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pucksandpower · 8 months ago

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Changing the Game

platonic!Fernando Alonso x mentee!Reader

Oscar Piastri x Reader

Summary: motorsport can be cruel, especially for young women aspiring to make it to Formula 1, but when Fernando notices a driver who deserves more than the unjust cards fate handed her, he decides to do something about it … and your life will never be the same

The roar of engines fills the air, blending with the faint scent of gasoline that clings to the paddock like a memory. Fernando walks through the chaos of the Formula 3 circuit, hands in his pockets, sunglasses firmly in place.

His presence is a subtle disruption, not loud, but noticeable. Drivers and engineers glance his way, some nodding in respect, others too focused on their tasks to do more than acknowledge him with a brief flicker of recognition.

He’s been watching the race, the sun high overhead, a burning reminder that summer has a way of dragging things out. Yet, time has felt elastic today, stretched out by the tension of the track and the surprising twist that caught his attention.

A young driver — no, more than just young — barely seventeen, the only female on the grid, had sliced through the competition with precision and ferocity. Her car, marked by the number on the side, had danced on the edge of control, flirting with danger at every turn but never losing its rhythm. When the chequered flag waved, she’d crossed the line in a solid third, inches from second, and not far from the top spot.

He’d seen talent before, of course. It’s part of his world, spotting it, nurturing it, sometimes crushing it under the weight of competition. But something about you caught his eye. There’s a sharpness in your driving, a clarity of purpose that’s rare. He wonders where you’ve been hiding.

As the cars pull into the pit lane, the usual bustle takes over. Engineers swarm around their drivers, debriefs start, and helmets are tugged off with a mix of relief and frustration. Fernando watches from a distance, scanning the crowd until he finds you. You’re standing by your car, tugging at your gloves with a sharp motion, frustration etched in the tightness of your jaw. There’s a fleeting moment where you pull off your helmet, shaking out your hair, and Fernando notices the absence of something.

Sponsors.

Your race suit is practically bare. The car too, minimal branding, the kind that signals a driver struggling to make ends meet rather than one who’s just claimed a podium finish. He frowns, tilting his head slightly as he watches you. It doesn’t make sense. A driver that good should be swimming in offers, drowning in endorsements.

He catches the eye of a paddock official nearby, someone he’s vaguely familiar with — one of those types who always seem to know more than they let on. Fernando strides over, casual but direct. The official straightens up, clearly surprised to have Fernando Alonso approaching.

“Who’s the girl?” Fernando asks, nodding in your direction, though he doesn’t really need to. You’re the only one who fits the description.

The official glances your way, then back at Fernando. “Y/N Y/L/N. She’s been turning heads all season.”

“Not enough, apparently.” Fernando gestures vaguely at your race suit, his tone making it clear he’s talking about the lack of sponsorship. “What’s going on there?”

The official hesitates, glancing around as if to make sure no one’s listening. He lowers his voice slightly, a conspiratorial tone creeping in. “She’s good, real good. But, you know … she’s a girl.”

Fernando’s eyebrows shoot up, a sharp flash of irritation sparking in his eyes. “So?”

“So,” the official continues, shifting his weight uncomfortably, “sponsors and academies, they’re … cautious. Not sure if she’s got the staying power. And you know how it is, they’re more willing to take a risk on a kid who fits the mold.”

“The mold,” Fernando repeats, his voice flat, incredulous. He lets out a breath, shaking his head slightly. It’s 2019, and this is still happening. It shouldn’t surprise him, but somehow, it does.

His gaze returns to you, still standing by your car, now deep in conversation with your race engineer. There’s a fierceness in the way you talk, the way you move your hands as if trying to will the universe to bend to your will. Fernando recognizes that fire — it’s the same one he’s carried in himself for years.

But there’s more than just frustration in your eyes. There’s something else — determination, maybe, but tinged with something darker, something that’s been carved out of too many disappointments. He knows that look too. It’s the one you get when you’re tired of proving yourself over and over, and yet, you keep doing it because there’s no other choice.

Fernando’s decision is made in an instant. He doesn’t overthink it; he never has. That’s not his style. He approaches you with the same casual confidence that’s defined his career, weaving through the bustle of the paddock until he’s close enough to catch the tail end of your conversation.

“... could’ve pushed harder into turn four,” you’re saying to your engineer, frustration coloring your voice. “But the grip just wasn’t there.”

Your engineer nods, making a note on his tablet, but before he can respond, Fernando steps into the space between you.

“Grip’s one thing,” he says, his voice cutting through the noise around you, “but timing’s everything.”

You turn, eyes widening just a fraction as you realize who’s standing there. Fernando catches the flicker of surprise that you quickly mask with a polite, if guarded, smile.

“Fernando Alonso,” you say, your voice a careful mix of respect and curiosity.

“In the flesh,” he replies, a hint of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. He glances at your car, then back at you. “Nice drive today.”

“Thanks.” The word comes out clipped, like you’re not entirely sure what to make of him yet. He can tell you’re used to being judged, sized up and dismissed by those who think they know better. But Fernando’s not here to judge.

“Third place,” he continues, as if he’s thinking out loud. “But you had the pace for second.”

Your eyebrows lift slightly, and for the first time, a hint of a real smile breaks through. “Yeah, I did. But things don’t always go as planned.”

“No,” he agrees, “they don’t. But you’ve got talent. Real talent.”

You study him for a moment, your expression shifting from guarded to something more open, more curious. “Thanks,” you say again, but this time it’s softer, more genuine.

There’s a pause, the noise of the paddock fading slightly as you both stand there, sizing each other up. Fernando knows this is the moment where most people would make some kind of offer — advice, mentorship, maybe even a contract. But he’s never been one to do things by the book.

Instead, he tilts his head slightly, a playful glint in his eyes. “Do you like ice cream?”

You blink, caught off guard by the sudden change in topic. “What?”

“Ice cream,” he repeats, his tone light, almost teasing. “Do you like it?”

“Uh … yeah?” You sound more confused than anything, but there’s a hint of amusement creeping into your voice.

“Great,” Fernando says, as if that settles everything. He steps back, gesturing for you to follow him. “Let’s go get some. My treat.”

You stare at him for a moment, clearly trying to figure out if he’s serious. But when you see that he is, a slow smile spreads across your face, and you can’t help but laugh, shaking your head in disbelief.

“Okay,” you say, still laughing a little as you start to walk beside him. “Why not?”

And just like that, the tension that had been hanging over the paddock seems to dissipate, replaced by something lighter, something that feels almost like hope.

***

The ice cream shop is a short walk from the circuit, tucked into a corner of the small town that’s hosting the weekend’s race. It’s the kind of place Fernando imagines has been around for decades, unchanged except for maybe a new coat of paint every few years. The neon sign in the window buzzes faintly, its pink light reflecting off the glass as he pushes the door open, holding it for you as you follow him inside.

The cool air is a welcome relief from the heat outside, carrying with it the sweet, unmistakable scent of sugar and cream. The shop is quiet, just a couple of kids sitting by the window, licking at cones that seem far too big for them. Behind the counter, a bored-looking teenager perks up as the door chimes, her gaze sharpening as she recognizes Fernando.

“Can I help you?” She asks, her voice brightening as she tries to act casual, though it’s clear she’s a little starstruck.

Fernando nods toward you, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Ladies first.”

You hesitate for a moment, then step up to the counter, glancing at the array of ice cream flavors displayed behind the glass. The choices are written in chalk on a board above, but your eyes are immediately drawn to the rich, golden brown of the dulce de leche. You point to it, giving the girl behind the counter a quick smile.

“Two scoops of that, please,” you say, and then, after a beat, “with as many toppings as will fit.”

Fernando raises an eyebrow, amused as he watches you. The girl behind the counter doesn’t question it, scooping generous portions of the creamy ice cream into a cup before moving over to the toppings bar. You lean over the counter slightly, studying the options with a critical eye before making your selections — caramel drizzle, chocolate chips, a handful of crushed cookies, a sprinkle of nuts, and a final flourish of whipped cream on top.

When the girl hands you the cup, it’s practically overflowing, a masterpiece of indulgence that’s almost as impressive as your driving. You turn to Fernando, already reaching for your wallet.

“I can pay for mine,” you say quickly, but Fernando waves you off, already pulling out his own wallet.

“It’s on me,” he insists, his tone making it clear there’s no room for argument.

You open your mouth to protest, but the look he gives you stops you in your tracks. There’s something gentle in his eyes, an unexpected warmth that makes you pause. You let out a small sigh, putting your wallet away as you give in.

“Fine,” you mutter, though there’s no real annoyance in your voice. “But I’m getting you back for this.”

Fernando chuckles as he orders a simple vanilla cone for himself. “We’ll see about that.”

Once he’s paid, the two of you find a small table near the back of the shop, away from the kids and the counter. It’s quiet, almost private, with the hum of the freezers and the distant chatter of the other customers filling the silence. You sit across from him, carefully balancing your cup of ice cream as you take your first bite.

The first taste of dulce de leche is heavenly, the caramel sweetness melting on your tongue as the toppings add layers of texture and flavor. For a moment, it’s easy to forget about everything else — the race, the frustration, the uncertainty of it all. There’s just the ice cream, the coolness of it on your tongue, and the rare sensation of simply enjoying something without a care.

Fernando watches you with a faint smile, his own ice cream barely touched as he leans back in his chair. He doesn’t rush to fill the silence, letting you savor the moment before he finally speaks.

“So,” he says, breaking the quiet, “tell me about your situation.”

You glance up at him, the spoon pausing halfway to your mouth. There’s something in his tone, something gentle but probing, that tells you this isn’t just small talk. You lower the spoon, setting the cup down on the table as you consider how to respond.

