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pitlanepeach · 2 months ago

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From Eden | Chapter Eight pt.1 (8/8)

Oscar Piastri x Francesca Gold (OFC)

Summary — Francesca Gold is an introvert with a quiet life and a Youtube channel where she talks about books, drinks too much tea, and rarely ever shows her face. She prefers it that way - tucked into her London flat with her cat, Henry, and safely hidden behind a screen.

Oscar Piastri is a Formula 1 driver. Fast-paced, high-stakes, always on the move. He hasn't read a book in years, but he's watched every single one of Francesca's videos. Just for the sound of her voice.

Following her on Instagram was a moment of weakness. He didn't think she'd notice.

She did.

Chapter Warnings — Mentions of agoraphobia + social anxiety. Panic attack. Time jumps (made very easy to understand). A few different POV’s. Sexual content.

Notes — I don’t think you guys understand how much this chapter means to me. I hope you love it. Part 2, the final part of the series, will be posted tomorrow 🧡

JANUARY, 2024 (The London flat)

Mark Webber didn’t know what to make of Oscar’s infatuation with this woman — girl, really, in every sense of the word. She was the same age as Oscar, barely out of uni, soft-faced and even softer-tongued. She seemed to live in oversized hoodies and ridiculous socks with cats or frogs or whatever else stitched into the ankles — and he knew that not from meeting her, but because he’d sat down and watched a handful of her YouTube videos for research purposes after Oscar had finally decided to cough up her name.

Not that he was nosy. He was just… protective. Curious. A little baffled.

To Mark, Oscar was still a goddamned kid himself. A fast one, a focused one, but still a kid. A kid who was, by all accounts, completely and hopelessly gone over this girl — Francesca Gold — who made videos about books for a living, apparently hadn’t stepped outside much beyond supermarket runs in years, and was nothing like the glamour models Mark had hung around when he was Oscar’s age. Back when he was young, dumb, and fucking stupid.

And it wasn’t that Mark didn’t like her. He just didn’t get it. Didn’t understand how a boy so reserved, so composed, so relentlessly methodical, could let himself fall so completely for a girl he met online. A girl with issues — a long list of them.

He didn’t mean to sound like a jerk, but it was the truth, plain and simple.

He’d spoken to Nicole about her. Had to sit there and listen to Oscar’s mum preen about the girl who’d apparently stolen her heart as easily as she’d stolen her son’s. But still — Mark couldn’t make up his mind. Couldn’t quite decide whether Francesca becoming such a big part of Oscar’s world was going to ground him or distract him. Whether she was going to steady his focus, or derail it entirely.

But then he met her.

And suddenly, Mark got it. Not all of it — he wasn’t sure anyone could fully understand whatever it was that was happening between them. Cosmic energy or some shit like that. But he understood enough.

He saw the way she looked at Oscar, like he’d hung the stars just for her. Like she still couldn’t quite believe he was real. And more than that, he saw the way Oscar looked at her — so open, so unguarded, like she was the one person in the world he didn’t have to calculate, didn’t have anything to prove.

It was the small things. The way her hand drifted toward his without meaning to. The way Oscar instinctively shifted to stand between her and everyone else in the room, or softened his voice just slightly when speaking to her. There was a rhythm to them, a language of their own that didn’t need translating.

Yeah. Mark understood.

Why this girl. Why now. Why it mattered.

She was the anchor. Oscar was the ship. And the rest of the world… the circuits, the chaos, the pressure… that was their sea.

Mark had seen it happen both ways; the drivers who got sharper, stronger, because they had someone to come home to — and the ones who started lifting their foot off the throttle, even just slightly. The ones who got too careful, and could never take that hesitation back.

He’d worried, for a brief stint, that Oscar might slip into that second category. He was young, after all. Still learning. Still finding his edge. And Mark had heard the old quote, Fernando’s words — "I knew he would hit the brakes because he has a wife and two kids at home."

Francesca looked like the kind of girl you’d slow down for. The kind you’d protect. The kind who might make a boy start second-guessing the risks.

But that wasn’t what happened.

If anything, Oscar just kept getting better. Smarter. More certain. Mark could see it in the latter half of the 2023 season — the way he handled the pressure, how his consistency grew race after race.

He also knew that his protégé had picked up a new post-race routine — a FaceTime call to a pink-cheeked girl curled under a blanket, usually wearing some kind of McLaren merch.

It wasn’t about rushing through the race debrief or forcing himself to ensure the media frenzy anymore. It was about checking in with her, first and foremost. And Mark was sure that he wasn’t the only one to notice the shift in Oscar’s demeanour.

He wasn’t just driving for himself anymore. He was driving for her, too. And somehow, that made him faster. More focused. Unstoppable.

Mark wasn’t sure he’d ever seen anything quite like it.

Francesca was quiet, sure — gentle, even — but there was steel beneath the softness. A resilience you only earned from knowing exactly how to be alone, and still choosing to love someone without limit.

She steadied him. Softened his edges in all the right places. Gave him room to breathe when everything else was telling him to hold it in. She didn’t care about lap times or telemetry or trophies — she cared about him.

Mark could see it already, clear as day. When the day came that Oscar would win his first world championship — and he would, because talent like that didn’t come around often — Francesca would be there. Front row, hand over her heart, eyes locked on him, as if the whole world had melted away.

"—Mark, are you okay?"

It was her, her soft, sweet-as-sugar voice, that pulled him out of his thoughts, heavy and complex and swirling in the background. She was sitting across the table from him, in her little flat. It was the kind of place that was small but cosy, just enough room for the three of them, with the soft hum of London outside.

Oscar was frowning at him, a picture of concern mixed with something else — an unspoken warning, the kind only someone like him could give. His eyes said it all; ‘If you've got something to say, say it to me later. And leave her out of it.’

Mark blinked, dragged himself back into the present, and glanced over at her. Her face was soft, attentive, and full of warmth, a slight quirk of concern pulling at the corners of her mouth. He shifted in his seat, realising he'd been lost in his thoughts a little too long.

“Do you need some more water?” She asked.

Mark cleared his throat, grabbed his fork, and forced a smile, nodding toward her. "I’m just fine, darlin’. Great lasagna. You make it?"

Her cheeks flushed pink. “No. Tesco finest,” she told him, a sheepish smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Oscar, on the other hand, looked so genuinely fucking proud, it almost made Mark laugh. He leaned in slightly, as if he were sharing some monumental achievement. “She cooked it perfectly, though. Remembered to set the alarm on the oven, too.”

Mark fought to keep a straight face, watching the way Oscar beamed with that proud, goofy smile. He pressed his lips together tightly, trying to hold it in, but the corners of his mouth twitched despite himself.

—

JANUARY CONT. (FIA Gala)

Francesca sat in her seat, front-row, her heart thudding in her chest as she watched Oscar walk to the stage.

Oscar, in his sharp suit, looked every bit the part of a rising star. But it was more than just his appearance. There was something in the way he held himself, in the way he walked onto that stage with such ease and confidence, that made her heart swell with pride.

She shifted in her seat, her eyes fixed on him, and as he stood there, accepting not his first, but his second FIA Rookie of the Year award, she couldn’t help but smile. This is where you belong, Osc, she thought, watching his genuine, humble expression as he thanked everyone — from his team to his family, to the fans who’d supported him. She’d always known that he was made for this, but seeing him in this moment, surrounded by all the best in the world, it hit her like a wave.

Oscar’s voice echoed through the room as he wrapped up his speech, a brief but heartfelt reference to the people who had supported him. His eyes flickered toward her in the crowd, and for a split second, she felt the world narrow down to just the two of them. His gaze was soft, appreciative — not a loud declaration, but a subtle acknowledgment.

Nine months together, and yet, in that moment, it felt like a lifetime.

The room erupted in applause, but all she could hear was the steady beat of her heart.

Zac’s hand landed on her shoulder with a tight squeeze. She glanced at him, and he gestured to his face, going for subtlety but failing miserably. She choked on a wet laugh, quickly reaching up to wipe her face, brushing the tears away.

“He’s amazing,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Zac nodded, a proud smile tugging at his lips. “One of the best in the world. That’s why he’s ours.”

—

FEBRUARY, 2024 (Bahrain Pre-Season Testing)

Bahrain was as intimidating as it was dazzling. The heat of the desert sun pressed into every inch of her skin, the air thick and heavy, almost oppressive. Even with the McLaren orange noise-cancelling headphones on, engraved with her initials, she could still hear the faint roar of the cars in the distance, their engines a constant hum in the background. The pit lane buzzed with energy, mechanics and engineers moving with precision.

Oscar had already suited up, ready for his first proper day of testing. So, naturally, she’d been left with an entourage of well-meaning people, all given one strict instruction by her boyfriend. ‘Watch her. If she needs to go inside, take her and leave her be.’

Lando, she quickly learned, had taken Oscar’s instructions a little too seriously. He buzzed around her, checking in on her every few minutes, offering to bring her water, asking if she was comfortable, if she was too hot, if she wanted to be moved into the shade. He wasn’t being overbearing, but there was something about the way he did it — with his usual cocky smile and relaxed demeanour — that made her feel like a child being cosseted.

"I know Oscar's usually here to make sure you're alright, but... well, he's kinda busy, so if you need anything, just let me know," Lando said, with that familiar boyish grin, like he was trying to make light of the situation, but his concern was still there, sincere beneath the surface.

"I'll be fine," Francesca assured him, trying to ignore the fluttering of butterflies in her stomach as she glanced over at the garage. She wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to all this. The enormity of it all. It was everything she had spent so long avoiding — the crowds, the noise, the constant pressure. But today was different. She was here for Oscar. She was trying.

Her anxiety curled up like a tight knot in her stomach. She adjusted the McLaren cap on her head and squared her shoulders — she couldn’t feed the fear, couldn’t give it a voice.

Satisfied that she wasn’t on the verge of a breakdown, Lando nodded and gave her a thumbs-up before buzzing off to check on something else. But she wasn’t left alone for long. Zac was next.

“Everything alright?” he asked, settling down beside her with a warm smile. He could tell. She could tell. Even without saying much, they both understood. The subtle shifts in her expression, the way her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her dress, the way she kept glancing at the track as if it might swallow her whole.

“I’m fine,” Francesca said again, her voice more confident this time. She was trying to settle herself. She really was.

Zac’s approach was different.

“Come on,” The CEO said with a grin, catching her by the elbow and giving her a gentle but insistent tug. “Sitting on your own will only make it worse. We’re going to the pit wall. I need some company. We’ll have fun.”

Fun? Francesca thought, but didn’t say it aloud. She had no idea how fun the pit wall could be, but seeing the sheer enthusiasm on Zac’s face made it hard to argue. Besides, she could already tell that Zac wasn’t exactly the type to take no for an answer. So, with a deep breath, she let him lead her toward the chaos, her heart thudding a little faster with each step.

When they reached the pit wall, the noise hit her first — a constant hum of car engines, mechanics shouting instructions, and the unrelenting buzz of activity. It was overwhelming, but Zac seemed completely in his element, bouncing from one engineer to the next with a cheery shout and a quick word of encouragement.

Francesca felt a little like a fish out of water, but as Zac guided her to a metal stool next to him, she couldn’t help but smile at how genuinely excited he was. He wasn’t just working — he was living for this. His energy was infectious in the best way, and though she was hesitant, there was something comforting about being wrapped in the chaos of the pit wall. At least here, she was involved. Here, she was part of something bigger.

She perched on the stool nervously, glancing at the screens, trying to catch a glimpse of what was happening. There was so much to take in — numbers flying, technical data flashing in rapid succession. It was a different world, one she hadn’t expected to ever have to understand, but she was willing to try.

Zac glanced at her and gave her a thumbs-up. “Don’t worry,” he said with a wink. “We’re just here to make sure our boys can win big this year. You can handle that, right?”

She smiled faintly, her nerves easing just a little. It felt good to be included, to be here, watching something she knew mattered to Oscar, even if she didn’t fully understand all of it. Every now and then, Tom, Oscar’s engineer, would glance over and offer a quick nod, muttering something into his headset, before turning back to his work. It was all so fast, so technical, but there was something undeniably fascinating about it.

Just as she started to zone out, finally feeling relaxed in her position, her phone buzzed.

—

iMessage — Katie & Francesca

Katie

They're talking about you on Sky Sports right now.

Don’t freak out.

—

Her eyes widened in surprise. She glanced up at the smaller screens that showed a myriad of coverage. Sure enough, there she was. It was just a quick zoom-in on the pitwall, but she was there, on the screen.

Francesca quickly swiped back to the text, her fingers trembling slightly as she typed out a reply.

—

iMessage — Katie & Francesca

Francesca

oh good god

what are they saying??

—

They’d quietly confirmed their relationship, with their soft launches and public appearances together. The whole thing was unspoken but undeniable. Still… her being here, in Bahrain, would make it clear to everyone that this wasn’t just something casual between her and Oscar. It was real. Serious.

She started fiddling with her promise ring.

Zac noticed her distraction, his gaze catching hers with that sharp, cheery awareness he always had. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping a little in that familiar, laid-back tone. “What’s going on? You okay?”

Francesca blinked, forcing a smile to cover up the flutter in her chest. “Yeah, just a message from Katie, my—uh, my manager. Best friend. She said they’re talking about me on Sky.”

Zac’s laugh rumbled through the air, so deep and warm. “You wanna give ‘em a wave? Give ‘em something to really talk about?” He nudged her gently, a mischievous grin lighting up his face. “That’d really cement you as one of us.”

Francesca blinked, unsure if he was serious. But before she could ask, Zac had already turned, craning his neck to spot the Sky camera crew across the pit. He positioned himself behind her with casual ease, like a silent protector, half-guarding her from the attention she hadn’t been prepared for.

Her heart gave a funny little jolt, a mix of surprise and warmth, something about the whole gesture feeling a lot like a welcome.

—

iMessage — Katie & Francesca

Katie

They’re being nice! Crofty knows who you are from F1 social media

He called you ‘Oscar Piastri’s possible partner’

Aw did Zac just hide you

I started cheering like an actual fangirl when you came on my screen btw

I showed Henry. He thinks his mum is famous now.

Francesca

if they ever try to approach me in the paddock for an interview i will curl up in a ball on the ground right in front of them. like a tortoise.

Katie

LMAO

Btw not to be all managery right now but this is going to do amazing things for your presale numbers

Crofty mentioned that you’re releasing your debut novel soon. Apparently one of his daughters is obsessed with you. THATS SO CUTE??????

Francesca

i’ll dm him later and have a signed copy sorted out for her

also…. can we talk abt how fucking good my bf looks today?????

he’s so yummy

katie answer me.

Katie

Sry too busy staring at Max Verstappen to care.

Francesca

FFS

—

MARCH, 2024 (Youtube Transcript)

Soft orchestral music plays underneath as the video opens to an aerial scene of Monaco with cursive text overlaying the video — Apartment Hunting in Monaco.

[Camera Video | Oscar’s POV]

The scene switches with a soft transition. The sunlight flares softly across the lens as it focuses in on Francesca. She’s standing on a cobbled balcony overlooking the port, framed by bougainvillea, the sea glittering behind her.

She’s wearing a white cotton sundress — ankle-length, delicate, moving gently with the breeze. The sleeves fall just off her shoulders, catching the breeze. Her cheeks are dusted with pink, both from the heat and something else — amusement, shyness, or maybe something in between.

She glances at the camera, lips tugging into a small, crooked smile, eyes dancing with quiet amusement. Then she speaks — soft, a little breathless, laughter curling at the edges of her words. “What? Do I have something on my face? I— Are you filming me?”

Behind the camera comes a low, muffled chuckle. Oscar. “Just a little sunburn.”

Francesca rolls her eyes, head tilting back so she can look up at him — not at the lens, but at the boy behind it. The smile she gives him then is different. Not for show. Not for the camera. The kind that lights up her whole face, eyes soft and full of something quiet and warm.

A breeze lifts her hair, brushing it across her cheek. She tucks it behind her ear absentmindedly, still smiling.

Then she notices the camera is still on.

Her eyes narrow, a mock glare directed right at him, and before he can say anything else, she lunges forward with a sharp laugh, hand outstretched until her palm covers the lens in a blur of movement. “You’re so annoying — give me that!”

The screen goes black mid-laugh.

[Digital Camera Footage | Lando’s POV]

The screen fades from black into the amber glow of evening — the clink of cutlery, low murmurs of French and Italian mingling with the sound of soft jazz in the background.

They’re seated at a small, tucked-away table in a dimly lit restaurant, all warm wood and wine bottles stacked along the back wall. The candle between them flickers gently, casting golden light across Francesca’s face as she leans in over her plate, fork lazily twirling pasta she’s been too busy talking to finish.

Oscar’s elbow is on the table, chin in his hand, just watching her. Half a glass of red in front of him, untouched. There’s something so still in the way he looks at her — like he doesn’t want to miss a second. The world outside might be glittering yachts and flashing cameras, but here, it’s just them.

Francesca laughs at something he says — soft and breathy, a little head tilt, like she can’t help it — and then glances away, as if embarrassed by how openly she’s smiling. She reaches for her wine glass and sips, eyes flicking back to him across the rim.

