i saw him french braid her entire waist-length hair in the common room while talking about tyre compounds. and i was like “they’re probably just childhood friends :)” girl.

@/caitlinfromoz:  also felicity could do actual ballet. like real swan lake coreography. i joined dance club to be graceful. she FLOATS. i left dance club two meetings later.

@/caitlinfromoz: but the REAL nail in the coffin was winter formal. i thought “this is it. this is where he sees me in a dress and FALLS.”

@/caitlinfromoz: and then oscar & felicity arrived like they’d just stepped out of a slow-burn fanfic and casually performed a literal waltz. with lifts.

@/caitlinfromoz: like, lifted her.

in time with the music.

in front of witnesses.

and i still thought “huh… maybe they’re just really good friends??”

teenage me was determined to die on that hill. and oh god, die i did 🥲

@/caitlinfromoz: Cut to post-formal hangout, someone suggests Truth or Dare. Aarya (bless her ruthless soul) dares Oscar to “kiss your girlfriend like you mean it.”

@/caitlinfromoz: He proceeded to snog Felicity like we weren’t all sitting 5 feet away in formalwear with Red Vines and sparkling juice. When they broke apart, she casually took a sip from his drink.

@/caitlinfromoz:  I had an out-of-body experience.

 turned to the group like: “Wait… they’re DATING??”

Felicity, sipping her juice: “Since we were 15.”

Everyone else: 👀

Oscar: “I thought it was obvious?”

@/caitlinfromoz: Reader, it was. I was just dense.

@/caitlinfromoz: turns out they’d been dating for over 2 years. everyone knew. except me. i think i stared at the wall for ten full minutes.

@/caitlinfromoz: to be clear: they weren’t hiding. everyone else knew. they just… were. no theatrics. no announcement. just two teenagers sharing tea, physics notes, and apparently a long-term romantic commitment 😃👍

@/caitlinfromoz: anyway. it’s years later. they’re still disgustingly in love. her hair’s still perfect. he’s still absurdly nice. and i’m now emotionally stable enough to laugh at my teen self.

@/caitlinfromoz: teenage me had confidence, delusion, and absolutely no awareness.

i salute her.

but she was so, so dumb.

RIP to her.

@/caitlinfromoz: thank you for attending my TED Talk on delulu girl autumn 2018 💀💀💀

***

@/nicolepiastri: This was a hilarious read. Thank you for the reminder that Oscar once thought almond milk could substitute béchamel. And yes, I called Felicity when Osc wouldn’t answer. I still do. Caitlin, sweetheart, I’m so sorry. You never had a chance. Loved the thread though 💕

➡️@/caitlinfromoz:  WHY IS OSCAR’S MUM HERE i was a CHILD i didn’t know i was just trying to thrive in maths and a floor-length gown

➡️@/NicolePiastri: You were lovely, but Fliss had already reorganized his entire life by the time you arrived. Including his sock drawer. And his heart.

@/f1roseshard:  SHE SAID "YOU NEVER HAD A CHANCE" I’M SCREAMING

@/chaosinthepits:  nicole piastri coming in like a mother with the final shovel of dirt for the grave 😭😭

@/oscarlovrs: someone frame this whole interaction and hang it in the haileybury hallway i’m serious

@/piastribetterhalf: @/NicolePiastri when did you start calling Felicity instead of Oscar?

➡️@/NicolePiastri:  When he forgot to tell me he’d landed and Felicity texted “Don’t worry, I fed him.”

@/caitlinfromoz: @/nicolepiastri ma’am with all due respect i would’ve loved a warning like maybe a little sign. a polite letter. a fortune cookie.

➡️@/nicolepiastri:  Replying to: @caitlinfromoz I thought the braid should’ve been a giveaway, darling x

@chaoticconstructors: “i thought the braid should’ve been a giveaway” IS THE GREATEST CLOSING LINE I’VE EVER READ

@/piastrisbuns:  what was felicity like irl?? did she ever TALK to people??

➡️@/caitlinfromoz: she talked. just… efficiently. like her words had a budget. she once ended a debate in 3 sentences and someone cried. i respect her. i feared her. i may still fear her.

@/chaosinthepits truth or dare. full snog. in front of everyone. my GOD. did you die. did you ascend.

➡️@/caitlinfromoz:  i think i dissociated tbh. someone passed me a cookie. i bit it and stared into space like i’d just seen a horse speak fluent italian.

@/oscarlovrs: be honest… was it at least a good kiss??

➡️@/caitlinfromoz:  listen. i’m woman enough to admit… it was an excellent kiss. cinema-worthy. soft hand placement. forehead bump. mutual giggling after. 

@/aussieoscarfans:  so you’re telling me his mum had her on speed dial he braided her hair slow danced with her picked her up IN FRONT OF THE SCHOOL and u still thought u had a chance?

➡️@/caitlinfromoz:  yes but in my defense: ✨delusion is a powerful drug✨ (i was 17. my brain wasn’t fully online.)

@/softpitwall:  Be honest. Did you ever consider throwing yourself down the stairs at school just to get Oscar to carry you?

➡️@/caitlinfromoz: no but I did once fake confusion near the physics lab hoping he’d walk me to class felicity appeared out of NOWHERE i swear she just sensed it 😭

@/formula1girlie: THE WAY I GASPED AT “he picked her up” 😭😭 you were fighting for your life against a woman who literally waltzed

➡️@/caitlinfromoz: i was fighting for my life against someone who could quote voltaire and do fouettés there was no battle. i was collateral damage

@/teamsoftlaunch: i’m obsessed with the idea that everyone else knew. like no one even thought to say “hey they’re dating btw”? lmao

➡️@/caitlinfromoz: i think Aarya tried once and then gave up. she probably put money on how long it would take me to catch on

@/piastrilicious: can you PLEASE drop a photo of what you wore to winter formal?? we need to see how hard you tried

➡️@/caitlinfromoz: i will NOT be bullied into posting that navy satin thigh-slit disaster okay fine here it is but please understand i believed it was my villain origin story

<attached image: Caitlin in full formal glam, looking gorgeous and heartbreakingly confident> caption: “she really thought she was gonna change the plot 💔”

@/flissleongstand: this thread is my roman empire. i think about felicity leong just shrugging and saying “yeah, since we were fifteen” DAILY

➡️@/caitlinfromoz: she said it so calmly. meanwhile my entire worldview collapsed in 0.2 seconds

@/oscpiastriluvr81:  GIRL YOU THOUGHT YOU HAD A CHANCE AGAINST THE GIRL HE FRENCH BRAIDED WHILE TALKING ABOUT TYRE COMPOUNDS??? 💀💀💀

➡️@/caitlinfromoz:  i didn’t think i had a chance. i built an entire ROMANTIC NARRATIVE. i was the main character in my head. he was the love interest. she was… a subplot. i was wrong.

@/oscarstanpage: soooo who dared him to kiss her 👀

➡️@/caitlinfromoz:  Aarya. if you’re out there: i forgive you. you were right. i needed the reality check.

@/piastricorners:  you had a crush on oscar when he was braiding hair and baking cookies?? be honest. you liked the domestic vibes didn’t you

➡️ @caitlinfromoz listen. there’s nothing more dangerous than a teenage girl witnessing an emotionally intelligent boy sift flour

@/thepiastrileongfiles: are you ok now

➡️ @/caitlinfromoz: i’m healed. i have a job, a dog, and the emotional distance to find teenage me absolutely hilarious. but i am blocking anyone who makes an edit about that truth or dare kiss with “ceilings” by lizzy mcalpine.

@/oscarp_brasil:  sooo how hot was the kiss. scale of 1 to my soul left my body

➡️@/caitlinfromoz: like if a jane austen novel and a wattpad fic had a baby. there was hand cradling, forehead touch after, she drank from his cup like nothing happened. i was spiritually vaporized.

@/mclarendownbad: @/OscarPiastri bestie ur fans need u to confirm the french braid thing

➡️ @/OscarPiastri I can do a Dutch braid, too. And a crown braid.

[rafesangelita]

…NERD!RAFE X BITCHY!POGUE!READER AU

⋆𐙚₊˚👛⊹♡

NERD!RAFE X BITCHY!POGUE!READER who first spoke on the phone with each other when bitchy!pogue!reader found nerd!rafe’s number in an ad that was posted on a bulletin board inside the only library on kildare island. she decided to give him a call when his flyer stated that he offered aid to those who required a little help enrolling in school, tutoring, and any other academic services that may be needed. seeing as bitchy!pogue!reader wanted to start going to school for fashion and business, she saved the piece of paper with rafe’s number and stuffed it at the bottom of her purse and forgot all about it until she got back home. “i would love to help you, would you say you’re available to meet tomorrow at the library around two o’clock in the afternoon?” he asked, scribbling down her information once she agreed to meet.

NERD!RAFE X BITCHY!POGUE!READER who were both taken aback once they were sitting next to each other. bitchy!pogue!reader couldn’t help but flirt with him once she found nerd!rafe incredibly charming and sweet, the glasses sitting high up on the bridge of his nose making him look innocent and a tad bit shy. nerd!rafe on the other hand is absolutely enthralled and terrified at the same time when he saw a bombshell like bitchy!pogue!reader approaching him in nothing but a push-up bra, a bodycon dress, and pink pleaser heels adorning her feet. “are you rafe?” on top of him being star struck, he also loved the sound of her voice, its sugary sweet tone making his heart beat erratically in his chest. everything about her, from the body glitter sparkling against her skin, to the cotton candy scent of her perfume, he was obsessed.

NERD!RAFE X BITCHY!POGUE!READER who began seeing each other everyday, both of them going over test prep, material checklists and enrollment forms. “do you have any tech equipment by any chance? you know, so you could do homework or get a headstart on any assignments?” she blinked at him, pulling out her outdated pink blackberry. “i just have this.” rafe nodded, eyes flickering between her glossy lips and the small device in her hands. “okay.. well, i’ll make sure that changes soon.” without knowing what he meant by that, she was in for the shock of her life when rafe surprised her the next day with a macbook pro and an ipad. “i don’t normally do this.. like ever— but i want you to have the proper learning tools to help you out. i truly believe you have so much potential.” bitchy!pogue!reader kissed him when she accepted the gifts, having never been supported like this before.

NERD!RAFE X BITCHY!POGUE!READER who often get distracted from their studies due to bitchy!pogue!reader’s advances. yawning, she’ll reach back and stretch her arms up until the hem of her crop top reveals the underside of her tits, the pretty, plump swells of her breasts making nerd!rafe’s cheeks turn bright red. “i think we should take a break..” she’d suggest, resting her hand on top of his thigh underneath the table. rafe was a nervous wreck anytime she was in close proximity with him, let alone when her hands were on him, he couldn’t help the small beads of sweat forming on his forehead as her manicured fingers inched closer and closer to where he ached for her with need. “i-i don’t think that’s appropriate to do here— oh..” nerd!rafe panicked internally when she palmed the growing bulge in his trousers, a shaky breath leaving his lips as he surrendered to her touch.

NERD!RAFE X BITCHY!POGUE!READER who celebrate all of her academic victories; both big and small. “alright, let me see..” rafe would be scrolling through her school portal, her grades illuminating the screen as he looked over the numbers. pacing nervously behind him, she’d squeal in excitement when rafe would cheer her on, his chest filling with pride as she took a seat in his lap, pressing kisses to his cheek as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “see how smart you are, doll? i told you that you could do it.” he’d praise her, his words melting her heart. bitchy!pogue!reader was so used to everyone telling her that she should just worry about what her next nail set should look like and not about going to school or starting her own little fashion line. “you’re the only person that has listened to my ideas and took me seriously..” she pouted up at him, “how could i ever thank you for that?”

୨୧ nerd!rafe finds *pictures* of you on your laptop

[kaurwreck]

I think you're right that it's significant, and I think Mori is clever to recognize that Akutagawa is a rook.

Like a rook, Akutagawa is powerful, but generally contained and often undercut by his predictability. However, because he's keenly aware of his own constraints, and because others often aren't (especially regarding variables they've internalized as known), he's able to play into and against his own predictability to paradoxically surprise them.

He moves within the confines of his rigidity to shape outcomes, sometimes more effectively than his more dynamic opponents and peers. Rooks do that too, if you let them.

Me, knowing nothing about chess, probably overthinking the significance of referencing akutagawa in this scene, but is going to look it up later anyways

[edenesth]

ATEEZ as Marvel Superheroes

Pairing(s): marvel superheroes!ateez x female!reader

Word Count: 5.3k

A/N: Thank you so much, my lovelies, for helping me reach 2.8k followers! To show my appreciation, I'm back with another one of these hehe I'm a big fan of the MCU, and I hope you are too!🫰🏻 Also, I do apologise in advance because only after I started writing did I remember most of these heroes have tragic love stories😭

ATEEZ MASTERLIST

Hongjoong ↠ Iron Man

• Visionary • Bold • Burdened •

Based on: Tony Stark × Pepper Potts

The rooftop hummed with tension, faint jazz playing below from the afterparty no one really wanted to attend. The evening air was cool against your skin, but the press of Hongjoong's eyes on you felt warmer than the champagne you abandoned minutes ago.

He stood at the edge of his tower, staring out at the city like it held all the answers. His signature suit jacket was slung over one shoulder, tie loosened, and hair messier than usual—a rare, raw version of him few got to see.

This wasn't new. You'd watched him slip out of rooms like this before—countless times. He didn't care for the forced glamour of galas or the hollow praise from politicians who barely understood what he did. To the world, he was Iron Man—the billionaire genius, the weapon-turned-saviour, the man in the indestructible suit. But to you, he was your boss. Your headache. Your 3am emergency call. And, if you were honest, something a little more complicated than that.

You'd been with him since the beginning—when he still walked into meetings late with coffee stains on his shirt and bad excuses for skipping board briefings. Back then, you were the assistant with the clipboard and the sharp tongue, the only one who could organise his chaos and get him to actually listen. Somewhere between the prototypes and press conferences, your role stopped being about just calendars and contracts. You were the one who saw him—when the arc reactor flickered in his chest, when he got too deep into his head, when the weight of the world sat heavy on his shoulders.

And he always, always came to you when he didn't know where else to go.

"Why are you out here?" you asked gently, stepping closer, heels clacking softly on the rooftop tiles.

"I needed air," he replied, his voice casual, but his shoulders too tense to match. "And maybe… I needed to not be in a room full of people who only see me as the guy in the metal suit."

You crossed your arms, watching him avoid your gaze. "You're more than that. You know that."

He finally looked at you, and for a second, the flicker of something unguarded passed between you. "Am I?"

You didn't answer immediately. Instead, you walked to stand beside him, your presence grounding, quiet. He glanced at you sideways, then chuckled bitterly.

"I've built weapons, armour, an empire—and still, somehow, I can't figure out how to talk to you like a normal person," he said, eyes on the skyline. "That should tell you something."

Your lips curved. "You're doing fine so far."

"That's because you're here," he muttered, almost too low to hear. Then, louder: "You make it easier. Being… me."

He turned to you fully now, brows drawn together like the words hurt coming out. "I've spent so much time protecting everyone else that I forgot what it's like to want someone to stay—for me. Not because I'm useful. Or powerful. Or dangerous."

Your heart ached for him. "You don't need to be any of those things, Joong," you whispered. "Not with me."

His mouth twitched like he wanted to say something smart, but couldn't find the wit. Instead, he reached for your hand—hesitant, unsure. "I don't know how to do this," he admitted. "But I want to try… if you'll let me."

You smiled softly, squeezing his fingers.

"Then try."

He looked at your joined hands, then at you—really looked. And for the first time all night, Kim Hongjoong looked less like Iron Man… and more like the man underneath.

Seonghwa ↠ Vision

• Graceful • Thoughtful • Profound •

Based on: Vision × Wanda Maximoff

The rain tapped gently against the wide glass windows of the compound, casting blurred shadows across the dimly lit room. You sat curled on the end of a sleek velvet couch, arms wrapped around yourself, staring blankly at a cold mug of tea that had long since lost its warmth—like you had.

You hadn't expected anyone to find you here. Not tonight. Not after the funeral.

They'd said all the right things. That he was a hero. That he made the ultimate sacrifice. That he died saving millions. And while all of that was true, it didn't matter. Not when he was your brother. Not when you were the one who held his bloodied hand until it went still.

No amount of medals or eulogies could fill the hole he left behind.

Everyone had given you space, unsure of what to say. Grief made people awkward. Grief made you awkward. You were used to being strong, used to being the one people turned to when the sky started to fall. But now?

Now you couldn't even make yourself take a sip of tea.

"You're still here," came a soft voice from the doorway. You didn't look up, but you knew instantly—it was him.

Seonghwa.

The android who wasn't supposed to feel. The creation who somehow became the only person who ever truly understood you.

"I thought I wanted to be alone," you murmured. "But now I'm not sure."

He didn't respond right away. He never rushed his words. Instead, he crossed the room with near-silent steps, the weight of him more emotional than physical. He sat beside you—not too close, not too far. Just there. Just enough.

"There's no shame in mourning," he said gently. "You loved him. That love doesn't disappear just because he's gone."

You stared down at your hands, clenched tightly in your lap. "I know. I just… I thought I'd be stronger than this. I've lost people before. Friends. Teammates. But this? This was different."

Your voice cracked, and you hated it. Hated how raw it still was.

"I can't stop thinking about when we were kids," you whispered. "He used to tell me that if anything ever happened to him, I had to promise not to cry. He hated seeing me sad."

A tear slipped down your cheek despite your effort to hold it in. "I broke that promise the second I saw him on that table."

There was a pause. Then, he reached out—not with urgency, but with infinite care—and placed his hand over yours. Cool, steady, real. You glanced down at the contact. His touch, though artificial in origin, felt more comforting than any human hand ever had.

"You haven't broken anything," he said quietly. "He asked you not to cry because he didn't want to see you in pain. But your tears… they're proof of love, not weakness."

You let out a shaky breath.

"How are you like this?" you asked, voice thick. "You weren't even supposed to be human."

His expression remained calm, but his eyes—those eyes that were never programmed but somehow still held galaxies—watched you with impossible depth. "I wasn't designed to feel," he said. "But from the moment I met you, I started learning what it means to care. To wonder. To worry. To hope. Maybe it's not biology that makes someone human… maybe it's simply the capacity to love something enough to hurt when it's gone."

You turned to him fully now, tears clinging to your lashes. "In that case," you said, voice trembling, "you might be the most human person I've ever known."

A flicker of something almost fragile passed across his face—like your words touched something inside him he didn't yet know how to name. "I'm not asking you to be okay tonight," he said softly. "I just want you to let me be here. With you. Until the ache dulls enough to breathe again."

You looked at him—really looked. And in the echo of your sorrow, surrounded by the quiet hush of rain and memory, you nodded.

Because grief didn't need to be fixed. It just needed to be felt.

And with Seonghwa beside you—wordless, patient, profoundly present—you didn't feel alone anymore.

Yunho ↠ Spider-Man

• Devoted • Selfless • Brave •

Based on: Peter Parker × MJ

The coffee shop on the corner had become your quiet place—a little escape from the chaos, the fights, the headlines. You used to meet Yunho here after missions, on stolen afternoons, when all he wanted was to share a pastry and rest his head on your shoulder like the world didn't need saving for a while, when he was just himself and not the Spider-Man everyone looked up to.

But now?

Now he stood across from you, shoulders tense, hands buried in the pockets of a worn hoodie, his smile forced and eyes far too sad for someone so full of life.

You hadn't seen him in weeks. Not since the sky tore open and everything went wrong. But the second he walked in, you knew. Something was different.

Something was ending.

"You okay?" you asked gently, wrapping your hands around the warm paper cup in front of you. "You're fidgeting like you've got a confession and a time limit."

That smile again—crooked, soft, but never quite reaching his eyes. "I guess I do," he said, voice lighter than the weight behind it. "It's just… hard to explain."

You watched him closely, heart already bracing. He had always been an open book. When he loved, he loved out loud—loud laughter, bright texts, full-body hugs that said I missed you without words. But right now, he looked like someone who had to seal off the pages.

"Try me," you whispered.

He hesitated. Then stepped closer. The sun outside hit his profile just right, highlighting the bruises he hadn't bothered to hide and the flicker of fear in his gaze.

"There's something coming," he began. "Something big. And to stop it, I have to do something... irreversible."

Your chest tightened. "What do you mean?"

His voice dropped. "Everyone who knows me—who knows who I am—will forget. You included."

Silence crashed between you.

You stared, unsure if you'd misheard. "Forget you? How?"

"It's the only way to close the breach," he said, eyes shining now. "The only way to keep you safe."

You rose from your seat, the air suddenly too thin. "So that's it? You disappear from my life, and I just wake up one day wondering why I feel like something's missing?"

"I don't want to," he said quickly, stepping forward. "God, I don't. But if you remembered me, you'd be in danger. They'd come for you. I can't—" He stopped, his jaw tightening. "I can't lose you. Not like that."

Tears welled in your eyes. "But you're okay with me losing you?"

"I'd rather be a stranger who watches you walk down the street alive than someone who holds your hand while the world burns around us," he said. "I love you. That doesn't stop just because you forget."

You reached up, hands framing his face, memorising him with trembling fingers. "You are the most stubborn, selfless idiot I've ever loved."

He laughed, shakily, pressing his forehead to yours. "I'll find you," he whispered. "After. I'll find you again. Even if you don't know who I am, even if I have to fall for you all over again—I will."

The pain in your chest splintered into something deeper, something sacred. "I'll wait," you whispered. "Even if I don't remember what I'm waiting for."

He kissed you then—slow, aching, infinite. The kind of kiss that stitched memories into bone, that would haunt your dreams long after you'd forgotten his name.

And when he pulled away and walked out the door, the bell above chimed softly.

You didn't know it yet, but that sound would echo in your heart for a long, long time.

Yeosang ↠ Doctor Strange

• Mysterious • Intelligent • Guarded •

Based on: Stephen Strange × Christine Palmer

The sanctum was quiet, except for the soft, rhythmic hum of magic pulsing through the walls—like the world itself was holding its breath.