“It’s … complicated,” you begin, though that word hardly covers it. You let out a small sigh, your shoulders slumping slightly as you lean back in your chair. “I mean, I’m doing everything I can on the track. My results speak for themselves, right? But it’s like … it’s like none of that matters.”

Fernando nods, encouraging you to continue. There’s no judgment in his eyes, just a quiet understanding, and that makes it easier to keep talking.

“Every race, I’m out there giving it everything I’ve got,” you say, your voice growing more animated as you go on. “I’m right up there with the best of them — sometimes even better. But then I look around, and I see these other drivers, guys who are barely scraping into the points, and they’ve got major sponsors backing them. They’re signed to F1 teams’ academies, they’ve got a clear path to the top. And me? I’ve got nothing. No sponsors, no academy, no security.”

You pick up your spoon again, stirring your ice cream absentmindedly as your frustration bubbles to the surface. “It’s not like I haven’t tried. My team’s tried too, but no one wants to take the risk on me. They all say the same thing — ‘You’re good, but we’re just not sure if you’re what we’re looking for.’ Which is just code for ‘You’re a girl, and we’re not willing to bet on you.’”

Fernando doesn’t interrupt, letting you vent. He’s heard stories like this before, but it never gets any easier to listen to. The sport has its issues, and while things have improved over the years, the barriers you’re facing are still all too real.

You sigh, running a hand through your hair as you shake your head. “It’s so frustrating, you know? I’m out there proving myself every single weekend, but it’s like I have to work twice as hard just to get noticed, and even then, it’s not enough. My parents — they believe in me, but they’re practically killing themselves to keep me racing. They had to take a second mortgage on the house just to get me into F3 this season. And every time I don’t get a sponsor, every time another academy passes on me, it’s like … it’s like I’m letting them down.”

Your voice cracks slightly at the end, and you quickly take another bite of ice cream, as if that can somehow keep your emotions in check. But Fernando sees the way your hand trembles just a little, the way your eyes have lost some of their fire, replaced by a weary resignation.

“It shouldn’t be this hard,” you say softly, almost to yourself. “I know the sport is tough, but it feels like I’m fighting a battle that’s rigged from the start.”

Fernando takes a deep breath, choosing his words carefully. “It’s not fair,” he says, his voice steady, grounding. “You’re right, it shouldn’t be this hard. But sometimes, the fight isn’t just about winning on the track. It’s about changing the game entirely.”

You look at him, your eyes narrowing slightly as you try to gauge what he means by that. There’s something in his tone, something determined and unyielding, that makes you believe he understands more than he’s letting on.

“Changing the game?” You repeat, the words feeling heavy in your mouth.

Fernando nods, leaning forward slightly. “Yeah. Look, I’m not saying it’s going to be easy. But if anyone can do it, it’s you. You’ve got the talent, you’ve got the drive, and you’ve got something most people don’t — resilience. You’re still here, still fighting, even when the odds are against you. That says a lot.”

You bite your lip, absorbing his words. There’s a part of you that wants to believe him, that wants to hold on to that hope, but there’s also a part that’s tired — so tired of fighting an uphill battle, of always having to prove yourself over and over again.

“I just don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “What if it’s not enough? What if I’m not enough?”

Fernando’s gaze softens, and for a moment, he sees a reflection of his younger self in you, back when he was first starting out, hungry and determined but unsure of how far he could really go. The difference is, he had the backing, the opportunities that you’ve been denied.

“You are enough,” he says, his tone firm, leaving no room for doubt. “The problem isn’t with you. It’s with the system, with the people who are too scared to see things differently. But that doesn’t mean you stop. You keep pushing, keep showing them what they’re missing. And if they can’t see it, then we’ll make them see it.”

You blink, surprised by the intensity in his voice. There’s a conviction there that’s hard to ignore, a belief in you that you’ve been struggling to find in yourself.

“We?” You ask, your voice tinged with cautious hope.

Fernando smiles, a small, determined curve of his lips. “We. You’re not alone in this. I’ve been where you are, in a different way, but I know what it’s like to have to fight for everything. And I know what it’s like to have someone in your corner who believes in you.”

You stare at him, processing his words, the implications of what he’s offering. There’s a warmth in your chest, a spark of something that feels dangerously close to hope.

“So what now?” You ask, your voice steadier.

Fernando leans back in his chair, his gaze never leaving yours as he takes a thoughtful bite of his ice cream. There's a moment of silence, the weight of everything unspoken hanging between you, before he finally speaks, his voice calm but resolute.

"Now?" He sets his cone down on the table, his expression sharpening with purpose. "I make some calls."

***

It’s been a few weeks since that day at the ice cream shop, and Fernando hasn’t been able to shake the conversation from his mind. He’s been in the sport long enough to know how things work, but hearing it from you, seeing how the system has worn you down despite your undeniable talent, it struck a nerve. It’s been a whirlwind of phone calls, favors cashed in, and quiet meetings behind closed doors. But now, standing at the arrivals gate at Heathrow Airport, Fernando knows it’s all been worth it.

You come into view, wheeling your carry-on behind you, your eyes scanning the crowd until they land on him. A look of surprise crosses your face, quickly replaced by a hesitant smile as you make your way over.

“Hey,” you greet him, a mix of confusion and curiosity in your voice as you pull your suitcase to a stop beside him. “So … what’s this all about?”

Fernando just grins, taking the handle of your suitcase from you with a casualness that leaves no room for argument. “You’ll see,” he says, cryptic as ever. “Come on, the car’s this way.”

You follow him out to the parking garage, throwing him sideways glances, clearly trying to piece together what he’s up to. Fernando’s only response is an amused smile as he opens the door for you, waiting until you’re settled in the passenger seat before loading your luggage in the trunk.

As he pulls out of the airport and merges onto the highway, the silence between you is comfortable but charged with anticipation. You keep glancing over at him, your curiosity growing with every mile.

“You’re not going to tell me where we’re going, are you?” You finally ask, your tone hovering between teasing and exasperation.

Fernando chuckles, shaking his head. “Nope.”

You sigh, leaning back in your seat, but there’s a glimmer of excitement in your eyes that wasn’t there before. “I’m trusting you, you know,” you say, half-joking, half-serious.

“And you won’t regret it,” he promises, the confidence in his voice almost contagious.

The drive is longer than you expected, taking you out of London and into the countryside. The scenery shifts from the urban sprawl to green fields and quaint villages, the roads becoming narrower and winding as they head deeper into the heart of England. It’s not until Fernando takes a turn down a private road, leading to a sleek, modern complex surrounded by high fences, that you begin to piece it together.

“This can’t be …” you start, your voice trailing off as the full realization hits you. “Is this-”

“Mercedes HQ,” Fernando confirms with a grin as he pulls up to the security gate. He rolls down the window, exchanging a few words with the guard, who quickly waves them through.

You’re silent as he drives into the parking lot, your eyes wide as you take in the sight of the Mercedes-AMG F1 Factory. It’s one thing to see it on TV or in photos, but to be here, in person, is something else entirely. Fernando parks the car and turns to you, catching the look on your face.

“Nervous?” He asks, though he already knows the answer.

“A little,” you admit, swallowing hard as you unbuckle your seatbelt. “Okay, a lot.”

He chuckles, getting out of the car and coming around to your side to open the door for you. “Don’t be. You belong here.”

You hesitate, still processing everything, before nodding and stepping out of the car. Fernando grabs your suitcase from the trunk, but you barely notice, too busy taking in your surroundings as he leads you toward the entrance.

The interior of the building is just as impressive as the outside — modern, sleek, and buzzing with energy. Everywhere you look, there are people in team gear, some hurrying between offices, others deep in conversation. And then, as if the situation couldn’t get more surreal, Lewis Hamilton appears in the lobby, flanked by Toto Wolff.

Your breath catches in your throat, and you stop dead in your tracks. Fernando pauses beside you, a knowing smile on his face as he watches your reaction.

“Fernando,” Lewis greets, his smile widening when he sees you standing next to him. “And you must be the young driver I’ve been hearing so much about.”

You manage a nod, but words seem to have escaped you entirely. It’s not every day that you come face-to-face with a five-time world champion and the team principal of the most successful F1 team of the modern era.

Lewis chuckles at your speechlessness, his demeanor as relaxed and approachable as ever. “Don’t worry, we don’t bite,” he says, extending his hand. “It’s good to finally meet you.”

You shake his hand, your own grip slightly shaky. “I … It’s an honor,” you stammer, your voice finally finding its way back to you.

Toto steps forward next, offering his hand as well. “Welcome to Brackley,” he says, his tone warm but with the same underlying intensity that’s made him such a formidable figure in the sport. “Fernando’s told us a lot about you.”

You glance over at Fernando, a mix of gratitude and disbelief in your eyes. This is so far beyond anything you could have imagined when you first got his call.

Lewis gestures for you to follow him down a hallway, with Toto and Fernando close behind. “When Fernando reached out to me,” Lewis begins, his tone casual but sincere, “and told me about your situation, I knew we had to do something. Talent like yours shouldn’t be held back by anything, least of all by something as ridiculous as a lack of sponsorship.”

You’re still reeling from the fact that Lewis Hamilton knows who you are, let alone that he’s gone out of his way to help you. “I … I don’t even know what to say,” you admit, your voice soft with emotion.

“Don’t worry about that just yet,” Toto says from behind you, his tone light. “Let’s get you settled in first.”