She’s dressed simply — hair tucked back in a loose twist, silver hoops in her ears, that same sunburn still lingering across her cheeks and nose. Oscar’s wearing a white button-up, sleeves pushed to his elbows, a bit rumpled from the day.

There’s a kind of quiet intimacy that hums between them. No show. No performance. Just two people completely wrapped up in each other, in the moment.

The camera lingers for just a beat longer before fading to black again — a low, amused laugh from Lando behind the camera the last sound before the scene shifts.

[Camera Video | Francesca’s POV]

The camera shakes slightly as Francesca adjusts the focus, the bright hum of late-morning Monaco buzzing faintly through the open balcony doors. She pans slowly around the room — white walls, pale stone floors, and a little too much echo for her liking — before swinging toward the galley kitchen where Oscar is pretending to know what he’s doing as he ‘tests the water pressure’.

“Do you like it?” she asks from behind the camera, voice soft, amused.

He turns to glance at her, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. “It’s fine. Kind of… plain?”

Francesca giggles under her breath and shifts the camera to catch the office space. More like a glorified closet with a window. She zooms in on Oscar as he steps into the tiny room, ducking slightly even though he doesn’t need to.

The leasing agent begins rattling off details, gesturing enthusiastically, “...great for a desk setup, maybe a bookshelf or two—”

Oscar turns to the camera — to her — and raises his eyebrows like he’s already unimpressed. “This is meant to be the office?”

“You could fit a desk,” the agent offers, a little defensively now.

Oscar laughs under his breath, shaking his head. “She needs more space than this. There’s, like, twenty boxes of books at home. Minimum.”

Francesca snorts behind the camera. “Oscar.”

“What?” He asks. “You do. You run a library out of your office, ‘Cesca.”

“You’re making it sound much more dramatic than it is.” She argues, softly.

The leasing agent, smiling tightly now, gestures toward her tablet. “We could explore a two-bedroom? Something with more natural light?”

Oscar doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah, let’s do that. She writes, too. She’ll need the space.”

The camera tilts slightly as Francesca lowers it a little, her other hand coming up to brush a curl out of her face. “You know I could probably work in a cupboard if I had to, right?”

Oscar throws a look over his shoulder. “Sure. But why should you?”

The moment hangs there for a beat — quiet and sure and full of that quiet certainty she still hasn’t gotten used to. She zooms in just a touch more, catches the way he bites down on the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling too hard.

“You’re sweet,” she murmurs, more to herself than the video.

[Phone Video – Shot from Passenger Seat | Francesca’s POV]

The camera opens on the curve of Oscar’s jaw, sunlight flickering across his sunglasses as he drives. The gentle hum of the engine blends with the faint background of French radio and open windows. Francesca turns the camera slowly, catching the coastline flashing past — the glittering sea to their right, a blur of palms and yachts bobbing like toys in the harbour.

Then it pans back to Oscar, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on her thigh.

Francesca’s voice, soft with a teasing lilt, “Tell the people where we’re going, Oscar.”

He doesn’t glance at the camera, but the corner of his mouth lifts. “To meet Monaco royalty.”

She snorts. “Stop it.”

“They bite if you’re not respectful,” he says, deadpan.

The video wobbles slightly as she laughs. “For context, we’re going to meet Max Verstappen’s cats. And also to talk about cat-sitting logistics in Monaco. Because, apparently, Max has very strong opinions on who looks after his cats during race weekends.”

Oscar shrugs, casual as ever. “It’ll be good to have a list of reliable sitters. These are the most high-maintenance cats in Europe. If they approve of someone, Henry’s gonna be in good hands.”

Francesca turns the phone camera to herself, her expression playful. “I might become the communal cat-sitter. If I’m at home anyway, might as well take care of them all. Could be fun. I’d have company — and not just the passive-aggressive kind Henry provides.”

Oscar lets out a quiet laugh, eyes still on the road. “You say that now. Wait ‘til you’re negotiating breakfast with Verstappen’s cats at 6 a.m.”

She grins into the camera. “Honestly? Sounds like a dream.”

[Phone Video | Oscar’s POV]

The phone camera opens shaky and low, Oscar’s voice muttering something inaudible as the view swings toward the living room floor.

Francesca is lying flat on her back on Max Verstappen’s living room rug, her baby-pink blouse rumpled, her laugh bright and breathless. Jimmy is curled against her ribs, his eyes half-lidded in bliss, while Sassy perches on her stomach, gently kneading her with her paws.

“Oh no. I think I love you,” she whispers, scratching behind his ear.

Oscar chuckles behind the camera. “Don’t get any ideas.”

Francesca doesn’t look up, just grins. “Henry would love them. They’re so soft, Osc. Feel this one’s tail—oh my god—”

Oscar zooms in suddenly, the lens focusing past her to where Max stands near the kitchen island, arms crossed, a drink in hand, his head tilted slightly.

Max is staring at Francesca like she’s just hacked some encrypted system he’s never managed to break — his expression caught somewhere between confusion and awe. A man quietly trying to calculate how the hell she’s managed to charm his high-brow cats in less than five minutes.

The camera lingers a beat too long on Max’s face before Oscar snorts and turns it back to Francesca, buried under an avalanche of cat affection.

[Camera Video | Francesca’s POV]

Francesca stood behind the camera, positioning it at the perfect angle to capture the wide expanse of the apartment. She panned the lens over the open space, the light streaming in from the tall windows, casting a warm glow across the sleek, modern furniture. Everything looked pristine.

Oscar was standing by the window, his hands in his pockets as he looked out at the view — the sprawling city of Monaco, the rooftops, and beyond.

Francesca adjusted the camera, her voice barely a whisper, but laced with that teasing tone that always seemed to slip out when she was around him. “So… what do you think?” she asked, her eyes shifting between the view and the camera.

Oscar, still gazing out the window, raised an eyebrow at her question. Without turning to look at her, he said, “It’s nice. Bigger than the last one.”

“Bigger is good, right?” Francesca asked, her gaze flicking to him through the lens. She took a step closer, bringing the camera angle in, trying to catch the look on his face as he processed the apartment.

Oscar glanced at her, then back at the leasing agent, who was mid-sentence about granite countertops or built-in smart lighting or something equally forgettable.

“So, no balcony at all?” Oscar cut in, polite but firm.

The agent blinked. “Correct. But the views are—”

“She needs to be able to see the water,” Oscar said simply, like it was obvious. “If she doesn’t feel like leaving the apartment one day, she should still get that.”

Francesca’s eyes flicked to him, caught somewhere between surprise and a quiet kind of awe. Her thumb hovered over the camera’s screen as she lowered it slightly, distracted by the weight of his words. The camera now aimed at her legs, her thumb still frozen mid-air.

The agent, sensing the shift in energy, shifted awkwardly, glancing between them. “Of course. There are a few others on the list. Some with terraces—”

Oscar didn’t miss a beat. He turned, already heading toward the door. “Let’s go see those.”

Francesca stood there for a moment longer, the camera still in her hands, capturing her legs, the apartment, then she laughed. Quiet, almost muted, but it was there. And it was fond.

[Camera Video | Francesca’s POV]

The lighting was soft and warm as sunlight streamed through the coved windows of the third apartment. The space felt intimate, calm. The floors gleamed, polished wood catching the light in a way that made the entire room glow.

Francesca held the camera in front of her, carefully framing each shot as she moved through the space, making sure to capture everything in just the right light. Every angle was deliberate, every shot chosen with care. She wanted the footage to feel personal, but she also made sure not to reveal too much. This apartment felt like theirs, and she wasn’t ready to let anyone else in on that just yet.

She zoomed in on a patch of sunlight spilling onto the floor, its warmth casting a gentle glow.

Her voice, soft and reflective, came through the lens. “Perfect for my Henry.”

She kept the camera focused on the sunlight for a moment, letting the warmth of the scene settle in. A faint smile tugged at her lips, but she lowered the camera quickly, as if to shield the moment from prying eyes.

She glanced over her shoulder. Oscar was stood on the balcony with the leasing agent. He had his hands on his hips, but there was a relaxed ease to his posture. He looked at peace.

Francesca’s gaze softened as she took a deep breath, the quiet contentment filling her. This was it. They had found it.

This place, this spot, felt right. The perfect balance of everything they needed — and nothing anyone would ever guess. She’d made sure of that. The view, the sunlight, the sense of space, and quiet privacy.

Everything was coming together.

She turned off the camera.

[Phone Video | Oscar’s POV]

Fading in from black, the segment opens with Francesca sitting in a racing sim, her hands gripping the wheel with white knuckles.

Behind the camera, Oscar’s breath hitched every time Francesca’s focus wavered and the car careened off the track. Lando’s apartment was filled with the muffled sound of tires screeching as she slammed into yet another corner.

"Wait, hold on!" Francesca’s voice cracked with frustration as she frantically tried to correct the car’s trajectory. “This thing is rigged!” she yelled at Lando, who was pacing beside her, visibly stressed.

Lando’s voice was strained as he pointed at the screen. “You need to brake, Francesca, brake before the turn!”

Francesca’s brows furrowed in confusion. “I am braking!” She mashed the brake pedal harder, only for the car to spin out of control again, slamming into the guardrail.

Oscar could barely breathe for the sheer hilarity of it. The camera was shaking with the force of his laughter “You’re supposed to brake before the turn, babe,” he said between gasps, his voice nearly breaking as he fought to maintain some semblance of composure.

Francesca shot him a glare over her shoulder. “It’s not as easy as it looks! This thing is impossible! How do you guys do this?!” she huffed, slamming her hands on the wheel. “I’m literally just turning left and right and nothing works!”

Lando, face flushed with the pressure of trying to help, dropped his face into his hand. “I’m trying, okay? Just… brake before the turn, Francesca! It’s like this with every sim! You need to focus!”

She threw her hands up, exasperated. “I am focusing! How do you focus when every turn makes you feel like you’re about to flip off a cliff?!”

Oscar was no longer able to contain himself. Behind the camera, he was laughing so hard, his chest was aching. He stepped back for a moment, nearly losing it as he caught a glimpse of Lando’s panicked expression, trying to explain the intricacies of sim racing as if this were a life-or-death situation.

“You’ve got to get the brake pressure right!” Lando urged, his voice strained. “Think of it like a real car, but faster!”

“I am thinking of it like a real car!” Francesca shot back. “And in real life, I don’t even have a bloody driving licence!”

Oscar, doubled over in laughter, could barely hold the camera steady. “I think you’re doing great, babe. You’re… you’re definitely, uh, getting the hang of it,” he gasped, trying to wipe tears from his eyes.

Francesca turned back to the screen, trying to give it another go. As soon as she did, the car hit yet another corner wrong, sending her flying off the track again.

She let out a loud scream of frustration. “I can’t do it!” she yelled, slamming her fists against the wheel.

Lando squeaked, his eyes wide in panic. “Francesca! That’s bloody expensive, stop—Stop hitting it!”

Oscar nearly choked on his own breath, clutching the camera in an effort to keep it steady while trying to hold back his laughter.

Francesca finally turned the chair away from the sim, throwing her hands up in mock surrender. “I think I’ll leave the racing to you two, yeah?” She said. Her words only made Oscar laugh harder, his laughter shaking the entire frame of the camera.

Lando let out a long sigh, rubbing his temples as he ran his fingers through his hair in frustration.

Oscar, still struggling to regain composure, panned the camera to his own face, his cheeks flushed from laughter. For a moment, he couldn't even speak — he just gasped for air between fits of giggles. Finally, he managed, “Not sure how I feel about you wanting to get your license after seeing that,” his voice cracking from laughing so hard.

Francesca leaned back in the chair with an exaggerated sigh, throwing her head back dramatically. “Yeah, no kidding,” she said with a mock-grumble, flipping her hand dismissively.

Lando, still staring at the rig in disbelief, shook his head, muttering under his breath, “I need a drink. Or ten.”

[Phone Video – Shot from Passenger Seat | Francesca’s POV]

The camera was a lot steadier as it shifted into a new scene, Francesca holding it close to her face as the soft hum of the car filled the quiet space. Her eyes were a little tired, but there was a calm resolve in her gaze.

“Hey guys,” she began, her voice softer than usual but still grounded. “So, today’s been a bit of a rollercoaster. I had a panic attack in a store earlier, which… you know, isn’t fun. Not that I’m expecting any of you to feel sorry for me or anything,” she said with a small, self-aware smile, “but sometimes it’s just a little overwhelming, and I get caught up in it.”

Oscar, who had been driving, glanced over at her for a split second, his expression gentle. She returned a quiet smile, her voice growing a little warmer as she continued.

“The thing is, though, I’m not going to let it ruin my whole day,” she said, lifting her chin a little, almost defiantly. “I’ve been in this place before, where it feels like everything’s crashing in on me, but… I’m not going to let it take over. Not today.” She took a breath, steadying herself. “And honestly, I don’t think I would’ve been able to say that a while ago. But today? I’m choosing to move on.”

Francesca turned the camera slightly, drawing the lens to the bag in her lap. She opened it carefully, revealing the soft leather and the small tag still dangling from the inside.

“Oscar actually surprised me with this,” she said with a soft laugh, her fingers brushing over the bag’s edge. “I didn’t even know he was planning on it, but I think he could tell I was having a rough day. So…” She shrugged lightly, a small, fond smile creeping up her lips. “This is from him. It’s a little over the top, but I guess it’s nice to have something beautiful to look at after a crappy day.”

She gave the camera a playful, almost teasing look. “I swear, though, I’m not, like… flexing. It’s more like… a reminder that the world doesn’t stop spinning because I’m having a rough time.” Her voice grew more firm, more grounded. “So yeah, that’s my little pep talk for today.”

The camera zoomed in on the bag again, its pristine white leather catching the light.

Oscar glanced at her again, the corner of his mouth curling into a quiet, loving smile, and she caught the look, giving him a soft nod in return.

“Anyway,” Francesca said, taking another breath, “I’m going to enjoy the rest of today. And I hope you guys do, too. Thanks for being here with me, as always. I know that this video probably feels a bit… thrown together. But it’s been fun to film a vlog. My first one, really. I hope you like it.”

With that, she lowered the camera slightly, the last shot of the video capturing her calm but resolute expression before it faded to black.

—

Top Comments:

@litwitch420

this entire video felt like a fever dream

@casgyt

THIS IS GOING TO GO DOWN IN HISTORY AS THE CRAZIEST HARD LAUNCH EVER. WHAT THE FUCK

@crymewithcoffee

we knew they were together. like after seeing her in bahrain we KNEW. And yet here I am…. still GAGGED

@thisissochaotic

“he got me this bag” AND IT’S A FCKING MINI KELLY?????????????

@traumabrat98

Make more vlogs!!!!!! This was the most entertaining piece of content that I’ve consumed all week

@henryhasfans

You zooming in on the little sunspot for Henry….. I’m so happy for you both. Good luck in your new home!!!

@softestheartsclub

Oh my god Oscar is GONE for her. The way he was laughing when she was trying to use Lando’s sim……. I’m dying

@pidgeinajar

HER LAYING ON MAX VERSTAPPEN’S FLOOR COVERED IN HIS CATS 😭

—

APRIL, 2024 (LONDON — JAPAN)

iMessage — Francesca & Oscar

Oscar

Hey baby

Are you busy?

Francesca

no i just finished filming

you ok??????

Oscar

Yeah

Kind of

What are you wearing

Francesca

………… oh my god oh my god

wait hold on give me a minute ok

Oscar

Babe.

Francesca

ok now ask me again

Oscar

Seriously?

Francesca

ask me again or perish

Oscar

What are you wearing, baby?

Francesca

nothing except for 1 thing

a pair of ur boxers

hehe

Oscar

Jesus

Show me how pretty you look, baby

Francesca

*insert mirror pic*

Oscar

Look at you.

So perfect

My girl

I miss you so much

God, I can’t stop looking at you

Francesca

can we facetime please? i feel like a cat in heat pls pls pls pls

Incoming FaceTime call from Oscar

The screen flickered to life, and there he was — soft hotel lighting, hair a little tousled like he’d been running his hands through it. His voice came low, smooth, and quiet. “Let me see you again, baby.”

Francesca pulled the phone back, tilting the camera slightly as she sat back on her bed. Her cheeks were already pink. The oversized pair of Oscar’s boxers she wore hung low on her hips, her bare legs folded under her, skin warm from anticipation.

Oscar's eyes darkened as he took her in. “God, you’re beautiful.” He leaned in toward the camera like he could reach her. “You put them on them just for me, didn’t you? Knew it’d make me crazy.”

She bit her lip, a little shy now, her voice barely above a whisper. “I miss you.”

He smiled — slow and knowing. “Yeah? You gonna show me how much?”

She hesitated, not from embarrassment but because his voice alone had her breath catching. The way he was looking at her — like she was the only thing in the world worth seeing — made her stomach twist and flutter.

“Oscar…”

His tone changed, low and teasing. “Don’t play shy now, baby.” He leaned back slightly in his chair, dragging his hand slowly along his face. “You know what you do to me when you act all sweet like this?”