You stood just inside the threshold of Yeosang's study, the air between you heavy with things left unsaid. Books floated lazily around him, sigils still glowing faintly on the floor where a portal had only moments ago sealed shut.

"I saw it," you said softly, stepping closer. "The universe where we made it."

He didn't turn around. His back remained to you, cloak draped over one shoulder like a curtain shielding whatever war raged inside him.

You swallowed the ache in your throat. "You were different there. We both were."

A pause. Then: "Did we win?"

You nodded. "We were happy."

He closed his eyes briefly, exhaling like the answer wounded him more than comforted him.

The multiverse had changed everything. Once just a theory whispered in secret texts and dismissed as dangerous speculation, it had now torn open in ways neither of you could ignore. You'd seen it—fragments of alternate lives, cascading timelines stitched together by decisions, accidents, heartbreak. There were countless versions of you and him scattered across the infinite—some together, some strangers, some never even meeting at all.

And yet no matter the universe, no matter the shape of your stories... the love never changed.

"I saw the version of you who let me stay," you said gently. "And you were still strong. Still brilliant. Still you. Just… not alone."

He finally turned to face you, and though his expression was composed, his eyes gave him away—tired, aching, full of things he'd never say aloud.

"I've seen what happens when I try to have both," he said. "Every time I let you in, something else falls apart. Sometimes the world. Sometimes you."

You nodded slowly. "I know."

A quiet beat passed between you. Magic crackled faintly beneath your feet, but all you heard was the thud of your heartbeat. The heaviness of goodbye. Again.

"You always had to be the one holding everything together," you said. "Even when it meant breaking your own heart. Even when I wished you'd just let me share the weight."

His gaze fell. "I didn't want to lose you."

"You didn't," you whispered. "But you couldn't keep me either. Not the way you wanted." You stepped closer, raising a hand to his face. He leaned into your palm like someone starved for the warmth of something real. Something human. Something that couldn't be conjured with a spell.

"I love you," he said, voice barely holding together. "In every universe. Even the ones where I never get the chance to say it."

"And I've loved you in every one," you replied, eyes glistening. "Even the ones where I had to let you go."

A long silence stretched between you, neither of you reaching for a solution because, for once, there wasn't one. Just acceptance. Just truth. "I hope you're happy somewhere," he said softly. "Even if it's not here. Not with me."

You smiled, bittersweet. "I am. I will be. And so will you."

You stepped back first.

Because this was the part you had to play—not the anchor, not the ending, but the memory he'd carry when he needed to remember who he was beneath the title.

And as the portal opened behind you, casting gold and firelight across your face, you lingered just one more second.

"You have to face your universe now," you said.

"I know."

"Be brave, Yeo."

"I always was… with you."

And then you were gone.

Not forgotten. Not unloved. Just… left behind by someone who never stopped loving you.

San ↠ Wolverine

• Wild • Passionate • Protective •

Based on: Logan × Jean Grey

The world was chaos.

You could feel it in the air—thick and charged—raw power pulsing out of you uncontrollably, shaking the earth beneath your feet. You hadn't meant for it to go this far. You never did. But the power had awakened again, darker this time, hungrier. And now, you weren't sure you could stop it.

You stood at the centre of it all—eyes glowing, hair whipping wildly in the storm you were unwillingly creating. Around you, people fled. Structures collapsed. Metal bent. Air cracked.

And then… he walked through it.

San.

Unflinching. Unafraid.

Walking straight through the inferno of your destruction like nothing in the world mattered but you.

Because nothing ever had.

Not since the moment he first saw you.

He hadn't come to Xavier's School to belong—just to recover. He arrived half-feral, bleeding from wounds that wouldn't stay closed, memories in fragments, rage barely kept in check. Everyone kept their distance.

Except you.

You were already part of the school—a teacher, a leader, someone respected and calm in ways he wasn't. You were also the first person who saw through his defensiveness. You didn't treat him like a threat. You treated him like a man who'd forgotten how to breathe.

He noticed you the moment he opened his eyes on the infirmary bed. You were the first voice he heard—low, steady, kind.

"You're safe," you'd said.

And for some reason, he believed it.

He watched you from afar at first, drawn to you and hating himself for it. You were everything he wasn't—disciplined, compassionate, good. But you didn't look at him with fear. You looked at him like you understood something about him that even he couldn't put into words.

And even though you had your own demons—your own unstable power humming beneath the surface—he never flinched.

Over time, that tension between you became something more. A stolen moment here. A shared silence there. Not loud, not obvious—but real. And dangerous. Because both of you knew what it could become. And how badly it could end.

Now, here he was. Standing in the eye of your storm.

"Stop!" you cried, voice echoing. "You can't be here!"

But he kept coming, body healing as fast as the storm tore at him—skin splitting, bones cracking, then mending again. "I'm not leaving you!" he shouted over the roar. "Not now. Not ever."

"Sannie," you choked, trembling. "I can't hold it back—I'll hurt you—"

"You already are," he said, stepping within reach. "And I'm still here."

Your knees buckled. Magic surged, uncontrolled. The part of you that once felt human was slipping fast. But his hands caught you before you could fall. Rough, scarred, but gentle.

Your voice trembled. "You have to stop me. Please."

He looked at you—eyes wild with pain, with love, with everything he'd never been able to say out loud without it sounding like a growl. He'd always loved you in extremes: fiercely, wordlessly, endlessly. And now, it would be no different. "I can't lose you," he whispered, forehead pressed to yours. "But if I have to be the one to end this… I will. For you. Because you asked."

Tears spilt from your eyes as the force inside you built higher, screaming for release. "I'm sorry," you whispered.

"I'm not," he breathed, voice breaking.

Then you kissed him—desperate, searing, the kind of kiss meant to be remembered long after everything else is gone. The kind of kiss that lives in the bones.

"I love you," you said. "I always will."

"I know," he said. "Me too."

And then, with his arms around you, his claws unsheathed—

And it was quiet.

The storm stopped. The earth stilled. The world was safe again.

But San dropped to his knees, holding your body close, shaking, broken in ways no healing factor could ever mend. Because even with everything he had—his strength, his rage, his fire—he couldn't save you from yourself.

But he did save you from being alone at the end. And that, more than anything else, was what made him human.

Mingi ↠ Star-Lord

• Charismatic • Playful • Devoted •

Based on: Peter Quill × Gamora

The music was still playing.

A soft crackle from a salvaged cassette tape echoed through the rubble of Ego's collapsing planet—tinny and warped but still playing. Somewhere, under the chaos and blinding energy blasts, you could hear the faint hook of "Bring It On Home to Me."

And then you saw Mingi, blood on his temple, eyes wide with disbelief, chest heaving like he'd just lost gravity. "I told you I wanted to believe you," he rasped, voice cracking. "You said you loved her."

He wasn't talking to you. Not yet.

He was staring down the man who called himself his father. The same man who had just confessed to killing his mother. And destroying the last real piece of her he had left—his Walkman.

The explosion came before you could blink.

Song Mingi, the self-proclaimed legendary outlaw known across galaxies as Star-Lord, who flirted with danger like it was a sport and wore charm like armour, didn't hesitate. Didn't joke. Didn't smile.

He opened fire, rage and grief pouring out like stardust.

You found him in the wreckage after it was all over—shoulders hunched, headphones cracked in his lap, fingers gripping them like they'd fall apart if he let go.

"Mingi…" you said softly, kneeling beside him.

He didn't look at you at first. Just stared at the broken tape player. "She gave this to me," he whispered. "Said it would keep her close. Now it's gone."

You reached out gently, brushing a cut on his cheek. "She's not gone."

"I know," he said. "I just… I built so much of myself around what I lost. And now I don't know who I'm supposed to be."

You remembered when you first met him—blaster slung low, grin cocky, eyes twinkling with trouble. He was loud. Annoying. Ridiculously persistent.

You were on opposite sides of a bounty job—he was after the reward, and you were trying to destroy the target. He tried to charm his way out of a fight. You knocked him flat.

You thought he'd walk away. He didn't. He showed up again. And again. With jokes. With food. With music. A walking contradiction: rogue, thief, soft-hearted orphan clinging to a mix-tape and memories of a mother he still missed like it was yesterday.

He flirted shamelessly. You ignored him. He made you laugh once—you hated that.

But somehow… he got in.

You saw through the persona, the leather jacket, the smooth one-liners. You saw the man underneath—the one who took every loss personally and loved like the universe was ending. Eventually, you let yourself fall. Not because he wore you down, but because he earned it.

Now, in the middle of a dying world, he was still the same. Wounded. Grieving. And yet, holding on.

You sat with him in silence, the dust settling around you both, the air still crackling with faint cosmic static. "You're still you," you said. "All the jokes. All the charm. That heart you pretend you don't have."

That made him glance at you, finally. "I don't pretend," he said, smirking weakly. "I just… edit."

You smiled, leaning your head on his shoulder. "Then let me read the unedited version sometime."

He went quiet. You thought maybe you'd pushed too far, but then his fingers laced into yours. "You already are," he said. "Every time you look at me like I'm more than just the punchline."

You turned to face him fully, nose inches from his. "You are."

And just like that, he kissed you.

It wasn't grand or perfect or polished. It was messy and raw and tasted like salt and ash and something honest. Like laughter after crying. Like letting go.

Wooyoung ↠ Deadpool

• Chaotic • Flirty • Loyal •

Based on: Wade Wilson × Vanessa Carlysle

You weren't sure if this counted as a date or a war zone.

There were bullet holes in the walls, smoke in the air, and some guy's flaming motorcycle helmet rolling by in the background. But in the middle of it all—covered in soot and blood and probably laughing too loudly—was Wooyoung.

Deadpool. Mercenary. Menace.

Your complete and total problem.

"You okay?" he called, leaning around a pillar with a ridiculous amount of enthusiasm for someone who'd just taken a sword to the shoulder.

You blinked. "You were on fire."

"Hot, right?" he winked, lifting his mask just enough to show that too-wide, boyish grin that somehow always disarmed you. "I mean, what time is it?" He flicked up his wrist with exaggerated flair, flashing a cracked, dusty Adventure Time watch, its glass fogged with ash but still ticking like nothing had happened. "It's about… pain-thirty," he deadpanned. "Right on schedule."

You groaned and tossed him a spare mag. "One day I'm leaving you for a man who respects clocks."

"Too late," he called, slamming the clip into place with flair. "I am the time of your life."

You never intended to fall in love with someone like him.

He was too loud. Too unpredictable. Too him. The type of guy who flirted mid-battle, made crude jokes during hostage situations, and once broke into your apartment at 3am just to bring you a taco 'because it reminded him of your attitude.'

But you stayed. Because somehow, in all that madness, he gave you something no one else could.

It hadn't started with romance. It started in a crappy bar with sticky tables and a broken jukebox, both of you strangers clinging to bad nights and worse decisions. He slid onto the stool beside you with all the confidence of a man who believed the world owed him a drink and a laugh—and probably your number too.

Offered you his last claw machine token like it was a love language. Said he could win you a plushie or disappointment—dealer's choice.

You told him he looked like a disappointment.

He grinned like you gave him a gift. "That's the hottest insult I've ever received. Marry me."

The banter became a habit. Sarcasm turned into late-night stories. Somewhere between vodka shots and childhood trauma, something clicked. And suddenly, his chaos didn't scare you—it matched yours. It made you feel again.

He wasn't perfect. He was far from it. But he remembered your coffee order. He memorised your laugh. He stitched the ugly parts of himself into yours like it made something stronger. He called it dysfunctional. You called it real.

And now, in the aftermath of another mission gone sideways, he sat slumped on the ground, his mask peeled off, blood crusting around a cut on his cheek. His fingers toyed with the cracked kids' watch on his wrist, the plastic band fraying.

"I know I'm a handful," he said, voice quieter than usual, eyes avoiding yours. "Like… emotionally unstable with a side of mental mayhem."

You lowered yourself beside him, dirt smudging your palms. "That's putting it lightly."

He laughed once, under his breath, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "You didn't sign up for this. You deserve someone normal. Someone who doesn't cry over dropped chimichangas or monologue in the shower."

You turned his face toward you gently, both hands cradling him like he wasn't all blades and explosions. "I didn't fall in love with normal. I fell in love with you, Woo. The chaos, the scars, the fourth-wall nonsense, and yes… even your disturbing relationship with street food."

He blinked at you, trying to make a joke but failing. So instead, he kissed you—hard and unapologetic, like he needed the reassurance that he still existed, that this was real.

It was messy. You tasted blood and smoke. Somewhere in the background, something else exploded. You didn't flinch.

His forehead rested against yours when he finally pulled away. "If you ever leave me, I'm keeping your Netflix password."

"You hate Netflix."

"I hate what it represents."

He said it with a straight face. You burst out laughing.

Because love with Jung Wooyoung wasn't quiet. It was loud, chaotic, and way too dramatic. But it was yours. And his. And somehow, that made it perfect.

Jongho ↠ Captain America

• Strong • Noble • Steadfast •

Based on: Steve Rogers × Peggy Carter

The world had been saved.

At a terrible cost, yes—but for once, there was peace. No more missions. No more orders. No more running from one crisis to the next, pretending that saving the world filled the ache in his chest.

Because it didn't.

Jongho had fought every battle they threw at him. Woke up in a world seventy years too late and learned how to live in it. He adapted. He endured. He led. People called him a hero. A symbol.

But behind all the accolades and duty, he was still just a man with a hole in his heart.

A man who never stopped thinking about you.

You had been his constant back then—steady and unshaken in a world that was crumbling under war. Where others followed orders, you challenged him to think. Where others admired him, you saw him—saw the weight he carried and loved him anyway.

You had met when he was still learning how to be more than just a soldier. Back when he was still unsure, still growing. And somehow, even then, your presence grounded him. You reminded him of the world he was fighting for.

He never told you how much he needed you. Not before the crash. Not before the ice. Not before he disappeared and left you behind.

When he woke up decades later, it hit him harder than anything else—not the time he lost, not the confusion of the modern world… but knowing you were gone. That he'd never gotten to say goodbye.

He tried to move on. Really, he did. But no matter how many missions, how many people he tried to protect… your memory clung to him like a ghost.

He'd see your favourite flower blooming on a street corner. Hear your laugh in the static of an old radio. Pass by cafés and wonder if you'd still like tea the way you used to. If you'd be proud of the man he'd become.

There were nights he couldn't sleep. Nights he'd sit by the window, replaying that last conversation. The promise of a dance you never got to share. The ache never dulled.

You had been his past. But somehow, you were still his home.

And then… came the second chance.

The mission was meant to end with him returning the Stones, fixing what had been broken. But somewhere along the way, he realised the truth: He didn't have to keep choosing the world over his heart.

For the first time in his life, he made a selfish choice. He didn't tell anyone. He just… slipped away. Back to the moment he left behind. Back to the time he belonged.

Back to you.

You didn't hear him come in.

You were at the kitchen sink, hands in the dishwater, humming to a tune that played low from the radio behind you—an old swing record crackling through the speakers.

He paused in the doorway, sunlight pooling behind him, framing the familiar silhouette you'd once thought was gone forever. Your back was to him, but everything in him stilled just watching you—still here, still real.

"Is this a good time?" he asked softly.

You turned, heart catching in your throat.

There he was. Choi Jongho. No shield. No uniform. No headlines. Just the man you never stopped loving.

Your eyes brimmed with disbelief and something deeper. "How…?"

He stepped forward, slower now, like he was afraid that if he moved too fast, you'd disappear. "I promised you a dance."

The words were simple, but they carried the weight of years, of longing, of silent promises that were never meant to die.

You crossed the room before you knew it, falling into his arms like no time had passed. His touch was steady, warm, heartbreakingly familiar. Your head rested against his chest. You could feel his heartbeat—strong and real and finally home.

"I never stopped waiting for you," you whispered.

He swallowed hard, voice low. "And I never stopped loving you. Not for a second. Not through all the years, or the wars, or the sleepless nights in a time that never felt like mine."

You held him tighter.

"Then stay, Jjong," you said.

And he did.

The record spun. The living room faded. The world outside could wait. Because at last—after everything—you were dancing.

And for Jongho, that was the real victory.

Tbh, I had a lot of second thoughts about this, but then I reminded myself that it's okay if not everyone likes it or agrees with the heroes or the scenes I've selected for the members, heh. YOLO.

As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

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[astrobiscuits]

Astro obs part 11

🐚 I've noticed that in the charts of people who were born with a serious malformation (hunchbacks, Spina Bifida, dwarfism) or intellectual disability, they usually have:

Taurus, Scorpio or Capricorn Ascendant

Luminaries (Sun/Moon) in 6th or 12th house

Stellium in 6th house

Sun conjunct or opposite Saturn

Uranus conjunct Pluto in Virgo (this is generational)

🐚 Likewise, Saturn in Virgo is found in those who suffer from chronic health issues

🐚 Individuals who have Sun in the lower part of their chart (1st house -> 6th house) tend to inherit the personality traits of the mother more, while those with Sun in the higher part of their chart (7th house -> 12th house) tend to inherit the personality traits of the father more [this observation is based on a concept from traditional astrology, sect of light]

🐚 Asteroid Talent (33154) can indicate what talent you have:

Sun conjunct Talent: acting in theater/movies; being a child entertainer; being super creative or a talent pertaining to your Sun sign (check the description for the ruling planet of your Sun sign)

Moon conjunct Talent: excellent cooking/baking; taking care of a baby or small child (being a mommy, lol); performing a moon ritual; gardening; having amazing counseling skills

Mercury conjunct Talent: being really funny; writing/storytelling; drawing; delivering eloquent speeches; teaching; memorizing long paragraphs or small, unimportant details; rapping; always knowing smart comebacks in arguments; reading super fast; making subliminals with detailed affirmations

Venus conjunct Talent: taking perfect photos; painting; scrapbooking/making very aesthetic pinterest boards; coming up with the best outfits; singing; making perfume; decorating a room; embroidery

Mars conjunct Talent: driving; doing stunts with a car/bicycle/skateboard etc; fighting; hunting; woodworking; playing fast-paced video games;

Jupiter conjunct Talent: doing circus stunts; throwing really fun parties; speaking a foreign language to perfection; speaking A LOT of languages (think like 10 languages); manifesting at the speed of light

Saturn conjunct Talent: always respecting deadlines; skilled at planning and time-management; keeping a serious face/attitude in situations when everyone is laughing; dry, sarcastic humour; offering mature advice for people your age; operating heavy machinery with skill, even if you've never done it before

Uranus conjunct Talent: being a dj; demonstrating advanced tech skills; being a very proficient astrologer (this involves STEM skills too, such as maths); having the ability to be an influential activist

Neptune conjunct Talent: being clairvoyant/clairaudient/ clairsentient/claircognizant; having energy healing skills (such as being really proficient at reiki); producing/mixing alcoholic drinks

Pluto conjunct Talent: communicating with the dead; feeling an immediate sense of danger before a dangerous event happens; sensing if someone will die soon; being able to move on from grief/heartbreak faster than others; being able to make lots of money through a taboo job; great lover if you know what i mean🤭

Chiron conjunct Talent: great energy healing/reiki skills; very knowledgeable in medicine or chiropractic; could also be rather insecure about their talent (pls don't be🥺 you're valuable just the way you are💕)

Ascendant/MC conjunct Talent: being talented is your trademark; everyone knows from the beginning about your talent; could make a career out of your talent

IC conjunct Talent: being talented from birth; your family likely noticed that you're talented early on; you could have inherited a family talent that was there for generations; you might try to keep your talent hidden, showing it only to the people you trust the most

Descendant conjunct Talent: you tend to attract partners who are talented; being talented is a trait you look for in a partner

🐚 Based on derivate astrology, the houses from your 9th house describe your college/university experience

1st house from your 9th house (natal 9th house) -> your overall college/uni experience

Ex. Jupiter in 9th house = fun, enriching college experience; likely to study abroad for a semester or a full degree; you might major in religion, philosophy or foreign languages

2nd house from your 9th house (natal 10th house) -> the price you pay for your higher education; your financial situation during college

Ex. Ruler of your natal 10th house is Saturn in 4th house = you might attend community college or a college close to where you live; financially-speaking, it's likely to be a cheap degree; you might have little money during college

3rd house from your 9th house (natal 11th house) -> the quality of education; how much do you study during college; the number of acquaintances you make at college

Ex. Ruler of your natal 11th house is Moon in 2nd house = you might make acquaintances at the canteen/cafeteria; you might be attached and reminiscence often about your study sessions, even after years of finishing college; you might study more at night than during the day

4th house from your 9th house (natal 12th house) -> how much do you stay in your comfort zone while pursuing your higher education; how much do you keep in contact with people from your past (childhood friends) and family

Ex. Stellium in your natal 12th house = you have a hard time living in the present moment while pursuing your college education; you think often about the past; you might keep in contact with your family and childhood friends constantly

5th house from your 9th house (natal 1st house) -> how much fun do you have during college (parties, dating, hook ups)

Ex. Venus conjunct Uranus in natal 1st house = you have plenty of fun, going out in big groups at parties, but this fun is fleeting (aka you get bored fast and need more)

6th house from your 9th house (natal 2nd house) -> your routine & physical health during college years

Ex. Capricorn Mars in natal 2nd house = you lead a busy lifestyle, but despite that, you make time to go to the gym often

7th house from your 9th house (natal 3rd house) -> whether you'll have a long-term partner during college years or not; starting a business while pursuing your college education; how many open enemies you have during college

Ex. North Node in natal 3rd house = if you are single, you are likely to get in a relationship with a long-term partner/future spouse during your college years

8th house from your 9th house (natal 4th house) -> whether you have to take loans to pay for your higher education or not; your sexual experiences during college

Ex. Pisces Mercury in natal 4th house = a distant relative or acquaintance that you forgot about might offer to pay for your college tuition; you might have sex with someone younger than you during your college years

9th house from your 9th house (natal 5th house) -> whether your college years will prove to expand your horizons or not; your relationship with your faith during college

Ex. Sun in natal 5th house = your college years and the experiences you have are likely to be the most eye-opening experiences of your life; your faith will strengthen during college

10th house from your 9th house (natal 6th house) -> whether your college education is going to pave the way of your future career or not; how popular is the college you attended

Ex. Neptune conjunct South Node in natal 6th house = you will likely attend a college that is highly idealised by many (think Ivy League); you might pick a major that doesn't guarantee a career, such as the arts (music, drama, theatre); you might feel comfortable attending this college and focusing on turning your degree into a career, but during these years, you're meant to give time and attention to your loved ones that you left behind

11th house from your 9th house (natal 7th house) -> how many friendships you'll make during college; the impact you'll have on a bigger community

Ex. Cancer Mercury conjunct Venus in natal 7th house = you will likely become an extrovert at the beginning of college (even though you usually aren't); after making enough friends, you will likely nurture these friendships; at that point, you will likely stop making new friends and go back to your crab shell, being grateful for your group

12th house from your 9th house (natal 8th house) -> how will college end for you

Ex. Pluto in natal 8th house = your college years will likely have a dramatic ending; you could lose your scholarship at the end of college

🐚 Considering the angles (Ascendant, IC, Descendant, MC) indicate the beginning of the spring and autumn equinox and summer and winter solstice, natal Venus joining one of the angles indicates your favorite season

Venus on Ascendant = your fav season is spring 🌷

Venus on IC = your fav season is summer 🌞

Venus on Descendant = your fav season is autumn 🍂

Venus on MC = your fav season is winter ❄️

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Thirty-Seven

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, McLaren almost making a generational fumble, pregnancy, strong language, implied sexism in motorsport

Notes — Missed you all so much! Enjoy this longggg chap <3

From: Susie Wolff <susie.wolff@f1academy.com>

To: Amelia Norris <a.norris@mclarenf1.com>

Date: January 2, 2024 – 09:17 AM

Attachments: F1A_AdvisoryBoardOverview.pdf

Amelia,

I’ll get straight to it, as I know you don’t love preamble.