You follow them through the labyrinth of hallways, trying to absorb everything at once. Fernando stays close, a steady presence as you make your way deeper into the facility. There’s a sense of purpose in the air, a kind of quiet determination that’s palpable even as people move around with the calm efficiency of a well-oiled machine.

Eventually, Lewis stops outside a conference room, holding the door open for you to enter first. You step inside, the space cool and sleek, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a view of the meticulously kept grounds outside. A large table dominates the center of the room, and as you approach, you notice a folder sitting at one end, the Mercedes logo embossed on the cover.

You hover near the table, not daring to sit until someone tells you to. Fernando catches your hesitation, nudging you gently in the direction of a chair. “Go on,” he says softly. “This is for you.”

You sink into the chair, your heart pounding as you look at the folder in front of you. Lewis and Toto take seats across from you, with Fernando settling in beside you. The atmosphere in the room shifts slightly, becoming more formal but no less supportive.

Toto reaches for the folder, sliding it across the table to you. “This,” he begins, his voice calm and measured, “is an offer to join the Mercedes Junior Team.”

You blink, sure you must have misheard him. “The … Mercedes Junior Team?”

Lewis smiles, nodding. “We believe in your potential,” he says simply. “And we want to give you the opportunity to develop that potential to the fullest.”

Your hands tremble slightly as you reach for the folder, your mind racing. This is it. This is the chance you’ve been fighting for, the one you never thought would come, at least not like this. You open the folder, your eyes scanning the first few lines of the contract inside. It’s all real — your name, the terms, everything.

“We know it’s a big decision,” Toto continues, his gaze steady on you. “Take your time to go through everything, ask any questions you have. But know that we’re serious about this. We want you on our team.”

You’re overwhelmed, the weight of the moment pressing down on you, but it’s a good kind of pressure, the kind that comes from knowing you’re on the verge of something life-changing. You look up at Fernando, who’s been watching you quietly, and there’s a look of pride in his eyes that makes your chest tighten.

“I don’t … I don’t even know where to start,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Lewis leans forward slightly, his expression gentle but serious. “Start by believing that you deserve this,” he says. “Because you do. And we’re here to help you every step of the way.”

There’s a long silence as you let his words sink in, your fingers tracing the edge of the folder. This is everything you’ve been working toward, everything you’ve sacrificed for, and now that it’s here in front of you, it feels almost too good to be true.

But as you look around the table — at Lewis, Toto, and Fernando — you realize that this isn’t just a dream. It’s real. They’re offering you a future, a chance to prove yourself at the highest level, and they believe in you enough to make it happen.

You take a deep breath, steadying yourself before meeting their gazes again. “I … I don’t know how to thank you,” you say, your voice thick with emotion.

“There’s no need for thanks,” Toto says with a small smile. “Just show us what you can do.”

Fernando places a reassuring hand on your shoulder, his voice low and encouraging. “You’ve already done the hard part. Now, it’s just time to make it official.”

You nod, the weight of the contract in your hands feeling lighter now. “I’m ready,” you say, your voice steadying with newfound resolve.

Lewis grins. “Welcome to the team.”

***

The months following your signing with Mercedes have been a whirlwind. Every day brings something new — testing, meetings, media obligations, training sessions — but through it all, Fernando remains a constant presence. He’s there for every debrief, every important conversation, and when he’s not by your side, he’s only a phone call away. The mentorship he offers is invaluable, not just because of his experience but because of his belief in you.

Today, though, feels different. The season is winding down, and you’ve been expecting a bit of a lull, maybe even some time to catch your breath. But when Fernando calls you to meet him at a quiet café on the outskirts of town, there’s a certain energy in his voice that you can’t quite place.

You arrive at the café to find Fernando already seated at a table near the window, his sunglasses pushed up onto his head and a cup of coffee in front of him. He looks up as you approach, a small, almost secretive smile playing on his lips.

“Morning,” you greet him, sliding into the seat opposite. “You’re up to something, I can tell.”

Fernando chuckles, taking a sip of his coffee before setting the cup down. “Maybe I am,” he says, his tone teasing but warm. “How are you feeling about next season?”

The question catches you off guard. “Next season? I mean, I haven’t really thought that far ahead yet. There’s still so much to do now.”

He nods, leaning back in his chair as he studies you, a hint of something more serious in his gaze. “Well, it’s time to start thinking about it,” he says, pulling an envelope from his jacket pocket and sliding it across the table to you.

You raise an eyebrow, your curiosity piqued as you reach for the envelope. “What’s this?”

“Open it,” Fernando encourages, his eyes never leaving yours.

You do as he says, your fingers careful as you tear open the envelope. Inside is a single sheet of paper, neatly folded. You unfold it slowly, your eyes scanning the top of the page.

Carlin Motorsport — Formula 2 Contract Offer.

Your breath catches, and you look up at Fernando, disbelief written all over your face. “Is this … real?”

“Very real,” he confirms, his smile widening. “They want you for next season. Full-time seat, competitive car, the whole package.”

You’re speechless for a moment, the weight of the offer sinking in. Carlin is one of the top teams in Formula 2, a proven stepping stone to Formula 1, and they want you. It’s everything you’ve been working toward, but the reality of it is almost overwhelming.

“This is …” you start, your voice trailing off as you try to find the right words. “I don’t even know what to say.”

He reaches across the table, placing his hand over yours, his expression softening. “You’ve earned this,” he says, his voice gentle but firm. “You’ve worked hard, proven yourself, and now it’s time to take the next step.”

You nod, still trying to wrap your head around it all. “But how? I mean, why would they choose me over anyone else? There are so many talented drivers out there …”

Fernando squeezes your hand, drawing your attention back to him. “Because you’re one of the best,” he says simply. “They see it, just like I do. And they know you’re going places.”

You take a deep breath, the reality of it finally starting to settle in. “Carlin … Formula 2 … It’s really happening.”

“It is,” Fernando confirms with a smile. “And you’re ready for it.”

There’s a long pause as you sit there, the contract still in your hands. Fernando watches you carefully, his gaze thoughtful. Then, as if sensing that there’s something more to discuss, he leans in slightly, lowering his voice.

“There’s something else I need to tell you,” he says, his tone shifting to something more serious.

You look up, your heart skipping a beat at the sudden change in his demeanor. “What is it?”

He hesitates for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “I’m planning to return to Formula 1 in 2021.”

The news hits you like a bolt of lightning, your eyes widening in shock. “You’re … coming back? To F1?”

Fernando nods, his expression unreadable. “Yes. I’ve been in talks with a few teams, and it looks like everything is lining up for a comeback.”

You’re stunned, your mind racing to catch up with what he’s just said. Fernando Alonso, returning to Formula 1 … it’s huge, and the implications of it start to sink in. “That’s incredible,” you say, a mix of excitement and apprehension in your voice. “But what does that mean for … us? For everything we’ve been working on?”

He’s silent for a moment, his gaze intense as he considers your question. “It means that while I’ll still be around to support you, I won’t be able to be as hands-on as I’ve been. I won’t be able to be your full-time manager anymore.”

The words hit you hard, and you feel a pang of anxiety start to creep in. Fernando’s been your rock, the one who’s guided you through every step of this journey, and the thought of losing that constant presence is unsettling.

“But,” he continues, his tone reassuring, “I’m not leaving you in the lurch. I’ve already started talking to some people, and I’m going to make sure you get a manager who’s the best of the best. Someone who knows the sport inside and out, who can give you everything you need to succeed.”

You nod slowly, trying to process everything he’s telling you. It’s a lot to take in— the offer from Carlin, Fernando’s return to F1, the changes that will come with it — but there’s a part of you that understands. This is the nature of the sport, constantly evolving, constantly moving forward.

“I’m happy for you,” you finally say, your voice sincere. “Really, I am. You deserve to be back in F1, where you belong.”

Fernando smiles, a genuine warmth in his eyes. “Thank you. And you deserve to be in F2, racing at the front, showing everyone what you’re capable of.”

There’s a pause, the weight of the moment settling over both of you. Then, Fernando’s smile turns a bit more mischievous as he leans back in his chair.

“But don’t think this means I’m going to go easy on you,” he says, a teasing glint in his eyes. “I’ll still be watching, making sure you’re giving it your all.”

You laugh, the tension breaking slightly at his words. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

He nods, satisfied, before finishing off his coffee. “Good. Because the hard work isn’t over yet. If anything, it’s just beginning.”

You take a deep breath, feeling a renewed sense of determination settling over you. Fernando’s right — this is just the beginning. The road ahead will be challenging, but you’re ready for it. And with his support, even if it’s from a distance, you know you can handle whatever comes your way.

“Thank you,” you say again, your voice full of gratitude. “For everything.”

Fernando just smiles, standing up from the table and offering you his hand. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s get out of here. We’ve got a lot to prepare for.”

You take his hand, rising from your seat, and together you leave the café, the future stretching out before you, full of possibilities.

***

The hum of the F2 paddock is a mix of nerves and excitement, a constant undercurrent of energy that seems to electrify the air. It’s the first race of the season, and you can feel it. The mechanics are moving with purpose, checking and double-checking every detail of the car. Engineers are glued to their screens, analyzing data with furrowed brows. And you, in the midst of it all, are the picture of focus — calm on the outside but with a fire in your eyes that tells Fernando you’re ready for this.

He stands a few feet away, leaning casually against the garage wall, but his eyes are on you. Always on you. He’s seen you grow over these past months, watched as you’ve taken every challenge head-on, and now, as you prepare for your first F2 race, he can’t help but feel a surge of pride.

Yuki Tsunoda, your teammate, walks over, helmet in hand. He’s grinning, but there’s a trace of awe in his expression as he glances between you and Fernando. “I still can’t believe it,” Yuki says, shaking his head slightly. “Fernando Alonso, here in our garage, supporting you. It’s surreal.”