She tucked her chin to her shoulder, glancing at the screen from beneath her lashes. “What do I do to you?”

A beat.

“You make it very hard to be in a different country right now.”

Francesca gave a soft, breathy laugh, one hand coming up to play with the hem of the boxers.

Oscar’s voice dipped into something darker, quieter. “Keep going.”

She did, slowly, never taking her eyes off him. Every inch of movement was deliberate — slow, teasing, meant only for him.

“I love when you get like this,” he murmured. “All shy, all mine. You have no idea what you do to me, baby.”

The call stretched into silence except for the sound of their breathing, low and syncing across the distance.

She leaned closer, voice shaking just a little. “I wish you were here.”

“I will be. Two days.” His gaze burned through the screen. “And when I get there, I’m going to remind you exactly who you belong to.”

Her breath caught, cheeks flushing deeper.

“Now,” he said, sitting forward again, his voice a murmur, “keep talking, baby. Tell me everything I’m missing.”

—

MAY, 2024 (Monaco)

Between Miami and Imola.

The apartment was still half chaos, cardboard boxes stacked in corners and a lamp sitting unplugged on the kitchen counter, but the bones of home were already there — her books on the shelves, Oscar’s caps tucked neatly in a basket by the door, Francesca’s coffee mugs lined up on the drying rack next to the sink.

The sun had dipped below the horizon hours ago, but the warmth of the day still clung to the walls. The living room was lit only by the soft glow of a floor lamp and the ambient noise of some gentle lo-fi playing from Francesca’s phone.

They were collapsed together on the sofa, legs tangled under a too-warm throw blanket neither of them had bothered to kick off. Francesca's head was on Oscar’s chest, his fingers moving absentmindedly through her hair while her hand rested on his stomach.

Their shared silence was broken by the familiar little mrrp of Henry announcing himself.

Francesca blinked open one eye. “Hi, lovebug.”

Henry leapt up onto the sofa and stepped directly onto Oscar’s chest without hesitation, then flopped himself neatly across both of them, his tail curling around Francesca’s wrist. He gave one regal yawn and promptly closed his eyes, fully satisfied.

Oscar groaned, but his arm never left Francesca. “He’s so heavy. Why is he so heavy?”

“He started stress eating about the move,” she mumbled into his shirt. “He’ll go back to normal as soon as he gets settled.”

“I’m being crushed.” Oscar complained.

“You’re being loved.” She muttered.

Oscar tilted his head down and pressed a lazy kiss to her forehead. “Same thing, I guess.”

Francesca smiled, eyes fluttering closed again. Henry let out a sleepy purr like an engine beneath them, and for a long while, the three of them just stayed like that — tangled, content, and utterly at peace in their new home.

—

JULY 2024 (HUNGARY)

Francesca stood tucked near the back of the McLaren garage, noise-cancelling headphones snug over her ears, her VIP pass swinging gently against her chest. Mark stood beside her, arms crossed, eyes flicking between the pit wall monitors and the track feed. She liked being near him — his quiet calm had a way of settling her nerves when the rest of the garage buzzed with sharp, electric energy.

When a Sky camera panned in on the pair of them, Francesca caught it in her periphery and gave a small, deliberate wave. Not dramatic. Just enough. She was starting to get used to being noticed here. Kind of.

Mark leaned over slightly, not taking his eyes off the telemetry screen. “You’re famous now.”

She snorted softly. “It’s not the first time I’ve been on camera.”

“Still. They filmed you for two seconds longer than they filmed me.”

That got a laugh out of her — short and breathless, because God, she was nervous. Not just about the race, but about the fact that her book — the thing she’d poured herself into — had officially hit the shelves earlier that morning. And she hadn’t had the courage to open social media once.

“It’s out today,” she said finally, her voice quiet under the buzz of engines. “My book.”

Mark turned his head toward her for the first time, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah? That’s huge.”

She hugged herself loosely. “It might flop.”

“It won’t.” He said.

“You don’t know that.”

“I know good things don’t fail,” Mark said simply, like it was the most obvious truth in the world. “Oscar made Lando pre-order a copy yesterday, right after the strategy meeting. Poor kid’s dyslexic.”

Francesca laughed — a little louder this time, a little more real. “I’ll have to tell him that he doesn’t actually have to read it.”

She turned her attention back to the front of the garage, nibbling at her bottom lip as the cars started peeling out onto the track. Her heart was already racing, nerves coiling tight in her stomach.

The race unfolded in layers — tense, dramatic, and inch-perfect from lights out to every nail-biting overtake. She barely breathed between pit stops and radio chatter, caught up in the frantic rhythm of it all.

And then, as the final laps ticked down, one thing became clear.

Oscar was going to win.

Francesca forgot how to breathe for a full minute. The garage erupted when he crossed the chequered flag — mechanics high-fiving, hugging, shouting over one another. The champagne would come later. Right now, it was all adrenaline and awe.

Mark hugged her before following the mechanics out into Parc ferme.

She didn’t move. She let him have that moment — the roar of the team, the photo ops, the press obligations. She stayed tucked away in the same corner of the garage where she always waited for him. Her safe little spot.

And then he found her.

Still in his race suit, hair damp under the cap, flushed with victory. His eyes scanned the space until they landed on her, and he didn’t hesitate.

He came straight for her, shouldering past cameras and crew and noise like they didn’t exist.

And then he kissed her.

Not soft or shy — but full-body, hands-in-her-hair, I-just-won-and-you’re-the-first-person-I-wanted-to-see kind of kiss. A kiss that knew there were cameras, and didn’t give a single damn.

Francesca melted into it, arms wrapping around him instinctively, one hand curling in the fabric of his fireproofs. The garage faded. The noise dimmed.

When they finally pulled apart, still grinning, still breathless, Oscar pressed his forehead to hers.

“You won,” she whispered, dazed.

“I won.”

—

Four hours later, in the haze of post-race adrenaline and exhaustion, one of the McLaren social media admins approached her during the debrief with a wide grin.

“Congratulations,” she said, practically buzzing.

Francesca blinked. “For what?”

The admin tilted her head, equally puzzled. “Your book. You’ve broken all kinds of sales records. It’s everywhere.”

She stared at them for a second, like the words hadn’t quite landed. “Wait — what?”

The admin laughed. “You haven’t even checked your phone, have you?”

She shook her head slowly, stunned. “No. I’ve been — well, here.”

“Well,” the admin said, already pulling out their own phone to show her the numbers. “You might want to check it now.”

—

AUGUST, 2024 (Monaco)

The sun dipped low over the water, casting the apartment in golden light. The breeze from the balcony was warm and sweet, carrying the scent of salt and blooming jasmine.

Francesca stood barefoot in the kitchen, hair clipped back messily, stirring something on the stove that had started as a ragu but had become more like a risotto. Somehow.

Behind her, the front door clicked open.

“Katie!” she called without turning around, already grinning.

“You live here?” Katie’s voice echoed through the flat as she stepped inside, suitcase trailing behind her, sunglasses still perched on her head. “Like — actually live here? This is absurd. You’re absurd.”

Francesca laughed, wiped her hands on a tea towel, and turned to greet her best friend. They hugged tightly, the kind of squeeze that said I missed you more clearly than any words could.

“It’s not that absurd,” Francesca argued playfully, though the apartment — with its panoramic sea view and soft sunlight bleeding across every surface — sort of spoke for itself.

Katie dropped her bag and immediately flopped down onto the sofa. “You look disgustingly domestic. Is that an apron? Oh my God.”

Francesca rolled her eyes, flicking a dishtowel in her direction. “It’s a cooking towel. And yes, Oscar’s turned me into someone who owns olive oil in more than one variety.”

“Tragic,” Katie said, stretching like Henry liked to do in that exact spot. “Where is Lover Boy?”

“Factory debrief in Woking. Back tomorrow.” Francesca padded over with two glasses of something cold and citrusy. “You have me all to yourself.”

Katie took the glass and lifted it in a toast. “To you, my beautiful best friend, who lives in the most beautiful apartment in the world and still cries whenever someone says something vaguely mean about her bestselling book on Goodreads.”

Francesca pouted. “Some of those reviews are brutal.”

“I’ll kill them.” Katie said it so casually it could’ve been mistaken for a joke — but it wasn’t.

Francesca grinned at her. “It’s so good to have you here.”

Katie tilted her head, gaze soft. “You seem so happy, Fran.”

“I am,” she said, and meant it. “Come on. I’ll show you the sunspot Henry likes to nap in. It’s very exclusive.”

“Oh, please,” Katie muttered, trailing after her. “He’s becoming even more spoiled than he already was.”

“He’s Monaco royalty now. Jimmy and Sassy love him.”

Katie rolled her eyes. “Right, because the fact that your cat is friends with Max Verstappen’s cats is a totally normal thing to tell a person.”

Francesca just grinned over her shoulder, unbothered. “You get used to it.”

Katie scoffed, but there was affection in her voice. “I don’t think I ever will.”

They disappeared down the hallway, the soft thump of their footsteps blending with low, familiar laughter — comfortable, easy.

—

AUGUST, 2024 (Monaco)

The soft click of the apartment door shutting echoed faintly behind her. Francesca dropped the shopping bags by the entryway and stretched, still slightly flushed from the sun. She barely had a moment to relax, the safe warmth of home settling into her bones, before she heard him.

"Don’t move," Oscar’s voice called, smooth and low from down the hall. It had that tone — just on the edge of command, threaded with teasing.

She stilled, instantly curious. “Why?” she asked, one brow raised.

He appeared a second later, leaned casually against the doorway to their bedroom, arms folded across his chest. He was in race gear — mostly. Suit half-unzipped and hanging at his waist, undershirt clinging to him, and the black balaclava still pulled over his head, only his eyes and mouth visible.

Francesca blinked. “Um,” she said, unable to form any more words. Her heart skipped. That balaclava shouldn’t have looked good — shouldn’t have made her feel anything. But there was something about it. About him. Her voice came out softer than she meant it to when she eventually managed to say, “You look ridiculous.”

“You sound like you’re lying,” he said, pushing off the doorway and walking toward her slowly.

She backed up instinctively, until her spine met the wall. He stopped in front of her, hands braced on either side of her head, close enough that she could feel the warmth of him, the scent of clean sweat and sun.

“Be honest,” he murmured, eyes catching hers through the fabric. “You like it.”

Francesca gave a helpless little laugh, breath hitching. “You’re insufferable.”

“Mm, maybe,” he murmured, nose brushing hers through the fabric. “But you’re still blushing.” His voice was still so calm, so in control — and it made her knees feel unsteady. He tilted his head. “You trust me?”

“Always,” she whispered.

Oscar’s lips curved behind the fabric. “Good. Then let me take care of you, baby.”

His fingers brushed over her waist, deliberate and slow. The balaclava stayed on, and his eyes were almost black as he stared at her.

Francesca’s breath hitched when he leaned in again, kissing just beneath her jaw, letting his lips linger against her skin before dragging down to her neck. She tilted her head for him without thinking, her hands finding purchase on the front of his undershirt, clinging just a little.

“Thought you would be tired,” she murmured, dazed.

He hummed, lifting his head to meet her eyes with a quiet smile. “I’ve always got the energy to take care of you,” he said, voice dark and velvet-soft. “Always.”

She wasn’t sure if it was the words or the look he gave her, heavy-lidded and utterly focused, but something fluttered low in her stomach, heat curling through her limbs.

His hands slid up beneath her shirt slowly, fingertips ghosting along her ribcage, and when she gasped softly, he just smiled again — pleased. Confident.

“I love how responsive you are,” he said, almost to himself, leaning in to kiss her again. This time, it wasn’t soft. It was demanding — possessive, the kind of kiss that left her dizzy and aching.

When they finally broke apart, she was breathless, and his forehead rested gently against hers.

“Bedroom,” he murmured. “Now.”

She hesitated, just barely. Then nodded.

Oscar didn’t give her a chance to lead. He took her hand, guiding her backwards through the apartment until the backs of her knees hit the bed. She fell onto it with a soft laugh, only for it to catch in her throat when he followed her down slowly, eyes never leaving hers.

He kissed her like he had something to prove. Hands trailing, anchoring her, touching her; he already knew every inch of her body, he just wanted to relearn it all again.

“You don’t have to hide anything with me,” he murmured, thumb stroking along her hipbone as he kissed lower, slower, more deliberately. “Not a single thing.”

Her hands tangled in his hair, pulling softly, and he let out a quiet groan.

He was savouring. Worshipping.

And by the time her back arched off the mattress, and his name broke from her lips like a prayer, Oscar was right there, kissing the words from her mouth, catching every tremble and gasp with steady, careful hands.

After, he didn’t pull away. He stayed close, brushing damp hair off her forehead, kissing her temple, her jaw, her shoulder like she was something fragile and precious and entirely his.

“You okay?” he asked softly, fingertips stroking her side.

Francesca nodded, smile lazy and blissful. “Yeah. You?”

Oscar leaned down again, kissed her just once — slow and deep. “So in love with you, it’s not even funny.”

—

It was a quiet afternoon in Monaco, the kind of day that hummed softness. The café was tucked into a shaded corner near the marina, half-hidden behind flowering vines and white umbrellas. Francesca stirred her iced coffee absently, the rim of her sunglasses perched on the bridge of her nose, Oscar sitting opposite her, legs stretched out, one ankle crossed with hers under the table.

They weren’t in a rush. They rarely were on days like this.

Oscar was mid-sentence about something, probably tyres or brake balance, but then he paused, eyes flicking past her shoulder.

Francesca turned slightly to look.

A couple sat a few tables over, tucked into the corner with a stroller parked beside them. The mother was speaking gently while sipping her drink, and the father had their baby cradled against his chest, cooing something only the baby could hear. It was quiet and tender. Beautiful, really.

Oscar watched them for a long moment, expression unreadable, then leaned forward slightly. His voice was low, almost shy.

“Is that… something you’d want? One day?”

Francesca blinked, caught off-guard. She looked over at the family again, at the warmth of it, the calm in their shared space, and then back at him.

“Yes,” she said, voice quiet but certain. “One day, yeah.” Oscar’s gaze didn’t leave hers, so she kept going, the words spilling out more honestly than she expected. “I want to be the kind of mum I didn’t get,” she admitted, her thumb brushing against the condensation on her glass. “The kind that’s endlessly patient. Who listens. Who hugs for too long and cries at every little achievement and keeps every single awful piece of art they ever make.” She paused, swallowing. “I want to be warm. Safe. I want them to grow up knowing they’re so loved it hurts.”

Oscar reached across the table then, gently taking her hand in his, thumb rubbing slow circles over her knuckles. There was nothing teasing in his smile. It was reverent.

“You will be,” he said softly.

Francesca blinked again, the back of her throat tightening.

Oscar leaned in, voice just for her now. “And when you’re ready, next year, in ten years, whenever it feels right, I’ll give you as many babies as you want.”

She laughed, a little teary now. “You say that like it’s a threat.”

“It is,” he grinned. “I’m going to be the king of car seat installation.”

Francesca rolled her eyes fondly, squeezing his hand. “I can see you spending months practising, just to prove a point.”

Oscar smiled like the idea delighted him. “Can’t wait.”

She smiled at him and the world softened. It folded in around them; just the two of them, sunlight filtering through the café canopy, coffee going warm on the table, and a quiet promise that someday, they'd build something even bigger together.

Something that would always feel like home.

CHAPTER EIGHT PT. 2 (THE EPILOGUE)

564 notes · View notes

nik0nk1 · 3 months ago

Note

HEAR ME OUT

Beerus!Viltrumite!Reader in the mainstream universe. So like this has been on my mind since I've gobbled up your fic. And like wait.. Hear me out. Basically the villains in the world tries to ally with Reader. Like, obviously, the GDA and Cecil will work their asses off to keep it a secret 'cuz its so easy for Reader to be swayed by food especially if they are newly arrived on earth. Reader doesn't hide it though. They announce every time they save someone that the reason they're still alive is their skills on cuisine. So like I'm thinking one villian (turned civilian) was doing heinous deeds and ofc Cecil sent Reader there and as Reader bashed the henchmen apart- the villain threw food (bros underground base is basically his house) at Reader who was advancing towards him and Reader ate it and was momentarily distracted, and the villain ran off with a new identity. STILL it caught the attention of other villains too (somehow) and they did the same, to bribe or distract (distracting is much more better), and they just work hard to get their cooking/baking skills better. It was a lot so at some point Mark just has to babysit bro even though said 'bro' can obliterate him whenever they want. Idk its just rlly funny to me.

Author's Note: I def hear you outtt, wait let me cook😋. Also if I continue this, I'm planning on making it into a Mark Grayson x Reader

Beerus![Name]

Crack, OP![Name], Mark is So Done, Viltrumites Are Freaking Out, [Name] Just Wants Food, Mark Has a New Problem, Thragg is Losing His Mind, Canon Divergence

Mark Grayson x Reader

Word count: 525

•|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|•

“The Viltrumite with a Fatal Weakness”

Cecil Stedman had prepared for many things in his career. Alien invasions, rogue superheroes, and even the occasional apocalyptic cult. But this? This was stupid.