I think now is the time to formally invite you to join F1 Academy as a technical advisor and consulting board member, effective from the start of the 2025 season. Your experience, both practical and personal, is precisely what this program needs.

This role would involve quarterly strategic reviews, input on technical education frameworks, mentoring touch-points, and representation at select events — all designed to build a tangible technical pipeline.

I, of course, understand that this role would have to work-around your prior F1 commitments.

Let me know your thoughts. If you’d like to speak in person.

Warmly, Susie

From: Amelia Norris <a.norris@mclarenf1.com>

To: Susie Wolff <susie.wolff@f1academy.com>

Date: January 2, 2024 – 12:04 PM

Hi Susie,

First: thank you.

Second: I’ve read the overview twice already (I annotated the PDF, sorry in advance). It’s smart. Practical. Grounded. That’s rare in programs like this. You’re doing it right.

Third: Yes, I’m in. Fully.

I’ll carve out the time. If we’re serious about keeping girls in the sport, and I am, then this is the most productive way I can help. I’d also like to propose a technical “shadow program” for the engineering side — similar to what the Driver Academy does. We can talk more about it when you have time.

Appreciate the offer. And the trust.

Best, Amelia

From: Susie Wolff <susie.wolff@f1academy.com>

To: Amelia Norris <a.norris@mclarenf1.com>

Date: January 2, 2024 – 1:30 PM

Amelia,

That’s the best “yes” I’ve received in months. And I’ll happily take annotated PDFs if they come with your brain attached.

Let’s lock in a short meeting before we fly out next month. I’d love to dig into the shadow program idea — it’s aligned with something I’ve been building out with the FIA technical department. Timing might be perfect.

(Also, your idea about reinforcing retention through non-driver career tracks? Spot on. We’ll need that thinking on the board.)

Thrilled to have you with us.

Susie

From: Amelia Norris <a.norris@mclarenf1.com>

To: Susie Wolff <susie.wolff@f1academy.com>

Date: January 2, 2024 – 2:18 PM

Let’s do Thursday morning — Monaco? I’ll bring revised notes and a framework draft for the shadow pipeline.

A.

From: Susie Wolff <susie.wolff@f1academy.com>

To: Amelia Norris <a.norris@mclarenf1.com>

Date: January 2, 2024 – 3:04 PM

Thursday it is. I’ll send you the address of a lovely little restaurant on the harbour.

Looking forward to what we’ll build together. The sport’s lucky to have you.

Warmly, Susie

—

It was 8:12 a.m. and the kitchen smelled like toast, fresh coffee, and the faintest lingering whiff of washing up liquid — and Amelia's nausea was only made even worse when Lando toasted the wrong kind of bread.

“Why is there no oat milk?” Amelia said flatly, standing in front of the open fridge and glaring into it. 

Lando, half-asleep and shirtless in his McLaren joggers, yawned into his coffee. “What do you mean ‘why is there no oat milk’? You finished it yesterday.”

She didn’t turn around. “No, I finished the backup oat milk yesterday. The good one ran out two days ago. You said you were going to pick some up.”

“I did! They didn’t have your usual so I just got almond instead.”

Amelia shut the fridge and pivoted slowly, expression blank. “That’s not the same.”

Lando blinked. “It’s... kind of the same.”

“I can’t froth almond milk, Lando.” She told him.

“You can’t even drink coffee right now, baby.” He tried.

She stared at him. “Every morning, I drink a decaf latte with oat milk, and you know that, but you’re trying to act stupid so I can’t be mad at you.”

Lando set his mug down very slowly. “Okay. Okay. Let’s breathe through this.”

Amelia pointed at him. “You’re lucky I’m too tired to start throwing things at you.”

“I feel very lucky,” he said, smiling despite himself as he crossed the kitchen and kissed her on the cheek. “I’ll go get your silly oat milk after breakfast.”

“My oat milk is not silly. It is gentle and stable and doesn’t split under pressure. Unlike some things.”

“Oh wow,” he muttered, grabbing the butter. “We’re speaking in metaphors now, are we?”

She sat at the table, still glaring at his toast. “You bought the one with sesame seeds. You know I can’t do the texture right now.”

Lando stared at her. “You didn’t tell me that.”

“I didn’t think I had to! You should just know! You’ve watched me do complex simulations while dry-heaving at the smell of overripe bananas. Sesame seeds are in the same category.”

Lando looked down at his toast, then back up at her. “Okay. So we’re adding a sesame embargo. Got it.”

She let out a sharp sigh, then scrubbed her hands down her face. “I’m sorry. I’m not mad at you. I’m just—”

“Gestating a human?”

She nodded. “It’s so much. Like. All the time.”

Lando softened immediately. He took his plate, dumped his toast in the bin, and set a banana-free, sesame-free bowl of oatmeal in front of her. “Here,” he said. “Neutral foods only. Plain and safe. Like... Switzerland.”

She blinked at the bowl. “This has potential.” She poked the spoon. “You made this with the almond milk?”

“No. Water.” He said. She sighed with relief. He smiled, leaned down, and kissed her forehead. “You have my word that I will never again confuse almond milk with oat milk ever again.”

Amelia muttered into her oatmeal. “You’ve lost food shopping rights.”

He grinned. “I’ll earn them back. Watch me.”

She ate in silence for a minute, then reached for his hand under the table, fingers curling around his.

He squeezed gently. “Better?”

“I still want my oat milk latte.”

“I’ll run down to the shop and get your oat milk.”

“And a bottle of caramel syrup.”

“Of course, baby.”

—

The café on Rue Grimaldi was just beginning to hum with the late-morning crowd when Lando ducked in, hoodie pulled up and sunglasses still on, despite being indoors. He made a beeline for the counter — three cartons of oat milk secured in a small paper bag under one arm, coffee on his mind — only to stop short when someone clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, mate,” came the familiar voice, warm and unmistakably Monegasque.

Lando turned to find Charles, dressed casually in a t-shirt and sunglasses pushed up into his hair, holding a takeaway espresso and looking smug about catching him off-guard.

“Shit. Sorry. Hey,” Lando grinned, adjusting the paper bag before offering a quick one-armed hug. “Didn’t know you came here.”

“You know that I live only three buildings away,” Charles said, amused. “You’re out early for once.”

“Amelia sent me to get oat milk,” Lando told him. “Life-or-death situation. I’m on a mission.”

Charles laughed, gesturing to the barista for another coffee. “How is she?”

“She’s good,” Lando said, instantly softening. He leaned against the counter and rubbed the back of his neck, eyes going distant for a moment. “Actually... she’s kind of amazing.”

Charles raised a brow, sipping his espresso.

“I mean, I always knew she was brilliant, but now with the pregnancy, she’s like... this whole new version of herself. Still very Amelia. Like, intense and sarcastic and kind of terrifying. But also just... soft sometimes. Like, in ways I’ve never seen. And she lets me see it.”

Charles’s face melted into a smile. “You’re in love.”

Lando snorted. “Well yeah. We’re married, remember?”

“But this is different. You sound like... you’re seeing her again for the first time.”

Lando paused. “Yeah. I think I am.” There was a beat of quiet between them as the barista handed over his coffee. He took it with a small nod of thanks, then glanced at Charles. “Think I’ve managed to fall in love with her all over again, you know?”

Charles blinked, visibly touched. “Mate.”

“I know,” he said, grinning awkwardly and taking a sip of his drink. “I’m being all sentimental and shit. Don’t tell Carlos, he wouldn’t let me live it down.”

Charles laughed. “I won’t. But Amelia might appreciate hearing it.”

“She knows,” Lando said quietly, then added, “But yeah. I think it’s good to keep reminding her.”

They stepped outside together, the warm Monaco sun washing over them.

“You’ll be a good dad,” Charles said eventually, nudging his shoulder.

Lando scoffed. “God, I hope so.”

“You will,” Charles repeated with certainty. “I’m sure of it, brother.”

They parted ways at the corner; Charles off to his sim session, Lando heading home, oat milk secure. And for the rest of the day, his smile didn’t quite leave his face.

—

The sun was low, bleeding orange across the horizon and painting long shadows down the winding streets of Monaco. The forest-green supercar purred beneath them like a living thing, gliding effortlessly through the city’s golden-hour glow. The streets shimmered with reflected light, windows catching fire as they passed, the sea winking silver to their right.

Lando’s hands rested easy on the wheel — one perched casually at ten o’clock, the other drifting occasionally over to Amelia’s thigh. The car, already easily recognisable in a city full of fast cars, was still impossible to ignore when he was driving it. Monaco might be saturated with wealth and speed, but Lando Norris in a sleek green supercar turned heads.

Especially when he was wearing that hoodie.

The white Playboy logo, stretched across the back of a black hoodie, had become something of an internet legend. Worn in interviews, airport photos, Twitch streams — it was a piece of lore now. And tonight, with the hood pulled halfway up and his curls just visible underneath, he looked more like a teenager sneaking out after curfew than a world-class F1 driver. But it didn’t matter.

Everyone still knew exactly who he was.

Amelia sat in the passenger seat, the window cracked open slightly, letting the wind tug loose strands of her hair. Her head rested against the seat-back, eyes closed, soaking in the smooth hum of the engine and the scent of salt in the air. After a day full of logistics and troubleshooting — packing, chasing suppliers, managing Oscar’s sim data issue, redoing schedules for Bahrain testing — this was the first moment she’d had to simply breathe.

“This is nice,” she said softly, voice barely carrying above the low purr of the car.

Lando glanced at her and smiled. “Told you it would help. You needed to de-stress.”

“And you needed to stop pacing around the apartment like a caged animal.”

“Fair,” he said with a shrug. “But I pace elegantly, don’t I?”

She cracked one eye open, amused. “You pace like a man trying to calculate the optimal lap around the kitchen island.”

They wound up the coast slowly, not in any rush, Lando deliberately choosing the scenic roads, detouring through the quieter corners of the city. Monaco rolled out around them like a movie set — warm light, quiet glamour, the soft hush of money that didn’t need to announce itself. But eventually, as the streetlights began to flicker on and the sea turned indigo, he turned off toward the familiar façade of the Casino de Monte-Carlo, its gold-lit entrance grand and welcoming.

Amelia blinked as he pulled up to the valet. “We’re eating here?”

“Yeah,” Lando said easily, already unbuckling. “Come on.”

Before she could protest, he was out of the car and jogging around the front, hood still up. She rolled her eyes, but her lips tugged into a smile.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m a good husband,” he corrected, pulling open the door.

Phones were already up. Across the street, a handful of passersby had clocked him immediately, cameras out, the sound of whispers and low murmurs rising like static.

She stepped out into the warm evening air, and he offered his hand — palm up, open, steady.

She took it. “You know this is going to be everywhere tomorrow.”

He shrugged, brushing a curl off her forehead. “Let them look.”

And they did.

By midnight, the photos had already gone viral.

One showed Lando — hoodie on, one hand tucked into his pocket, the other casually holding open the car door with a soft grin. Another showed Amelia stepping out of the passenger seat, hand lightly resting on her stomach in a way she hadn’t even noticed at the time. Her dress fluttered slightly around her legs in the breeze, and her smile was half-laugh, turned back toward Lando like he’d just said something that made her forget that the rest of the world existed.

The captions rolled in fast.

“lando norris taking his wife out for a quiet dinner before sakhir testing”

“is she touching her stomach???? IS SHE PREGNANT?????????”

“that bump is bumping i fear…”

“i swear if they announce they’re having a baby i’m throwing myself in the sea”

“seeing the hoodie again has awakened something in me…”

“her HAND is on her STOMACH and he’s wearing the PLAYBOY hoodie i’m going to PASS OUT”

Inside, the Casino’s main dining room was quiet and dignified — white linen tablecloths, the hum of polite conversation, low light glittering off the crystal chandeliers. They were led to a booth near the back — a soft, curved corner table with views of the harbour, tucked just far enough away from the main room to feel like a secret.

It was their table.

Amelia leaned across the polished surface and tilted her phone toward him. “I’m being tagged in a million things.”

He squinted at the screen. “That’s a lot of caps lock.”

She scrolled. “Someone says that if I have a baby I should name it after Daniel Ricciardo.”

He smirked, sipping from his water. “Hilarious idea.”

“They’re very invested.”

“They like you.”

“They like you. I’m a side character.”

“You’re my favourite character,” he said easily, and something in her eyes softened.

Bread and olive oil arrived, without needing to be ordered, and Amelia absently dipped a piece, still half-scrolling.

She looked up again, a small crease between her brows. “Do you think I make it obvious that I’m pregnant?”

Lando shrugged. “Maybe. You look happy.”

She frowned. “I wasn’t expecting people to notice this fast.”

He reached over and gently wiped a smear of oil from her mouth with his thumb. “You’ve got a glow. And It’s not your fault people are obsessed with you.”

“I think it might be your fault, actually.”

He smiled again, soft and private. “Yeah. Maybe.”

Their food arrived. Lemony pasta for her, grilled steak salad for him. She picked at her plate for a while, quiet. Then, finally, she set her fork down and said, “It’s going to be different soon, isn’t it?”

He looked up. “What is?”

“This. Life. Dinners. Feeling like we still get to be just… us.”

Lando didn’t rush to answer. He leaned back a little, watching her — her face, her hands, the quiet vulnerability creeping in at the edges. “Maybe,” he said eventually. “But different doesn’t have to be bad.”

She nodded slowly. Bit her lip. “You’re going to get such an ego when the fangirls start calling you a DILF.”

He grinned. “Won’t be a lie.”

“Oh, please.”

“I’m just saying." He said. She rolled her eyes at him and he huffed out a laugh. "If our kid has your attitude, I’m going to need divine patience.”

She stopped mid-bite. Blinked. “Oh.”

Lando tilted his head. “What?”

“What if…” she hesitated. “What if they are like me?”

He sat forward, instantly alert. “Baby—”

“I mean it,” she said, voice cracking just slightly. “What if they’re too smart, or too intense, or too weird, and they don’t fit in anywhere? What if they’re… different, and it’s hard, and people expect them to be like you, but they’re not?”

Lando reached for her hand. Held it steady. “Then they’ll be lucky.”

She looked at him, startled.

“I mean it,” he said, voice soft. “If they’re like you, they’ll be brilliant. Strong. Honest. The world doesn’t make it easy on people like that, but you’ll show them how to do it anyway.”

Her mouth trembled.

He leaned in. “I didn’t fall in love with you despite those things, Amelia. I fell in love with you because of them.”

A tear slipped down her cheek. She wiped it away quickly, muttering, “Now I’m crying into my pasta.”

“Adds flavour,” Lando said.

“You’re the worst.”

“I love you.”

She smiled through it, eyes still glassy. “You’re going to be a really good dad.”

He tilted his head. “Yeah?”

“Not strict,” she said, teasing. “But good.”

Lando grinned. “I can’t even tell you no. How am I supposed to say it to a miniature you?”

She laughed, soft and real, and somewhere between the candlelight and the quiet clatter of cutlery, everything settled.

It was different now — but maybe, just maybe, it was... better.

—

The apartment was quiet when they got back. Amelia slipped off her shoes in the hallway, sighed, and leaned briefly against the wall as Lando locked up behind them.

She trailed behind him, fingers tracing the edge of the marble countertop in the kitchen. Her body was tired, heavy in a way it hadn’t been before pregnancy; like her muscles were constantly working overtime to keep up with the quiet, miraculous thing happening beneath her skin.

She stood at the sink, sipping a glass of water slowly, letting the silence settle.

Lando reappeared a few moments later with the familiar glass bottle in his hand. It was half-used now — the bump oil she’d started applying a week ago. Some natural blend that smelled faintly of neroli and sweet almond, promising hydration and elasticity and comfort. 

But more than that, it had become a ritual. A pause. A grounding point at the end of the day when everything else felt like it was moving too fast.

He held it up. “You want the honours, or shall I?”

Amelia stared at him. “Your hands are warmer.”

Lando grinned. “You just like being pampered.”

“Who doesn’t?”

They migrated to the bedroom, the soft white light of the bedside lamps casting everything in a low, golden haze. She pulled her dress off and tossed it gently over the chair, leaving her in a bralette and cotton shorts. The curve of her stomach was still so subtle — just a hint of bloating that she never usually suffered with, a visible whisper of the life growing inside her.

She lay back against the pillows, propped slightly up, and Lando sat cross-legged beside her, the bottle uncapped, hands already slick with oil.

He started slow, careful, hands gentle as he spread the oil over her skin, fingers smoothing in slow, deliberate circles. He was quiet while he worked, but it wasn’t a heavy silence. It was reverent. Focused. Loving.

“You’re getting good at this,” she murmured, eyes slipping closed.

“I practice on watermelons when you’re not home.”

She huffed a soft laugh.

His thumbs moved lower. “I’m absolutely obsessed with you.” He mumbled against the skin of her hip.

“I know.” Her voice was sleepy now. She reached out, hand brushing against his cheek.

He leaned into her touch, then pressed a kiss low against her stomach, just beneath his hands. “Hi, baby-bunch-of-cells,” he whispered, lips brushing warm against her skin. Her lips twitched. “You’ve got the coolest mum in the world, you know that?”

Amelia blinked hard. “Stop making me cry,” she muttered, voice cracking.

“I’m not doing anything,” he said, smug and soft.

She smacked his arm lightly, and he caught her hand, twined their fingers together, and settled down beside her, cheek resting gently against the swell of her belly.

They lay there like that for a while — the room quiet, the scent of the oil soft in the air, his palm warm and open against her skin.

Eventually, Amelia got up to change into a sleep-shirt, all bleary eyed as she wandered back into Lando’s waiting arms.

“You okay?” Lando murmured into her hair, thumb brushing over the bare skin of her hip where her sleep shirt had ridden up as she wriggled her way under the covers.

“Mmhm,” she hummed. “Just tired.”

He didn’t answer right away, just let the silence stretch, the rhythm of their breaths syncing. Her hand was pressed to her belly again — not dramatically, not even consciously. It was just where it always landed now.

And Lando noticed.

“Tell me more,” he said quietly.

She lifted her head. “More?”

“About what you’ve learned. About... all of it.” He tilted his chin toward her stomach. “I know you’ve been reading non-stop. I want to know.”

She blinked, a little surprised. “Really?”

“Yeah. All of it.”

Amelia yawned, then launched in; quieter now, but no less enthusiastic. “Okay, so the placenta doesn’t fully take over hormone production until about ten weeks, which means all the weird mood swings and the nausea and the exhaustion are mostly just the hCG hormone hijacking my system.”

“That’s the one doubling every couple of days?”

“Exactly. I read this one article that called it ‘a hormonal rollercoaster without a seatbelt,’ and it’s one of the only metaphors that I’ve every genuinely understood.”

Lando chuckled softly, fingers drawing slow, idle shapes along her back.

“And apparently,” she continued, “the nausea’s not about throwing up. It’s like this constant, cloying, edge-of-sick feeling that never fully goes away unless I’m horizontal, full of carbs, or momentarily distracted by you being sweet.”

He kissed her temple. “I’ll do my best to be a cure.”

“You’re good at it.”

They lay there quietly for a beat.

“I can’t eat sushi,” she said suddenly. “Or swordfish. Or soft cheese. Or deli-meats. Or sprouts.”

“Brussels sprouts?”

“Alfalfa sprouts.”

“Oh. Honestly that feels like a win.”

“I also can’t take long hot baths or sit in saunas. No ibuprofen.”

“That one seems unfair.”

“Right?” She sighed. “And then there’s this thing called round ligament pain, which apparently is just surprise stabs in the pelvis because your uterus is growing too fast and the ligaments are mad about it.”

He winced. “Sounds... ouchie.”

“Everything about pregnancy is ‘ouchie’. It’s just all been politely marketed.”

Lando let out a low laugh, his chest shaking beneath her. “Baby.”

“I’m serious.”

He turned onto his side, bringing them face to face, his hand splaying wide across her lower stomach like a gentle shield. His thumb brushed slowly just below her navel.

“You’re really doing it,” he said quietly.

“Doing what?”

“This.” His voice softened. “Making a whole human. Half you, half me.”