You chuckle, giving Yuki a playful nudge with your elbow. “Believe it. He’s stuck with me now.”

Fernando smirks, pushing off the wall and walking over to the two of you. “Yuki, how are you feeling about today?” He asks, his tone friendly but professional.

Yuki straightens up, clearly wanting to impress. “I’m ready. I’ve been looking forward to this all off-season. Just want to get out there and race.”

“Good,” Fernando nods, his eyes sharp as he assesses Yuki. “Remember, the first race sets the tone. Keep your head down, focus on your own performance, and the results will come.”

Yuki nods, absorbing the advice. “And you?” He asks, turning back to you. “First F2 race … How are you feeling?”

You shrug, but there’s a determined glint in your eyes. “Excited. Nervous. Ready. All of it.”

Fernando can’t help but smile at that. He’s seen that look in countless drivers — right before they go on to do something special. “You’ve got this,” he says, his voice low but full of conviction. “Just do what you do best.”

You give him a small, appreciative smile before turning back to the car, where the final preparations are being made. Fernando watches you for a moment longer, feeling the weight of the day. This is a big moment, not just for you, but for him too. He’s invested so much in you, not just as a driver but as a person, and now he’s about to see the fruits of that labor on one of the biggest stages.

Yuki eventually heads back to his side of the garage, leaving you and Fernando in a comfortable silence. He steps closer to you, lowering his voice so only you can hear. “Remember, it’s just another race. Don’t let the pressure get to you. You’ve done this a hundred times before.”

You nod, your expression set with determination. “I know. I just need to stay focused.”

“Exactly,” Fernando agrees, his hand resting briefly on your shoulder. “And remember, I’m here. You’re not doing this alone.”

There’s a brief moment of silence between you, the noise of the paddock fading slightly as you take in his words. It’s a reassurance, a reminder that no matter what happens out there, you have someone in your corner who believes in you completely.

The minutes tick by, and soon it’s time for the drivers to head to the grid. The mechanics push your car out of the garage, and you follow, helmet in hand, Fernando right by your side. As you walk, he gives you last-minute reminders, his tone calm but firm, designed to keep you centered.

“Trust your instincts,” he says. “You know the car, you know the track. Let the race come to you.”

You nod, absorbing every word as you approach your car on the grid. The other teams and drivers are milling about, final checks being made before the start. Fernando stands with you by the car, watching as you put on your helmet and climb into the cockpit. There’s a buzz of activity all around, but for a moment, it feels like it’s just the two of you.

He leans in close, his voice carrying over the sound of the grid. “Remember why you’re here. Show them what you’re made of.”

You glance up at him, your visor reflecting the intense determination in your eyes. “I will.”

And with that, the crew steps back, and it’s just you in the car, the engine roaring to life around you. Fernando takes a few steps back, watching as you complete the formation lap. His heart pounds in his chest, a mix of nerves and anticipation. He’s been in this position countless times, but it’s different when it’s someone you’ve invested so much in.

As the cars line up on the grid, the tension mounts. Fernando’s eyes never leave your car, his mind running through every possible scenario. He knows how unpredictable these races can be, how one small mistake can change everything. But he also knows that you’re ready. He’s seen it in your training, in your focus, in the way you’ve handled every challenge thrown at you.

The lights go out, and the roar of engines fills the air. The race is on, and Fernando’s eyes are locked on the screen, watching as you navigate the chaos of the first few corners. It’s a tight pack, cars jostling for position, but you hold your ground, staying calm and composed even as the pressure builds.

Fernando barely breathes as the laps tick by, his focus entirely on you. There are moments where his heart leaps into his throat — close calls, tight overtakes — but you handle them all with the skill and precision of a seasoned driver. You’re pushing, but not too hard, balancing aggression with caution in a way that impresses even him.

Midway through the race, you find yourself in a battle for position with one of the more experienced drivers. Fernando can see the tension in your driving, the way you’re pushing the car to its limits. But he also sees the intelligence in your approach, the way you’re sizing up your opponent, waiting for the right moment.

“Come on,” he mutters under his breath, his eyes glued to the screen as you make your move. It’s a daring pass, squeezing through a gap that’s barely there, but you make it stick. Fernando lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“You’re doing it,” he whispers to himself, pride swelling in his chest.

The race continues, the intensity never letting up. There are moments of sheer brilliance, and moments where Fernando’s nerves are stretched to their limits, but through it all, you remain unshaken. Every lap, every corner, you’re proving exactly why you belong here, why Carlin chose you, and why Fernando believes in you so much.

As the race nears its end, you find yourself in a strong position, battling for a spot on the podium. Fernando’s heart pounds in his chest, his hands clenched into fists as he watches the final laps unfold. It’s a nail-biter, the cars ahead of you just within reach, and he can see you pushing, giving it everything you’ve got.

“Come on, come on,” he murmurs, his eyes never leaving the screen. “You’ve got this.”

The final lap is a blur of speed and adrenaline, but you’re right there, closing in on the car ahead. Fernando can feel the tension in the air, the entire Carlin garage on edge as they watch you make your move. It’s a daring overtake, one that requires absolute precision, but you nail it, sliding into third place just before the final corner.

Fernando’s heart leaps as you cross the finish line, securing a podium in your very first F2 race. The garage erupts in cheers, but he’s already moving, heading out to meet you as you bring the car back to the pits.

When you climb out of the car, the smile on your face is all he needs to see. You did it. You proved yourself, and in a big way. Fernando is the first to reach you, pulling you into a tight hug, his voice full of pride.

“You were incredible out there,” he says, his words muffled slightly by the cheers around you. “Absolutely incredible.”

You pull back, your eyes shining with excitement. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

He shakes his head, his smile wide. “You did this. You took everything you’ve learned and you made it happen. This is just the beginning.”

Yuki comes over, grinning from ear to ear as he claps you on the back. “Third place in your first race? You’re making the rest of us look bad!”

You laugh, the tension of the race finally melting away as you share the moment with your teammate and mentor. But even as you celebrate, Fernando’s mind is already thinking ahead, planning for the future. This is just the first step, and he knows there are many more to come. But for now, he’s content to stand here with you, knowing that you’ve just taken a huge leap forward in your career.

As the celebrations continue around you, Fernando steps back, watching you with a mixture of pride and anticipation. He’s seen something special in you from the start, and today, you proved him right. But he knows this is just the beginning, and he can’t wait to see where this journey takes you

***

Fernando sits at the head of a sleek conference table in a high-rise office overlooking a bustling cityscape. The room is all glass and steel, exuding an air of professionalism and success. It’s the kind of setting where big decisions are made, the kind of setting where lives are changed. He glances at his watch — just a few minutes before you’re supposed to arrive.

To his left is a man in his late forties, dressed in a sharp suit that screams old money and prestige. This is Carlos Mendes, a veteran in the world of motorsport management. Carlos has a reputation for being ruthless when it comes to getting his clients the best deals.

He’s represented world champions, negotiated multimillion-dollar contracts, and navigated the treacherous waters of sponsorships with the skill of a seasoned general. Fernando had carefully chosen Carlos, knowing that you would need someone who could not only protect your interests but also push for the best opportunities.

On Fernando’s right is Sophie Duclair, a high-powered talent agent whose client list reads like a who’s who of global sports and entertainment icons. Sophie, with her sleek bob and impeccably tailored outfit, is known for her ability to secure top-tier endorsement deals that go beyond the traditional boundaries of sports.

Luxury brands, fashion houses, and even Hollywood producers trust her judgment implicitly. She’s the one who can take your rising star and catapult it into a whole different stratosphere.

The door to the conference room opens, and you walk in, dressed casually but with an unmistakable air of confidence. It’s clear you’ve grown more comfortable in these kinds of environments, but there’s still a trace of curiosity in your eyes as you take in the room and the people seated at the table.

“Good to see you,” Fernando says, rising to greet you with a warm smile. He motions to the empty chair next to him. “Take a seat. We’ve got a lot to discuss.”

You sit down, glancing at Carlos and Sophie with polite curiosity. Fernando leans back in his chair, folding his hands on the table. “Let me introduce you to Carlos Mendes,” he says, gesturing to the man on his left. “Carlos is one of the top managers in the business. He’s going to help guide your career from here on out, making sure you get the best opportunities on and off the track.”

Carlos nods, his expression serious but welcoming. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he says in a deep, authoritative voice. “Fernando has told me a lot about you, and I’ve been following your progress. You’ve got a bright future ahead, and I’m here to make sure you reach your full potential.”

You smile, a mix of gratitude and anticipation in your eyes. “Thank you. I’m looking forward to working with you.”

Fernando continues, turning to Sophie. “And this is Sophie Duclair, one of the best talent agents in the industry. Sophie has a knack for securing deals that align perfectly with her clients’ personal brands. She’s here to help you navigate the world of endorsements and partnerships.”

Sophie smiles, her demeanor warm yet professional. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” she says, her voice smooth and confident. “I’ve been keeping an eye on your rise in F2, and I have to say, the opportunities are endless. There are brands out there who are going to want to associate themselves with your story, your talent, and your image.”

You nod, clearly intrigued but still processing the magnitude of what’s happening. Fernando notices the slight furrow in your brow and steps in to guide the conversation.

“Here’s the thing,” Fernando begins, his tone serious but encouraging. “You’ve been fighting against the odds, and that’s what’s made your story so compelling. A lot of people might have seen your gender as an obstacle, but we’re turning it into an asset. You’ve already proven you belong in F2, and with the right guidance, we’re going to show the world that you’re not just a great driver — you’re a game-changer.”