“You’re telling me,” Cecil said, rubbing his temples, “that the world’s villains are bribing [Name] with food?”

Donald, looking just as tired, nodded. “Yes, sir. There’s been a shift in crime patterns. Instead of fighting, most villains are now focusing on… culinary arts.”

“We have reports of Machine Head hiring Michelin-star chefs, Komodo Dragon robbing bakeries instead of banks, and even Doc Seismic—Doc Seismic, sir—is apparently taking culinary classes.” He added.

Cecil scowled. “Explain.”

Donald sighed and pulled up surveillance footage. On the screen, [Name] stood in the ruins of what used to be a villain’s hideout. Smoke curled from the collapsed walls. The air shimmered from residual heat.

Kneeling before her, a bloodied and trembling crime lord held out a silver platter.

[Name] narrowed her eyes. “You expect me to spare you?”

The villain, still shaking, lifted the dome cover. Beneath it sat a delicately plated dish—perfectly seared meat, garnished with fresh herbs.

“…I researched your preferences,” he stammered. “It’s… flame-roasted, the way Viltrumites prefer it. I even ensured the seasoning wasn’t Earth-standard.”

Silence.

Then, [Name] exhaled slowly. She reached out, took a piece, and tasted it.

The entire GDA war room leaned forward.

Cecil clenched his jaw as [Name] chewed, then swallowed.

Finally, she spoke.

“…Acceptable.”

The villain collapsed in relief, his shaking knees falling into the ground.

[Name] straightened. “Your technique is flawed,” she continued, flicking a glance at the dish. “The fire was too low. It lacked the intensity necessary to sear properly. But…” Her gaze softened. “You tried.”

With that, she turned and flew off, plate still in hand.

Cecil stared at the screen in horror.

“…Sir?” Donald asked.

Cecil took a deep breath. “We’re all gonna die.”

---

Meanwhile, Mark was suffering.

Mark Grayson had been through a lot. He’d fought aliens, nearly died multiple times, and watched his own father beat him to near death. But this?

“This is ridiculous,” Mark snapped. “You’re letting criminals go because they can cook?”

[Name] barely spared him a glance as she examined the dessert before her. “They are improving. The last attempt at this… ‘soufflé’ was a failure. This one has a stable structure.”

Mark gestured wildly. “That’s not the point! These are villains! You were sent to eliminate threats, not judge pastries!”

[Name] finally looked at him, unimpressed. “Incorrect. I was sent to ensure compliance. If they dedicate themselves to this,” she gestured at the food, “rather than destruction, the result is the same.”

Mark opened his mouth, then closed it.

Mark wanted to argue—but then he remembered last week, when a heist had turned into a live-streamed baking tutorial because Killcannon had challenged Furnace to a “bake-off” for supremacy.

This was his life now.

“…I hate that you have a point.”

“…Cecil is gonna lose it.”

[Name] took another bite. “That is not my concern.” Her eyes were not leaving as she watched Mark mumbling to himself.

Cecil, watching from the surveillance room, took another long sip of whiskey.

Author's Note: jdjsjbsjsj this was so fun to write jfjdjjdj, thanks for the idea anonymous(⁠´⁠ε⁠｀⁠ ⁠)

#invincible x reader #mark grayson x reader #invisible x reader #x reader #reader insert #invincible #mark grayson #beerus

458 notes · View notes

zaahvi · 6 months ago

Text

slowly starting to work on my own evanuris designs, first up are dirthamen and falon'din! (i did the busts a month ago now and hadn't decided on the outfits yet so that's why the colours don't match lmao)

some more design notes under the cut :)

next designs -> june & sylaise • andruil & ghilan'nain �� falon'din ii • geldauran

in my headcanon, dirthamen was their original spirit (of guidance) and split while making his body because his soul was conflicted about whether he wanted to, or remain as a spirit. when he split, "dirthamen" was content with his new form, while the other half - falon'din - was not, and was twisted into despair. specifically, i imagine it as the sort of despair where you try to cling onto anything to try to make yourself happy, but to no avail.

i thought it'd be neat for them to have a mark symbolising their spirit shattering, like a birthmark. then making it look like their (eventual) vallaslin design made a lot of sense.

i had an idea for dirthamen to have one eye a long time ago, because he has a LOT of similarities to our odinn - god of knowledge and wisdom, often depicted as a hooded figure, and has two ravens (interestingly, while fear and deceit sound like demon names, huginn ("thought") and muninn (anything from: memory, will, remembrance, intention) sound like spirit names). and while elgar'nan holds odinn's title of all-father, he's more like tyr imo.

dirthy's outfit was loosely based off the robed evanuris in the black codex concept art where they're doing the ritual at the blight box lol. i saw that person and was like yeah that's my special god with his dark robes and his little dagger. ofc i had to give him more style though, and dropped in some colour (as falon'din has canonically claimed the colour black) i decided on green because of his eye colour, and turquoise because sometimes when light hits ravens' feathers they kinda look blue. his mosaic has him covering his mouth, so i covered his mouth here too. also, i know his symbol has a little mohawk thing going on in the ingame statues, i couldn't draw it at that angle guys i'm sorry, shapes are hard.

since falon'din mirrors dirthamen in appearance, he got the single eye too. his colours are also more muted because of the whole despair thing. i also found it really interesting that his symbol is the sun, i 100% thought that was sylaise, but it makes sense as sometimes the setting sun is seen as a symbol of death. also the crook he has on his mosaic was really interesting to me and i included it after i read an 18 page paper on them while researching. it's a shepherd's tool - but can also be seen as a symbol of power/status, and there's quite a few of our irl gods depicted holding one. it's honestly really fascinating. that little magic spark doesn't mean anything though it's just for flair :)

i put fally in an ancient elven armour with minimal design changes as he doesn't strike me as sentimental and is rather more like someone who wants to show off and be the cuntiest person in the room at all times. although black is his colour, again i muted it a little, same with the gold. i may edit his design a little in the future to include his owls but for now i'm just kinda trying to figure out how they'd fit in

#my art #dragon age #evanuris #dirthamen #falon'din #elvhenan #evanuris designs #everyone say hi to elven odinn and his cringe brother #honestly dirthamen is my fav but i'm warming up a little to fally too after creating these designs and headcanons of him #<- world's biggest falon'din hater (affectionate) btw #can't believe i'm out here creating designs for bioware's ocs instead of my own btw

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xmoriartea · 7 months ago

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SVSSS!Sibling Transmigration 2: Electric Boogaloo

a continuation of this nonsense that ya'll seemed to enjoy

While Shen Yuan and Luo Binghe hold hands and jump into the abyss, Airplane is left holding no pizza with the sect on fire (and him-damnit. He could really use a pizza right now)

Shang Qinghua helped organize the Immortal Alliance Conference fiasco, but with his brother's guidance and Mobei Jun's shocking willingness to listen to both of them, Cang Qiong suffers only two losses that day: LBH and SY (none of the other major sects are so lucky, shifting even more power into Cang Qiong (and thus SQH/MBJ)'s sway as they planned)

Shen Jiu (named Qingqiu now ofc, but still Jiu-ge to SY) does not handle his part in this well at all. Did he shove LBH into the abyss? He would say no. He just maneuvered an awakening and unstable Heavenly Demon away from his brother. (Bro did NOT account for said brother to throw himself at LBH and basically take both their asses into the abyss. Not even Airplane saw that one coming tbqfh)

So yeahhh. SJ is not handling this well. While his brother is missing SJ qi deviates no less than two times which has Qing Ding and every peak lord walking on eggshells. No one mentions either of his missing disciples unless absolutely necessary around him. Unfortunately, he spends entirely too much time researching the abyss, tearing through every tome on the peaks

When the lords try to discuss a way to help SJ's instability, the mention of dual cultivation is floated once and while YQY is hand on the trigger to volunteer as tribute, the vehement refusal from SJ has YQY declaring it off limits without hesitation (there are some murmurs about this, but YQY takes pride in protecting SJ and shuts everyone down)

Airplane and SY know each other well enough that he knows SY would be devastated if something happened to SJ (he knows SY had siblings, that he misses them, that his heart aches twice for the family here and home and he won't let him come back to an empty bamboo house. Airplane knows the pain of an empty home and he will find something in his brain to fix it)

This leads to one tense conversation with SJ like "Look I know you fucking hate me but for SY's sake please just listen one time: your brother is coming home. I don't know how exactly, but we both know he's too stubborn not to" (this does not endear him to his villain son, but he would swear SJ glares a little less at him after)

There is then a Sun-Moon Dew Mushroom tier research saga but it's Airplane alone digging through tomes and notes and getting a little xianxia stoned to try and remember the obscure world building he created. (You know what he remembers? That's he created TOO MUCH world building shit while three energy drinks deep at 2am for any one man to remember!! Cucumber-bro get back here!!)

Meanwhile MBJ is playing a differently game entirely while every cultivator is stressed out of their minds. He's got a spy who is assisting him with power grabs that his father would never have imagined. He's courting a pathetic little mouse of a man. LBH is not a name that means anything yet. MBJ is THRIVING. Everyone else is in a drama and he's in a dating sim

And with two Shangs? The first time he does something too aggressive-demonic in his attempt to court a flailing sleep deprived Airplane, SQH is there to be like 'wtf do you think you're doing you beast?' Does SQH nearly get his ass beat for this insult to his king? Maybe a little bit. But!! Airplane gets woo'd! Without bloodshed!! (his own anyway. SQH picks his battles and cannot pry MBJ's desire to hunt big, rare game to prove his worth as a partner to Airplane which ofc leads to moments of the Shang brothers just standing over the corpse of some ancient-possibly-mythical beast just... in their living room on An Ding like 'wtf do we do with this? my king pls')

Of course, the plot finds everyone eventually. And however the fuck it happens, MBJ crosses path with a power-grabbing LBH, is forced to surrender to return home alive to his consort-to-be (MBJ is waiting for the MBJ title to be 100% his before cementing the courtship), becomes second in command to this brat, and goes home to his Shangs to lick his wounds (MBJ does not expect Airplane to shake his face and demand to know if there was a human cultivator with this half-demon brat and then demand to be taken to them if so when MBJ just 'wtf' stares)

Turns out, several years in the abyss even for the protagonist and a man who knows far too fucking much about abyss nuances for a human is still not an easy time Being human in the abyss? It's a dinner bell for every big monster that SY wants to just observe like the worst tourist. LBH cannot figure out why his shixiong keeps putting himself in danger like this (shixiong!! if you know the deadly thing is hiding in this swamp what if!!! we didn't!! go in the goddamn swamp shixiong!!!) But! That abyss knowledge is hard to beat. SY is able to guide LBH through safe routes and help guide him on his demonic journey (LBH ofc asks how his shixiong knows about any of this and SY panic changes subjects like a dozen times. Even in the back of LBH's head Meng Mo is like 'kid IDFK what this brat is but it's not normal and I need you to 1. understand that and 2. do not let him get away') And you know what is great for SY (and by extension LBH)? SY isn't juggling a persona that isn't his. He's allowed to come to terms with himself and his feelings on his terms. He gets to watch his white lotus LBH fight alongside him in the abyss and save his life and oh. OH. Maybe. Maybe he can have this? (SY being SY is still like PLOT EXISTS!! HAREM!! WIVES!! And look. He figures his own shit out a little bit, he's still a blind bastard. He doesn't notice how many wife plots he and LBH have stumbled into together, or how many LBH has skipped entirely. He can just be part of the harem, that's fine. He can live with that. Totally normal thoughts) LBH meanwhile can't even spell harem cause he only has eyes for this weird wonderful shixiong of his Given that the plot is a mess (happening, sure, but a MESS) they stumble into a new wife plot in the abyss (How was SY supposed to know full humans triggered nonsense plots down here?? It's not like LBH's human wives were ever down here with him!!) and so SY might be dying a second time. (Whoops! Whoops! Whoops! (Hey System? STFU if you have nothing useful to offer thank you!!!) But you know what could help this mortal cultivator trapped in the abyss? Demon qi. You know who has a lot of demon qi he doesn't know what to do with?? Best boy Binghe, that's who (they're both young and awkward and SY is dying and Binghe can't lose him. He can't be left alone again. It's declaration and promise and hope and when he kisses his shixiong he wills the transfer of qi between their lips and he can feel the way SY grows stronger in his arms with it) Let's just say that even when they clear the realm of the abyss that threatened SY, LBH still persistently insists that his shixiong share his qi mwah! (SY does not put up half as much complaint as he once might have over his sticky shidi) Also you know SY is going to find some horrific abyssal monstrosity and decide it's just the best and cutest most perfect and loyal pet (it's an honest to god nightmare and everyone they encounter is afraid of it and Binghe shoots it glares whenever it steals his shixiong's affections HOW DARE??) With SY's omnipotent abyss GPS sense and LBH sharing his excess of demon qi with SY, they're able to find Xin Mo, break the seal on LBH's powers, and then continue on his training montage (definitely too unstable to go back to the mortal realm early), also he has a fantastic anchor in SY at his side to soothe the Xin Mo urges and (don't ask shidi, pls he's begging) also teach him how to tame the sword

Cut back to several years of time passing, Airplane squishing his king's face, demanding to know about a human cultivator with this heavenly demon only for MBJ to (still face squished) say he wouldn't call the man at LBH's side human per se but if this is what his Airplane wants, he will take him with him to the meeting LBH has arranged for the following day (now please, let him pout and huff and receive head scritches)

Hey you know how people always get taken aback by Xie Lian being just absolutely filled with ghost qi??? SY is a cultivator, not a god, just a lad trying his best to follow that immortal master path, and he just spent SEVERAL years in the abyss and getting regularly dosed by HEAVENLY demon qi — this boy ain't right anymore, guys. He's definitely feeling some kind of demon-tier different™ after all of this and man is THRIVING because Now That's What SY Calls Lore

Please imagine heavenly demon LBH with a demon-touched SY holding demon court with their weird demon allies when MBJ shows up flanked by two totally human Shangs and the just.... the awkward staring these four members of Cang Qiong do at each other (LBH, oblivious to the spy on the mountain plots, just 'why tf is Shang-shixiong and Shang-shifu here??) (SQH looking at LBH and SY and just taking furious mental notes about these Developments and how this may affect his brother's safety) (SY and Airplane just seconds away from slapping the shit out of each other like cats in a bag just 'where the fuck have you been???' 'what have you done???')

Court gets to proceed as planned, but Consorts Shen and Shang make hasty exits together to figure out just what the fuck has been happening to Airplane's plot (There is minimal sibling-tier beat downs in the process and neither is free from sin)

Airplane explains that SJ is a mess and that they need to do something if SY wants to continue having a brother ('bro, he will go off the deep end soon if he doesn't find you but if he finds you like this BRO WILL GO OFF THE DEEP END!! DO YOU SEE THE PROBLEM??')

Their scheming gets them on the idea the Sun-Moon Dew Mushroom and between both their whipped demons, it's very easy to acquire it, cultivate it, and prepare it for SJ (ofc monster loving son SY shares some with a cute snake he sees, obviously)

SY sneaks onto Qiong Ding with their near ready science project and meets with YQY who is... not thrilled with the demonic influence all over his shidi's brother. But he listens, because end of the day they both care for SJ. SY can't risk SJ having another deviation if he sees him, so he entrusts YQY to present this fix to SJ: a way to repair his broken core and shed the scars of his past (ofc they both know he will be suspicious, but after doing his own research, he would take it in a heartbeat)

When SJ has a shiny new and powerful body, that's when LBH and SY return to the sect. No demon army, no attacks, no Huan Hua bs. Just two lost disciples making their return from the abyss. (There is much distrust. SQH plays his role as well as ever, siding with the other lords that certain tests must be passed to ensure they are not demons--- oh wait one of you IS a demon. and the other has been influenced by that one. Mhhh. Mhmmm. This is fiiiiiine)

SJ doesn't deviate! But he is! Mad! There is much yelling and shouting and disciples are made to run around Qiong Ding peak while every other lord just has to sit through the most chaotic family reunion.

But things can go back to normal from here right? Just casual transmigration, not plot threats? (System? System you're laughing. They're having a nice moment and you're laughing)

#svsss #svsss sibling au #moshang #bingqiu #mbj is my son and he deserves to just play a little dating sim as a treat #i am back with more nonsense because why not #everyone said such nice things about the last one so I had to

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i-cant-sing · 1 year ago

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Mmmhhh thinking about Yandere Batfam reacting to a reader who runs a very popular blog where she absolutely bashes Batman and Robins- and the batfam takes your criticism very seriously. Maybe not at first, but then Damian (the easiest to tick) got pissed off when you wrote how "he's just a kid in a cheap Halloween costume" and when Damian gets pissed off, he whines. He whines and whines and whines until Dick and Bruce finally listen to him and do something about it. That's when they find out about the extensive threads about them, criticising meticulously each and every action of theirs, how they're causing more financial harm to Gotham and allowing themselves to be idolised and causing more people to comit crimes just so that they could have their 5 seconds of fame with Batman. And ofc theirs a whole page about the Batsignal.