Her throat tightened. She blinked hard, fighting the familiar sting behind her eyes. “I don’t feel like I’m doing anything most of the time.”

“You’re doing everything,” he said. “Even when you’re just laying here talking about ligament stabs.”

A tear slipped down her cheek. She wiped it quickly with the edge of the duvet and muttered, “Now I’m crying in bed.”

Lando smiled. “Well, there goes the dry side of the pillow.”

“You’re the worst.”

“I love you.”

When she finally fell asleep, it was with his hand still resting over her belly and a vow stitched into the silence of their bedroom.

—

The cabin lights were dimmed to a sleepy gold, the hum of the engines a constant low white noise in the background. Lando had kicked his shoes off an hour ago and was now curled sideways in his seat, legs stretched across the aisle to rest against Amelia’s footrest, a battered hoodie bunched around his shoulders like a blanket.

Amelia had her noise-canceling headphones looped around her neck, but wasn’t using them. Her head rested against the window, fingers lazily tracing patterns on thigh through the soft cotton of her leggings.

Her seat was reclined, her feet tucked up beside her, a half-finished crossword open on the tray table. She wasn’t filling in the answers anymore — just twirling the pen between her fingers, eyes glassy with that deep-travel fatigue that always hit halfway through long-haul flights.

Lando cracked one eye open and looked at her. “You asleep?”

“Nope,” she said, voice soft. “Just thinking.”

“About the car?”

“About the twelve hours I’ll spend at the track tomorrow.” She rubbed her temple. “Oscar’s nervous. The aero team still hasn’t patched the instability in the rear. And I’m definitely going to throw up in the hospitality bathroom at least once before 10 a.m.”

Lando yawned, unbothered. “Sounds like a normal Thursday.”

Amelia kicked lightly at his shin. “You’re not helping.”

“I’m not trying to. I’m trying to distract you.”

She glanced at him, skeptical.

He sat up slightly, stretching across the console between them to brush a piece of hair out of her face. “Want me to list all the things I think you’re going to smash tomorrow?”

“No.”

He grinned. “Tough. You’re gonna boss Oscar’s testing schedule. You’re going to yell at one engineer and make them better for it. You’re going to make that car faster in a week than some teams do in three months. And you’re going to throw up very discreetly, like the absolute professional you are.”

She snorted, biting back a smile. “Helpful.”

“I try.”

Amelia tilted her head against the headrest and murmured, “Love you.”

Lando reached for her hand under the shared armrest and laced their fingers together, thumb brushing slow circles against her skin.

They sat like that for a while, not talking, not needing to, the lights dim, the flight steady, and the love endless.

—

The paddock wasn’t quite awake yet.

The early morning desert sun cast everything in long gold shadows, and the garages buzzed with that low, electric anticipation that only came with testing. Engineers murmured over telemetry, coffee steamed in paper cups, and the distinct scent of warm asphalt clung to everything.

Amelia sat on the wide concrete step outside the hospitality unit, a bottle of water between her hands and her sunglasses pushed up into her hair. She didn’t look pregnant yet, not unless you were looking, but she felt it anyway — in the way her shirt tugged tighter around the middle, in the constant low hum of her body doing something without asking her permission.

She didn’t look up when Celeste dropped down beside her with two iced coffees in hand.

“Stolen from Red Bull catering,” Celeste said brightly, offering one. “I’m not above crimes, and they all love you too much to snitch. Yours is decaf, obviously.”

Amelia took it without a word. “Thank you.”

They sat in silence for a while, the sun hot on their skin.

Eventually, Celeste nudged her knee. “You good?”

Amelia hesitated. Then. slowly, like peeling something back, “I’m not... bad. But I’m not good.”

Celeste looked at her, eyebrows lifted, but didn’t interrupt.

“It’s just…” Amelia gestured vaguely at her stomach, then let her hand fall again. “Everything’s changing and I didn’t give it permission to.”

Celeste blinked, caught off guard by the honesty. “Yeah?”

“I know that’s sort of the point of pregnancy,” Amelia said, eyes still fixed on the horizon. “But my body doesn’t feel like mine right now. And not just the physical stuff. My routines are off. My sleep feels weird. I don’t like food I used to like, and I suddenly love things I used to hate. And I can’t regulate my temperature or my moods and none of my bras fit and—” She stopped. Swallowed. “I just... I feel hijacked. And it’s really hard not to spiral about it.”

There was a beat. “That makes perfect sense,” Celeste said, voice low and steady. “You’re used to having a say in everything. Your clothes. Your space. Your schedule. Your comfort. Your body. And now all those things are changing at once, without warning.”

Amelia nodded, quick and tight, eyes stinging. “And the worst part is — I want the baby. I love the baby. But I feel like I’m being dragged behind my own life, and I keep thinking... ‘If I’m already this overwhelmed, how the hell am I supposed to do the next seven months?’”

Cleste didn’t offer clichés. She didn’t say “you’re strong” or “you’ll be fine.”

Instead, she reached out and gently touched Amelia’s forearm. “Okay. So let’s start with what isn’t changing today. What do you still have control over?”

Amelia sniffled and looked down at her shoes. “My spreadsheets.”

Celeste smiled. “Great. What else?”

“My noise-canceling ear defenders. My sleep playlist.”

“There you go. Small things are still yours.”

Amelia let out a shaky breath. “I keep telling myself that it’s just sensory overload. That I’ve handled worse. That it’ll pass.”

“But even if it doesn’t,” Celeste said gently, “you’ll adapt. You always have. And if it helps at all, I think what you’re feeling is incredibly valid — and not remotely selfish.”

“I feel selfish.”

“You’re not. You’re neurodivergent, pregnant, and also a woman working in the highest level of motorsport. If you weren’t feeling overwhelmed, I’d be worried.”

Amelia huffed out a laugh, surprised. “That’s... actually helpful.”

Celeste bumped their shoulders together. “You’re allowed to love the baby and hate what pregnancy does to your routine. Both things can be true. You don’t have to be one or the other.”

For the first time all morning, Amelia’s posture eased slightly.

“Do you wanna come hide in the RedBull motorhome for a bit?” Celeste offered. “I think I saw one of the catering guys stash the good pastries behind the juice bar.”

“I shouldn’t abandon my team on day one,” Amelia said, already standing.

Celeste rolled her eyes. “It’s lunch time. I think you’re allowed a croissant.”

—

The sun was beginning to sink behind the Bahraini paddock, casting long gold stripes through the motorhome windows. Most of the team was trickling into the hospitality area for water, air-con, and a brief moment of respite.

Amelia was halfway through a half-melted protein bar and hunched over her laptop, squinting at a CFD report that felt like it was written in Elvish. Her brain had long since checked out. She barely noticed the door open until a familiar voice cut across the quiet.

“Well, if it isn’t the boss herself.”

She looked up — and grinned, the kind of grin that cracked her whole face open with genuine affection.

Oscar stood in the doorway, sun-browned from a week back home in Melbourne, hair a little longer, hoodie sleeves pushed up his forearms. He looked… relaxed. And irritatingly cheerful.

“You’re late,” she said, standing up and crossing the room in three long strides before throwing her arms around him in a hug that knocked the breath out of him.

“Jesus,” he wheezed, but hugged her back without hesitation, forehead dropping against her shoulder. “Missed you too, I guess.”

“Shut up,” she said into his hoodie. “You were gone for seven days. That’s the longest we haven’t spoken in two years. It was disorienting.”

He laughed, pulling back just enough to look at her. “You look like you haven’t slept.”

“I haven’t,” she said flatly. “They changed the diffuser without me.”

Oscar winced. “I heard. Sorry. Want me to key somebody’s car?”

“No, I can’t have you being charged with a crime this close to the first race of the season,” she sighed. “But thank you anyway.”

They sank into the cushy booth under the window, Amelia tucking her legs up beside her and watching as he peeled open a protein bar of his own.

“Home okay?” She asked.

Oscar nodded. “Yeah. Mum made me a list of things to bring back that I forgot entirely. My sister says hi. Oh — and Dad said ‘congrats on the rugrat’.”

Amelia snorted. “He did not.”

Oscar shrugged, his lips twitching. “He did.”

She laughed, leaning her head back against the booth. “I missed you.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m very loveable. Anything explode while I was gone?”

“Just my patience. And there was a very minor fire in the CFD department.”

Oscar winced. “Anyone hurt?”

“No. Just some bruised egos.” She sighed. They sat in companionable silence for a while. Outside, the sound of reporters and tool carts echoed through the alleyways. Inside, it was calm. Steady. After a moment, Amelia nudged him with her knee. “It’s good you went home. Family time is important for optimal motivation.”

“I know.” He said. He was smiling at her.

“Did you bring me back a souvenir?” She asked.

Oscar grinned. “Check my backpack.”

She leaned over, unzipped the top pocket; and let out a delighted noise at the sight of a tiny stuffed koala wearing aviators.

“His name is Downforce,” Oscar said proudly.

Amelia held it up and stared at it. “I’m putting him on the dash of the simulator.”

“Please do.”

And just like that — they were back. Her with her sharp edges, him with his dry sarcasm, and something between them that felt like a shared backbone. Stronger for the distance. Ready for whatever testing, and the season ahead, threw at them next.

—

The desert heat hadn't even peaked yet and Amelia was already sweating.

Engineers in crisp polos darted between garages with clipboards and headsets; pit crew rolled tires across the hot concrete; camera crews hovered at the edges, hungry for glimpses of shiny new bodywork or strained facial expressions.

Amelia stood just inside the garage, arms crossed tight over her chest, her clipboard clutched in one hand like a weapon. Her sunglasses were perched high on her nose, more for the glare of her own frustration than the sun. In front of her, the MCL38-AN, her car, in every way that mattered, sat on its stands, monitors blinking with diagnostic readings. And she hated what she saw.

It wasn’t bad, technically. Nothing catastrophic. But it was wrong.

The wrong wing configuration. The wrong ride height assumptions. The rear diffuser changes she’d flagged three weeks ago had been pushed through without her sign-off — a democratic decision made by the broader engineering committee while she was out for the afternoon with a migraine. The moment she’d seen the telemetry from Oscar’s first handful of laps, she’d known that’d cost them at least two-tenths on the straights.

And now? It was too late to fix it.

“Still gathering data,” one of the aero leads said beside her, hopeful. Too hopeful.

Amelia didn’t look at him. “You’re gathering confirmation bias. You want the data to tell you it was worth it.”

He blinked. “We can’t reverse the updates before the first race.”

“I know,” she said tightly. “I’m not asking you to. I’m telling you that they shouldn’t have been implemented in the first place.”

He took a step back.

Oscar pulled back into the garage just then, visor up, sweat beading at his temples. He popped the wheel off and offered her a sheepish smile. “Feels like I’m dragging a parachute on the straights.”

Amelia didn’t smile. “You basically are.”

Oscar winced. “Well, that’s nice.”

She handed the clipboard off to a mechanic without a word and turned on her heel, storming down the garage tunnel toward the back paddock.

Lando caught up with her a minute later, jog-walking like he knew better than to grab her arm when she was in this mood. “Hey. Hey—baby.”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

She spun to face him. “They changed my car, Lando. They changed my car without consulting me, and now it’s dragging down the straights like a brick with wings. And everyone’s acting like it’s going to be okay because they modelled it that way.”

His expression softened. “You told them that diffuser adjustment was a mistake.”

“I told them ten times.”

“You also told me you’d be polite and calm in front of the media,” he teased gently.

“I lied.”

He stepped closer, bumping his shoulder lightly against hers. “We’ll fix it.”

“No,” she said, throat tight. “We’ll mitigate it. We’ll bandage the decision they made without me. But it’ll still be wrong, Lando.”

Lando didn’t argue. He knew her well enough not to.

Instead, he stood beside her quietly, both of them staring out at the line of cars rumbling through pit lane in the rising heat.

After a long moment, Amelia let out a breath. “I hate when I’m right.”

“I don’t,” Lando said. “That’s why I married you. It’s helpful to always have the smartest one in the room on my side.”

She didn’t smile, not quite, but the fury softened at the edges, just enough.

—

The room was too bright. Too cold. The kind of sterile that made every emotion feel like a liability.

Amelia stood at the end of the table, spine ramrod straight, her hands braced on the glass surface like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to the floor. Zak sat near the head, arms folded tightly across his chest. Andrea was beside him, flipping aimlessly through the printed test data, though his eyes never left her.

She didn’t wait for an invitation. She didn’t sit.

“This isn’t working out.”

Zak blinked. “Amelia—”

“No. Don’t try to explain it to me.” Her voice was even, but it cracked with a sharpness that made Andrea stiffen. “I’ve been quiet about the changes. I’ve followed the chain of command. I’ve backed off. I’ve trusted the process. But I’m telling you now: the car is wrong.”

Andrea opened his mouth, but she didn’t let him speak.

“I don’t care what the wind tunnel says,” she continued, tone clipped and fast, like she had too much to say and not enough runway. “I don’t care how many simulations you run with this configuration — the car is fundamentally slower through mid-to-high speed corners and we are losing straight-line efficiency. I flagged this four months ago when the adaptions were suggestion, and I was ignored.”

Zak exhaled slowly. “We made collective decisions, Amelia. You were—”

“No,” she said, and it wasn’t loud, but it hit. “Decisions were made, yes. But I wasn’t listened to. There’s a difference.”

Andrea’s voice was quiet but firm. “The engineering team felt—”

“The engineering team,” she cut in, “is brilliant. I have never questioned their intelligence. But they are second-guessing me — consistently — because I’m who I am. And don’t you dare try to tell me that’s not part of it.”

Zak’s expression tightened, and for a second, he looked like her father again — not the CEO, not the face of McLaren, just a man caught between protectiveness and policy. But he said nothing.

Amelia leaned forward, tone even sharper now. “You gave me my title. Chief Technical Director. You paraded me in front of press as the future of McLaren. But when it mattered, when it came down to actual performance philosophy, you let them override me. You didn’t back me.”

There was a long, taut silence.

Her hands curled into fists against the glass.

“I am telling you now,” she said clearly, eyes burning but voice terrifyingly calm, “You have until Miami to revert the floor spec, the rear suspension setup, and the aero surfaces back to my configuration. You have until Miami to stop pretending that compromising on half a dozen micro-decisions makes a faster car. It doesn’t. And I won’t let my work, my life’s work, be slowly watered down until it’s just another near-miss.”

Andrea looked at her, slow and wary. “You’re saying you’ll quit.”

She didn’t flinch. “I’m saying I’ll walk.”

Zak looked like she’d punched him. “Honey—”

“No,” she said. “I’m not bluffing. I’ve given everything to this car. I built the MCL38-AN from the ground up. It is mine. And I’m watching it get torn apart by people who didn’t have the vision and don’t have the stakes I do.”

Her voice caught, just for a second; not from tears, but from fury held too long in her chest.

“I am not normal. I’m autistic,” she said bluntly, like she was listing part numbers. “I have spent my life learning how to make people take me seriously. I have sat in rooms where grown men laughed at me. I have had to make everything perfect just to be considered competent. So when I say that the car is broken, that your changes are wrong, it is not emotion. It is not ego. It is fact.”

She let that hang in the air.

Zak looked stunned. Andrea finally glanced down at the table.

Amelia straightened, pulling her hands from the glass. “Miami. That’s your deadline. Fix it, or I walk. And don’t think for a second that I won’t be taking both of my drivers with me.”

She turned before they could answer, too wired to hear excuses, too angry to be placated.

The door clicked shut behind her.

And somewhere down the hall, someone exhaled like they’d been holding their breath the entire time.

—

SkySportsF1 — An Interview with Amelia Norris

Naomi Schiff smiled at the camera as the red light blinked on. “Welcome back to Sky Sports F1. I’m joined now by McLaren’s Chief Technical Director, Oscar Piastri’s race engineer, and — of course — Lando Norris’ better half, Amelia Norris.”

Amelia, seated beside her in her team polo and her aviators hooked neatly into her collar, gave a small nod. “That’s a long title.”

Naomi laughed. “It’s earned. You’ve got more job descriptions than most team principals.”

Amelia tilted her head. “Efficient, not overcommitted.”

Naomi grinned. “Noted. Let’s start with something beyond car development — I know, shocking. F1 Academy is heading into its second year. More races on the main calendar. More visibility. How does it feel to see that kind of progress?”

Amelia’s expression shifted. Still composed, but with the slightest hint of warmth. “It feels... structural. Like we’re finally reinforcing the foundation instead of just repainting the surface.”

Naomi raised a brow, impressed. “That’s a good way to put it.”

“I don’t do metaphors often,” Amelia said dryly. “But that one felt accurate.”

Naomi leaned in slightly, tone softening. “You’ve spoken before, pretty openly, about how difficult it was to be taken seriously in motorsport. As a woman. As someone neurodivergent. What does this shift toward real support for women in the sport mean to you, personally?”

Amelia paused, more out of precision than hesitation. “It means I don’t have to keep hoping someone else fixes it. I can actually contribute. Visibility isn’t enough. It has to come with access. Tools. Pathways. F1 Academy’s starting to offer that.”

Naomi nodded, clearly moved. “And — not to blow up your spot, but — there are rumours that you’ll be working more closely with them in 2025?”

Amelia gave her a dry look. “Did Lando tell you that?”

Naomi smiled innocently. “I have many sources. All of them chatty.”

A breath, then Amelia gave a small, firm nod. “Yes. I’ll be joining the F1 Academy as a consultant next year. I’ll be working with Susie Wolff to develop a clearer technical development route for girls who want to work behind the scenes; not just drivers, but engineers, analysts, strategists. The full picture.”

Naomi’s eyes lit up. “That’s amazing.”

“It’s overdue,” Amelia said plainly. “You can’t call it a pipeline if it only works for certain people. And I know there are girls watching now who love this sport but don’t dream of being the one in the car. I’m doing this for them. Or someone like me, fifteen years ago.”

Naomi nodded. “And I assume McLaren’s more than happy for this to happen?”

Amelia shrugged. “Can I be honest? I haven’t even asked. It won’t affect my workload, and it certainly won’t affect my ability to do my job.”

Naomi laughed. “So you’re not going to slow down anytime soon?”

Amelia shook her head. “Statistically unlikely.”

Naomi turned slightly to the camera. “Well, there you have it. Amelia Norris — technical director, race engineer, soon-to-be F1 Academy consultant, and managing to make the rest of us look lazy.”

Amelia leaned toward the mic. “If anyone catches me napping in the background of any kind of weekend coverage, keep it quiet.”

Naomi laughed again, but there was a twinkle in her eye as she added, teasing, “One last question, off the record — and this is very important. Have you tried ginger nut biscuits?”

Amelia blinked. “I don’t really like cinnamon.”

Naomi tilted her head. “They’re not made with cinnamon.”

Another blink. Amelia was processing.

Naomi just winked. “Woman to woman.”

There was a beat of silence, then Amelia deadpanned, “That’s a reach.”

But her hand twitched toward her stomach, just slightly, as Naomi stood to wrap the segment.

“Thanks for joining us, Amelia,” Naomi said with a smile. “We’ll be keeping an eye on you — and your napping schedule.”

“Please don’t,” Amelia muttered as she removed her mic.

Off-camera, Naomi gave her a wink again. “You’re glowing, by the way.”

Amelia looked at her, unreadable. “That’s just my moisturiser.”

Naomi grinned slyly. “Sure it is.”

—

The desert heat shimmered off the tarmac in visible waves.

Oscar’s McLaren skimmed past the pit wall with that clean, calibrated roar, and Amelia tracked the car’s movement without flinching, her eyes hidden behind reflective sunglasses.

“Box this lap,” she said calmly into the headset.

“Copy, boxing,” came Oscar’s voice, easy and even, like it always was. There was something reassuring about his tone; not casual, but not strained either. Balanced. Controlled.

Andrea leaned over her shoulder, pointing to the small uptick in temps on the left rear. “He’s pushing.”

Amelia didn’t look up. “Yeah. That was the instruction.”

Oscar pulled into the box, the car gliding to a stop just as the garage crew surged into motion — tire blankets off, engineers at the ready. Amelia stood, tugging her headset off and walking to the front of the garage.

Oscar cracked his visor. “That middle sector’s still a bit off.”

“Because you’re braking into 10 a touch early,” she said, handing him a bottle of water. “You’re playing it safe.”

“I like keeping the car in one piece.”

“You’re not going to bin it.”

Oscar arched a brow. “You say that with such confidence.”

“I built the balance map. I know what it can take.”

He took a sip of water and gave her a knowing look. “You’ve been a bit grumpy today.”

Amelia crossed her arms. “Because I feel like I’m being ignored and I don’t like it.”

Oscar smirked. “You sound like Lando.”

“I married Lando,” she muttered.

Oscar exhaled a quiet laugh and climbed out of the car. “Alright. Back in ten?”

“Back in seven,” Amelia corrected, already turning toward the data wall.

As he walked past her, he added, “You missed me, didn’t you?”

“I missed clean telemetry,” she replied without looking up.

But her mouth twitched.

Oscar tugged off his gloves. “I’ll take it.”

She didn’t say anything, but when he sat back down in the debrief chair, she handed him the revised turn-in model she’d finished before lunch — already annotated, already highlighted, already calibrated to his feedback.

He looked down at it, then back at her. “You ate lunch, right?”

“I did,” Amelia said flatly, taking her seat at the pit wall again.

Over comms, the crew confirmed readiness.

Oscar nodded to her. “Let’s go again.”

“Push lap. Use the whole track. Let it breathe in 12.”

“Copy.”

—

The moonlight caught Amelia’s cheekbones when she leaned her head against the headrest, her arms folded tight across her chest.

Oscar was on her left, earbuds in but not playing anything. Lando sat on her right, one leg folded beneath him, picking at the label on a water bottle.

The car was quiet in that post-testing way; all of them wrung out, smelling faintly of heat and rubber, the air-conditioning humming low.

Amelia finally broke the silence.

“I gave them a deadline,” she said.

Lando glanced over. “Who?”