Carlos leans forward slightly, his eyes focused on you. “Exactly. The motorsport world is evolving, and brands want to be associated with that evolution. They want to be seen as forward-thinking, inclusive, and ahead of the curve. You’re in a unique position to offer them that opportunity.”

Sophie picks up the thread seamlessly. “But it’s not just about slapping a logo on your car or your race suit. It’s about aligning with brands that resonate with who you are and where you want to go. That’s where I come in. I’ve been in talks with several companies that are very interested in working with you.”

You look at Fernando, and he gives you an encouraging nod, urging you to speak your mind. “It sounds … amazing,” you begin, your voice steady but thoughtful. “But I want to make sure that whatever deals we make, they’re the right ones. I don’t want to just be a face on an ad — I want to represent something real.”

Carlos smiles, clearly impressed by your maturity. “That’s the right approach. And that’s exactly why we’re here — to make sure that every move we make is strategic and meaningful. You’ve got the talent and the story, and now it’s about building the brand that reflects that.”

Sophie leans back in her chair, crossing her legs as she regards you with a calculating but friendly gaze. “We’ve already secured two deals that I think you’re going to be very happy with,” she says, a hint of excitement in her voice. “The first is with Cartier. They’re looking to expand their presence in the sports world, and they see you as the perfect ambassador for their brand — strong, elegant, and determined.”

Your eyes widen slightly, clearly surprised. “Cartier?” You echo, the name alone carrying a weight of prestige and luxury.

Sophie nods, smiling at your reaction. “That’s right. They want to work with you on a campaign that’s going to be centered around breaking barriers and redefining what it means to be successful. It’s not just about jewelry — it’s about the story you tell when you wear it.”

Fernando watches as you process this, seeing the mix of excitement and caution in your expression. He knows how big this is, and he also knows how important it is for you to feel comfortable with every step of this journey.

“And the second deal?” You ask, your voice steady but tinged with curiosity.

Sophie’s smile widens. “That would be with Chanel. They’re launching a new line of sportswear, and they want you to be the face of it. It’s a bold move for them, branching out into a market that’s traditionally been dominated by other brands. But they believe in you, and they believe that you can help them make a statement.”

You lean back in your chair, clearly taking a moment to absorb the magnitude of what’s being offered. Fernando can see the wheels turning in your mind, the careful consideration you’re giving to each opportunity.

“I … I didn’t expect anything like this,” you admit, looking around the table. “It’s incredible, but it’s also a lot to take in.”

Carlos nods, his expression understanding. “It is. But you’re not in this alone. We’re here to guide you, to make sure that every decision you make is the right one for you and your career.”

Fernando leans forward slightly, his voice low and reassuring. “You’ve worked hard to get here. You deserve these opportunities. But like Carlos said, we’re going to make sure that every step you take is the right one. We’re not rushing into anything. We’re building something that’s going to last.”

You look at him, and he can see the trust in your eyes. It’s a trust he’s earned over the months, through every piece of advice, every word of encouragement, every push to make you better. And now, as you sit here on the brink of something huge, he feels a deep sense of pride.

“These are just the first steps,” Sophie says, her tone confident and poised. “There’s so much more we can do. But it’s all going to be on your terms. You’re in control of your image, your brand. We’re just here to help you shape it.”

You take a deep breath, your gaze sweeping over the table, taking in the faces of the people who are now part of your team. “I want to do this right,” you say finally, your voice strong. “I want to be someone people can look up to, someone who represents more than just winning races.”

Fernando smiles, feeling a swell of pride at your words. “And that’s exactly what you’re going to do. We’re just getting started.”

The meeting continues, the conversation shifting to the details of the contracts, the timelines for the campaigns, and the strategies for maximizing your visibility. Throughout it all, Fernando watches you closely, noting the way you handle the discussions with a mix of humility and confidence. It’s clear you’re taking everything in, asking the right questions, making sure you understand every aspect of what’s being presented.

By the time the meeting wraps up, there’s a palpable sense of excitement in the room. The deals with Cartier and Chanel are just the beginning, and everyone knows it. There are more opportunities on the horizon, more doors that are about to open. But for now, it’s about taking the first steps, setting the foundation for what’s to come.

As you rise to leave, Fernando walks you to the door, Carlos and Sophie following close behind. “We’ll be in touch with the final details,” Sophie says, her tone professional but warm. “I’m excited to see where this journey takes us.”

Carlos nods in agreement. “You’ve got a bright future ahead. Let’s make the most of it.”

You thank them both, turning to Fernando with a smile that holds a mix of gratitude and determination. "I couldn’t have done this without you," you say softly.

Fernando shakes his head, his smile reflecting the pride he feels. "You’ve earned every bit of this. Now, let's show the world what you’re capable of."

***

The sun dips low over the suburban skyline, casting a warm golden hue over the backyard where laughter mingles with the clinking of glasses and the low hum of conversation. String lights hang from the trees, swaying gently in the evening breeze, and the faint scent of barbecue lingers in the air. You’re surrounded by familiar faces — family, childhood friends, and the newer ones you’ve made in F2. The mix of old and new feels right, like the pieces of your life are finally coming together.

Fernando stands near the edge of the crowd, leaning casually against a tree as he watches you. He’s been here for hours, blending in with the celebration, though he’s always slightly apart, his presence comforting but never overbearing. He’s wearing one of those half-smiles, the kind that makes it hard to tell if he’s deep in thought or just quietly enjoying the moment.

You catch his eye, and he raises his glass — a silent toast that you return with a small grin before getting pulled back into a conversation with one of your childhood friends. They’re reminiscing about old times, laughing about things that seem so far removed from the high-speed world you now inhabit. It’s nice, grounding even, to remember that you had a life before all of this — a simpler one where the biggest concern was which video game to play after school.

As the night wears on, the crowd begins to thin. Your parents are still mingling, clearly proud of the party they’ve thrown. Your mom’s voice carries across the yard as she gushes to someone about how happy she is that you’ve managed to pay off the second mortgage. It was a weight that they never let you see, but you knew it was there, and being able to lift it was one of the proudest moments you’ve had since stepping into a race car.

Fernando, ever observant, notices the moment your shoulders relax as you hear your mom’s words. He takes a small step forward, knowing that the night is winding down, and he’s been waiting for just the right moment.

Eventually, as the last of your friends hug you goodbye and head out, you find yourself standing near the fire pit, the glow from the dying embers illuminating your face. Fernando approaches, his hands casually tucked into his pockets.

“Enjoying your birthday?” He asks, his voice low and warm, like the crackling fire beside you.

You nod, a content smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Yeah, it’s been really great. I didn’t expect so many people to show up.”

“People care about you,” Fernando says simply. “You’ve made quite an impact.”

You shrug, clearly a little shy about the praise. “I’m just glad to have a night to relax with everyone. It’s been a whirlwind.”

Fernando’s smile deepens. He knows how hard you’ve worked, how much you’ve sacrificed, and how rare these moments of peace are for you. “You deserve it. You’ve earned it.”

There’s a beat of silence, comfortable and familiar, before Fernando clears his throat. “I, uh, have something for you.”

You turn to look at him, your brow furrowing slightly. “Fernando, you didn’t have to get me anything. You’ve already done so much.”

“I know,” he says, his tone a little softer now, as if he’s stepping into more vulnerable territory. “But I wanted to.”

He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a small box, wrapped in simple but elegant paper. You hesitate for a moment, then take it from his hands, the weight of it feeling heavier than it should.

Curiosity piques as you carefully unwrap the paper and open the box. Inside is a delicate necklace, the pendant a tiny, intricate race helmet studded with a single diamond where the visor would be. It’s not overly flashy, but it’s beautiful and unmistakably meaningful.

You stare at it, speechless, before looking up at Fernando, your eyes wide with surprise and something deeper — something like awe. “Fernando … this is …”

He cuts you off with a gentle shake of his head. “You don’t have to say anything. I just … wanted you to have something that reminds you of where you’re headed. You’ve got a bright future, and I wanted to give you something to keep close as you chase it.”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you blink them away, focusing on the necklace instead. You’re not sure what to say — how do you thank someone for something that goes beyond just a gift?

Fernando steps closer, his voice lowering as he continues, “I’ve come to see you as … well, like a daughter, I suppose. Watching you grow, seeing how far you’ve come, it’s been one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. I just wanted to show you how much you mean to me.”

Your heart swells with emotion, and before you can stop yourself, you step forward and wrap your arms around him, pressing your face into his chest. The necklace is still clutched in your hand, but all you can focus on is the steady beat of Fernando’s heart against your ear.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice muffled but sincere. “For everything.”

Fernando’s arms come around you, holding you close in a way that’s both protective and comforting. “You don’t have to thank me,” he murmurs. “Just keep doing what you’re doing. That’s all the thanks I need.”

You stay like that for a moment longer, taking in the warmth and security of the embrace, before finally pulling back. You look up at Fernando, and there’s a connection between you now that goes beyond mentor and protégé — it’s something familial, something lasting.

He gestures to the necklace, a small smile playing on his lips. “Do you want some help putting that on?”

You nod, unable to find the words, and hand it to him. He carefully fastens it around your neck, his fingers steady and sure, and when he’s done, you reach up to touch the pendant, feeling its cool metal against your skin.

“Perfect,” Fernando says, stepping back to admire it. “Just like you.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “You’re too kind.”

“No,” he replies, his voice firm but gentle. “Just honest.”

As the fire continues to crackle beside you, the night wrapping around you both like a blanket, you realize that this birthday, this moment, will be one you remember for the rest of your life. Not because of the party or the people, but because of the man standing beside you — the one who believed in you when no one else did, who gave you the push you needed to keep going.