I mean, Damian and Tim have already found out who runs the page (though they had a little bit of a hard time sniffing u out. You were good at covering your tracks). While Damian and Tim are busy going to "have a talk with you", Bruce is at home reading your entire blog about Batfam and realising how some of your points.... kinda makes sense. So, he buys the app where you write your blogs, then has Damian bring you over to the Wayne offices, where he explains he just wanted to meet the person running the blog that generates the most readers on the app. You, just a 23 year old student who's blogging as a side hustle.

You're obviously stunned because why are you meeting Bruce Wayne and also confused because again, why are you here exactly??? Bruce just says that he likes your insights and would like to know more, and he's happy to pay you by the hour you spend talking to him and also on the blog.

He's very much determined to make Batman and Robins be good in your mind, and not that he cares much about what people think about him, it doesn't hurt to have good PR for heroes, lest people should try revolting against Justice league and only end up hurting themselves. There's only so much he could do to calm his metahuman friends.

You're again- CONFUSED, but you like money. The only thing you tell him is that you get to write whatever you want, complete creative control and that you can write about anyone you wish. Ofc, it doesn't register to Bruce that you could possibly write against his family- against his name.

So in the beginning, things are going great. Reader continues making calculated judgements and comments about Batfam and how they could possibly improve themselves, the batfam takes note and tries to do most of the things. Then you'd write something that could almost be seen as praise for "changing their old ways" and they all feel a little bit proud. They don't realise it but some members of the batfam (like damian and Dick) start craving your approval of their actions.

Perhaps something happens, maybe you don't find it fun to write about the bats anymore, so you shift your mind towards a new topic-

The Wayne's.

You research a bit, finding it a little odd at Bruve Wayne's generosity to be adopting random ass kids, a super duper clean record, no scandals or anything- it just- it doesn't feel right. No one's that clean. They have to be hiding something.

So when u can't find anything against them, you let your imagination go wild and start making conspiracy theories, kinda feel like reader goes in her gossip girl era to stir things up so that someone would come forward with something- anything.

Bruce's eyes almost bulge out as he reads the blog's headline-

"The secrets of Gotham's favourite billionaire playboy!"

Shit- did you figure out he's batman?

Nope. In fact, you covered everything but that. From theories about him adopting troubled kids for PR, to the Wayne family actually being a chauvinist cult, to conspiracies about his ties with the Rothschild, his philanthropic donations being a front for illegal activity, the Wayne Manor holding lavish nsfw parties, and even a classic "they drink virgin maiden blood!"

Bruce stood in your apartment, eyes narrowing at your sleeping form on the couch.

"Bruce? What- how did you get in?" You don't remember unlocking your door.

"What is the meaning of this?" He pulled up your article on his phone.

"Huh?" You took a closer look, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. "Oh. Yeah, I wrote that."

"Why?"

You shrugged. "I was bored."

"What?" Bruce could feel himself getting angry. How could you be so nonchalant about the lies you wrote?

"You know this isn't true." "I do." "Then why did you write it?" "I told you, I was bored. Besides, you told me I could write about anyone." You get up with a sigh. "I don't get why you're so worried about this. Barely anyone reads this stuff."

Bruce's brows went up. "There's a 1000 plus views on this already!"

"What?" your eyes twinkled. "A thousand already? Its not even been 24 hours since I posted. Wow, people really do enjoy conspiracy-" you shut up when you saw his glare. "Right, sorry."

"Take it down, now." Bruce orders, brow twitching when you just walk past him and into the kitchen, pouring yourself some coffee. "Why?" you asks after taking a sip.

He glares at you. "Because it isnt true-"

"Then give me something that is."

Bruce stared at you. Is this... is this your way of wanting an interview?

You sighed. "Look, just let me interview you family, I promise to only write the truth and only the truth. No conspiracies, I swear."

"Or I could just fire you. Better yet, have you sued for defamation."

You nodded. "You could, but honestly that would only bring more attention to the articles and more conspiracies would arise. Besides, you and I both know you cant stop me from writing even if I'm in jail."

Bruce watched you walk upto him, holding your phone in your hand. "Come on, just one week- one week at your place, I'll even let you read the article before I post it. If you dont like it, I'll delete it."

I mean... it did sound like a pretty good bargain. Besides, at his home, youd be in a more supervised space.

So here you are, standing in the lobby of the Wayne manor as a posh butler leads you to Bruce's office. Of course Alfred will be a part of your articles. He's too fancy to not be.

And so over the course of a week, you dont really find anything particularly intriguing about the family, even after you interviewed each member. You're mentally groaning at the thought of writing yet another boring article... that is until you accidentally discover the batcave (ok not accidentally, u hid a recorder in Bruce's office and u heard the man discussing about it with Dick)

Anyways, it didnt take long for you to discover the cave, and it took you even less for you to write a scandalous article.

"RICH MAN COSPLAYS AND PRACTICES HIS JUJUTSU SKILLS ON THE MENTALLY ILL! SEE PICTURES OF WHERE HE ROLEPLAYS IN MASKS!"

Unfortunately, before you hit "post", your phone is snatched and you're knocked out.

When you come to, Bruce is sitting in front of you looking beyond pissed while you're tied up in your seat.

"We had a deal, Y/n." Bruce gritted out.

"So? Deal was off the moment I found out you were Batman." You shrugged.

"We had a deal-"

"You really expect me to just pretend like I'm blind after I found out who you really are? Do you think anyone would just give up on a scoop this big?" You tilt your head at him.

Bruce narrowed his eyes at you. "Scoop? Thats what this is to you?"

You nodded. "Sure, you're a hero who fights crime and brings "peace" to Gotham, but who knows for sure? After all, thats how you want the world to see you." You lean as far as your restraints allow you. "I dont trust you, Bruce. Not one bit. There's just- this gut feeling about you. Nothing personal, but I dont get good vibes from you."

"Is that so?" Bruce raised his brow before sighing. "I guess there's no reason to let you go then."

"What?"

He nodded to himself. "Yes, if I let you go now, you'll only cause more trouble for me, but also for yourself. If you post content like that, people will target you- yes, I definitely cant let you go. You're an impulsive idiot who'd endanger herself just to not be bored."

Your eyes widen. "You cant kill me."

Bruce scoffed. "Dont be ridiculous, I can, but I wont. I just want to take care of you, protect you from yourself." He stood up. "I did a little bit of research on you too, yknow? You keep your personal life super private, I have to give credit to you, it wasnt easy to find out about your family. But... money makes the mare go."

Your throat dried as you saw a glint in his eyes. He knew... he couldnt-

Bruce's footsteps echoed as he neared you and ruffled your hair. "Poor you... having to deal with a schizoprenic mom." He leaned down to smile gently at you, but you could sense the sinister intent.

"Dont worry, she'll be taken care of at Gotham Asylum while you stay with us."

girl idk where i was going with this, i just needed to get it out of my drafts (i have another long incomplete draft about platonic yandere dick x gymnast reader where he basically is intrigued by this mini tonya harding who lives for her dead beat father's approval who doesnt give a shit about her unless she comes first. so its upto dick to adopt u and make u a part of batfam)

#rich man has weird ways of adopting kids that dont consent to adoption #yandere bruce wayne #yandere batman #yandere batfam #yandere batfam x reader #yandere dc #batfam x reader

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cryinggirlnamedhelen · 2 months ago

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Hey hey, 😳 I just read your writing about sakura hakura as a dad will you do with suo too?

yes ofc! ty for the request!🫶

slipping through my fingers all the time - s. hayato

cw ; fem!reader, mentions of violence, reader and suo are 23

now playing ; slipping through my fingers by abba

༯ suo is a complete “your body your choice” kind of person, but at the same time, he really does adore the thought of having a child or two with you. he thinks about it much more often that he really should, especially back when you were both in high school. now that you’re married though, he has way more of an excuse to.

༯ he’s absolutely glowing when you hand him a positive pregnancy test when he comes back from patrol one day. he only shows a calm smile on his face—as usual—but he feels the rapid beating of his heart and the warm tingling in his cheeks.

༯ he makes you a lot of warm tea, but he’s careful not to give you too much; otherwise, you’d get caffeine overdose. he gets a bit fascinated with your growing abdomen though. of course, he knows how a pregnancy works. he’s done enough research on that. he’s more curious to see how much your child has grown.

༯ nearly everyone in makochi knows about your pregnancy. it’s a small town, and rumors spread fast. but suo just loves talking about it; in every conversation he has, he always manages to slip in a “my pregnant wife” sentence starter. the kind store owners give him double the amount of free food they usually give him now because of how you’re pregnant.

༯ kotoha comes over to take care of you a lot. suo usually isn’t too busy, but he teaches people how to fight and he’s still a part of bofurin. because of this, whenever he does leave your side, he comes back after four or five hours or so. he dreads it, so kotoha always takes his place to take care of you whenever he’s gone. she cooks for you, and she also helps you with the chores in the house.

༯ suo thinks it’s adorable that you’re eating way more than you usually do. your cheeks are chubbier—and cuter—and have a healthy red tint to them, and suo’s convinced that pregnancy glow is real. suo has seen you practically shove down four bowls of rice down your throat and thought you were the cutest person to ever exist.

༯ when you were in labor, suo stayed right next to you the entire time. you squeezed his hand so hard that his knuckles were practically white, but he couldn’t feel any pain. the concern had drowned it all out. but the moment your daughter was born and you were safe, all of his worries melted away.

༯ he was tempted to name your child after a type of tea, but you cut him off with a sharp “no.” because no way in hell was your child going to be bullied in the future for having the name of a type of tea. you both ended up naming her “hanako”, because sometimes tea was made of flowers.

#wind breaker #wind breaker x reader #wbk #wbk x reader #suo hayato #hayato suo #suo x reader #suo hayato x reader #hayato suo x reader #suo x you #suo hayato x you #hayato suo x you #wind breaker suo #suo wind breaker #wind breaker x you #wind breaker x y/n

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taintedcigs · 1 year ago

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— cowboy hat rule.

pairing: cowboy!steve harrington x fem!reader

warnings: smut, p in v, MINORS DNI!!!!, pet names, praising, kinda degrading but not really, a lil argument, dom!steve, rivals to fcking, swearing, good old bj for our good boy stevie! reader has a nickname 'sunshine' bc i didn't wanna do y/n sorry:(

summary: helping out mr. harrington in his ranch was supposed to be fun, but steve harrington was an asshole. an absolute pain in your ass that teased you, and you gave him the same energy back, always. so when you unknowingly wear his cowboy hat, he decides to teach you what exactly the cowboy hat rule is. (wc: 5k+)

author's note: this is just horny babbling. i have no idea how cowboy lore works so if im wrong pls just close ur eyes i tried to research but i couldnt find shit just pls i just want cowboy steve dick. and ofc no proof-reading bc im lazy as hell. no dividers ugly aesthetic bc of tumblrs f ass not showing my shit in tags SIGH.

also PLSSS LIKE + REBLOG + COMMENT TO SUPPORT ME MWAH ILY

When you told Mr. Harrington you’d be more than happy to help around his Ranch during the summer, you didn’t expect Steve to become a problem, but you were wrong, so fucking wrong.

A cocky cowboy who’s way too into partying and into his looks and his fluffy hair than you could ever imagine. That’s exactly how you’d describe Steve Harrington. Even though you so badly wanted to believe otherwise, wanted to disregard the rumors and the reputation that came with him. But, he made it so goddamn hard.

All he fucking did was tease you, complain. Order you around and act like you didn’t know how to do shit. And, you didn’t, but he was supposed to be your guidance, teach you. But all he did was grumble and give you that goddamned smirk.

Yet, you couldn’t fully hate him, there was a side of him he rarely showed you, one that cared, one that offered you rides—it was more of a mumble each night but you accepted nonetheless, one that ended up at your side whenever an asswipe bothered you at the bar, one that offered you a hand on your back when you were crying, he didn’t ask what happened, didn’t speak, just stood there, letting you spill out your guts. The two of you never spoke about these incidents, ever, because he acted like they didn’t exist, like he couldn’t bear the thought of being nice to you.

You were so fascinated by him, even though you’d never admit it out loud. He was charismatic, outright funny, and had a heart of gold that you only peered one layer of.

And fuck it, he was fine, annoyingly good-looking that he was a distraction to be around when you were supposed to be working, him with those sturdy denim jeans that cupped his ass perfectly, wide-brimmed cowboy hat with a creased crown, put perfectly on his head. Even though you’d much rather see his pretty hair falling on his face, run your hands through his smooth layers.

Usually, when it got as hot as it did today, he’d even take off that stupid shirt, feast your eyes with his glimmering chest, all hairy and glistening with sweat, broad shoulders as he ordered everyone around made you gulp. Like he is doing with you, right fucking now.

“Sunshine, get back to work.” Heat travels to your cheeks quickly, and that stupid nickname rolls off his lips so bitterly, the one he always called you just because you were all nice and smiley—even when he was being an asshole to you, something that grinded his gears, you guessed it was a foreign concept to him, being nice.

You were quick to shake off the hold he had on you, getting back on your feet as you stood your ground. “I am working! Just needed a second to breathe!” The lies rolled off your lips so simply that you wondered if he caught you staring. When he turned around to leave, you guessed he hadn’t.

“Asshole.” The insult leaves you before you can register how close Steve still was to you.

Turning head-spinningly fast. “What did ya say?” He spits, making you gulp physically.

He looks out of the world stunning when he’s mad, maybe it’s a toxic trait of yours but, fuck, the way his chocolate hues turn unrecognizable, that slight quirk of his brows, and the way his muscles flex in pure anger made you rub your thighs together.

Jesus Christ. He is getting into your head, and you hate that you think of him this way when he is so mean.

“Nothing! I’m just saying it’s really hot out today,” you hum, the sun rays hitting your face not making it easier on the heat that flame your cheeks.

He gives you a snort, all mocking once he takes a step closer, making you feel hotter if that is possible. “Well that’s what happens in the summer, darlin’”

Hand on the wall he tilts his head slightly, all with sass that has you rolling your eyes. “Or did you expect the weather to give Miss Sunshine some sorta special treatment?”

You roll your eyes, an act you always did that makes Steve’s jaw clench. “Oh, come on Steve! It’s really, really, hot, and the sun is all on my face!”

“Boo-hoo, princess,” he mocks, tipping his hat, almost as if to tease you further.

You scoff, getting closer to him. “Easy for you to just stand around in that big hat!” With a narrowed gaze, you cross your arms against your chest, like a brat, another trait that annoyed Steve even further.

Then, you beam again, and Steve knows no matter how much you hate it, Sunshine is absolutely the nickname you deserve, eyes glistening with happiness that it annoyingly even brings a glint to his pretty amber hues. His gaze unintentionally droops down to tour lips, so plushy and soft looking when it curls into that pretty smile that Steve wants to kiss you all over.

“Oh! Do you mind if I?” You ask all giggly, pointing toward his wide-brimmed hat, hand teasingly standing above his head.

He scoffs as if you had just asked him the most insulting question ever. “Not a chance,” he spits, now he crosses his arms in front of his chest, eyeing you with a dark glint in his eyes, one you couldn’t decide was full of annoyance or just pure desire.

“Mhmmm… okay,” you hum, feigning innocence for a second, before snatching it off his head with another hearty giggle.

Oh, what he would do to hear that on a loop, admire the way your lips stretched into the prettiest grin, brows quirked.

“Sunshine!” He chides, much rougher than he intends to, but you don’t pay attention to him when you place the hat carefully on your head, smoothing your hair.

You shrug, looking up at him with those doe eyes that have him melting, everytime, without fail. “Admit it, looks better on me.” You shrug, expecting him to agree.

Instead, he just offers you a deep sigh of breath, eyes almost widening when he realises what you just did. “Do you even—”

He huffs, hiding the obvious pink shade thats starting to color his cheeks, you really had no idea the hold you had on him, did you? “God, you city girls have no idea about anything, huh?”

Your brows furrow. “What?”

“Cowboy hat rule?” He asks with a tilt of his head, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest.

A teasing smile curves on your plushy lips as you push for more information. “What’s that?”

“Just give me the hat back,” he insists, attempting to mask the warmth that crept into his tone.

With a shake of your head, your defiance only grows, a glint of mischief dancing in your gaze. “Not until you tell me the rules.”

“Sunshine,” he warns, voice so grumbly that heat travels all over your body quicker than the sun burning you.

“Steve?” You hum with a flirty gaze, so teasing that Steve wants to fuck you right then and there, until he teaches you proper manners, until he shows you not to be a total fucking brat and not to roll your eyes at him, until he shows you that you’re his.

But, of course, he settles on a low grumble of, “You’re annoying.”

“You used to be more creative with the insults, Harrington.” Another teasing remark, and Steve rolls his tongue inside of his mouth.

With a smirk, he takes another step toward you, when your back hit the walls of the barn, only then you realise, he has you cornered. “You wanna know the cowboy hat rule, princess?” He asks all smugly.

Gaze meaner than he is, chest almost pressed against yours, voice so low that all you can do is slightly nod.

Your breath gets hitched in your throat when his face is mere inches away from yours, hot breath fanning against your cheeks, skin heating on the impact, that brattiness you wear as a mask quick to slip off when he’s all demanding. “You wear the hat, you ride the cowboy.” His tone is almost a growl, pupils blown wide, making you gulp, physically.