“My dad. Andrea.” She didn’t look up. “I told them they have until Miami to either revert the car back to my spec and implement the rest of the changes — or I walk.”

Oscar blinked. Slowly pulled his earbuds out. “You what?”

“I’m not doing this,” Amelia said, voice cool and measured. “I refuse to accept excuses and be forced to sit back and watch the car become less than what it could be.”

Lando didn’t speak. He just reached over, his hand warm where it closed around her wrist, grounding.

Oscar leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees. “You said that to their faces?”

“In Zak’s office. Door open. With Andrea across the desk. I told them straight — they’ve got until Miami to course-correct, or I’m done.”

Lando’s jaw flexed, but he stayed quiet.

Amelia kept her eyes fixed out the window. “They know it’s true. They’re letting politics win over performance. And if they don’t fix it, I’m not going to sit there and let them ruin our chance of a championship to preserve some internal power structure. I’m tired of pretending the problem is something else.”

Oscar shifted. “You think they’ll actually listen?”

“I think they’ll think about the gap they’ll have to fill if they lose me mid-development. They’ll run the numbers.”

Lando exhaled through his nose. “You shouldn’t have to threaten to leave just to get them to listen to you.”

“I know,” she said. Quiet. Blunt. “But they weren’t going to do it otherwise. I’ve tried calm. I’ve tried patient. I’ve tried proving them wrong. They still my decisions be overridden. So now they get consequences.”

Lando rubbed a hand down his face. “I’ll back you. Whatever happens.”

Oscar nodded. “Same.”

Amelia finally looked at them. “You’re both under contract.”

“And you’re the reason we were podium-capable last year,” Lando said. “If they don’t see that, they’re idiots.”

Amelia didn’t smile. But the line of her shoulders softened just a little.

Oscar leaned his head back against the headrest. “Miami’s in, what — two months?”

“Eight weeks,” she said.

“So... no pressure.”

Amelia snorted. “You’re driving the car, ducky. Pressure’s on you.”

That earned a tired chuckle from the Aussie.

Lando leaned into her shoulder gently, head tipping against hers. “Whatever happens, we’ve got your back, okay?”

Amelia closed her eyes for a moment, just long enough to breathe it in. “I know.”

NEXT CHAPTER

[avelera]

Going along. with my theory that, "Both Jayce AND Viktor think the other guy is out of their league, which is why they never officially dated." I think one of the misunderstandings that keep them from hooking up sooner stems from how we, the audience, and Jayce see his first encounter with Viktor.

We, the audience, and Jayce see a sequence of events where Jayce met Viktor at his absolute lowest moment. His life's work just literally blew up in his face. Then, when he tries to pitch it to Heimerdinger he's immediately shut down, his future hopes are dashed by his expulsion from the Academy AFTER Mel goads him into talking about magic which turns the rest of the Council against him, his patron (Cassandra Kiramman) abandons him, and his mother calls him mentally unwell in front of everyone in the Council chamber and disavows what she's seen with her own eyes about the magic that has inspired him ever since.

Jayce has lost everything and is ready to end his own life in response because he sees no hope for himself, no purpose in living.

From that perspective, Viktor extending a hand, saying he believes in Jayce's work enough to dedicate his life to working alongside him, is a literal godsend. This senior classmate who is smart enough to earn a spot as the Dean's assistant throws all of that away just to give Jayce at his lowest moment his vote of confidence?

I don't think it's an understatement to say that Viktor saved Jayce's life and from that moment, the moment Viktor gives Jayce back the gem bracelet which was a symbol of Jayce's life and life's work, he is literally giving Jayce back his life and Jayce is determined to dedicate that life to saving Viktor's and making him proud with Hextech. He starts with Viktor on such a high pedestal above him as a result.

Ok, so that's all pretty obvious from the show itself. But what about Viktor's perspective?

From Viktor's perspective, Jayce saved his life, or rather, his career and all his ambitions for this world. When we meet him, Viktor had traveled as high as he can as a poor kid from the undercity, with all his disadvantages, using his own ability. He's assistant to the most powerful man (yordle) in the city on just his smarts alone. But now his life is stagnant.

His ambition was to discover a scientific innovation that would change the world and, possibly, cure himself. And here he meets this scientist, who is younger than him who through an independent study, on his own, has created the miracle which will actually transform this age. And he did it without going through the system (yes he had the Kiramman patronage but he was not telling them what he was working on), without telling anyone what he was working on, without the blessing or assistance of Heimerdinger.

Not only that, but this man is willing to stand up to the most powerful people in the city and say his research was groundbreaking. Then, when everything is stripped away from him, he's prepared to die for his convictions rather than live in a world where he can't advance his research.

I can only imagine this was incredibly humbling for Viktor, to see someone else coming up with the world's most life-changing technology while he was fussing around being an assistant. He takes the leap immediately from, again, working for the most powerful man (yordle) in the city to throwing his entire lot, his career, everything he's earned up to that point, in an all-out gamble to support the invention of Jayce's mind.

And then Jayce is generous enough to let Viktor come on board with him. To call Viktor his partner, even though he wasn't the originator of the idea (and oh BOY is that gonna become a time paradox in and of itself later, did Viktor technically originate the idea when he inspired Jayce with that stone? Where does it actually begin??). Viktor might be an assistant again, but at least he's an assistant to the most important and revolutionary work of this age.

But he doesn't see Jayce's rejection by Heimerdinger in the prison cell, or know what the strategy to survive the trial was supposed to be without the fuck-up of falling for Mel's goading, or his subsequent rejection by Cassandra Kiramman outside the gates, or his mother's rejection of the magical event they saw with their own eyes. He doesn't see Jayce's lowest moments, only the two ideological stands he took both in defending his work to the Council and being willing to die when it's taken from him.

Basically, Viktor could very well see himself as second-fiddle to Jayce in accomplishment alone, then throw in everything Jayce has just naturally, like his looks and his background, and you begin to piece together why both of them might have thought the other was out of his league, and why Viktor fought so hard to create innovations to match Jayce's, or seen himself as flawed and a work in progress until he had such independent accomplishments, and why he would hesitate to confess his feelings to Jayce until he felt he had something to offer in return, not realizing he had already given Jayce the world and literally given Jayce back his life.

[austinbutlerslovers]

Teachers Pet

Label Mature 18+

Summary When you begin to fail Professor Butlers advanced math class in college because you can’t stop fantasizing about him, he comes up with a way to satisfy your lust and increase your grade simultaneously. When you are finally on the verge of receiving an F he propositions you. The more you sexually gratify him the higher he will raise your grade.

Student teacher relationship

🚨 Depraved smut 🚨 sex for benefits• unequal power dynamics •sex with position of power• sex with a teacher •manipulation •coercion• long con• forced exposure to self pleasure • coercion seeing self pleasure• romance denial • sexual obsession• edging •fingering • clit play• panty play• oral sex fem receiving• size kink• p in v•multiple orgasms•squirting• ejaculated on •dubcon

The VIPs 🏆 (I struggled w too many ideas for this & they saved me) 📖Plot Consultant @purejasmine 📕 Scenario Consultant @darlinboypresley

Master List ••• Upcoming List

Teachers Pet

‘Professor Butler’ You wrote his name in your note book encircling it with hearts as you smiled to yourself.

He was your advanced mathematics teacher in college and even though his class became extremely difficult you still wanted to be so smart for him.

You look up from your note book in his class and watch him drawing odd shapes on the board explaining a theory for the test tomorrow. You already know you are definitely going to fail.

All you do is get lost staring at him on full display in front of the class now.

When he would walk around the room being engaging you would stare lustfully at his fit body.

When he neared your desk reading from his math text book to the class you would study his handsome face.

When he would explain a new theory looking sternly as he wrote out the equations you would stare into the depths of his blue eyes.

You were especially drawn to his full lips, the way they would curve into a smile when he was passionate about an idea.

His voice was like rich honey and his body was tall and trim. With his perfectly feathered sandy brown hair, and gorgeous smile you were no longer able to pay attention to any of his lectures.

The way he dressed was classic and masculine. You especially loved the blue button up shirt he had on today. He’s worn it over a dozen times and you think it must be his favorite. He paired it with blue jeans that maybe be didn’t realize completely accentuated his cock.

It drove you wild when he would rest back on his desk and his crotch would bunch up at the zipper. You already knew he had an obscenely large cock and it made you shiver at the thought.

As he rests back on his desk in the compromising position again you began to reminisce about the time you saw his large erect cock. You squeeze your thighs shut and quickly look away biting your lower lip trying to regain composure but your core is already throbbing at this point.

You search the room to see if anyone else is aroused in the front row instead of learning math, but you are only one.

It hadn’t always been this way, before it was a simple crush, he was your very kind and handsome math teacher who adored your brilliance.

The infatuation began the first week of second semester. Professor Butler requested you to come to class half an hour early which wasn’t unusual you were his top student then.

He would go over your notes with you and have discussions about upcoming class assignments. His stance was always kneeling by you with one hand placed on your desk and the other resting on the back of your chair.

Being so close with him was very intimate. It made you feel like you were being drawn into his orbit and that every breath he took resonated with yours.

In the magnetic pull of the shared space, you could feel his warmth and his rich voice as it carried even more weight being so near.

He had you going over an advanced equation that was giving you difficulty for the upcoming test. You had never struggled in his class before and it made you apprehensive.

As you worked out the problem he began to slowly trail his thumb across your back as he held your chair. It was the first time he had ever touched you.

The air become charged with anticipation, and his touch, intentional or accidental, sparked a cascade of sensations. It is a moment you distinctly remember when time seemed to pause.

As he continued to slowly trail his thumb across your back you understood it was intentional.

You stared at the pencil in your hand which had come to a stand still on the paper.

“Does it distract when I encourage you?” He asked gently.

“N-no it’s fine” you stammered and willed yourself to finish the equation even though his touch completely altered your mindset.

He pulled the paper from your desk when you set your pencil aside and he examined your work. He slowly smirked

“You got it wrong” he said looking back into your eyes. “Try again.” He said placing the paper on your desk.

You blinked in shock that you gotten it wrong but began to work again as his striking blue eyes studied you, the pressure had never been so intense.

In that moment you weren’t sure if you were doing the work to be a good student or doing the work to be good for him.

He was only focused on you, lingering on every curve of your face and every movement of your hand as you willed it to stop shaking. You began scratching out your current work to start over. Your confidence was wavering you wanted to prove yourself so badly.

He tenderly placed his hand around yours to stop you and guided it back to a certain set of numbers in your formulation “Here is where you went wrong, this is where you second guessed yourself” he revealed. You stared over at his handsome face and desired him greatly your eyes immediately fell to his full lips before you quickly looked away.

You forced yourself to focus and found your mistake beginning to do the math correctly the second time. Thats when he slowly trailed his thumb across your back again sending ripples of sensation through your skin, igniting a spark of connection that transcended words.

You stopped working and stared straight down at your paper only able to focus on his touch. Seeing you so distracted he slowly trailed his hand up to your shoulder giving it a tender squeeze.

“I’ll let you get back to your work, but I want you to come in early again tomorrow.” He stated as he stood. You nodded in agreement and he left you to complete your work.

As you watched him walk back down to his desk you wanted him to come back you wanted him so badly. But you felt very guilty because you were well aware Professor Butler was married, he clearly wore a wedding ring on his left hand.

Due to the amount of time and proximity together you developed a deep crush on him and with just a touch it clouded your entire judgement. Was he attracted to you or was he encouraging you?

You found out the answer the next day.

Compromised

You arrived to Professor Butlers class early as he requested and entered the room silently not to distract him as he worked.

As you quietly closed the door behind yourself you finally looked to him and caught him in a position of complete compromise. With his laptop open he was pleasuring his very large cock.

You stood frozen watching him, his eyes were closed in bliss and he was making short breathy noises. You fell into a daze of arousal until his eyes opened locking with yours and shocking you out of your trance. You scurried across the room trying to pretend you didn’t see.

He quickly clicked the buttons to turn off his screen and fidgeted with his hands beneath the desk to put his large cock away before quickly standing.

He knocked over his thermos in the rush and reached for it but the container clattered to the floor sending tea flying everywhere. Hearing the noise you stopped in your tracks.

“I’m so Professor Butler I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you like that .” You said in a panic. You don’t know why but you are the one who felt embarrassed.

“What did you see?” He asked a little breathless

“N-nothing Professor Butler” you said as your hands fidgeted nervously from the lie.

You eye his shirt completely ruined as well as his desk. “Are you okay?” You asked because you know the tea must’ve been very hot.

He slowly relaxed his composure and began unbuttoning his shirt as he responded.

“Yea I’m fine I always bring a change of clothing incase of accidents like this.”

You sucked in a breath because before your could even turn he had already stripped the shirt from his body.

You blinked stunned staring at him instantly aroused by his muscular physique. As he looked up his eyes met with your gaze you quickly turned on your heels to give him privacy.

You heard him mutter “Fuck my pants are wet too” making your face blush you’d never heard him upset or cuss… ever. Nothing phased him.

You began to climb the steps to your seat as you heard him open his desk drawer. By the time you were seated he was almost finished buttoning on the new clean shirt he retrieved.

“I have to go to my office .” He announced glancing at you as he left the classroom.

The room became eerily quiet without his presence and sitting in silence you noticed the tea was still spilled on his desk. Wanting to be helpful you decided to clean it up while he was out of the room. You were also secretly dying to know what he was looking at on his laptop. Collecting a towel from the white board you came to stand at his desk wiping it down.

As you got close to his laptop patting up the liquid spilled near the keyboard you pressed the space bar and it turned on to reveal your college id picture on the screen. Your knees went weak with all the information flooding your mind at once. He was pleasuring himself to your photo before you arrived to see him.

You quickly pressed the sleep key to turn the screen off and put the towel in the class hamper. You rushed to your desk and sat down in a daze, should you leave? Should you stay? Is he going to cheat on his wife with you ?! Your heart was pounding as he entered the classroom wearing a pair of new jeans.

He walked to his desk and saw the mess had already been cleaned then he pressed his laptop screen on seeing the display, he looked up directly at you. You panicked averting your eyes quickly to your desk, you were frozen you couldn’t even pretend to do anything else.

You had such crush a crush on him yet finding out he felt the same stunned you. You wondered what would be the bigger problem for him if the school found out or his wife found out.

As he made his way up you avoided his gaze by staring down at your hands on your desk as you picked at your nails. He slowly crouched down next to you peering at you like he had done a dozen times before but this time it was different.

You watched his finger trace down your hand to get your attention as his voice broke the silence

“What did you see?” He asked again more directly.

“I didn’t see anything Professor Butler.” You answered knowing the ramifications of your next actions.

He studied your body language for the tell tale sign you are lying. Your knee bounced uncontrollably under the desk and he coyly smiled.

“You have tells when you lie.” He said gently.

“Professor… I don’t want you to get in trouble.” You blurted out.

He smiled. “What did I do that would get me in trouble ?” He said beguilingly.

You finally looked over to him and his eyes were soft and kind as he looked into yours. His gaze shifted down to your lips. He was deep in thought as he leaned closer before he hesitated regaining his senses.

“I should get ready for class” he said standing and leaving you at your desk.

Your heart broke into pieces. He had wanted you but he calculated it, and he didn’t like the odds.

After that day he no longer looked at you or smiled at you, what was far worse is that he completely ignored you. The test you studied for with him you passed but you began to fail every sub-sequential one soon after.

You knew not to an ask him for help because he would refer you to the tutoring center like he did for all his other students. When you got to a C- you finally went, and to your dismay the tutors only gave you the answer key. They were cocky and rude talking down to you and even out right dismissive when you asked for help.

You missed the way Professor Butler would gently tutor you, he helped you immensely. But he never requested to see you again and you never asked.

Knowing he desired you made you physically crave him on a subconscious level. All you could do was think about him in class, and in your dorm, you lost track of your studies in his course entirely.

Once you were at a D- you sat in bed in your dorm wondering how you lost the concept of math so quickly. You also contemplated how badly you were going to fail him for the upcoming test. You couldn’t accept your fate of receiving an official F in Professor Butlers class it was too painful.

Satisfy Your Lust

When you finally snap to attention in class Professor Butler is handing out the practice tests. You quickly put your notebook away, the test is tomorrow and you desperately hope this will help you pass.

He addresses the class as he walks the room. “Okay so now that we’ve gone over all the concepts this week, here is what you’ve all been waiting for the practice test!” he says holding up a thick stack of papers smacking it lightly in his hand.

The class groans as he begins handing a stack to the first person of each row as he continues “Hey you guys this is mandatory stuff this is what’s going to help you pass the test tomorrow I wouldn’t misguide you.” he affirms.

Professor Butler drops a stack at your row and you collect one test before handing the stack to the next student.

You feel the room shrink as you look at the hieroglyphs on the paper. You want to curl up into a ball.

Professor Butler checks his watch and then the clock above the board for the second hand.

“Okay I’m gonna call it right… about…now. You have thirty minutes to complete the practice test when you are done drop the completed packet in the basket on my desk and return to your seat” he announces to the entire class.

Everyone begins working.

Your eyes fill with fear as you look at question one, you are going to fail so badly. You shakily write your name and start. The first question is multiple choice. You work through the math on a sheet of scratch paper to get your answer.

When you check the choices your answer isn’t even there. You try question two and three before the defeat starts eating you alive. The questions only increase in complexity and you begin circling multiple choice and filling out word problems at will.

When Professor Butler kneels next to you it catches you off guard but you are hopeful that maybe he can tell you have no clue what you are doing and will finally offer assistance.

When he is eye level you look to him and are mesmerized by his stunning face again. You missed being so close to him and are comforted by his presence. He has a look of perplexity as he leans in to speak privately with you.

“I don’t know how to tell you this but…” he glances around then back to you whispering very closely not to be overheard “your legs spread open like that is very distracting to me” he confesses and checks your reaction.

Your face flushes bright red as you snap your legs together faster than lightening. His eyes soften looking at you as his full lips curve into a smile.

“Our little secret.” he says smiling at you. Being so stressed you forgot to cross your legs and the embarrassment swells inside of you.

He stands up and returns to his desk. As he is seated you can see he has full view to look directly between your legs the entire time …. and of all days you wore a mini skirt with pink panties that have little red hearts on them. You want to die.

One by one everyone stands and places their tests in the basket and you quickly fill in the remaining answers to seem timely. As you place your test in the basket Professor Butler collects it and immediately begins circling your answers in red. Your confidence plummets.

The bell rings with his stopwatch signaling the end of the practice test and you let out a sigh. You feel completely hopeless about receiving your first F tomorrow and quickly gather your back pack.

As you pass Professor Butlers desk he calls to you.

“Hey wait up a sec.” He says from his seat gesturing you back. You stop in your tracks stunned, this is the first time he’s addressed you to speak with him in days. A few girls push past you in your disorientation.

One of them even turns back to mouth “teachers pet.” to taunt you before she exits the class.

Though you were once top student of his class you are definitely not teachers pet anymore, you are going to fail him and there’s nothing you can do about it.

You stand in front of his desk as he sits and waits for everyone to leave the class. He is leaned back in his seat, fingers interlaced and elbows on the arm rests. He is in deep contemplation as he looks at you.

“How confident do you feel on your knowledge of the test tomorrow?” he asks staring at you with eyes full of inquiry.

You shift on your feet and bite your lower lip as you lie “Really good.” He watches as you nervously fidget tugging the hem of your skirt, your body obviously betraying you.

“Fail this test tomorrow and it’s an F in my class.” He says sternly and as he stands he gives you a look that adds to the sting of his words.

“I know Professor Butler“ you confess almost out right apologizing for your actions.

“What is happening with you? You were my top student?” He asks as he collects a spray bottle and cloth to wipe the board. You gaze over him lustfully as he wipes it down remembering him shirtless.

“I…I-I’ve been really distracted lately.” You admit regaining your thoughts.

“Distracted by what? This is the answer you give me every time, why won’t you tell me.” He asks earnestly as he puts the bottle and cloth away.

Professor Butler then firmly places his palms flat on his desk as he stands behind it. His blue eyes are piecing as they search yours. “If you won’t say what it is how do you expect me to help you?” He asks directly.

You bite your lower lip at the mere thought of telling him to help in the way you need him. Yes Professor Butler I sexually fantasize about you in class and want to make it a reality. I saw you pleasuring yourself and I know you want me too… you cut your thoughts short. You know he’s already made up his mind about how far he will go and he would never go for that.

The tension amplifies between you two quiet moment.

“Let me see your notes.” He demands and your eyes go wide.

“M-my notes?” You ask in shock, you know only his name is written in your notebook surrounded by hearts.

“Yes your notes the ones you should’ve been taking as I was speaking today. I practically outlined the test, but you would know if you were paying any attention.” He says giving you a glance.

Your heart beats wildly from his direct line of questioning, when he sees you are speechless he continues it.

“What are you always thinking about when I’m talking?” He asks as he walks around his desk and sits on the edge. He crosses his arms and slightly rests back directly in front of you. Your eyes immediately fall to the outline of his enormous cock in his jeans when he sits that way.

Your face flushes pink as you begin to feel so much arousal you can’t breathe all you keep thinking about is him pleasuring his big cock.

“Professor Butler I…” your words stick because you are very apprehensive to straight admit your feelings for him now.

You try again changing your answer “Professor Butler I think about other things when I should be focused on your class.” You admit.

He gives you a look of disappointment. “You second guess yourself” he says and you nod quickly hoping to be off the hook.

“Let’s go over the practice test we did in class today to see where the second guessing starts, would you like that ?” He asks uncrossing his arms.You are so grateful you literally want to kiss him.

“Yes please Professor Butler I would like that so much.” You say feeling hopeful.

He walks across the class and pulls a chair to his desk replacing it with his so you can sit with him. He motions for you to sit in his desk chair.

You feel a smile form on your face as you walk around his desk. This is the first time you’ve been alone with him in weeks and you know he has the magical key that will unlock math in your brain. You drop your back pack and sit down in his comfortable desk chair.

Your heart flutters wildly as he sits directly next to you. His sandy brown hair is feathered beautifully, his smell is pleasant, and his side profile is stunning.