And as you walk back towards the house, the pendant resting against your chest, you know that no matter what happens in the future, you’ll always have this — this connection, this bond, this family you’ve found in the most unexpected place.

***

The noise is deafening as you cross the finish line, but it’s the silence that follows in your mind that makes it real. The world blurs around you; the roar of the engine fades, the cheers from the grandstands become a distant echo. It’s just you and the knowledge that you’ve done it. The chequered flag waves in the distance, a confirmation that you’ve won the F2 championship.

In your rookie season.

The last lap plays on a loop in your mind: the battle with your teammate, the wheel-to-wheel tension that stretched until the final corner, the moment you finally saw a gap and took it. The entire year has been leading up to this, every race, every struggle, every doubt. And now, you’re here. A champion.

The car slows as you pull into the pit lane, your hands shaking on the steering wheel. The radio crackles with voices — your engineer shouting congratulations, the team cheering, but there’s only one voice you really want to hear.

“You did it,” Fernando comes through, calm but with a hint of emotion that he rarely shows. “I knew you could do it.”

A smile breaks across your face, one that you couldn’t suppress even if you tried. “We did it,” you correct him, because it’s true. You’ve always been a team, even when he wasn’t on the track with you.

As you roll into the Carlin garage, the world around you explodes into celebration. Mechanics, engineers, and team members swarm the car, cheering and clapping as they pull you out of the cockpit. You’re immediately wrapped in a dozen hugs, people shouting your name, lifting you off the ground in their excitement.

But even in the chaos, you’re searching for him. And when you finally spot Fernando standing just outside the crowd, his expression is one of pure pride. He doesn’t rush in to join the others, instead, he stays back, letting you have your moment. That’s Fernando, always understanding, always knowing exactly what you need.

You finally push through the throng of well-wishers and make your way over to him. For a moment, the two of you just look at each other, and in that look, there’s a thousand words unspoken.

“Not bad for a rookie,” he finally says, his smile widening.

You laugh, still breathless from the race. “Not bad at all.”

He pulls you into a hug, and this time, you don’t hold back. You cling to him, letting the emotion of the moment wash over you. “Thank you,” you whisper, and you know he understands. This victory is as much his as it is yours.

When you pull back, you see someone else approaching from the corner of your eye. It’s Toto Wolff, towering and imposing as always, but there’s a warmth in his expression that’s almost fatherly. Next to him, Williams Racing team principal Jost Capito, stands with a smile that’s equally as proud.

“Toto?” You ask, surprised. It’s not every day he shows up in the F2 paddock, let alone after a race.

He steps forward, offering his hand. “Congratulations,” he says, his voice steady. “That was an incredible race.”

You shake his hand, still trying to process the fact that he’s here. “Thank you,” you reply, trying to keep your voice steady.

Jost steps forward, nodding in agreement. “You’ve had an outstanding season. You’ve shown everyone what you’re capable of.”

There’s something in their tone, something that makes your heart race with more than just post-race adrenaline. Fernando catches your eye, giving you a slight nod, as if to say, this is it.

Toto exchanges a look with Jost before continuing, “We’ve been following your progress closely, and we believe you’re ready for the next step.”

Your breath catches in your throat. The next step. It’s what every F2 driver dreams of, but it’s never guaranteed, not even with a championship under your belt. “The next step?” You echo, almost afraid to hope.

Jost steps in, his smile widening. “We want you to race for Williams in Formula 1 next season.”

For a moment, the world stops. You blink, trying to process the words, to make sure you heard him right. Formula 1. They want you to race in F1.

“Next season?” You manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Toto nods, his expression serious but encouraging. “Yes. We’ve been in discussions with Williams, and we believe you’re the perfect fit for their team. You’ve proven that you can handle the pressure, and now it’s time to see what you can do on the biggest stage.”

You feel like you’re floating, like this is a dream that you might wake up from at any moment. You turn to Fernando, searching his face for confirmation that this is real. He’s smiling, but there’s a look in his eyes that tells you he’s known about this for a while. He’s always known.

“You’ll be racing in F1,” Fernando says, his voice steady. “You deserve it.”

It’s then that the full weight of what’s happening hits you. F1. The pinnacle of motorsport. And not just racing in F1, but racing alongside the very best in the world. You’ll be on the grid with drivers you’ve looked up to your entire life. Drivers like Lewis Hamilton. And …

Your eyes widen as the realization dawns. Fernando is making his comeback next year. He’s going to be on that grid, too.

“I’ll be racing … with you,” you say, the words barely escaping your lips.

Fernando’s smile is knowing, almost amused. “Yes, you will.”

The thought is almost overwhelming. Not only will you be in F1, but you’ll be competing alongside Fernando, the man who has been your mentor, your guide, your biggest supporter. The man who helped you get to this very moment.

You shake your head, still trying to process it all. “I don’t know what to say.”

Toto places a hand on your shoulder, his grip reassuring. “You don’t need to say anything. Just be ready to show the world what you’re capable of. We’ll handle the rest.”

Jost nods in agreement. “We believe in you. You’ve already proven that you can handle anything that comes your way.”

You glance back at Fernando, and the pride in his eyes is unmistakable. This has been his goal all along — to get you to the top, to see you succeed where so many doubted you could. And now, here you are, about to step into the world of F1.

“I’ll be ready,” you say, your voice stronger now, filled with the determination that’s carried you this far.

Fernando nods, satisfied. “I know you will.”

As Toto and Jost step away to discuss the finer details with the Carlin team, you stand there with Fernando, the enormity of what just happened settling in.

“You knew this was coming, didn’t you?” You ask, giving him a sideways glance.

Fernando shrugs, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. “I had a feeling. But it was always up to you to make it happen.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable.”

He grins. “And you’re an F1 driver now. Better get used to it.”

The two of you stand there for a moment longer, taking in the victory, the announcement, the future that’s unfolding right before your eyes. It’s been a long road, full of challenges and doubts, but you’ve made it. And now, you’re about to step onto the biggest stage in motorsport, with Fernando right there alongside you.

As you look out at the garage, the Carlin team still buzzing with excitement, you can’t help but feel a deep sense of gratitude. For the team, for the journey, and most of all, for Fernando — the man who believed in you when no one else did, and who continues to believe in you now.

“Thank you, Fernando,” you say quietly, but with all the sincerity you can muster. “For everything.”

He simply nods, his expression softening. “You’ve earned it.”

And as you stand there, the future stretching out before you, one thing is certain: this is just the beginning.

***

The winter sun hangs low in the sky as you walk along the rocky path that leads to Fernando’s private track in northern Spain. The air is crisp, carrying the scent of pine trees and the distant murmur of the sea. It’s a world away from the chaos of the paddock, a place where the outside noise fades, leaving only the hum of your thoughts and the weight of what’s to come. The off-season is supposed to be a time to rest, to recharge, but this year, it’s different. There’s no time to lose — not with your first Formula 1 season looming on the horizon.

Fernando walks beside you, his stride as confident and unhurried as ever. His presence is steadying, a reminder that you’re not alone on this journey. He’s been here before, countless times, and now he’s passing on everything he knows to you. This winter isn’t just about physical training; it’s about mastering the mental side of the sport — the side that can make or break a career in F1.

He stops at the edge of the track, the silence between you stretching out as you both take in the view. The asphalt is cold and unyielding, winding through the landscape like a dark ribbon, a challenge waiting to be conquered.

“You know the driving part,” Fernando says, breaking the silence. His voice is calm, measured, but there’s an intensity to it that commands attention. “You’ve proven that you can handle the car, the speed, the competition. But F1 is more than just driving. It’s a mental game. It’s about being the predator, not the prey.”

You nod, knowing he’s right. The physical demands of F1 are immense, but the mental demands are even greater. The pressure, the mind games, the need to be perfect in a sport where perfection is almost impossible — it’s all part of what makes F1 the pinnacle of motorsport.

“Today, we start with the basics,” Fernando continues, his gaze fixed on the track. “How to be a track terror.”

A track terror. The words hang in the air, heavy with meaning. To be feared on the track, to have your competitors second-guessing themselves before they even line up on the grid — that’s what Fernando is talking about. It’s not just about being fast; it’s about being relentless, unyielding, the kind of driver who forces others into mistakes.

“You don’t have to be the fastest in every session,” Fernando explains, his voice low, almost conspiratorial. “You just have to make them think you are. Get in their heads. Make them question their own pace, their own decisions.”

He starts to walk along the edge of the track, and you follow, listening closely. “Every driver has a breaking point,” he says. “You need to learn how to find it. Sometimes it’s in their driving — how they react under pressure, how they handle wheel-to-wheel combat. Sometimes it’s off the track — in how they deal with the media, how they cope with setbacks. Your job is to figure out what that breaking point is and use it.”

You absorb his words, understanding that this is the difference between good drivers and great ones. It’s not just about talent; it’s about psychology, about knowing how to manipulate a situation to your advantage.

“And once you find that breaking point?” You ask, wanting to hear it from him.

Fernando stops and turns to face you, his eyes sharp, calculating. “You exploit it,” he says simply. “You push them until they crack. But you have to be smart about it. There’s a fine line between pushing them to the edge and pushing yourself over it.”

His words are blunt, but you know there’s truth in them. F1 isn’t just a sport, it’s a battle, a war of wills as much as it is a test of speed.

“Take the first corner,” Fernando says, pointing to the sharp turn at the end of the straight. “It’s where a lot of races are won or lost. You need to establish yourself early. Show them that you’re not afraid to fight for position, but also that you’re in control. That’s key — being aggressive, but controlled.”