“What?” You blink, unsure of what he’s actually asking. Excitement jumping around in your tummy.

“You heard me. Wanna take me for a ride, Sunshine?” He is so goddamn close that you are sure he can hear the annoying tumble your heart does at the weight of what his words hold.

It makes you pause, gaze sticking on his, sometimes slipping away to his soft lips, almost to signal him of something, but all you can do is try to hide the embarrassment that burns your cheeks.

“Didn’t think so,” he scoffs, backing away just slightly.

His cowboy hat is too big on your head, tipping low over your eyes, possibly hiding your nervousness as you mutter, “What if I do?”

With a smooth motion, he flips it off from your head, holding it with his palm, away from you. “Get back to work, Sunshine.”

“I’m serious—”

“So am I, those horses ain’t gonna straddle their strap themselves, off. to. work,” he hisses, turning to leave.

You huff, heat still burning off your cheeks, more embarrassed than annoyed, yet you still don’t have it in yourself to let it go, you can’t let him have this. Win this.

Quick to snatch the hat back, “So the hat rule is, wear the cowboy hat, ride the cowboy, huh?” You mumble behind him, your voice failing you, yet you appear to be giggly, and Steve heaves a deep sigh of breath, before fully turning to you.

He halts a bit when he sees you once again, in his hat, tipped low, that stupidly addicting smirk gracing your slightly-open lips, hand on your hips, and all he wants to do is fuck you till you lose that attitude of yours.

“Stop,” he warns, taking a step closer to you but with a shake of your head you back away, and he sighs, loud and annoyed.

“Gimme that, sunshine!”

“Nuh-uh.” All teasing and bratty, and grating on Steve’s last nerve. You know this, yet you wanna keep pushing him, further and further, until he snaps, until he can’t take it anymore. You have no reason to do this, you’re supposed to hate him, think of him as an annoying asshole.

But the two of you are finally tethering on that line, the line between purely teasing each other out of spite, to teasing each other out of flirting, you know that, and you don’t wanna take a step back. “Prove it.”

You are all up in his face, and all he can do his roll his eyes, cheeks beetle red, frustration worn on his face. “Knock it off.”

You tut gently, crossing your arms in front of your chest. “Not until you—” Your words are interrupted quickly when he snatches up the hat from your head in annoyance, making you gasp when he discarded it easily.

“Get back to work!” His voice raises, and it makes you take a deep breath.

Shit, did you fuck this up?

“What?” You question, entire body feeling dizzy. He takes a step closer.

“You heard me.”

Another step closer, his breaths come out in short gasps, frustration taking over him. “Get back to fuckin’ work, before I can’t stop myself.”

He is close. Too fucking close, and you can’t help the way your gaze droops down to his soft lips, slightly parted open, downturned from frustration. God, you realize how hot he is when he is angry, once again. “F—from what?”

He hesitates, before licking his lips. This is it. He wants, no, he desperately needs you. Needs to put you to your place. Teach you what happens to bratty girls like you. Show you what exactly the stupid rule is. “From fucking you in this goddamn barn.”

You release the breath you’ve been holding back, feeling small, so small under his gaze. Mouth hanging open, and all you want is him to pin you against the wall, have you screaming out his name. “From making sure I show you how the goddamn cowboy hat rule works.”

Your back is plastered against the wall, his hands are by your side, you are caged beneath him, chest rising in anticipation. “Is that what you want, honey, think you can handle all of that?” He’s so smug, and you don’t know what overtakes you when he’s all in control like this, you wanna obey him, make him happy, proud, so you bite back on your insults.

His smirk is dangerously alluring, and you’re under his spell.

“Please,” you beg, heat finds your cheeks again, you hate the hold he has on you.

He barks out a chuckle, so mean, yet as equally hot. “Please, what? Speak up,” he spits, rolling his tongue inside of the roof of his mouth, lips wearing a smirk.

“Ruin me,” your voice is small, meek, yet it makes him groan.

You’re such a good girl for him, and he wants nothing more than to ruin you. Fully. Completely. Ruin you for every other man.

His head ducks down to your neck, leaving a sloppy kiss before leaning into your ear, his breath hot on your neck, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “Goddamit darlin’, you gonna be the death of me, huh?”

You don’t—you can’t answer, you’re speechless, rubbing your thighs together desperately, seeking some friction, a touch, anything.

He levels with you again, dangerous gaze on your lips, fingertips brushing against your cheeks teasingly “You know what I always wanted to do, sunshine?” He coarses lowly.

“W—what?” You ask with a gulp, lips twitching with need.

He gives you another grin, that asshole. The pad of his thumb slowly caressing your lips now, making you shiver with hunger. “Always wanted to put you to your place, you and that damn smart mouth, always runnin’ it for no good reason. I’d give you a good reason for those pretty lips, huh? Use it the way I wanna use it, fill it the way I wanna feel it,” he grunts like he said the most normal thing, yet you’re already squirming, wanting to open your lips, take his fingers in your mouth and suck on them, show him how much of a good girl you can be for him.

He has you on such a hold already, and you can’t complain. For someone who seemed to be annoyed—hell, even hated him a few minutes ago, you feel crazy, batshit insane, all you want is him.

His fingertips play with your lips all teasingly, pupils blown wide, the other hand caresses your hair so possessively that you melt into his touch. “You gonna be good for me sweet thing?”

He doesn’t have to ask you twice. “Y—yes, sir.”

Sir.

Godfuckingdammit. You don’t know the hold you have on him, do you?

He bites back on the moan that rumbles in his throat, instead settling on a, “Good girl.” Your puppy dog eyes glint at the praise, and he makes a mental note of it. .

“Get on your knees f’me, darlin’,” he grumbles, and you’re quick to obey, not minding the uncomfortable feeling of the wooden floors scraping your knees, or the fact that anyone might’ve walked in, the door was locked, and there was probably no one around yet Mr. Harrington might’ve returned to the ranch at any moment. But he made you feel safe, somehow.

You look up at him with those doe-eyes again, making him suck in a breath before he unbuttons his jeans and pushes them off his hips, boxers so tight around his hard cock that he grunts involuntarily.

Your eyes go wide the second his erection springs free, almost hitting the tip of your nose, red, angry and leaking with pre-cum, he lets out a chuckle at your expression before grabbing the base of his cock.

Same eyes, looking up at him all hungrily, Steve feels the way blood rushes quickly to his cock, making him harder if that's even possible, with a groan he runs the leaking tip across your lips. “Open up.”

Your hand replaces his quickly, and he runs his fingers through several strands of your hair, teaching you how exactly he wants you.

You open your mouth wide, just like he likes it, tongue giving his slit kitten licks, moaning at the taste of his salty pre-cum, wrapping your plushy lips around his thick head, and sucking the life out of him, determined, and feigning innocence with the soft gaze you held.

Head thrown back, heavy boots planted on the harsh ground, he lets out a low groan, stroking your hair all softly. “Look at you s’pretty like this for me.”

His hand wraps tighter around your hair, pushing you onto him, making sure you gag a little and that only spurs you on, making you whine around his cock, the sound reverberating through his chest. “Cat got your tongue, darlin’?” He chuckles all meanly.

“God, do you have any idea how many times I wanted to shut up that bratty mouth like this?” He asks with grunts leaving his open mouth, hand working harshly around your head, mouth feeling like heaven the more you bob around his thick length, struggling to take all of him.

“Those pretty lips are—mmpf, shit—better stuffed with my cock than being a spoiled lil’ city girl runnin’ her mouth, ain’t that right, baby?” You nod meekly, angelic eyes seeking for his validation before you flatten your tongue around the sensitive part of his tip, struggling to take all of him in your mouth. Earning guttural moans, eyes squeezed shut as he feels your soft lips wrapped around him again.

“Fuck, sweet thing.” You can feel his filthy grunts straight in your core, all low and lewd that you almost moan around him again, he puts one hand on the wall, helping himself to better move in and out of your throat.

He knows if you keep this up, he’ll cum right and there, and fuck, he needs that. But he needs to be inside of you more.

You keep up your stroking, now adjusting yourself properly to start licking and sucking on his balls. “Sunshine, you need to s—stop,” the words barely leave his lips, he so doesn’t want you to stop. But, he needs to cum inside of you.

Yet, you don’t listen to him as your movement speeds up, determined to feel his load warming your throat, make him proud, and your mouth bobs harder around his length, making him growl at you harshly. “Sunshine,” he warns, pulling you by your hair.

You’re quick to take a deep breath of air once he pulls you off, looking up at him with the perfect innocent eyes, your lips wearing the prettiest pout. “Was that not good for you, Stevie?”

Stevie. That nickname makes his head spin faster, all he wants to do is fuck you against those stupid rustic walls, have you screaming out for him, the whole ranch filled with your filthy noises, no one was around anyway.

“You kiddin’, sweetheart?” He gives you a chuckle, wrapping his hands around your jaw, pulling you off the floor.

“You were fuckin’ amazing,” he hums, leaning down to kiss you, tasing the salty semen on your tongue.

His hands are quick to travel along to your waist, fingertips finding their way onto your panties rather quickly, earning a gasp out of you. “Need to be in here first, honey.”

You nod, so quickly that you can feel him grinning into the kiss, his hands are everywhere, yours are more or less the same, quick to get rid of his top, to feel his toned chest in your soft hands, your top is sprawled right next to his, revealing your pink and gold bra at him, breasts peeking out just enough to have him groan, big hands quick to get rid of them.

He has you caged against the amber walls, back hitting the rough material, making you hiss. Your skin heats at the impact, it’s filthy, lewd, and so public, but none of you even care enough to break the kiss. He settles between your thighs, his pants drooped to his ankles, hands rubbing across your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

The sight of you so easily submitting to him, makes his cock grow harder than he thought was possible, looking so ethereal that Steve forgets all about everything else. “Sunshine,” he breathes, hands fiddling with the hem of your panties.

“Mhmm,” is all you can muster, legs slightly open for him, and he almost feels possessive over you, it’s entirely stupid, but he looks so fucking alluring with those dark chestnut eyes, layered hair a mess, and cock weeping entirely with the thought of you.

His thumb runs over the seam of your pussy, just a glimpse of how his fingers are going to ruin you, and you pulse and clench against him already. Wet. Drenched. And all ready to take him. “You’re soaked,” he groans.

Leaning further into your ear, “is that all for me, honey?” he rasps, desperate, needing your confirmation.

Heat grows in your cheeks faster than a scorching day in July, and he grins, again, all cocky and proud. “Yes,” you admit meekly, and Steve’s quick to kiss your worries away.

“God, you’re so fuckin’ pretty like this,” he growls, swirling your wetness up and around your slit, almost toying with you, having you desperately mewl for him.

He can’t put his finger on it, what it is that draws him this much into you, but he’s hooked, so goddamn obsessed that he feels like an idiot, for being this much of an asshole, for acting like a grade school boy who’s pulling the pigtails of his crush. Like a stupid cliche.

“Stevie.” That nickname, again. Godfuckingdammit, Steve thinks. You have him so wrapped around your finger, it’s like a prayer, and he’s sure you’re not aware of it. And it drives him even crazier. “Please.”

“Talk to me.” His voice is low, lips now nipping at your neck, suckling, giving you all the marks you need.

“I need you,” you hum, eyes squeezed shut, desperate. His finger discard your panties and slide easily inside of you, your back is fully dipped into the well-worn walls with how good he feels, his thick fingers making their way in and out of your soppy cunt, whines leave your lips faster than you can comprehend.

“Ruin me, Steve, fully, completely.” You don’t know how those words leave past your lush lips, but your thighs ache with need, cunt throbbing for him and him only.

His eyes widen quickly, pure hunger quick to fill his veins, mouth hanging open, curses leaving his lips at how forward you are being. “Show me the cowboy hat rule, sir.”

Steve all but groans, mouth harshly on yours again, chests pressed together and you can feel how hard he truly is, rock stiff, and aching to be inside of you. The sheer size of how he feels against your thighs almost makes your eyes bulge again.

His fingers stop moving in and out of you, before you can whine, he spins you around so fast that you gasp loudly, hands immediately plastered on the wall, pleasure and excitement fills your tummy, but the fact that he’s seeing you all vulnerable like this is embarrassing enough that you try to close your legs.

He’s quick to stop you with a grin, rough hands landing on the back of your thighs, spreading them open while tutting you. “Nuh-uh. Don’t get all shy now, princess. Spread them open f’me.” You spread them a little, cunt throbbing with how close his fingers are.

He groans again once he fully gets a view of you like this, face down, ass up, your pussy slicked with your juices, at his mercy. “‘M gonna ruin you, honey, don’t you worry.” A dark chuckle barks out from his chest, sending chills down your spine, almost making you whine.

Fuck.

His hands are rough when he has you by your waist, bruising almost. Lining his cock in front of your slick core, he swipes the head of his reddened tip inside of you with one forceful thrust. Your plushy lips open slightly, stealing your breath away as you try to adjust to his size.

Shit, shit, shit, he feels even better than you fucking expected.

His cock splits you open, filling every goddamn inch of you. You don’t know how many times you thought this, but, shit, he’s as big as the gossip in this small town says he is.

His thrusts are slow, grunts so loud and heavenly that it spurs you on more and more. His weight on you, the bruising hold. You feel him everywhere. On your back, hips, and fucking inside of you.

“F-fucking, fuck!” he growls, leaving nibbles all over your shoulder and back, even with the fact that this was Steve, and he was rough and filthy, it was wildly intimate, so wildly intimate that you could feel your heart pounding inside of your chest.

“How are you this fuckin’ tight, s-sweetheart?” One of his hands travel up to your neck, roughly holding you down, hips slamming into you with such force that you cry out.

He watches the way his girthy cock disappears in and out of you, wetting himself with your juices, filling every inch of you. “Doin’ s’good for me, princess.” His praises are heavenly, making your chest swell with pride.

He moves inside of your soppy cunt with short thrusts. Completely bottomed out, thrusting against the same sensitive spot every time as his balls, heavy with cum grind against your clit, with each movement, making you cry out his name, babbles leaving your mouth. “Yeah, you like this don’t ya? Want me to ruin this slutty pussy, huh? Ruin it for every other men?”

You nod all dumbly, yet, it isn’t enough for him. He wants to hear you, have you scream it out. “Say it, sweet thing, fuckin’ say it,” he groans, coarse voice making tingles appear everywhere on your skin.

“I-I love it, Stevie, want you to ruin me for everyone else, mmpf,” you moan all fucked out, eyes rolled all the way back to your head, hips desperately grinding against him for some more friction.

He picks up his pace, fucking into you with reckless abandon.“F-fuck doll, won’t last if you keep runnin’ that dirty mouth.”

But his words just encourage you to keep going, gasps coming out in short breaths as you manage to drive him crazier. “All yours, sir, all yours.”

He grunts at that, one of his arms snaking around and under your hips to find a better angle, lifting you up so that he can fuck his cock deeper into you, make you feel how fucking big he really is. “That’s right, baby, it’s all fuckin’ mine.”

Hot tears spill down your cheeks, entire body burning with it. The slick sounds of his hips driving into you, your moans, his low groans are all that fill the room. So fucking filthy, and you can feel yourself clenching around him.

It’s all too much; his hands everywhere, the lewd noises he makes, how deep his girthy cock is bottomed out inside of you, making you feel every ridge. It’s fucking perfect, and you desperately need to cum.

And of fucking course, Steve can feel your pussy gripping him, so tight that he knows he’s gonna cum right after you do. “Gonna cum f’me, huh? Such a good girl,” he praises, again, knowing the effect it has on you and all you can do is gasp and weakly nod.

One of his thumbs quickly finds your clit, making your pussy throb around him in pure ecstasy, all the overstimulation enough to have you crying like a bitch in heat. “Give it to me, angel,” he murmurs, pressing open-mouthed kisses everywhere on your skin.

His movements pick up, padded thumb rubbing circles around your clit, the other hand landing on your nipples, twisting them while pumping into you, it’s all too much that it makes you sob and beg for him.

“Cream my cock, let me ruin you completely, darlin’” It’s all the confirmation you need as your orgasm builds and washes through you, body exploding with pleasure, spreading through your skin as you scream out his name.

Your pussy squeezes and pulses around his cock, and he fucking knows, he won’t last, not in the slightest. “S-shit, sweet thing, gonna make me cum with all those filthy noises.”

“Want that, honey, hmm? Wanna be filled with my cum? Show everybody in this town who owns ya? Owns this tight lil’ cunt?” He feels it, that pure hunger for you over taking him, coarse voice, dark eyes, like a man possessed. His fingers dig further into your skin as he desperately chases his orgasm, enjoying the sloppy sounds your pussy makes as he drives into you.

“P-please, Stevie, n-need your cum,” you weakly hum. And it fucking breaks him. Hips losing all rhythm when he spills his warm load into you, twitching inside of you once he pumps you full of his cum.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Sunshine,” he breathes, collapsing on your back, both of you trying to come down from the high. He slips free of you slowly, his cum dripping down your thighs, making him grin proudly.