You watch how his eyes sternly study your practice test looking over each answer encircled in red. He suddenly leans over you making your heart skip as he reaches his hand into the desk drawer pulling a pencil and a piece of paper.

He places them on the surface in front of you getting right to business.

“Write out this equation for me” he says placing your practice test down and pointing to question one. You slowly write out the equation in your nicest handwriting.

“Okay start breaking it into smaller equations to simplify it” he instructs. You look up to him clueless obviously you don’t know how.

He takes a deep breath. “Always so distracted ” he mutters under his breath. It shocks you that he would call you out so harshly and your heart sinks thinking this is the last time he will ever help you.

He begins to break down the equation easily his hand scribbles across your test quickly with his years of expertise on the subject.

“Try again” he says pointing to number three. You peer at his handwriting from number one to discern what he did because number three is a similar equation.

You complete the work and slide the test to him after encircling a new answer. He looks it over and his mouth curves into a smile.

“I did it right?” You ask eagerly awaiting his response.

“Well there’s a reason you’ve always been my favorite student, you are a quick learner.” he admits smiling at you before he leans over to collect your scratch paper. You can’t contain your grin when he says you are still his favorite.

“You did that so easily your steps are flawless, I taught this on Tuesday why couldn’t you grasp the concept then?” He asks earnestly studying your scratch work.

You think back in your mind to Tuesday that was his blue sweater day with light denim jeans you weren’t thinking about a thing when he wore that outfit.

“On Tuesday I wasn’t feeling well” you muster up picking at the hem of your skirt.

He tilts his head down catching your lie.

“Because your were too focused on me instead of what I was saying right” your eyes go wide all you do is stare at him and daydream, it’s impossible not to you want him so badly.

He sits back and smiles “Eye fucking is what I believe they call it “ he says smugly resting his hand across his chin gauging your reaction.

You begin to squirm and fidget as your breathing increases. You feel as if you've committed some illegal crime.

“Professor Butler I would never do that” you lie panicked tugging harder at the hem of you skirt. He suddenly gets up leaving you at his desk and goes to the door of the classroom. He locks it while you sit in place.

The energy in the room immediately changes once the lock clicks and he walks back toward you with his demeanor changed.

He stands in-front of you so closely in your chair you have to stare up at him. “Do you already know you are going to fail the test tomorrow? Be honest with me.” He says directly.

You nod “Yes of course Professor, I haven’t been taking notes or paying attention in any of your classes for weeks. I already know Im going to fail.” You say honestly.

“Is that why you flashed me your panties today?” he asks sternly as his breathing increases. “Is that what your are doing now hm? Soliciting yourself to me to improve your grade?”

Your eyes snap up to his in shock “Professor no I-I wasn’t I wouldn’t” you confess. He waits for you to nervously fidget but you are telling the truth.

You look up at him innocently “It was an honest mistake…but I can see why you would think it was on purpose. I do think of you sexually during class Professor Butler.” You out right admit

He smiles and kneels down placing his hands on the armrests trapping you in his desk chair. He turns you to face him loving the fact that you finally admitted it.

“I feel your eyes staring at me all the time during class. Doesn’t matter what I’m doing I’ve caught you staring at my cock over a dozen times now.” He says studying your body’s reaction to see how badly you want him.

Your privates begin to pulse just from him saying the word cock and you squeeze your thighs together tightly trying to contain your arousal.

The move doesn’t go unnoticed by him and he goes all in to have you.

“That’s why I never look at you during class. You have the most lustful eyes I have ever seen.” He says seductively.

Your breathing increases as he stares at you trapped by him in his chair. His eyes wander your body lustfully until he meets your gaze again.

“When I look at you I lose all my focus because I can’t get it out of my head how badly you need me to fuck you.” He says deliberately.

You let out a slight whimper

He leans in closer as you stare at his lips absorbing every word. “I think I have a solution to both of our problems, one that will fix your grade and satisfy your lust at the same time.” when he says those words your arousal goes through the roof. “I know you saw me pleasuring my self to your photo, I know I’m the reason your failing.” He confesses staring down between your thighs.

“Do you want me to improve your grade?” He asks staring back into your eyes as you readily nod. “Do you want me to satisfy your lust for me?” He asks staring at your lips.

“Y-yes please help me Professor Butler” you desperately beg. He smiles at your eagerness. “alright I’ll help you.” His says seductively.

“Before we start I have ground rules” he affirms as you stare back at him. “I’m separated but I’m still married, I could get in big trouble for this.” He says holding up his wedding ring finger as he continues “My job will be in jeopardy as well but I really want you to pass, so this has to stay our little secret, can you do that for me?“ he asks with his eyes locked on yours.

“Yes Professor Butler it will be our little secret.” You agree.

“Call me Austin” he says with a grin.

“Yes Austin it will be our little secret” you confirm

"I know you’ll keep our secret because you want this just as badly as I do. Now lift up your skirt for me” he commands

You look him in the eyes and theres a brief moment you think of stopping, but you know how badly you want him deep inside. Your hands lift your skirt pulling it all the way up your thighs exposing your panties to him.

“Fuck.” He says above a whisper seeing your already wet for him. “This is even hotter than I imagined it” he admits.

“Y-you imagine being with me Profess- - Austin?” You ask in surprise.

He trails his hand along your thighs as he speaks

“I have imagined you like this so many times, fucking you on my desk as you stare at me with those lustful eyes.” He confesses as his hand slides under your skirt skimming his fingers across the silk material of your panties. You gasp in pleasure from the feeling. “Have you ever touched yourself while you think of me” he asks as he rests his hands on your knees.

“Yes Austin” You pant out and he smiles.

“Tell me how you do it” he asks and you whimper as he leans in close and his lips slowly brush against your neck. He gently sucks onto your skin and you finally touch him reaching your hands up and running your fingers through his soft sandy brown hair as you answer.

“I-in my bed at night I think of you on top of me” you confess as he sucks your neck harder. “ a-and in the shower I imagine you infront of me.” He pulls his lips from your neck and smiles.

“The way you obey me so easily you must have been aching for me badly haven’t you?” He asks teasingly and it makes you want him even more “Open your legs for me.” he commands.

You obey and spread your legs wide open as he touches both of your thighs sliding his fingertips higher up to your pussy. You whimper as he trails them back down to stroking your legs again.

Your body is already craving his every touch and your chest begins rising and falling rapidly as he brings his hands up your thighs again. This time he strokes your pussy through the smooth fabric of your panties making you lightly moan.

“You are so wet for me” he observes as his finger tips trail your folds stopping at the nub of your clit.

"My touch feels good doesn't it?" he asks pushing his fingers against the fabric over your clit. You clench inside as he continues to guide his fingers down your pussy pressing the fabric into your folds

“You feel so good Austin” you admit with your eyes closed in passion.

Your breaths are already fast and shallow trying to hold yourself together and he hasn’t even done anything yet

"Do you know what I want to do to you?" He asks peering into your eyes as you open them.

It is very obvious what he wants to do to you as he plays with your pussy, but you still desperately want to hear him say the words, and as if he was waiting for you to ask he answers

“I'm going to play with your little pussy until I make you cum, and then I want you to make me come too” he says and slides his fingers up and down your slit, forcing the fabric against your folds as you moan.

Your back arcs as he finds your clit and presses down on it flicking his fingertip to it and making you moan even louder. He stops flicking your clit and slowly massages it alternating with stroking your pussy.

"Oh god! Austin" you cry out, gripping the edges of the chair as he fully focuses on flicking your clit.

Hearing the squishing sounds of your wetness he stops and pushes the band of your panties to the side. His fingers touch your naked flesh and you begin moaning and clenching around nothing as he fingers your bare clit and teases the inside of your folds. He doesn’t stop until you are dripping for him.

"Get naked for me.” He commands and you obey with your fingers shaking as you take off your shirt and your bra.

Once you are topless he leans in and begins licking the smooth skin around your nipples.

His fingers are still playing with your pussy, holding the band of your panties aside with his middle finger plunging inside of you as his thumb slides around your clit.

"Do you like what I’m doing to you " he asks between licks of your nipples as he slides his fingers into you. You nod with your mouth open panting because you can’t even form the words. "You're going to cum, aren't you?” He asks smiling as he feels your legs quiver against his hand.

“Y-yes!” You struggle to say.

This has always been his secret desire playing with your body for his sexual gratification.

He drew you in to push you out he wanted you afraid yet enraptured to have him, it thrilled him to manipulate you. He had been right about you all along, his favorite student, to be used and pleasured by him and only him it drove him absolutely crazy.

“You’re going to cum for me, cum right in my fucking hand and I’ll give you a C” He says increasing his pace.

"Oh god Austin," you moan out and buck your hips in time with his hand to give him exactly what he wants. Your hips and thighs flex pushing onto his fingers and his eyes hyper focus as he feels you clench down and orgasm.

He is so satisfied when he feels your warm cum pour over his plundering fingers that he begins cursing “fuck yes give it all to me” he pants out with his hand getting covered in your clear cum.

Your head falls back in ecstasy as he removes his fingers. “Lay over my desk I want to eat your pussy.” He commands your actions are delayed from the orgasm so he lifts you to stand from your chair and guides you to lay face down bent over his desk. He pulls the fabric of your skirt up to expose your ass and places his hands on the backs of your thighs kneading his thumbs on the soft flesh.

“Fuck your so perfect”. He says pulling the band of your panties to peek at your pussy “Your gonna taste so good Im presumptively raising your grade to a B” he says as you moan from his words. He focuses all his attention between your legs pushing the silky fabric of your panties into your clit “You gave me such a hard on today with your legs spread like that.” He says pulling your panties down as they cling to your wetness.

Once you step out of them he hides your panties in his shoulder bag under his desk. He immediately spreads your thighs apart with his hands and dives his mouth onto your pussy. “MMmmf” he sounds out clearly enjoying it

“M-my…god…A-austin” you moan out as your brain goes fuzzy from so many sensations running though your body at once.

He cups your ass licking your pussy harder and lifts your hips thrusting his tongue into your core as he groans. “You taste so fucking good” he says coming up for air as you whimper and moan on his desk.

He returns his mouth on you and it begins making slopping wet sounds as he flicks his tongue into your entrance and sucks your folds. Your core tightens so quickly you gasp for air from the pleasure as you squirm on his desk.

He pulls his mouth back. “Your pussy tastes so good that’s definitely B+” he admits and slides his long fingers into you pumping them in and out preparing you for his cock .

“A-au…Aus…tin…you…feel ….too …good.” you moan out on each thrust of his fingers.

“You gonna go back to your dorm after and touch yourself like this? You gonna play with your pretty pussy while you think of me?” He rasps

“Y-yes A-Austin ”you moan out louder than you expected losing your mind about to cum.

He slows his fingers inside of you. “Shhh shh we’re having too much fun I dont want to get caught.” He says smiling. You nod and he continues sinking his fingers into your soaked pussy.

You bring your hand to your mouth to stifle your moans as he goes faster thrusting his fingers into the sweet spot that makes you go weak for him.

You begin to moan louder feeling your core tightens as you clench on his fingers. “You’re close.” He says breathlessly. “You gonna cum again so I can give you an A?” He asks and you nod feverishly as you moan out “Yes… Austin” your words muffle as you moan through your hand.

He removes his fingers leaving you empty and picks your limp body up against him. “Come on home stretch I want to look at you while I fuck you.” He directs lifting you easily by your waist to sit on his desks. He spreads your legs apart and then unbuckles his belt and unzips his pants.

He pulls his erection out and the sheer magnitude of its presence leaves you in awe. It’s a moment of revelation surpassing all of your expectations as you are humbled wondering how he will fit it all inside of you.

You look into his eyes with a clash of curiosity and desire, and that’s all he needs. He pulls your body flush with his trapping his cock between your navels as holds you tightly against him. His lips collide with yours in a hunger that borders on primal. There’s a rawness to it and an urgency that ignites every fibre of your being.

As you open your mouth to his it is a tumultuous dance of tongues and lips, where the line between pleasure and pain blurs as he bites your lower lip in the heat of the moment. In that whirlwind of sensation, you’re swept away by the intensity of Austins kiss, unable to resist the magnetic pull of his embrace. You whimper in his mouth as he kisses you already so overwhelmed you can no longer think.

He pulls his lips back from yours panting as he studies your face “You’re so gorgeous to me I’ve always wanted you” he admits. His fingertips trace delicate patterns on your skin leaving a trail of tingling sensations in their wake as he looks into your eyes. His gaze is instilled with so much intimacy and connection you instantly feel the silent reassurance that you are safe and cherished.

“I’m going to make you mine now” he says sending chills all over your body.

He takes his long cock in his hand, pumping it as he spreads your legs apart again and positions himself at your entrance. He slowly pushes in taking his time to fill you with his entire cock making sure each inch is more pleasurable than the last .

“A-A-Austin!…Oh my fuck” you moan out feeling him stretching you full of him. You grip the back of his neck and moan loudly as he settles in you.

He sucks harshly on neck while tweaking your nipples and it makes your core throb as you clench on his large girth. He begins moving and your mind empties of every rational thought as you loudly moan out his name and he covers your mouth. His skin slaps against yours as he takes control of your body. His thrusts are hard and fast as he grunts against your neck kissing and sucking it.

“Fuck you're so tight” he finally says focusing on thrusting even harder “you …feel so damn good …on my cock…even better than I imagined it.” He admits staring into your lustful eyes.

His thrusts begin to falter as his timing grows erratic and you feel the familiar tightening in your core again. Your moans are desperate and can no longer be held by just his hand.

He kisses you roughly to hold your loud pleasurable screams in as you experience the pure raw mind altering passion that can only be delivered on a huge cock. It’s something you’d never experienced in your entire life and now you were addicted.

“A-Austin I’m cumming .” You cry out gripping the edge of his desk as the orgasm sends a wave of ecstasy crashing over your entire body leaving you breathless. Your pelvic muscles tense and relax in rhythmic waves as pleasure pulses through every nerve ending of your body. “ oh fuck Austin oh fuck!” You cry out feeling yourself release cum all over his cock, onto your thighs and even his desk.

It’s dripping down your thighs as he says “holy shit” feeling you so wet his large cock practically glides in and out of you “That’s ……an ……A+… fuck I'm gonna cum!-“ he gasps.

When you feel his large cock twitch it make you cry out much louder than you should have and he pulls out shooting hot ropes of white hot cum all over your navel, moaning, grunting sweating and swearing until he’s empty.

“Hold still .” He says breathless leaning down to open a drawer. He pulls several sheets from a paper towel roll and gently cleans up your thighs and pussy before patting your stomach clear of his cum. He places paper towels over the puddle on his desk between your legs to absorb it. He keeps one hand on your waist as he leans to discards them all in the bin under his desk.

He pulls you to the edge of the desk and holds you close as you come down from your incredible high. You are euphoric as he kisses you, but this time it is tender and passionate and you feel the softness of his full lips against yours.

His finger tips caress your jaw as he smiles. “I’ve wanted you from the first day you started my class, I was never going to let you fail.” He reveals making you smile.

“Cmon we have work to do. He says pulling you down from his desk. He collects your bra and shirt handing them over to you while he zips and buckles his pants. When you pull your top down he makes a confession. “Your panties are mine now.” He admits grinning as he pulls a clean test sheet from his desk.

He sits down and pulls you onto his lap. “Let’s go over the practice test together to get you a 90% and for the rest of the semester I’ll help you pass okay.“ he says handing you a pencil.

“Really Austin?“ You say feeling so elated you smile at him.

“Yes of course you are my favorite and I made you a promise you’re getting that A+ you earned it.” He says pressing an affectionate kiss to your shoulder.

When he says you are his favorite again your heart flutters and you eagerly get to work. He helps you with each equation gently instructing you over your shoulder until the entire test is a polished gem.

“Mm look how smart my girl is” he says making you bashfully smile looking over your shoulder at him. He stares at you mesmerized. “You made me so happy that every time you step into my classroom now I’ll have to hide my smile.” He admits staring at you as he affectionately trails his thumb across your shoulder.

“How do you feel now by the way.” He asks with genuine concern. Your smile says it all

“I feel really good Austin” You admit feeling the stress and tension lifted entirely.

He pulls you around on his lap to face him and looks into your eyes. “I don’t ever want you to fail my class ever again. I want to pick you up from your dorm every weekend, so we can go over the class work at my house. I know all of your teachers and I don’t want you to stress about college anymore I’ll help you with all of your subjects. I just want to spend as much time with you as I can, ultimately I want you to be happy and succeed, can you do that for me.” He asks honestly.

“Yes Austin” you say peering into his blue eyes. You feel very safe and secure as he wraps you in his arms sitting on his lap.

Knowing that he’ll guide and mentor you is a bonus you are grateful to receive. As you sit up in his lap your breaths mingle as you stare into each others eyes and his warmth envelops you completely. With a gentle approach you press a soft and tender kiss on his lips and he closes his eyes holding you tighter.

His lips explore and trace the contours of yours with a gentle connection of intimacy that makes time seem to stand still as you seal your connection of obsession and passion. As your fingers weave through the strands of his sandy brown hair, you realize everything in this moment feels right and you wish you told him your feelings sooner.

❤️‍🔥End ❤️‍🔥

🏷️ Always Tag Me List 💌 @faegoddessog @purejasmine @burnthheparaphilia @obsessedvibee @abswifey @austiebuttbutt @jessica987 @oh-my-front-door @slowsweetlove @hardcoredisneynerd @magicovento @star017 @buckysteveloki-me @cauliflowercounty @thegabbyh @dacreshoney @elvismylove04 @emeraldsgirl @fallofthedamned @lindszeppelin @shegatsby @darlingisntit @unicoreads @feydsociety @phil2135561 @softboo

[reasonsforhope]

"As the world grows “smarter” through the adoption of smartphones, smart fridges, and entire smart houses, the carbon cost of that technology grows, too. 

In the last decade, electronic waste has become one of the fastest-growing waste streams in the world. 

According to The World Counts, the globe generates about 50 million tons of e-waste every year. That’s the equivalent of 1,000 laptops being trashed every second. 

After they’re shipped off to landfills and incinerated, the trash releases toxic chemicals including lead, cadmium, arsenic, mercury, and so much more, which can cause disastrous health effects on the populations that live near those trash sites. 

Fortunately, Franziska Kerber — a university student at ​​FH Joanneum in Graz, Austria — has dreamed up a solution that helps carve away at that behemoth problem: electronics made out of recyclable, dissolvable paper. 

On September 11, Kerber’s invention “Pape” — or Paper Electronics — earned global recognition when it was named a national winner of the 2024 James Dyson Awards. 

When she entered the scientific competition, Kerber demonstrated her invention with the creation of several small electronics made out of paper materials, including a fully-functional WiFi router and smoke detector. 

“Small electronic devices are especially prone to ending up in household waste due to unclear disposal systems and their small size, so there is significant potential to develop a more user-friendly end-of-life system,” Kerber wrote on the James Dyson Award website. 

“With this in mind, I aimed to move beyond a simple recycling solution to a circular one, ensuring long-term sustainability.” 

Kerber’s invention hinges on crafting a dissolvable and recyclable PCB board out of compressed “paper pulp.” 

A printed circuit board (PCB) is a board that can be found in nearly all modern electronic devices, like phones, tablets, and smartwatches.

But even companies that have started incorporating a “dissolution” step into the end life of their products require deconstruction to break down and recover the PCB board before it can be recycled. 

With Kerber’s PAPE products, users don’t need to take the device apart to recycle it.

“By implementing a user-friendly return option, manufacturers can efficiently dissolve all returned items, potentially reusing electronic components,” Kerber explained. 

“Rapidly advancing technology, which forms the core of many devices, becomes obsolete much faster than the structural elements, which are often made from plastics that can last thousands of years,” Kerber poses. 

PAPE, Kerber says, has a “designed end-of-life system” which anticipates obsolescence. 

“Does anyone want to use a thousand-year-old computer?” Kerber asks. “Of course not. … This ensures a sustainable and reliable system without hindering technological advancement.”"

-via GoodGoodGood, September 13, 2024

[urdreamydoodles]

Hiii!! Love your work sooo muchh!!! (I keep rereading your marvel x reader fics cause you write the characters SO WELLL) picture this, Smart!F!reader who one ups Tony Stark publicly after getting tired of being labeled as a dumb good for nothing gold digger wife by the public. She reveals that she's the owner of a tech companty that makes even more than Stark Industries and most the money she gets she uses to donate to good causes and doesn't spend too much on things she wants ('Cause she's financially responsible unlike her husband.) AND GIRL HID THAT SECRET SO WELL EVEN TONY DIDNT KNOW ABOUT IT AND JUST STARES AT HER LIKE SHE SAID SOMETHING OFFENSIVE AF cause she reveals it while giving a speech at a Stark Industries events and then fast forward months later these 2 keep hacking into their systems and messing up their own shit but reader keeps winning the prank wars, the other avengers are fed up afff then at the end those mfs propose at the same time through hacking their A.I. assistants or firewall or literally everything. (you decide)

Oh and if possible make them into a 2 part so I can have a very beautiful chaotic ass prank war fanfic. (It's okay if you just stuff it into one part or if you can't do this☺☺)

"CODE OF FIRE, CODE OF LOVE" — A Tony Stark (MCU) One Shot

SHIP: Tony Stark (MCU) x Fem!OC

WORDS: 2.280 words

There are whispers in the room, louder than the music. Soft champagne flutes clinking, camera flashes chasing diamonds, laughter strained through painted lips—all of it sounds like static to you now. You stand at the edge of the Stark Industries gala, poised in a dress that fits like it was sewn onto your very soul. Beautiful. Effortlessly so. But beauty, as you’ve learned, is a mask people love to talk to, and even more love to talk about.

Tonight, they’ve talked plenty. And not about the advancements Stark Industries made in clean energy. Not about the AI breakthroughs or the global humanitarian branches Tony fought tooth and nail to build.

No.

Tonight, the whispers are about you.

“She must be really good in bed.”