You nod, envisioning the scenarios he’s describing. You’ve raced at high levels before, but F1 is different. The stakes are higher, the margins narrower. There’s no room for error, but there’s also no room for hesitation.

“How do you know when to cross the line?” You ask, thinking back to the times when Fernando has pushed the limits, often to the point where others questioned his tactics.

He gives a small smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You learn,” he says. “Sometimes by making mistakes. But the key is to learn from them quickly. You have to know when to back off and when to push harder. It’s about balance, about knowing your own limits as much as theirs.”

He pauses, his gaze locking with yours. “And sometimes, you have to cross the line. But when you do, you do it with intent, and you don’t get caught. You make sure it looks like a mistake, something that just happened in the heat of the moment. And you never apologize for it.”

There’s a chill in the air, but you barely notice it, your mind focused on every word. This is what you’ve needed, what you’ve been missing. The edge that will set you apart in a field of the best drivers in the world.

“What about mind games?” You ask, curious to know more about how to handle the psychological warfare that comes with F1.

Fernando chuckles, a sound that’s both amused and knowing. “Mind games are everything,” he says. “They start long before you even get in the car. It’s about how you carry yourself, how you interact with the other drivers, with the media. You have to control the narrative, make them think what you want them to think.”

He starts walking again, this time towards the small building at the edge of the track where the team usually sets up. “The media is a powerful tool,” he continues. “You can use them to your advantage, but you have to be careful. Give them just enough to create doubt in your competitors’ minds, but not enough to give anything away.”

You think back to the countless press conferences you’ve watched, where drivers like Fernando have used their words as weapons, creating stories that unsettle their rivals. It’s a game within a game, and you’re starting to see how deep it goes.

“Never let them see you sweat,” Fernando adds, his tone more serious now. “Even when things aren’t going your way, you have to project confidence. Make them think you have everything under control, even when you don’t. And when they stumble, when they show weakness, you pounce.”

The building looms ahead, the door slightly ajar. Fernando pushes it open, revealing a small, sparsely furnished room with a table, a few chairs, and a whiteboard covered in notes and diagrams. It’s a war room, a place where strategies are formed, where victories are planned.

Fernando gestures for you to sit, and you do, feeling the weight of what’s to come. He takes a seat across from you, his expression now all business.

“Let’s talk about racecraft,” he says, leaning forward. “You need to understand that F1 isn’t just about speed. It’s about strategy, about thinking two, three steps ahead of everyone else. You need to know when to attack and when to hold back, when to take risks and when to play it safe.”

He starts sketching out scenarios on the whiteboard, explaining different race strategies, how to read your competitors, how to manage your tires, your fuel, your energy. It’s a crash course in F1 tactics, and you absorb every detail, knowing that this knowledge could be the difference between winning and losing.

“You’ll have a team behind you,” Fernando says, his eyes never leaving the board as he continues to write. “But you’re the one in the car. You’re the one who has to make the decisions in real-time. Trust your instincts, but also trust your preparation. The more you know, the better equipped you’ll be to handle whatever comes your way.”

He turns back to you, his expression serious. “And remember, F1 is a long game. It’s not just about one race, or even one season. It’s about building a career, about consistently performing at a high level. You have to pace yourself, know when to push and when to hold back. It’s a marathon, not a sprint.”

You nod, the enormity of what he’s saying sinking in. This isn’t just about your rookie season; it’s about laying the foundation for a long and successful career. And with Fernando guiding you, you know you’re in the best possible hands.

The session goes on, the hours slipping away as you discuss everything from race strategies to media tactics, from how to handle pressure to how to deal with setbacks. Fernando doesn’t sugarcoat anything; he tells you the harsh realities of the sport, the challenges you’ll face, the sacrifices you’ll have to make. But he also gives you the tools to overcome them, to not just survive in F1, but to thrive.

By the time the sun starts to set, casting long shadows across the track, you feel a mixture of exhaustion and exhilaration. It’s been an intense day, but you know it’s exactly what you needed. Fernando has pushed you, challenged you, but he’s also given you the confidence to believe that you belong in this world, that you can succeed.

As you walk back towards the main house, the sky now a deep orange, Fernando falls into step beside you. There’s a comfortable silence between you, the kind that comes from a shared understanding, a mutual respect that has grown over time.

After a while, Fernando breaks the silence with a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You know,” he begins, his tone light but with a glint of mischief in his eyes, “I’ve been called many things in my career. Champion, legend … war criminal.”

You look at him, caught between a laugh and a raised eyebrow. “War criminal?”

He chuckles, shrugging casually. “Not literally, of course. But some of my tactics, let’s say, weren’t always appreciated by everyone. I was willing to do whatever it took to win — sometimes crossing lines that others wouldn’t dare touch.”

You smile, catching on to his meaning. “And you think I’m ready to follow in your footsteps?”

Fernando’s smirk widens. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t. F1 isn’t a game for the faint-hearted. It’s for those who aren’t afraid to get their hands dirty when it counts. Just remember … there’s no shame in doing what it takes to survive. And thrive.”

His words hang in the cool evening air, and as you both continue walking, you feel a sense of resolve settle within you. Fernando must notice it too because he gives you a sideways glance, the glint still in his eyes. “Just don’t forget who taught you all this when they start throwing accusations your way.”

***

The Bahrain night sky looms overhead, blanketing the circuit in a velvety darkness punctuated by the glaring lights of the paddock. The roar of engines rumbles through the air as teams buzz with last-minute preparations. Mechanics scramble, engineers analyze data, and drivers slip into their zones. The first race of the season carries a unique kind of tension, a palpable energy that’s almost electric. But amidst all the chaos, Fernando moves with calm confidence as he weaves through the pit lane, eyes scanning for one person.

He finds you standing by the Williams garage, helmet in hand, gaze fixed on the distant horizon as if trying to absorb the magnitude of the moment. It’s your first F1 race, and the weight of it all is evident in the slight furrow of your brow, the focused set of your jaw.

Fernando walks up to you, placing a hand on your shoulder, drawing you out of your thoughts. “Hey,” he says, his voice cutting through the noise like a sharp blade. “Nervous?”

You turn to face him, a mix of emotions swirling in your eyes — excitement, determination, and yes, a hint of nerves. “A little,” you admit. “It’s different from F2. Bigger.”

Fernando nods, understanding all too well. “It is bigger. The stakes are higher, the pressure’s heavier. But you’ve got this.”

You nod, though your grip on the helmet tightens. “I know. I just need to keep my head in the right place.”

Fernando’s eyes narrow, the glint of the night’s floodlights reflecting in them as he leans in slightly, lowering his voice. “Remember what we talked about in Spain. You’re not here to play nice. You’re here to win. You’re here to make them regret ever doubting you.”

A smile tugs at the corner of your lips as his words sink in. This is the Fernando you’ve come to know so well — the ruthless competitor who sees racing as a battlefield, where only the most cunning and unrelenting survive. He’s drilled that mentality into you, reminding you time and time again that the track is no place for mercy.

“You’re not just a driver,” he continues, his tone growing more intense. “You’re a track terror. Make them fear you. Take every opportunity, even if it means forcing them into a mistake. Be aggressive. Be relentless. And if they try to intimidate you-”

“I intimidate them back,” you finish for him, the determination in your voice now matching his.

Fernando’s lips curl into a smirk, clearly pleased. “Exactly. Make them question if they even belong out there with you.”

As he speaks, Nicholas Latifi, your teammate, walks by on his way to his side of the garage. His steps falter when he overhears the tail end of Fernando’s words.

“… If you see an opening, take it. Don’t give them a second to breathe. Push them out of their comfort zone, and when they’re scrambling, that’s when you strike. Hard.”

Latifi’s eyes widen in alarm as he processes what Fernando is saying. He hesitates, clearly debating whether he should approach or back away slowly. Ultimately, he chooses the latter, retreating with a hurried, nervous glance over his shoulder.

You notice Latifi’s reaction and can’t help but laugh. “I think you might’ve scared him off.”

Fernando chuckles, a low, almost devious sound. “Good. Less competition for you.” Then, with a more serious edge, he adds, “He’s not your concern. You’re here for the big players. And don’t forget, every race is an opportunity to show them what you’re made of. Especially the ones who think you don’t deserve to be here.”

You nod, the nerves from earlier replaced by a rising sense of purpose. Fernando’s words have a way of lighting a fire inside you, a fire that burns hotter with every passing second. The crowd noise, the hum of engines, the flashing lights — all of it fades away until there’s only the track and the promise of what lies ahead.

Fernando steps back, giving you space but keeping his gaze locked on yours. “Tonight, you’re going to prove that you’re not just another rookie. You’re a force to be reckoned with. And you’re going to do it with style.”

You smirk, the corners of your mouth curving upward as confidence surges through you. “With style?”

“Absolutely,” Fernando replies, his own smirk widening. “Remember, there’s a fine line between genius and insanity on the track. And you’re going to walk it like it’s a tightrope.”

You slip your helmet on, the visor clicking into place as Fernando’s words echo in your mind. The world outside may be chaotic, but inside your helmet, it’s a sanctuary — a place where you can focus, where every piece of advice, every lesson Fernando has drilled into you, comes together.

He watches you for a moment, pride evident in his eyes. He’s seen your growth, your transformation from a talented driver into something much more formidable. He knows you’re ready for this.

“Now go out there,” he says, voice clear and commanding, “and make them remember your name.”

With a final nod, you turn towards your car, the sleek Williams machine waiting for you. The pit crew is already in position, and the clock is ticking down. But before you step in, Fernando adds one last thing.