“S-steve,” you weakly murmur, collapsing in his arms. He holds you down, slight kisses left on your back, delicate in a way you have never seen him before. Yet, the two of you don’t mention it, “let me take you home,” he mutters, a gentle hold on you that makes you feel warm.

“N-no.”

“No?” Intrigued, his breath gets caught in his throat, the look you give him is so sultry that the blood rushes to his cock in an instant again. Fucking fuck, what have you done to him.

“We still haven’t followed the rules,” you purr sweetly, causing him to raise his brows in excitement, tempting him further and further.

“The rule was wear the hat, ride the cowboy, wasn’t it?” You question with a slight grin, eyes lulled, still fucked out.

Your fingertips gently grazed against his chest, hairy and slicked with sweat, his sudden dominance fading when you were so quick to switch from begging to cum underneath him to gaining that flirty, giddy personality again. Already leaving him a mess. “Y-yeah,” he murmured, watching you hungrily, his cock already weeping again.

“Then, sit down and lemme take care of you, cowboy,” you ordered again, shuddering breaths leaving him in an instant.

Now you were going to ruin him.

Fully.

Completely.

And Steve couldn’t be more infatuated. You were truly his demise.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fics #steve harrington smut #steve harrington imagines #cowboy!steve harrington

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menofprogress · 2 months ago

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Thing is, Viktor might downplay it in front of other people (specifically for jayces sake), but that doesnt mean hes not TERRIFIED of dying. Yes, his reaction after waking up in the hospital and simply going "how much time do i have" seems pretty detached, but im convinced that was bc he already knew he was dying (given his frazzled reaction to Heimerdinger saying hextech could take another decade) and also he wanted to look strong in front of jayce.

But we can see how hard and desperately he is trying to find a cure, he hasnt "made peace" with his fate, he does not want to die!

Later he is lamenting to Heimerdinger about how his contributions havent been enough and will eventually be forgotten, which is odd, considering he literally contributed to the return of magic and the hexgates alone must have been such a gigantic gamechanger even just looking at trading or shipping alone.

Now ofc you could interpret it as him being disappointed that he hadnt made a name for himself the way jayce did or that he is bitter about only jayce being hailed as the inventor of hextech, but we never actually see him be resentful about not getting any public attention or accolades, in fact he explicitly turns down the opportunity to present their work alongside jayce. So that cant be it.

I think his feeling about "not mattering" in the grand scheme comes from two places.

One: we know Viktor and jayce see stuff like the hexgates, as monumental as they may be, as frivolous and theyd much rather improve the lives of ordinary people. Viktor probably feels like so far he has only made the rich richer and he wont be able to help common people, especially in zaun, as much as he wanted to.

Two: his talk about "contributions" being forgotten isnt actually only about his work. I think he is terrified that jayce, the person closest to him, will move on and forget about him after his death. Him desperately throwing himself into hexcore research is of course kicked off by his terminal diagnosis, but it also coincides with Jayce taking on councilor duties, having to make decisions that are against their shared moral compass and starting a relationship with mel. This doesnt even have to be romantic jealousy, just imagine your best friend, your closest person, your PARTNER, gets a massive promotion, starts acting against principles you thought you shared AND gets in a relationship while youre told you have weeks or months left.

Ofc i see viktor having romantic feelings for jayce on top of all that, but even if you dont see it that way, viktor is seeing jayce becoming a councilor and neglecting their work (something jayce himself clearly sees as abandonment in retrospect) he sees jayce adapting his moral compass to be more appropriate to his new station and hes seeing himself possibly being replaced as jayces "partner". He knows jayce isnt a bad person and would never outright leave him when hes this close to death, but of course he would think jayce would move on to bigger and better things after his death.

He was so terrified of dying alone, abandoned, unappreciated and forgotten which is why its so incredible that jayce made sure he stayed with him in the end.

#jayvik #literally doesnt matter if platonic or not #viktor arcane #jayce talis #arcane #m

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hwaslayer · 3 months ago

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wildfire (cs) | sixteen.

—spotify playlist |series masterlist

—summary: assistant professor in bioengineering, incredibly attractive, lonely and divorced; that’s how most people describe san. but despite the events that have happened in his life, san has a lot going for himself. he’s a successful, sought out professor due to his brilliant contributions to science at just an early age of 32. he worked hard to get where he was now; head deep into his research, his publications, building his lab and creating a name for himself. everything was good and smooth sailing— until it wasn’t. because when he meets you, a bioengineering grad student interested in rotating in his lab, he finds himself ready to risk all the blood, sweat and tears he put in throughout the years just to keep you close— his need for you spiraling out of control like a wildfire.

—pairing: asst. professor!choi san x grad student!f. reader

—genre: (18+ - minors dni) strangers to lovers, grad school au | fluff, angst, smut

—word count: 6.1k

—chapter content/warnings: cussing, mature language/sexually implied content, the storm is here (literally), a bit of a lillll argument, san comes to the rescue ofc, saurrrr much tension at first.. like the air is THICCCK, coming to resolutions & making up 🥺, kissing/making out, sweet moments, unprotected sex, fingering, slightly nipple play, hella soft missionary, hella soft sex from behind. idk everything is hella sweet and hella soft cause they’re just so in love and missed each other pls let them have this lil tender moment!! 🤍, a small oc x iseul encounter (just because i needed her to at LEAST give iseul some business), sorry if i missed anything - quickly edited!

—on rotation: goin' crazy - natalie

"Babe. Go home?" Eunchae says over the phone while you pack some things up. You were the only one out of your friends who stayed behind to finish up a few things and get ahead before the storm rolled in. The rest of your friends were smart enough to leave, and now, you were stuck on campus until [god knows when] the storm would settle.

"Chae, I literally think I'm stuck here. I didn't leave early enough." You sigh and head towards the window, watching as the rain continues to pour, the wind howling and beating against the glass.

"Why don't you wait it out for a few and then dart out as soon as it stops? I'm sure we'll get a quick break from the storm."

"I'm scared to drive out in this rain. What if it traps me out on the road?" You groan. "I should've left earlier but I had to take care of some stuff in the lab before the storm came in just in case. I didn't want it to set me back."

"Is the building staying strong? Back up generators and all still pulling through?"

"Yeah, thankfully—" As if you had just jinxed it, the lights suddenly shut off in your studio— the lights in surrounding rooms also going out. The street lights are out.

Everything is dark and cold.

"Oh, fuck. Nevermind." You whine and pretend to cry.

"What, the lights went out?!"

"Yeah. I think the backup generators might've tripped out."

"Girl, get your ass home. Who knows when they'll start investigating and working on that?"

"I should've left yesterday. I should've just listened to my gut!"

"But no, you had to go and be my 'lil overachiever." The both of you hear your emails ding— the internet in the building going out, leaving you with choppy service. "Oop, there goes the university message about the backup generator getting blown out for residence halls."

"Save me."

"Babe, just wait it out and get outta there. I'm sure it'll be fine when you drive home later, okay? Text me if anything. I can force my stepbrother to come and rescue you if needed."

"No, no. It's fine. I'll be okay."

"Okay, be safe for now. Love you!"

"Love you, too!" You let out another small breath as you sit in front of your half-packed weekender bag. You continue to pack your things, finalizing the last bits of the necessities needed so you can dash out of here the moment the storm calms—

Whenever that is.

You set your bag aside, along with your jacket and shoes before plopping onto your couch to try and get some work done through your phone's hotspot. But, it doesn't last for long when the videos you need to watch won't play and your data won't upload properly. You check the weather to see if there are any gaps in the rain coming soon, but to your luck, there are none.

In fact, it only sounds like the rain will get worse until tomorrow afternoon.

"Fuck." You whine to yourself, feeling scared and alone without your friends around to keep you company.

Had you listened to your gut and let your work sit for a minute, you wouldn't be in this predicament.

You try to busy yourself by lighting up some candles, spreading it out within your studio from the kitchen table to your nightstand. You go from trying to take notes under the dim candlelight, to laying in your bed trying to warm up.

Suddenly, a text comes through on your phone. You weren't expecting anything to come through with how shitty and inconsistent the service has been. You grab your phone, assuming it was one of your friends or your mom checking in on you.

You did not think it'd be Choi San.

san: hope you're staying warm and safe, y/n.

Your heart drops and you immediately don't know what to do. Should you respond? Should you continue ignoring him, continue to force yourself to act like San doesn't mean much to you?

Erase that part of your life?

After all these months, he still has the same effect on you. No matter how hard you try to hide it, your feelings for him haven't gone anywhere.

you: trying to. i hope you are too.

He doesn't answer right away, but that's only because he wasn't expecting a response. He was fully convinced you hated him since the last time you spoke, yet that hasn't stopped him from thinking about you every single day. Especially now, when the storm is at its peak. You're alone, and he's alone. He misses you.

He's pulled out of his thoughts when you follow up with another text, and he almost feels like this could be a window to talk to you and see how you've been doing. He's been itching to talk to you again.

you: do you have power?

san: i do. do you need anything? just saw the university message about part of the residence halls being out of power.

you: um, no. i think i'm okay.

san: you sure? did they say when it'll come back up?

you: no clue.

san: you can hang out here if you want. i'll give you space.

you: i'll think about it. thank you for offering, though.

san: course. let me know. i was actually hoping we could talk at some point.

You pout a bit, setting your phone aside as you try to lean back against your headboard and continue studying. You try to get your mind off of San, believing you can hold out until tomorrow when the rain smoothes over and the storm passes. The longer the power continues to stay off, the colder it gets. The harder the rain and wind get, the more you hate being alone.

What did San need to talk about?

Your curiosity definitely got to the best of you because even though you don't entirely think you're ready for whatever San has up his sleeve, you pick up your phone to text him back anyway. You don't wanna be alone, and even if you don't wanna admit it right now, you'd rather be with him than here.

you: but, it's pretty crazy outside. you'd drive in this?

san: well, yeah. it's tapering off for a bit anyway. do you want me to come?

you: okay.

san: i'll be there in about 15 minutes.

you: pls be careful.

san: i will, love.

You sigh, pinching at your bottom lip to try and understand your feelings right now. Were you excited? Were you nervous? Were you regretting this?

Should you tell him to not leave? Change your mind?

You're so conflicted that it takes up all your time— up until the very moment that San is texting you that he's in his usual spot. A wave of nostalgia washes over you, and obviously, it's too late to turn back now no matter how nervous you are.

You throw on your huge puffer jacket, throwing on the hood from your hoodie over your head while grabbing your weekender bag, along with your school bag to try and get some work done at San's house. Might as well be productive in a warm place with running hot water, heat and lights.

San is right about the rain; it's a lot lighter than it was earlier, but you know it won't last for long. You hurriedly walk over as the rain continues to fall, swinging his door open and plopping yourself into the passenger's seat— slightly getting the leather wet.

"Hey."

"Hi." You say softly as you settle in, lowering the hood from your face. San feels like his heart is beating out of his chest while he watches you from the side, turning to throw your things in the back before looking at him. "Was it hard driving over?"

"No."

"Hm, okay." You hum.

"How's it been?"

"Fine, I guess."

"You guess?"

"I don't know what you want me to say."

"Heard you're in the final stages for your transfer to Mirae. Namjoon says it's been crazy busy for you because you're trying to wrap things up before you leave."

"Oh, right." You look down at your hands. "Yeah. Yeah, he's right." You pause. "It has been busy that I've barely had time for myself. All worth in the end, I guess."

"Excited?"

"Not sure yet. I will be, I think."

"Mm. That's great, Y/N. You deserve it." You look at him and furrow your brows before scoffing a bit.

"So, that's it? We're just gonna act like things are fine because you're coming to my rescue during a storm?"

"No, that's not it at all." San looks at you, almost matching your energy. "First of all, I was worried about you. Second, I just wanted to check in and then apologize. Is that so wrong of me to do?"

"You don't have to do all that."

"Well, I want to."

"Apologize for what?" You look directly outside of the windshield, listening and watching as the rain hits the glass harshly.

"The texts and the calls during Mingi's birthday at the bar."

"It's fine."

"Was it? You were kinda brushing me off."

"The last time we spoke before that, you broke up with me and we didn't necessarily part ways on a friendly note."

"I wanted to, but you were angry."

"You decided what was best for me. Without me." You cross your arms and look out the window, feeling the hot tears brimming your lids.

"I didn't come and pick you up to argue." He sighs when he sees the switch in your body language. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry because I know I was out of line and I shouldn't have done things that way. I did mean it, though. Everything I said to you that night. What happened that night didn't mean—"

"What is the point of this, San?" You begin to cry into your hands while sitting in the seat. "I don't know what you want."

"Baby, you know what I want."

"Stop." You whine a bit. "I don't know what you want."

"You. It's always been you." He shakily sighs, his own tears brimming his lids. "I'm sorry, I just— I didn't mean to hurt you, love. You know I didn't. I know you've been angry about it, but I was just trying to do what was best at the time. I was scared, and I didn't want anything to happen to you so I jumped. Baby, please know that." His eyes are burning up, cheeks slightly rosy as he looks at you with concern. With hurt.

With love.

"San, you make this so complicated." You whine as you dig your head into your hands as a dull headache comes on.

"I'm not trying to, sweetheart." He almost matches your tone, gaining frustration from the entire situation all over again. It isn't you, no. It's just the fact that he had to do what he needed to do in order to blow shit over, but that meant spending months away from you— the one person wanted and needed.

You're pulled out of your own thoughts when the rain starts to pick up again, pounding against the windshield and windows like pellets. You sigh and shake your head, running your hand through your hair.

"Can we just not.. right now? The storm is gonna pick up again, maybe I should just head back—"

"You can stay at mine. I'll give you space like I promised. Who knows when the generators will be back up." He starts up his car and you don't even protest. "Do you want me to stop by anywhere before heading to the house?"

"It's crazy out here, San. We should just get back to the house." He sighs a bit.

"I'll make you some ramen when we get back." You quietly sit back and watch as San safely navigate the incredibly wet and dangerous roads back to his house. Luckily, it isn't far from campus, and your anxiety lowers when he gets closer to his place. Just as you're about to turn onto his street, the storm picks up quick— the rain hitting the car harshly, making it hard to see through the windshield. But, San finally pulls into his garage, allowing you to release the breath you've been holding during the car ride.

You feel safe again.

You feel safe like you typically do when you're with San. Angry or not— San has always been a safe space for you.

He swings your door open after grabbing your things in the back, giving you space to step out and walk ahead of him. It feels so familiarly unfamiliar walking into his house after months of not doing so, but everything feels the same. It still feels.. safe. Comfortable.

It looks the same.

"It's warm."

"Good." San chuckles a bit before nodding towards upstairs. "I'll take you to the guest bedroom so you can get comfortable and do whatever you need to do." You nod and follow San upstairs, trying to see if anything has changed. But, nothing has.

He swings the door open and the bed is still neatly made with its light grey, fluffy duvet, matching sheets and pillowcases. You quietly set your things down while San backtracks out into the hallway.

"Let me grab you a towel." You nod, starting to go through your bag to change into the pajamas you brought— some old christmas pants and an oversized sweater. San comes back into the room with a towel, placing it gently on the edge of the bed. "Here."

"Thank you." You grab the towel, along with your travel pouch and clothes, and head to the guest bathroom to get washed up. You're setting your things down onto the counter when you hear San approaching. He's carrying something in his hand, welcoming himself into the bathroom.

"I, um, have this." San brings a basket full of skincare and hair products that you use. "I took note of the stuff you use so you wouldn't have to keep hauling it over. You know.. back then." You turn to him, surprised he got every detail right.

"San."

"It's not a big deal."

"Yeah, it is. Thank you."

"Course. Do you need anything else?"

"No. This is perfect." He nods.

"I'll be downstairs." You give him a tiny smile before he walks out and shuts the door to leave you to your peace. You take a moment to go through the basket that San brought in, feeling your heart swell at how incredibly attentive he's always been.

You miss him so badly, and he's just in the room below.

You shake off the thoughts in your head, stepping into the piping hot shower to finally release all stress and overthinking. You take your time being that San's power seems to be holding on strong, and you're not gonna lie, his shower feels amazing after the busy ass weeks you've been having. You step out after a good 30-mins of extra lathering, exfoliation and scrubbing, really giving yourself the self-care treatment you've been yearning for. You finish up your routine by lotioning up and brushing some treatment through your hair before changing into your pajamas. You step into the room to fix your things, grabbing your laptop and gently tossing it on the bed so you can slowly pick up where you left off earlier—

"Nice pajamas." San stands by the door with a bowl and water in his hands, making you roll your eyes.

"I was supposed to head to my mom's, not yours." You pout and it makes San bite his lip to prevent himself from teasing you even more about your mickey mouse Christmas pajamas. "Don't make fun of me."

"No, it's cute." He sets the bowl of ramen on the nightstand near the bed. "Made you a bowl."

"Thank you." He nods.

"I'm gonna be next door in my office to finish up some things. Will you be okay in here?"

"Yeah, I will be."

"Well, you're welcome to pop in if you need anything. Help yourself to anything downstairs, too. You can just leave the bowl in the dishwasher."