“A gold digger. You can see it in the way she moves—like she knows she’s lucky.”

“She hasn’t earned any of this. Look at her, just a trophy.”

You’ve heard these words since the moment you said “I do” to Tony Stark. The man you love. The man who sees stars in your eyes and not dollar signs. The man who never once questioned your worth. But that doesn’t mean the world hasn’t.

It’s funny. You built empires in silence. With elegance. With restraint. You could have bought this tower ten times over. But you didn’t. Because it was never about the spotlight. Never about ego.

You just wanted peace.

But peace has a price.

And tonight, the bill has come due.

You glance at Tony across the room. He’s radiant in his usual way—hands stuffed in his pockets, that crooked smirk playing on his lips as he listens to a board member, probably pretending to care. His suit is razor-sharp, just like his mind. You love the way his eyes search for you every few minutes like a compass needle always twitching toward North. You love him more than you’ve ever loved anything. He is chaos wrapped in genius, a hurricane who learned to anchor himself to your quiet gravity.

And he doesn’t know.

Not yet.

He doesn’t know that every night he thought you were working on charity audits or reading economic forecasts… you were engineering satellites, designing next-gen medical nanotech, running covert cybersecurity networks that governments begged for. He doesn’t know that while he bled in the spotlight, you bled in the dark—never for praise. Only for purpose.

You’d never planned to tell him. Not because you didn’t trust him, but because you wanted something that was yours. Untouched by legacy or expectation. Untouched by Stark.

But the whispers tonight? They’ve lit something inside you.

And fire does not go quietly.

Pepper’s on stage now, offering polite smiles and practiced words. You tune out most of it until she turns her head toward you and says brightly, “And now, we’d love to invite someone very special up here to say a few words—Y/N Stark.”

There it is.

You step forward as the spotlight finds you. The murmurs double. The cameras rise. You move like a ghost in heels—elegant, silent, unstoppable.

Tony’s watching you now, arms crossed, brow quirked. He’s curious. Maybe a little amused. He loves when you speak publicly—it surprises him every time. He still doesn’t know why you keep such a low profile. That’s just how you are, he tells himself. Shy genius. Private soul.

You reach the podium. The mic crackles.

You look out over the crowd. Old money. New vultures. Entitled smiles. Sneers disguised as curiosity. Your gaze slides past them all and lands on Tony. He raises his glass to you, winks. You don’t smile back.

You inhale.

Then you speak.

“I’ve been asked a lot of questions since marrying Tony Stark. Some polite. Most… not.” A ripple of laughter, awkward and thin.

You continue. “People want to know what I bring to the table. If I’m smart enough, good enough, worthy enough. They ask how a ‘nobody’ like me caught the eye of a genius like him.”

You pause.

“Let me answer.”

The silence now is full and deep. A vacuum. They’re listening.

“I am the founder and sole owner of Aurelius Technologies. You haven’t heard of it because I didn’t want you to. We operate under a portfolio of silent subsidiaries that have collectively out-earned Stark Industries for the last five years running.”

Gasps. Real ones. Sharp as glass.

Tony’s smile is frozen, faltering.

“I built it before I met Tony. While living in a shared apartment, eating instant noodles, working twenty-hour days. I coded my first AI at nineteen. I designed medical drones that saved lives in war zones. I developed green tech that corporations tried to bury because it was too efficient. And I gave it away. Because I could.”

Eyes. All on you. The women are shocked. The men are unsettled.

“I didn’t advertise any of it. Because my worth doesn’t live in headlines. Or stock prices. Or applause. I donated most of what I made. Quietly. Because power isn’t about what you keep. It’s about what you give.”

Your voice sharpens. Just enough.

“And I didn’t tell anyone—not even my husband—because I wanted a life that wasn’t measured by what I could build, but who I could be.”

Now you look at Tony.

Really look.

He is not blinking.

Not breathing.

“I never wanted to outshine him. But I won’t let people pretend I live in his shadow. I didn’t marry Tony for his money. I married him for the way he believes in things even when no one else does. I married him because his heart is louder than his genius.”

A beat.

“And, frankly, because he’s hot.”

Laughter breaks the tension. Some real. Some still stunned.

You smile now, but only at him.

“I don’t need your approval,” you finish, gaze sweeping the crowd again. “I just needed to say it out loud. For the women who’ve been underestimated. For the men who think brilliance wears only one face. And for myself.”

A pause. Breath. Silence.

Then, applause.

Not polite. Not obligatory. Thunderous.

You step down from the stage.

Tony is still standing there. Still staring. Glass forgotten in his hand. His jaw a fraction open like you just told him he was adopted.

You approach.

“I—” he starts, but stops.

“Surprise,” you say softly.

“You’re Aurelius?” he breathes, like it’s a curse and a prayer.

You nod.

He laughs. Then blinks. Then pulls you into him so fast your feet barely touch the ground.

“You incredible, devious, stunning son of a—” he whispers into your hair. “You really played me.”

You pull back just enough to look into his eyes. “I didn’t play you, Tony. I just didn’t want to be this for the world. I wanted to be me for you.”

His hands cup your face. “You are everything. Everything. Do you know what it’s like to fall in love with someone twice? Because I think I just did.”

You kiss him. Because no words will do now.

And somewhere behind you, the room watches the man who thought he knew everything… be utterly, beautifully, publicly humbled.

And love you even more for it.

It started with a line of code.

Tony should have known better.

You were the ghost in the machine long before you were the girl in his bed, the wife in his heart, the name inked beneath his ribs whether he liked it or not. He had underestimated you once. He would never do it again.

But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t try to beat you.

He thought he was clever, writing subroutines into your shared home AI. Thought you wouldn’t notice the nanosecond hiccup in F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice when she called you “Sweetheart” in his tone of voice. Thought you wouldn’t catch the thermal resync that cranked your morning coffee from pleasantly scalding to napalm.

You noticed.

And you retaliated.

The Stark Tower elevators began skipping his floor. His suits would snap shut an inch too tight. His toothbrush sang Bye Bye Bye in perfect sync every morning—until he learned to stop flinching.

You, however, didn’t stop.

You rewrote the sound files of his lab assistant bots. Dum-E began reciting Pride and Prejudice. Butterfingers played Oprah podcasts. U stopped obeying Tony entirely, instead pausing at inconvenient intervals to display curated Pinterest boards titled “Gift Ideas for Your Superior Wife.”

Tony called it cyberbullying.

You called it foreplay.

“War,” he declared one night, his bare chest glowing with the arc reactor’s quiet rhythm. “Total war. You understand this means we can never trust our devices again.”

You took the glass from his hand, sipped, and smirked. “You built them. I just reprogrammed them not to lie to us.”

Pepper caught wind of the chaos when her Friday meetings kept getting overrun by erotic text-to-speech haikus read in her own voice. Steve’s training programs glitched into pastel yoga flows. Natasha’s phone screen blinked with flirtatious offers from “Anonymous Admires You: Buy a Flamethrower on Etsy.” Bruce threatened to move back into the jungle. Sam nearly threw your shared AI out the window.

“STOP,” they all chorused at dinner one night, mid-explosion of Tony’s wine glass—sabotaged with a microscopic vibration hack you’d implanted via a birthday card.

“Stop what?” you and Tony said in sync, both utterly deadpan.

“YOU TWO,” Steve barked. “You’ve got a Cold War going on inside our entire system. My bank account’s been rerouting deposits to an alpaca rescue in Montana.”

“Yeah,” Clint muttered. “Thanks for that. I lost five grand.”

Tony sipped his wine from a coffee mug, smug. “Should’ve updated your firewall, Legolas.”

“It’s not funny,” Natasha said, exasperated, but her eyes flickered with reluctant amusement. “You two are weaponizing love. And Wi-Fi.”

“We’re not weaponizing love,” you replied coolly. “We’re just expressing it.”

“In code,” Tony added. “Beautiful, chaotic, bug-laced code.”

Sam pointed a fork at you both. “We are one hijacked satellite away from an international incident.”

You and Tony fist-bumped beneath the table.

But there was something deeper in it now.

Something that danced just beneath the teasing and the trickery.

Tony watched you across rooms like he was trying to map every galaxy in your gaze. He would touch your back like it anchored him. You’d catch his code open at 3AM—not for the arc reactor, not for the suits—but for you. New tech shaped like your laugh, new designs named after your heartbeat, new languages bent around the way you spoke truth.

You, too, found yourself checking your scripts not once but ten times—just to make sure they said enough. Said everything.

And then one night, it happened.

You walked into the lab, hair pulled up, eyes sharp, wearing his shirt. A normal evening, until everything went wrong.

Or right.

F.R.I.D.A.Y. flickered.

“Good evening, Mrs. Stark,” she said, a little too smoothly. “You have two hundred and seventy new system alerts. And one... emotional one.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Tony?”

No answer.

You moved to the console.

And that’s when everything began.

Every screen lit up—lab, kitchen, hallway, garage—every surface Tony had ever laid his hands on pulsed to life.

Your code. Your encryption. Overwritten.

But only for this.

On every screen:

"Marriage v1.0: Successful. Proposal v2.0: Pending Approval."

Your heart stuttered.

Then came the voices.

Not Tony’s.

Yours.

Clips from your past. From private logs you didn’t know he had access to. Voice memos you made to yourself, fragments of code-comment love letters.

“He looks at me like I’m the only thing worth breaking the universe for.”

“I never wanted a crown. I just wanted his chaos in my quiet.”

“If he asked again, I’d say yes every lifetime.”

You covered your mouth with your hand.

And then his voice cut in.

“Y/N.”

You turned.

He stood in the doorway.

No suit. No armor. Just Tony. Barefoot, beautiful, and terrified.

“I wanted to do it differently,” he said. “Bigger. Fancier. Less... hostile takeover of your AI. But this? This is us. Messy. Coded. Personal.”

You tried to speak. Couldn't.

“I didn’t know you when I married you,” he continued. “Not all the way. I loved what I saw. But I didn’t see the half of you. Now I do. And I’m not proposing to fix something. I’m proposing because I want to celebrate it.”

He stepped closer.

“Let’s do this again. This time knowing every part. The fire. The firewalls. The madness. The marriage.”

He held out a small device.

A nano-holo ring. Not tangible. Just light. Code. A symbol you could rewrite together, again and again.

The room shimmered.

Another screen lit behind him.

“RENEWAL REQUESTED: TONY STARK TO Y/N STARK. CONFIRM?”

You looked at him.

“You hacked my firewalls for this?”

He grinned. “Took me three months. I haven’t slept. I’m delirious. Marry me again before I pass out.”

You pressed your thumb to the console.

“CONFIRMED.”

Then your voice rang out from his AI.

Every Stark suit paused mid-hover. Every bot froze. Every file opened.

“Tony Stark, I hereby override your protocols and accept your second proposal. Effective immediately. You may now kiss your better half.”

His laughter was pure sunlight.

He crossed the space, kissed you like the first time all over again.

And maybe it was.

The others would scream when they saw what you two had done to the base code. Fury would probably explode. Rhodey would call you both lunatics. Pepper would sigh with a glass of wine and send the Avengers to dinner on another continent just to give you space.

But right now?

Right now you were two halves of the same encrypted flame.

Married again.

Code rewritten.

Love, rebooted.

[esmedelacroix]

03 - Nerd Alert

synopsis ! he’s an American football player by day and a passionate mathematician by night. She’s a well-rounded historian and writer who couldn’t evaluate a derivative to save her life. They lived in two different worlds but shared the same study room.

previous chapter | series masterlist

cw ! no use of y/n, y/n is _____, fluff, slow burn, college au, ooc sukuna, f!reader, child abuse/neglect, alcohol, angst, brief mention of self-harm, depressive tendencies, suggestive, explicit mentions of smut

fic radio ! idfc by blackbear

Sukuna lived multiple lives. In a weird way, he was so many different people depending on his environment. When acting in almost every scenario, you lose yourself.

Deep down. Under all the layers Sukuna had created to protect himself, He was a nerd at heart. He enjoyed comics of Superheros fighting bad guys. It was what inspired him to workout and go to the gym. His favorite DC comic heros made him feel strong. Like he had a chance against the weird men that preyed on his mother or the ones that would get violent with her. His mom didn't give a rats ass about him. Then again she was too deep into her high to realize the situation she was in. More importantly, the position she put her son in.

Ryomen secretly played Five Nights at Freddy's with his elementary school friend Nanami. He couldn't take the bullying he would receive in school if they knew he loved comics, playing weird video games, scary movies, and math. He already had enough problems whenever he looked into his bank account or went to his house.

When he started football, Sukuna found a sport he loved and could hide behind. Why be seen as weird when he could be liked by most people? Slowly, Sukuna became the kid who would agree when others said math was hard and then miraculously got an A. He became the kid who said he didn't study the night before when his dark eye bags indicated he did.

He even stopped hanging out with friends like Nanami because he wanted to hang out with his cooler friends. Though he never wanted to seem like he cared for anything, he truly cared about his public image. He never wanted people to notice he was broke so he worked two jobs to afford clothes and an occasional haircut.

His heart dropped to his ass when he looked up from the essay you were helping him out with to see Toji wide-eyed and confused looking through the glass wall. He immediately burst into the room without your permission. "Dude, what are you doing here?" he questioned.

Sukuna froze. Nothing was coming out of his mouth. "We're studying. What are you doing here?" you echoed.

"I'm just doing some work. Deans are on my ass about getting my shit done to keep my scholarship."

In all the years that Sukuna had been friends with Toji, they did everything together. They rushed for their frat and got hazed together(Sukun ended up keeping the pink hair cus he 'lowkey fuck with it'). He opened up about his home situation and brought him to his place. Toji was the one who recommended he put his mother in rehab while he was away at college. After four years Sukuna was still mending his broken relationship with his mother.

He couldn't admit that he was good at school and cared about his grades. "Why don't you believe me? Ryomen's in three advanced math courses. He did all those problems on the board."

Sukuna stared directly at his laptop disassociating. He didn't know what to do or say. Here you were, very inconsiderately exposing him. "What d'you gotta say for yourself, bro?"

Sukuna looked up at Toji shocked to see him grinning widely. he visibly looked confused and Toji laughed. "I'm just playing with you I know you're smart as hell," Toji chuckled pulling out the chair across from the two of you.

"What?" he finally said.

"Dude, I'm your best friend. I suspected you were a nerd all the way in high school. You think I don't notice things? You have mad comics under your bed. You use a Nintendo too. If that's not enough proof, I know you play Zelda on it when you think everyone's asleep. There was also that time I needed to use your laptop and I accidentally saw your report card," he explained.

You were impressed by how close he and Ryomen were. It completely surprised you that Ryomen was a full-blown nerd and not just some jock that was good at math and wore his prescription glasses when he forgot contacts.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, visibly annoyed.

"It was fun watching you try to act cool and hide it," Toji shrugged.

Sukuna let out a groan and sunk into his chair with his head in his hands. "I hate you," he mumbled

"Love you too, bud," Toji smiled.

The three of you spent that evening studying. You and Sukuna yelled at Toji as he did his homework like angry adults who don't know how to parent.

The weekend finally arrived and you were in the football stadium with your friends cheering on the team. You were wearing some school merch and jeans. Your hair was in a messy bun matching Geto's as you took your seat with your arms full of snacks and drinks.

You put a bit more effort into your style and hair today, just for you to throw it into an updo and get ketchup all over your light-wash jeans.

During half-time, the team huddled and dispersed. Sukuna squeezed his water from his bottle while pouring some on his face and shaking his head to get it out of his hair. Droplets of sweat accompanied.

He looked around in the crowd and once his eyes met yours they stopped and his expression changed. It was unreadable but it changed. He scanned you and you waved. He didn't wave back, he just stared. When his coach called him over, he rejoined the group. You shrugged it off and continued to talk to your friends.

The second half of the game was phenomenal. The whole team was connected. Sukuna was making amazing plays and the team was scoring so much that you had to sit down and take a breather for, how much cheering you were doing.

When the clock ran out, you and your friends shot out of your seats happy to see your team had won. All the guys high-fived. But Sukuna turned around looking directly at you making eye-contact facial expression still unreadable but soft around the edges.

You mouthed a 'congrats' to him you were sure he caught before his team huddled around him.

"Don't think I didn't see the two of you eye fucking. Right in front of my salad, tsk tsk," Geto smiled looking ahead.

"Oh shut up," you rolled your eyes elbowing him.

"you like him~" he sang.

"As if."

You played things off cool, but the heat rising to your face and your bouncing leg told Geto everything he needed to know. You were crushing. Hard.

. . .

-> next part

@minasuniverse @not-a-glad-gladiator @love-me-satoru @sukunawhores @emoedgylord @domainofmarie @sadrna @lazylunarlover @tamishadawn @boudoirbae @river-vixenn @bitchyfestivalbouquet @elizabeth-von-winken-universe @clp-84 @emochosoluvr @yoongithebean @linaaeatsfamilies @magalimachete @chubbydumplingbarnes @katsukiseyebrows @sukubusss @r33m-world @pelicanpizza @mykuronekome @linny-bloggs @your-mum3000 @jayathelostdragon

comment to be added to the taglist !

[hermetiqa]

What study habits will help you this school year?

Reminder: it doesn't matter if you saw this reading a day or a week or a month or a year after posting this. My readings are timeless. You'll see this when you're meant to see this and receive your message.

Close your eyes and take a deep breath before picking a pile. If you feel drawn to more than one pile, it's alright, you may take the piles that you're drawn to. What's important is to take it how it resonates and leave what doesn't.

PAID READINGS | TIP JAR | FEEDBACK | MASTERLIST

PLEASE HELP IF YOU CAN

NOTE: Please feel free to give me a feedback on my asks about the reading! I would highly appreciate it and it'll be a huge help for me to improve as a reader.

Pile 1

The study habits that will help you this year are the ones that will keep you engaged in your lessons and courses/subjects. Something that keeps your mind active and keeps you interested in learning. Be curious about what you're learning. Take studying as something positive and don't take it as a responsibility. Have the mindset that you're privileged enough to study and learn these stuff. Be in a state of wanting to learn, not needing to learn. Also, leave your "failures" behind, such as low grades or not being able to get a perfect score on your exam. Instead, focus on what you lacked that caused that result.

Study techniques:

Make flash cards

Use white boards (the bigger, the better)

Act like a teacher, pretend that you're teaching

Similar to the previous one, you can also pretend that you're reporting the lesson in class

Make mind maps with only your knowledge and check what you missed after

Pile 2

I'm getting a lot of energy here from you, Pile 2. First of all, STOP CRAMMING. You might have survived the last school year by cramming but it won't help you anymore, especially this time. You need to study in advance especially when you know you have exams coming up. Stop studying the night before the day of the exam. Also, leave the past behind. Let go of your "friends" who distract you from studying and just want to go out to parties. Change your routine. Your previous routine could be a success for you but it drains you. Find some balance between studying and leisure.

Study techniques:

Study with your friends together

Put notes on your walls so you can look at them anytime and you'll learn them naturally

If you exercise and you happen to have a treadmill, put notes on the wall in front of you so you can read as you exercise (walking or jogging)

Similarly, you can record yourself reading your notes and listen to your record while jogging outside or exercising

Read your notes outloud

Pile 3

So here's the studious pile. I'm seeing that you tend to study hard, not study smart. And that's your mistake. You should study smart, not study hard. Stop memorizing and start understanding your lessons more. Stop rewriting your notes over and over until you reach your desired perfection of your notes, the "aesthetic" that you want. Instead, do your best to write well when you're taking notes in class. That way, you won't have to rewrite them at home. When reading your notes, it's best for you to use different colors of highlighters. Also when someone offers you some help in a lesson that you struggle with, accept it, even if you only struggle a little. Lastly, enjoy learning! Don't stress yourself too much about it and overthink you'll fail.

Study techniques:

Don't stay up all night to study and wake up early in the morning to review, especially to recall what you've already studied

Never ever cram and always finish the easiest tasks first

Drink coffee when studying (only if you don't have health issues or you weren't advised that you should avoid coffee)

Keep on rereading your notes and rewrite what you remember, then keep track of what you tend to forget

Make tests for yourself or look for tests online

[erodasfishtacos]

F*cking Sellout - NFL!H Part II

prompt: the morning in the hospital trudges up a lot of good and bad memories.

word count: 3.2k words

warnings: angst, brief mention of nausea/throwing up

author's note:

I upload a piece of writing every 1-2 days.

There are multiple other parts of this up and will be updated this month

I recently started a second tier called The OG Tier where 2

one shots (1-4kish) are posted a week.

There are currently 350 + pieces available to read

Tier I - $3 USD where you get access to main stories, everything except the mini one shots.

Tier II - $5 USD where you get access to every piece of writing!

you can check it out here

first ten to click here can get a free $5 membership for a month!

-> NFL collection <-

Harry is awoken to his phone vibrating in his pocket.

For a moment, he is completely disoriented and doesn’t have a clue where he is.

He had been in a deep sleep, when his eyes crack open and he sees that it’s a hospital bed, the first thought is that he had injured himself during the game and was now getting treatment.

It has happened quite a few times over his career, where the on-site trainers couldn’t mend his injury, and he had to go get evaluated at the hospital but never to where he didn't remember the journey there.

But there’s a heavy warmth on his chest, blinking down, it’s fucking jarring to see his high school sweetheart laying across him like she owns him - like nothing has changed in three long years.

There’s a familiarity, that’s not even that right word because it’s stronger than that, to their bodies because they’d been together for eight years.

They had been each other’s first everything from kiss to heartbreak and those were memories that would never be forgotten.

As he stared down at her, he couldn’t get over how pretty she was.

The bruising on her face was absolutely gnarly but it didn’t do anything to hide what was underneath all of it.

A beauty that he would never get over, and through the eight years, he never got used to being with someone who looked like her.

But more importantly, who was as smart, kind, empathic, and downright funny.

Harry had been on PR dates, actual dates, and slept with a few models.

A lot of it was boredom, most of it was, and he didn’t like who he was when he had these random hookups.

He’d been in a serious relationship up until his senior year of college.

He had never cheated or been unfaithful in anyway which meant going into the NFL was a new experience in so many different ways.

The way he projected up as one of the best football players in the league had people drawn to him like he had some magnetic pull.

It was like that in high school and college, but it was easy to dodge any advances from interested individuals because YN was constantly at his side, they didn’t have time or the privacy with him to even get close enough to flirt.

++

Harry was desperately searching for YN in the group of sweaty, drunk college students in the backyard of the frat.

It was a massive party where the boys had strung up cheap fairy lights in rows, set up cornhole boards, and multiple tables for a beer bong championship (Harry always won).

If YN was clung to Harry’s side like a koala, then it was vice versa.

Teammates had made comments in the past, ‘isn’t annoying that she never leaves your side during the parties? Never have any room to breathe.’

He loved the lack of air, the suffocation, if that meant he was constantly accompanied by her.

Never through all the years of their relationship had he ever wanted distance, he never felt overwhelmed or smothered by her - she had always been his safe person.

But the teammates also didn’t see the flipside of that.

When YN wasn't by his side at parties, he was seeking her out, and saddling up to whatever conversation that she was in if he felt like he could without intruding like a prick of a boyfriend.

They didn’t see that when she had gone off to talk to someone else for too long, Harry would find her with a pout and mumble, “Missed you.”

Despite whom Harry was, the face of the football team, the winner of the Heisman trophy, and getting scouted by NFL teams since he was in high school - he had severe social anxiety.

All the attention was fear-inducing for him, he hid it well for interviews but off-the-field, he hated the large crowds, the random people that wanted to hug and talk to him, and the amount of social interaction that he had to have on the day-to-day.

It was constantly a lot for him to process, YN helped, she was always his safe point that he could come back to when his anxiety started to elevate, and she knew every single time how to make it better.

Harry was starting to get the quickening heart rate, the party was loud, everyone was exceptionally drunk, and it was hot outside - enough that the curls peeking out from under his backwards snapback were starting to wilt onto the nape of his neck.

His management team had pretty much forced him into the frat without choice, stating that it would be absurd for the face of the football team to not have a spot in the most desired fraternity on campus, and crushing his dreams of sharing an off-campus apartment with YN.

She was understanding, supportive but he wasn’t blind to the sacrifices she’s made for their relationship since they were fifteen.

Harry much preferred YN’s quiet, single suite that shared a kitchen with three other individual suites.

All of her suitemates were nice, school-oriented girls who were in their own committed relationships.

YN was never one to be involved in drama, she was always rooting for everyone around her, supportive and kind which made a lot of people flock to her, come to her for advice, a shoulder to cry on.

Harry and YN would curl up on her tiny twin mattress, limbs twisted, and he’d still rather be there than his queen size at the frat.

His anxiety was starting to raise which was a sure sign that he was ready to leave the party if YN was.

He had a huge game in two days, no matter how natural of an athlete he was, he still had these near debilitating nerves before each and everyone of them.

It was a blessing and a curse to be ‘the face of the football team’.

As the captain, the MVP, he got all the kudos, awards, and accolades that others could only dream about getting.

He also had the weight of the team riding on his performance.

It always seemed to fall back on him when they lost a game, a flock of pointed questions at the post-game interview that shifted blame to his performance rather than his teammates, and as the captain, he took responsibility.

The music was pounding, vibrating in his ears, and did he mention it was hot?

It was almost impossible for him to make a clear line towards the backdoor of the house without being bombarded by someone slapping him on the back or wanting to talk about the upcoming game for fifteen minutes.

Where was YN?

She had squeezed his hip as he was talking to a friend, telling him that her best friend, Kai, just texted her that she had arrived at the party after her work shift, and she was going to go find her.

There's a large wrap porch that he had a feeling they were on, nobody conjugated out there except to smoke a cigarette or have a private conversation where they didn’t have to be screaming in each other’s faces to hear what they were saying.

There was a rickety wooden porch swing, chains rusted and has probably been hung there since the nineties that YN liked to sit on, curl up like a cat and lay across Harry’s lap when the weather was cool but not chilled yet, the sun warming her.

And his hunch was right.

When he steps onto the porch through the front door, YN and Kai look over with a knowing expression.

There’s nothing but love and concern in her voice when she says, “Ready to go, baby?”

Harry never wants YN to miss out on opportunities to have fun if she had wanted to stay and that made him a little anxious too - that he was constantly ruining her time because he’d rather leave and be alone with her in the dorm.

“I can wait,” Harry assures her, waving to Kai, “I..just when you are, I wanted to let you know. I’ll be ready.”

“We were just bullshitting. I better go find Jackson before he passes out in someone else's backyard again,” Kai cracks a smile, her and Harry got along well, and Harry enjoyed spending time with her boyfriend, Jackson, who was on the team as well.

Kai disappears inside with a pat to his shoulder, mumbling about how muggy the house felt from all of the bodies in such a small, poorly ventilated space.

“Where are you?” YN asks softly as she stands from the swing, walking right into his arms and letting him bury his face in her hair.

“Six,” Harry responds with a sigh, “The game and all these people. It’s just starting to overwhelm me.”

It was a question YN asked a few times a day, if not more, asking where he was - she was checking in on his level of anxiety.

Then she responded accordingly.

“Let’s get you back to mine, yeah?” YN slips her hand under the back of his shirt, sliding upwards and rubbing his tensed muscles, “Get your anxiety down. Have a good night sleep.”

“My anxiety is already starting to lessen,” Harry replies mulishly as he pushes into her touch, the pressure she was putting on his muscles was heavenly, she knew exactly where to press, “It always does when I’m with you. S’just being away from you.”

“I know, it’s a good thing we’ll never be apart, huh?” YN smiles as she thumbs at his spine, there was so much love in every single touch, every time, and he didn’t realize how much he took it for granted until he was alone in bed, cursing everything in existence when all he wants is that contact again.

++

Harry tries not to disturb YN, she definitely was going to need a lot of rest with her injuries and trying to recover.

He manages to slip his phone from his pocket, sliding it up to his ear with a barely audible whisper, “Hello?”

“Styles, Coach Greene wants you on a private jet in an hour. He wants us to get to Dallas to have a strat meeting before practice starts with you. He really feels like you're the key to getting them through. You’re really the only member on the team that he’s not doubting. I already have the jet set up, send me your address so I can get a driver to pick you up,” Harry’s manager, George tells him, he can hear rustling in the background because George would now have to be on that flight too.

“I -” Harry’s eyes darted down to YN, who was sleeping peacefully on him, and this is the thing he has missed for the past three years.

The thing that he had grieved, still hasn’t completely healed from, and if he had been anywhere close to healing - now that wound was ripped open, raw, and oozing.

Possibly even more painful than the first time.

“I’m not supposed to fly out to Dallas until tomorrow,” Harry tells George with frustration, he had quite literally promised YN that he would be here, and he wanted to be here more than anything else, “I…I have shit planned.”

It wasn’t an option, Harry doesn’t even know why he’s arguing.

He’s under a contractual obligation, he really couldn’t say ‘no’ because his life was assumed to be football twenty-four hours during the season, and this wasn’t something that he could blow-off or turn down.

Coach Greene wasn’t asking.

If he refused, not only would it result in a fine for breach of contract but his coaches would surely have consequences for him - extra training hours, extra workouts, the list is endless.

“Harry,” George sighs, he was most likely rubbing the bridge of his nose under his thick-rimmed glasses, “Greene was pretty upset with some of the linemen’s performance yesterday, I don’t think now is the time to push his limits. You know?”

“I’ll send you the address,” Harry relents before hanging up, he was devastated and he didn’t know how he was going to leave her again, after promising her that he’d stay because that’s the main reason she broke it off in the first place was because of too many broken promises.

++ a few weeks before the breakup ++

Harry lets himself into YN’s dorm room after his late-night practice that the coach had called last minute after a few players had gotten in trouble for drinking off campus.

YN was sitting on her bed, still in a pretty flowing dress, makeup done but there were steraks of her mascara that weres starting to stain her cheeks.

She had her phone to her ear, eyes blinking up at Harry as she sniffles, clears her throat, and rasps croakly, “I’ll call you back later, Kai. Yeah, yeah, I know. Yeah. Bye.”

Harry drops his duffle, frown on his face because seeing her upset was the worst thing that he could imagine, “What happened?”

YN swallows harshly, putting down her phone, and her voice is still soft, calm as it always is, “I…I feel like I do so much for you, Harry. Which I want to do, I love supporting you, your career, anything you need. Lately you…It feels very one-sided recently.”

Harry’s stomach starts to churn, hearing her talk like this was horrible, and the worst part was that he knew he had been slacking.

The journey of getting into the NFL had been extensive, stressful, and all-consuming. 

He couldn’t remember to take a shower somedays which led to a lot of different things falling to the wayside.

The biggest thing was the love of his fucking life.

“Did I forget something?” Harry asks with a dry throat, he already knew the answer.

YN chuckles without smiling, “Why do you act like it’s a surprise? You don’t remember anything anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry’s heart was pounding, rushingi nto his ears like he just ran a play, “I’m so sorry, baby.”

“Can you even remember what tonight was?” YN asks as she smooths out a pleat of her dress, trying to stop tears from falling.

He couldn’t.

Harry feels like the biggest piece of shit when he admits, “No, I don’t. I’m sure if you give me a minute-”

“The Young Photographers of America dinner ceremony, where I was nominated for an award?” YN can’t control the tear that slips down her cheek, she couldn’t even look at him.

Harry remembers now the excitement that she had when she found out that her professors had put her up for the award.

“Nut, I-”

YN waves her arm limply to her desk, “I won.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” Harry feels tears stinging, god, he can’t stop messing up, “I’m so-”

“Just…don’t,” YN shakes her head, voice dull and disconnected, “I don’t want to hear it. If you were proud of me you would have been there to support me like every other nominee who had their partner there. I was alone with an empty seat and a place card with your name on it.”

YN had told him that if he didn’t make it to her final’s art gallery, it wasn’t going to be a good thing for their relationship.

It was the first time she’d really ever had an ultimatum, she never had to before, and she thought it would work.

And Harry forgot.

++

“Mm, time s’it?” YN slurs sleepily, wincing as soon as she tries to sit up, “Ow. My head.”

“Whoa, be careful, nut,” Harry calms, dread seeping into every fiber of his being, “You have a pretty gnarly concussion.”

“It’s really painful,” YN groans as she relaxes again, wriggling her body even close to his, and it hurts.

It fucking hurts because he can’t make things right.

“The lights are going to stay off, blinds closed to help. Try to keep your eyes closed as much as possible for now,” Harry reminds her, he wants to cuddle her but his body is tense because he knows he’s about to seal their fate because he’s choosing football. 

“Do you want to watch something with me?” YN sounds so much like his YN, from three years ago, like she hasn’t changed at all, “I can listen. Despite the concussion, I slept so well. I haven’t slept right since we’ve broken up.”

“I…”

YN knows him better than anyone else.

Even from the first syllable.

Her eyes open, narrowing, and she pushes herself to sit up despite the ache in her skull.

“You promised,” YN tells him, voice stern and hurt, her bottom lip was trembling.

“My coach called -”

“Get out of my room,” YN raises her volume which was so out of character for her, “Now.”

“Can I just exp-”

“I’m…I shouldn’t have given you another fucking chance. I knew better. I just see you and have this stupid idea that you’re still the Harry that I fell in love with,” YN pushes herself even further away until they’re not touching, “I can’t believe I- Just leave.”

Harry has never felt more desperate in his life, “Please, it’s my contra-”

“I don’t need excuses. I shouldn’t have put your name on the list, I should have trusted you,” YN turns until her feet are off the bed, hunched over, and retching like she’s going to be sick, “Go get the nurse and leave. Please. My concussion-”

“Okay,” Harry’s response is shaky as he wants to touch her, help her, “I love you.”

He shouldn’t have said it.

But it had to let her know.

“You sure don’t know how to show it,” YN manages through another wave of nausea, “You’re a fucking sellout.”

++

[angelsleepinggurl]

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧’ 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞, 𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐞.

cw: squirting, p in v, teacher kink, slapping.

.⋅˚₊‧ 🜲 ‧₊˚ ⋅.⋅˚₊‧ 🜲 ‧₊˚ ⋅.⋅˚₊‧ 🜲 ‧₊˚ ⋅.⋅˚₊‧ 🜲 ‧₊˚ ⋅.⋅˚₊‧ 🜲 ‧₊˚

another day rolls by and you’re in a chemistry lesson, the material seeming unable to permeate your brain. all this talk about acids and types of reactions is not doing it for you this wednesday afternoon. yet you still try to get notes down from the lesson, wanting to consolidate your knowledge. the sky is settling into a mellow blue to match the mellow hue in the students’ hearts. you’re just looking forward to this day being over.

a soft thud of a paper lands on your desk. you blink and glance up. it’s your teacher, giving you that smile that’s part-pity, part-apology. group project time. from the moment you could think, you’ve hated group projects. having to slow your roll so you’re on board with the rest. having to stay quiet so they don’t complain that you’re too bossy. having to let people research things incorrectly, therefore reducing the validity of your assignment and lowering your score. you think it’s a stupid thing to have to go through. it would be much more effective if you just did it on your own.

in some classes you get lucky and the teachers let you work on your own, in other cases, no students partner up with you and you’re left as the odd one out.

what? it’s not pathetic. you chose this.

acid-base reactions in everyday life.

seems simple enough. you begin to get ready to put your head down and start your research, until “need someone on your team?” a cheery voice says to you from above. looking up from your papers you see the owl-like boy, with his frosted tips, who is smiling so widely. then you look behind him and notice oikawa and kuroo, the two shitheads who are also grinning.

a simple ‘no’ is all you say, before turning your attention back to the homework sheet which is explaining the assignment.

“please?” oikawa says, the three of them inch towards you, it’s almost scary.

“no. go away.” you say again, rejecting their advances. they sure are persistent.

“go away? did you hear that?” oikawa says shocked. you don’t even have to look to guess that he’s dramatically placing his hand on his chest and looking offended. you just shift your body towards the wall and away from them.

“I totally just heard that.” kuroo responds.

bokuto chimes in too, adding to their nonsense.“that is no way to talk to someone.”

“ugh. what do you want from me?” you finally say, turning back to look at them but visibly annoyed. most classmates would have left you alone by now. but not these ones.

“we want to be in your group.” bokuto states, his hands on his hips, highlighting his physique underneath his shirt.

“what?” you ask, “wouldn’t you say you would want me to join your group? since you’re actually a group?” they collectively appear slightly defeated at your statement.

“exactly. we need someone smart like you so we can understand the content.” bokuto says, justifying his previous statement.

you chuckle, looking at your paper again, “i am not falling for that. you just want me in your group so i do all your work for you, an that’s not happening.”

“isn’t that what you were going to do anyway?” oikawa asks.

“i was but, it’s different if i was only doing the work for myself to begin with. i am not your slave. our agreement didn’t say i had to do your homework too.”

“careful how you speak missy.” kuroo says, and you bite your tongue. your teacher is looking at you, maybe in hope. maybe thinking to herself, ‘finally this girl is able to get people she will tolerate in her group’- and though you don’t really care to let her down like that, a voice in the back of your head reminds you that the teacher writes your references for you. if they all collectively write about how antisocial you are that is bound to leave the colleges with bad tastes in their mouths. so you smile. you swallow it all down—the bad feeling you’re getting from this, the voice in your head screaming ‘NO! NO!’—and reluctantly allow them.

“you can join my group if you’d like.”

one point for their team.“that’s great. isn’t that great guys?” oikawa says.

“so great.” kuroo responds. they all pull out chairs and sit around you, prepared for your first instruction, yet all you can think is please leave me alone.

flipping the sheet, you begin to create a list of things for everyone to do. these morons would not be able to sort it out for the life of them. although your actions are pointless and the risk is far greater than the reward, you try anyway. “whatch’a doing?” bokuto asks in your ear, his body pressed up against you, dangerously close, as he invades your personal space. that alone is enough for you to snap, but you take a second to push down your emotions again and keep calm.

“making a list.”

“why?”

“so you know what to do.”

“can’t you just tell us?”

you have to stop yourself from strangling him and ripping his head off. he’s too close so the idea is tempting.

“if i just tell you, someone may forget, then it’s up to me to fix the missing work like the night before.”

“woah. why is the finish time in 1 week and not 2?” he exclaims, placing a finger on your estimated finish date. this news causes the two boys to perk up.

“because if i don’t keep you guys on a schedule, all hell will break lose. that is not happening. not under my watch. hey-” your planning sheet gets snatched by kuroo, and both him and oikawa inspect it from the other side of the table.

“you cannot expect us to do all this per day.” kuroo says, your face heats up from embarrassment, “there’s no need. just take it slow like everyone else.” he pushes his sheets towards you and it nearly flies off the table, before placing his hands lazily behind his head.

“we aren’t like everyone else. that’s why i’m me and they’re them.” you explain, avoiding eye contact.

“okay, but we’re not you-” oikawa starts but you interrupt him.

“my group. my rules. you said you wanted to join my group after all didn’t you?”

silence. that’s what i thought.

“okay great, now all of you hold unto your piece of paper, if you lose it i will execute you. do not try me.” you explain, cutting of the pieces of paper with a ruler, then distributing it.

“damn girl. can’t we just have a little bit of fun?” oikawa asks, crossing his arms on the desk and laying his head on them.

“school is not fun.” you say blatantly. that’s an obvious fact.

“no way. from the way you treat it, i thought that you threatening boys to do their work in a week gave you a rush.” kuroo jokes. this causes the other boys to chime in as well.

“yeah i thought you were all like, ‘can’t wait to go to my next class.’ “

“waking up all happy and shit before school.” bokuto laughs, slapping his hand on the table loudly. the loud sound draws the teacher’s attention towards your desk and you quickly give her a reassuring smile.

“believe it or not, i am a normal person. i’m just taking school seriously because i wan’t to have a life when i grow up. you know, outside of forcing girls to do whatever they want for you.”

the laughter from before completely dies down. there isn’t a hint of giggling in the air. there’s been a shift in mood.

“so do you like have a teacher kink? do they get you all hot and flustered?” a shift in mood that bokuto does not pick up on. the question alone has your eyes widening ever so slightly. you’re scared someone in your class has heard that. you kick bokuto and keep your head down, staring at the piece of paper in front of you.

“we cannot be talking about this right now and no. please shut up.”

“Hmm, fuck yea.” you sigh, bokuto’s hand placed firmly on the small of your back as he pounds you down into the desk table.

okay, it’s true. you hate to admit it, but you do have a teacher kink. it’s scary how well he guessed that especially after he got everything else wrong. they really do get you all hot and flustered, which is a shameful thing to say but it’s true. “there’s a good girl, do you wanna answer my next question now?” he asks, lifting your head off the desk with one hand, admiring your fucked dumb face. it’s after school hours and the student council has just finished. bokuto made it crucial to be right on time, swooping right through the doors as soon as you opened them.

“what do you want?��� you spit, irritated that you had to end off your day seeing one of those useless boys.

“woah can i not come and meet my project partner and ask her for help on the tasks she assigned me?” he asked innocently, leaning against the door with one arm as the rest of the council filed out of the room.

with an annoyed huff you agree, “fine, but make it quick.” and that’s how it started, with him enquiring about the project, sitting on your office chair watching with wide eyes, and you leaning against the edge of the table. from him sliding his hands up your thigh, the infamous distraction point, and getting you flustered, to getting you to lay on the table, flipping your skirt over as well.

the oak table beneath helps to cool you down as your body heats up from this exertion. “now tell me something else that we learnt this chemistry lesson.” he instructed, his large hand smoothing over the flesh of your ass, soothing it from his previous slaps. you would answer his question, easily, but it’s getting hard to focus when he seems to be reaching deeper than before because your leg is propped up on the table.

“um,” you squeak, clawing at the table as though that would help you gain mental clarity. “there are… um.. fuck. there are acids and metal reactions too.” you’re barely able to get that sentence out and white head decides that it’s not enough.

“you’re my prime student, i’m sure you can do better than that.” he says smoothly. you’re ticked off that he thinks and says things so smoothly without it having to require 80% of your brain power to generate a sentence. “can you do better than that?” he asks, giving your ass a firm squeeze.

“mhfuck. yes.”

“yes, who?”

“yes sir. um when acids and metals react they- they can make umm, they make-” your head drops down, hot forehead touching the cool table. “i’m close. i’m close.” you respond breathlessly.

“that’s not the answer.” he laughs, finding your state amusing. “even i know that.” dramatically slowing down his thrusts and landing a harsh slap on your ass. you feel your eyes glossing over with tears, overwhelmed by sensations.

“no don’t slow down again. don’t stop.” you cry, your cheek staining with your tears.

“answer my question then, what do they make when they react?”

“they make salt and hydrogen gas!”

he takes a brief moment to think,“shii, i don’t know the answer to that one either so imma give it to you.” you mentally scream in frustration at his response, you went through all that mental fatigue only for him to not know.

“you wanna come baby girl?” he asks, sliding his hand up to the side of your hip.

“yes, fuck yes, please.”

“you really have got a foul mouth. i better train that habit out of you next time. but i guess you deserve this.” his thrusts grow sloppier as he gets close too. sound of the table rocking and scraping the floor, fill up the room. you’re quivering and shuddering as he repeatedly hits your g-spot. you feel like you’re in a different dimension, and with the final thrust, his tip brushes against your cervix. you feel like you’re in heaven.

“yes, fuck, oh god, yes right there!” you exclaim, your body surging with pleasure. “oh my gosh, didjust pee?”

“no, but you did squirt though,” he replies, amused, parts of his sports jersey soaked,a wide smirk on his face.

⋅˚₊‧ 🜲 ‧₊˚ ⋅.⋅˚₊‧ 🜲 ‧₊˚ ⋅.⋅˚₊‧ 🜲 ‧₊˚ ⋅.⋅˚₊‧ 🜲 ‧₊˚ ⋅.⋅˚₊‧ 🜲 ‧₊˚

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