"No worries. Thank you, San." You say softly as you sit on the edge of the bed. He nods and locks eyes with you for a moment, a soft gaze on his face before he grabs at the door handle. He slowly shuts the door, almost pained having to do so.

He wishes he didn't have to, he wishes he didn't have to keep this door between you two. Those walls.

And you do, too. But, you're too scared to say it. Because if you say it, how will you overcome these feelings? You shouldn't even be here in the first place since you've done so well minding your own business while burying your feelings for San. You've done so well, and now, you're here. Threatening to reverse all of that work. You just weren't sure where this would take you two and the uncertainty kills you.

In the end, what if it just never really works out? What would've all of this been for?

You shake the thoughts out of your head, eating the delicious ramen San made you before chugging most of your water bottle. It gives you enough energy to power through the work you couldn't complete earlier in your studio due to the power going out. You can hear San hopping on a few phone calls, one being with Jongho. You hear San's deep voice talking through a lot of key points during some of these calls. You try to focus your way through most of your work, trying to ignore how awfully attractive San sounds through the walls.

Then, it gets quiet. And you know he's busying himself, too.

When in reality, San is wondering when he could talk to you a little more. He can't stop thinking about how cute you look in those pajamas. How much he just wanted to hug you and hold you close.

To just be with you.

But instead, he lets out an audible sigh and continues working on his presentation for this meeting coming up for a new grant he's close to being rewarded. It takes him about another 45 minutes before he's done for the evening. He shuts off his computer and fixes his desk before heading out of his office to get cozy.

You don't really hear San moving around as much, so you figured he was deep in his work that you could head downstairs, clean up your dishes and grab another water bottle for the night. When you swing the door open, the door to San's office is open, and so is the room. You don't see San around, but you do faintly hear the shower going. You quietly shut the door and head down the steps with the dishes and empty water bottle in hand, instantly tossing the bottle into San's recycling bin. You wash the dishes instead of leaving them in the dishwasher, setting them neatly on San's drying rack next to the sink. Afterward, you dig into San's fridge for a new water bottle, quickly eyeing how stocked his fridge is.

"Hey." He looks at you as he comes down the steps slowly, running a small towel across his wet hair. Your eyes can't help but fall to his bare chest for a short moment, a shirt hanging on his broad shoulder. "Sorry, wasn't expecting you to be down here right at this moment." You shut the fridge door.

"Just wanted to grab some more water and wash your dishes." He nods.

"Is it too cold for you upstairs? Do you want me to turn up the heat?"

"No, it's alright. Thanks." He brushes past you, the scent of his body wash lingering in the air. He digs into the fridge and pulls out his own water bottle before twisting the cap open and taking a sip. You find yourself stuck in your position until thunder roars outside, lightning following shortly afterward.

"Jeez." San says, looking at the weather outside. "Yeah, you definitely wouldn't be having a good time at your place in this."

"Not at all." He cocks his head to the side, trying to read the quiet tone you respond with.

"You scared of thunder?"

"No." You look at him with a look. "Not really." He cocks a brow up, still shirtless a few feet away from you. "Kinda. It's just really loud." He chuckles a bit.

"Well, you're safe here." You silently nod.

"Aren't you cold or something?" You avoid eye contact as you take another sip of your water.

"Not really. Why? Is this bothering you?" He smirks a bit and you roll your eyes.

"Please."

"Just curious." Is all he says with the smirk still on his face while taking another sip. You should be heading upstairs to mind your own business and sleep, distancing yourself from San like you had originally planned.

But, you can't.

And he can tell.

He stands in the kitchen, watching as you pause in your steps, turning back to face him.

"San?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I.. ask you something then?"

"What's up?" He gently sets his bottle back down, slipping into his t-shirt. Finally, you think. It's hard when your attraction to him hasn't faded one bit.

"About that night.. with Zara."

"Oh." He simply says, leaning against the counter. "What about that night?"

"Did you mean that part?" You step closer to him. "You know, about the kiss."

"I did. It shouldn't have happened in the first place, and there was just a misunderstanding between us. I never meant to lead her on or anything, but I think she might've mistaken my actions for feelings."

"Oh." He sees you deflate a bit and he reaches out to brush your hair back. He does it slow, though. In case you don't want him near you, or you retract. But, you don't. You look at him like you've been needing him the same way he's needed you, and it relaxes him a bit.

"Y/N, I promise. It didn't mean anything. She kissed me first and I didn't really have time to react right away. It sounds stupid, and I was drunk. But, it meant nothing to me. And I told her the truth." His hand rests on your cheek and you lean into his touch. "Even throughout all of that, I just felt even more.. lonely and empty without you, I didn't really know how to cope with it."

"It made me feel like you two had something going on."

"No." He says softly. "I'm sorry, angel. I didn't mean to make you sad or upset over that." You pull away from his touch and look down at your feet.

"That's okay."

"Is it?" You nod. "I'm sorry for the way I came off that night, too. I didn't mean to overwhelm you or anything."

"That's okay, San." You respond close to a whisper.

"I thought you were done with me."

"No. I've just been doing what you insisted in the first place." He sighs, his hand dropping down from your cheek.

Things shouldn't be this complicated, and he's afraid he doesn't care much about the repercussions anymore. Time has passed, and his feelings haven't changed.

It shouldn't be like this.

"Anyway. Should probably head back upstairs." There's a sense of defeat in your tone and San can feel it, too. He simply nods, fighting with himself to gain the courage to just ask you to join him in bed tonight so you can talk, catch up.

So he can say sorry.

So he can get you back.

Because that's all he wants, and that's all he's ever cared for.

Why he chose today in particular, he isn't sure. But, the storm, the gloomy days and the rain all reminded him of the way he'd be feeling lately and how tired he was of it.

San quietly follows you up the steps, every step closer and closer to shattering through the invisible glass floor he walks on.

Fuck this.

"Hey. Why don't you—" San begins, but it comes out at the same exact time you hit him with the—

"Actually. Is it okay if I join you?" The both of you pause, looking at each other with a sort of need, a sort of long time longing and yearning.

"You sure?"

"Mhm."

"Yeah, of course." You rub at your arm as you slowly walk into the room after him, awkwardly standing at the end of his bed as if you hadn't slept there before. "You can get comfortable, Y/N. You don't have to do that."

"Sorry, it's just been awhile."

"That's okay." He pulls back the covers and gives you a moment to slip in before he does. He adjusts a bit, making sure to leave some space in between in case you were uncomfortable, but the distance only has you feeling empty. Lonely. "Gotta make sure the thunder doesn't get you."

"Funny." You turn to him and glare, making him laugh a bit. The photo on his nightstand catches your attention— it's a photo you two took on your trip to the Baskin Conference. He must have caught on because his eyes travel down to the photo and he smiles toothlessly.

"It's my favorite picture."

"It's mine, too." You respond softly while looking at San in front of you. His eyes are roaming around, eyeing your features. "So, are you and Zara still friends?" He shrugs.

"I don't really know. I haven't talked to her. It's pretty awkward and I know I hurt her, so I don't know if she necessarily wants me around."

"Sorry."

"Don't be."

"She's always had it for you, San. And I almost thought you two were better off. I thought it'd end up that way when we broke up." He shakes his head.

"Nah. I've only been concerned about one person and that has never changed since everything happened." He says, close to a whisper. His hand comes to your cheek again, gently caresses the surface with his thumb. The space in between you two feels so cold, and it makes you realize you don't wanna be this far from San.

You don't want anything to keep you two apart anymore.

"I wanna talk to you about that day, too. When we were in the car."

"Okay."

"There were so many things happening that I just needed to protect you from." He brushes the hair away from your face. "Please know that I never wanted it to happen, and that I never had any plans to leave. I just had to do what was right because I was scared for you first and foremost. I didn't want you to get hurt, I didn't want anything to happen to you."

"I know, San. I'm sorry." You whisper. "I was too hurt to realize it at first, but I know you were just trying to protect me and do what was best." He licks his lips and continues to maintain eye contact.

"But, trust me. I wouldn't have if I truly didn't have to, angel. You were and have always been the most important person. That hasn't changed." You lean into his touch, turning your head to gently lay a kiss on the palm of his hand— scooting into his arms when he pulls you into them.

And it feels like home all over again.

"San."

"Yeah, love?"

"I don't wanna do this anymore."

"I don't either." You feel the tears welling up in your lids, a few already streaking down your cheeks. The only difference this time around is that San is here to wipe it away, to comfort you, to physically reassure you that he has always been here regardless of the circumstances.

"I'm tired of crying over you, I'm tired of missing us."

"I hated seeing you cry. I don't want you to cry." He whispers.

"Then, what're we supposed to do, San?" You ask at a whisper and he continues to cup your cheek.

"You're transferring, love. Things will change, and I don't think it'll be as bad as it was before."

"I know, but we shouldn't be reckless anymore. Regardless if I'm transferring."

"I won't. We won't. I can't keep going like this, baby. It's the hardest thing I've ever had to do and I don't wanna do it anymore." He shakes his head. "I can't lose you for good. I can't."

"You won't."

"Good, cause I don't plan to." He says lowly, caressing your cheek before bringing your lips to his for a sweet, soft kiss.

You missed this, and you missed San. And your body must have too, because it reacts instantly to his touch. His kiss.

He holds you close, his body heat keeping you warm under the sheets. He cups your cheek and presses soft, feathery kisses to your eye, cheek.

Nose.

Lips.

"Missed you, sweetheart."

"Missed you too, Sannie."

"Yeah?" He whispers, continuing to plant sweet kisses across your face, down your neck.

Soon, your shirt is off and so is San's. He takes his time caressing your body, feeling every inch that he can.

Lips gently dragging across your skin like a paintbrush against the canvas; painting you with sweet, love marks— kisses that are meant to close and heal each wound from the past months.

You and San take your time indulging in each other. The kisses are slow, the touches are gentle. The actions are sweet. He hovers over you, careful not to put his entire weight down while he kisses down to your chest— tongue swirling around your perked buds one at a time before gently pulling back with a pop. His thumb is slowly rubbing at your heat as he continues his trail down, two digits slipping in just to feel how wet you are for him— how ready you are for him. His lips are grazing yours as he slightly picks up the pace; just enough for you to feel his fingers curling at the right spots, dragging them in and out at a overwhelmingly pleasurable pace to start you off.

He takes his time. His focus is on you, not himself.

When you beg him to keep going, he teases you a bit with his cock— slipping and sliding in between your folds with intention, nudging his tip ever so slightly into your entrance before repeating his motions a few more times. He lets out a low moan when he sees how much you're yearning for him, how much your eyes are pleading him for him to give you more and more— slowly easing himself into the space that was made for him and him only until he bottoms out, your pussy swallowing him whole. He pauses for a second, now lowering himself back down onto your body so he can hold you close. The both of you wrap your arms around each other as he starts at a slow and steady pace— letting you feel every inch of him, every part of him that missed you so terribly and so deeply.

He praises you in your ear, keeping you close, holding you close; making sure he won't ever let you go again. Everything about it is so sensual, so intimate, and there's nowhere else you'd rather be than in San's arms. He continues slowly, deeply, laying more kisses across the skin of your neck and jaw.

Back up to your cheeks, eyes.

Nose.

Lips.

“Can you be a good girl and turn around for me, baby? Hm?” He says and hums lowly. “Please.” He pleads, just as he presses his lips onto yours for a heated, open-mouthed kiss. You do as he asks, flipping onto your stomach while you press your cheek against the pillow. His large hands roam up your body, leaving kisses in a fiery trail from your lower back— up to your shoulder blades and the sides of your neck. He reconnects your bodies as one, your mouth falling agape as he lets out a deep moan. You’ve got a leg bent up, with the other straight— San’s hands resting on your thigh and hip as he slides his thick cock in and out of you. He’s quick to find his rhythm, moans and repeated whines filling the walls of the bedroom.

"Y/N." San lowers himself to grip your chin, back pressed against his chest. He whispers in your ear as he rolls his hips into you from behind harshly, an arm now wrapped around you to keep you as close as possible.

"Sannie." You breathe out repeatedly. He pants, the low moans and whimpers echoing in the space of the room.

Bodies slick with sweat.

San moves to the side, pressing his lips against your temple just before letting out another guttural groan at the way your walls squeeze him so perfectly, pushing him right at the edge.

Heaven sent.

"Y/N." He repeats your name, his words are choked; he feels himself tipping over, coil ready to snap any second. His dick slick with your wetness every time he drags in and out. "I love you." He says. "I love you, baby." He repeats over and over, and over, and over again. Until it sinks into your skin, into those wounds.

Until it bleeds deep into your soul.

"I love you too, San."

In the following weeks, you find yourself busy as can be in Professor Kim's lab. You were able to pull your transfer application and all the required documents together within the two week timeframe given, along with participating in meetings with Professor Qi to slowly start getting yourself acclimated to her lab, her work and the clinical department you'd be working heavily in.

To say you are exhausted would be an understatement.

But, having San back by your side helps a lot.

You and San have been very secretive about your relationship for very obvious reasons; despite you pretty much having the transfer in your pocket and being the next step in your career, you were still scared. You stopped having San pick you up on campus, opting to drive to his place and slipping your car into the garage while San would leave his cars out. You wouldn't mention San to anyone, you wouldn't talk about his lab, you wouldn't do anything except focus on yourself, your work in Professor Kim's lab and making preparations to move.

After hours— it was different.

Barely can keep your hands off of each other within the walls of San's home, making up for lost time. Constantly in each other's space, afraid to let go in case the other wanders too far away. But, you could never. San could never.

"Sannie." You giggle when San wraps his arms around you from behind and kisses you against the forehead, cheek, jaw. His hands roam around your body, caressing and squeezing every inch he possible can.

"Why are you rushing out?"

"Uh, because I have things to do. Like you do." You laugh.

"5 minutes."

"5 minutes and we'll both be late. No." He whines and pouts.

"No fun."

"I'll see you later, yeah?" You turn to face him after getting your things together. "Have a good day." San continues to pout.

"You too, baby." You laugh and start heading out of the room. San follows, tying the tie around his neck properly. "What time are you planning to come, anyway?"

"I promised my friends I'd get dinner with them, so after?"

"Hm." He hums. "Okay, love."

"But, at least I won't have an early start tomorrow."

"Thank god. Cause I got plans for tonight." You smile and caress his chin before giving him another quick peck to the lips.

"I love you." You say softly when you pull back briefly.

"I love you, too." San smiles, losing his pout completely when he hears you say those words. It could literally fuel his entire day— which, he'll need with all the back-to-back meetings he has today.

When you get to campus, you head straight to class— grabbing a parfait on the way over. It seems to be a pretty busy day on campus, being that it was nearly impossible to find parking, and all your favorite quick cafés seemed to be packed with people. You find that there are multiple symposiums going on, along with other important events around campus. Class isn't too bad, and it goes by a lot quicker with the last half being small group breakouts and assignments that need to be completed before class ends. Afterward, you hurry on to the lab, hoping to snag one of the small conference rooms for your check-in with Professor Qi.

Except, you run into a minor roadblock— one that you very much want to confront head on instead of ignoring it like you typically do.

"Professor Lee?" You turn to Iseul as you tuck your books to your chest. She turns over her shoulder to look at you, brows knitted tightly together as if she's already annoyed that you're calling for her attention. And if she is, you couldn't give a fuck. Because she isn't gonna like what's gonna come out of your mouth next, and you hope it finally sinks into her thick ass skull.

"Yes?" She checks her watch. "Can we make this brief? I'm heading to a meeting."

"Don't worry, I don't care to take up much of your time." You give her a small smile. "Thank you for your support with my move to Professor Qi's lab at Mirae. Seems like after all the trouble you went through to try and air out my business, it only brought me to better opportunities. I'm not going anywhere and so isn't San." She's glaring at you now, watching your every move in total disgust.

"Very bold move of you to come up to me and waste my time on the way to a meeting."

"Also very bold of you to meddle in his business after everything you've put him through."

"You have no right to speak on that."

"And you had no right to involve yourself in something that doesn't concern you." You pause. "Just so we're clear on this." You step a little closer and tilt your head to the side. "You can do whatever you want, however you want. I'm not gonna let you take his happiness away again." She rolls her eyes and shakes her head, turning to her watch again.

"I’ll assume this is done." You give her a toothless smile before she storms off, pulling her phone out of her pocket. Although she probably won't give this another thought, you felt accomplished having released that from your chest. But little do you know, she hates it, and she hates it because she only thought she was doing the right thing.

Now, she's the enemy and everyone sees her and Yunho as that.

you: hey.

You pull out your phone as you scurry along to the conference room, still having enough time to spare before your check-in with Professor Qi. San texts back almost instantly even though he's definitely in a Zoom meeting right now, making you chuckle to yourself.

He will always make time for you, regardless.

san: hey baby. what's up?

you: sorry, wasn't expecting you to answer mid-meeting.

san: it's alright, i can do both. you okay?

you: i am.

you: i just wanna say i really appreciate you, san.

san: all of a sudden? 😂 i appreciate you too, love. more than you know.

you: yeah. 🥹 i love you.

san: i love you too, sweet girl.

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