“Oh, and one more thing,” he says, catching your attention. You look back at him, and there’s a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Terrorize everyone out there … except me.”

You laugh, the sound muffled by your helmet, but the sentiment is clear. “No promises.”

Fernando grins, crossing his arms as he watches you settle into the cockpit. The familiar sounds of the car coming to life fill the air, and the anticipation builds. The lights above the pit lane begin their countdown, and you take a deep breath, centering yourself for what’s to come.

As you drive out onto the track for the formation lap, Fernando steps back, his eyes following your car as it weaves between the other machines, each one a potential target, each one a stepping stone towards the top. He knows you’re ready, knows that tonight is just the beginning of what promises to be an incredible journey.

He’s proud of you, not just as a driver, but as the competitor you’ve become under his guidance. And as you line up on the grid, the lights glowing red above, Fernando’s final words echo in your mind.

Make them remember your name.

The lights go out, and the race begins.

***

The Bahrain circuit is still buzzing with energy even after the race has ended. The floodlights cast a bright, artificial glow over the paddock as drivers, engineers, and media personnel move about, some celebrating, others reflecting on the night’s events. The humid night air is thick with the scent of burning rubber and engine exhaust, a familiar and oddly comforting smell to those who live and breathe motorsport.

Fernando stands in the media pen, his eyes fixed on you as you field questions from a group of eager reporters. He’s barely listening to the reporter in front of him, who’s rattling off questions about his own race. He finished just outside the points, but it doesn’t bother him much. Tonight, his focus isn’t on his own performance but on yours.

You’re animated, your eyes bright, still riding the adrenaline high from the race. You finished ninth — an impressive debut for any rookie, especially in a Williams. Fernando watches as you handle the questions with ease, a slight smile playing on his lips. The way you stand, the way you speak, there’s a confidence there that wasn’t present when he first met you. He sees in you a reflection of his younger self, and it fills him with a quiet pride.

“Fernando,” the reporter in front of him says, trying to regain his attention. “Can you tell us about your strategy today?”

Fernando barely hears the question, his attention still on you. You’re laughing at something a reporter just asked, and he catches a glimpse of that mischievous glint in your eyes — the same one he’s seen countless times in his own reflection. He can tell you’re about to say something memorable, and he doesn’t want to miss it.

“Fernando?” the reporter prompts again, sounding slightly annoyed now.

“Hmm?” Fernando finally acknowledges the reporter, but his gaze doesn’t leave you. “What was that?”

“Your strategy today — what was the thinking behind it?”

“Strategy? Oh, yes, the strategy,” Fernando replies absentmindedly, waving his hand dismissively. “You know, just the usual. Push when you can, hold back when you must.” His answers are automatic, but his mind is elsewhere.

The reporter blinks, clearly unimpressed with the vague response, but before he can ask a follow-up question, Fernando’s attention is fully captured by what you’re saying.

A journalist standing in front of you, wearing a press lanyard and holding a recorder close to your face, asks, “Can you walk us through that incredible overtake on Sebastian Vettel? It looked like you had no fear going up against a four-time world champion.”

You smile, a knowing look in your eyes, and then you glance over at Fernando.

“I knew he would hit the brakes,” you say, loud enough for him to hear. You pause for dramatic effect, and then with a wink in Fernando’s direction, you continue, “Because he has a wife and three kids waiting for him at home.”

The words hang in the air for a moment before the reporters around you burst into laughter. The reference to Fernando’s famous quip about Michael Schumacher years ago is unmistakable, and it’s clear that the media eats it up. But more importantly, Fernando hears it, and his chest swells with pride.

The reporter in front of Fernando raises an eyebrow, curious now about what’s just been said. “Looks like she’s learned a thing or two from you,” he comments.

Fernando finally turns to the reporter, a wide grin spreading across his face. “Yes, she has. More than she knows.”

He watches as you continue the interview, your demeanor composed, yet playful. The way you handle the press is impressive — calm, confident, but with just the right amount of charm to keep them on your side. You’re not just a racer; you’re a showman, someone who understands that Formula 1 is as much about performance off the track as it is on it.

Fernando catches snippets of your conversation, listening as you describe the overtake in more detail. “Seb’s a great driver, no doubt about it. But in that moment, I knew I had him. I could see it in his body language. He was playing it safe, so I took my chance.”

“And what was going through your mind when you made the move?” Another journalist asks.

You pause for a moment, considering the question. Then, with a smirk, you say, “I was thinking, ‘What would Fernando do?’ And then I went for it.”

Fernando chuckles to himself, shaking his head slightly. He can’t help but feel a surge of pride. Not because you’ve imitated him, but because you’ve made the decision to be bold, to take risks, and to trust your instincts. That’s what separates the good drivers from the great ones — the willingness to seize the moment, to act decisively.

You finish up your interview, the reporters gradually dispersing to chase down other drivers. Fernando finally gives his full attention to the reporter in front of him, who’s still trying to get something meaningful out of him.

“Fernando, about your race …” the reporter begins again.

But Fernando is already moving, stepping around the man with a polite but firm nod. “Excuse me,” he says, cutting the interview short. There’s someone far more important he needs to talk to right now.

He strides over to you, your helmet now tucked under your arm as you chat casually with one of the team engineers. You spot him approaching and flash him a smile.

“Hey,” you say as he reaches you. “Did you hear what I said?”

“I did,” Fernando replies, unable to keep the pride out of his voice. “You’ve got quite the sense of humor.”

“Learned from the best,” you quip, giving him a playful nudge.

Fernando laughs, shaking his head. “I wasn’t sure you’d actually use that line, but I’m glad you did. The media loves a good story, and you just gave them one.”

You shrug, your smile widening. “Figured I’d give them something to talk about. Plus, it’s not every day you get to pass a guy like Seb.”

“And you did it with style,” Fernando adds, his voice filled with admiration. “You handled yourself perfectly out there, both on track and with the press. You’re making your mark.”

The engineer standing next to you clears his throat, clearly not wanting to interrupt but feeling the need to acknowledge Fernando’s presence. “Great job out there today,” he says, offering a handshake.

“Thanks,” Fernando replies, shaking the man’s hand. “But today’s all about her,” he adds, nodding in your direction.

The engineer nods in agreement before excusing himself, leaving you and Fernando alone in the now quieter part of the paddock. The sounds of celebration and interviews still echo in the background, but here, in this moment, it feels like it’s just the two of you.

“You know,” Fernando says after a beat, “I’ve never been prouder.”

You look at him, surprised by the raw emotion in his voice. “Really?”

“Really,” he confirms. “Seeing you out there today … it reminded me why I fell in love with racing in the first place. The passion, the drive, the thrill of the fight. You have all of that, and more.”

Your smile softens, touched by his words. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“You did it because you’re a damn good driver,” Fernando corrects, though there’s a warmth in his tone. “But I’m glad I could be a part of your journey.”

You both stand there for a moment, the enormity of what you’ve achieved settling in. Ninth place in your first race is no small feat, especially in a car that everyone had written off as uncompetitive. But you’ve proven them wrong, and you’ve done it in a way that’s uniquely your own.

“Next time, though,” Fernando says, a teasing lilt in his voice, “let’s aim for top five.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “No pressure, right?”

“Never,” he replies with a grin. “Just a challenge.”

***

Fernando leans casually against the side of the Alpine motorhome, arms crossed, eyes scanning the paddock. The next season’s first race is in a few days, and the energy around the circuit is electric, buzzing with the anticipation of new beginnings. He’s just finished an interview, the usual media rounds, when he spots you approaching, your new Mercedes gear a stark contrast to the sea of blues and pinks around you.

“Ah, there you are,” Fernando greets with a grin as you draw closer. “I’ve got someone I want you to meet.”

You tilt your head slightly, curious. “Who?”

Fernando pushes off the motorhome, beckoning you to follow as he leads you around to the back, where a young reserve driver is checking his phone, leaning casually against the wall. The kid looks up as you approach, his expression polite, maybe a touch reserved, but there’s an unmistakable spark of intelligence in his eyes.

“Oscar,” Fernando calls out, “this is her.”

Oscar Piastri straightens up, tucking his phone into his pocket. “Nice to meet you,” he says, extending a hand with a shy but confident smile. He’s calm, almost too calm for someone his age, but there’s a warmth there, something genuine. You can’t help but notice how composed he is, how his eyes seem to study you without making you feel scrutinized.

You shake his hand, offering a cool smile in return. “Likewise. I’ve heard good things.”

Oscar chuckles softly, scratching the back of his head. “Hopefully, I can live up to them.”

The three of you chat for a while, exchanging pleasantries about the upcoming season, racing, the usual stuff. Oscar is polite, measured in his responses, but there’s a softness to him that you hadn’t expected. It’s like he’s quietly confident, but without the brashness that usually comes with it. Fernando watches the interaction closely, a faint smirk playing on his lips as he notes the way your demeanor shifts ever so slightly around Oscar — more guarded, maybe, but intrigued.

Eventually, Oscar glances at his watch and excuses himself, mentioning something about a debrief he needs to attend. You nod, maintaining your composed exterior, and watch him walk back towards the Alpine motorhome before turning to Fernando.

“Polite cat vibes,” you murmur almost to yourself, a hint of amusement in your voice. Fernando raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued.

“What was that?” He asks, although there’s a knowing look in his eyes. He’s been around long enough to pick up on these things.

You roll your eyes playfully, but there’s a lightness in your expression that wasn’t there before. “I said, polite cat vibes. You know, like when a cat is super well-behaved, but you just know there’s something more going on behind those eyes?”

Fernando laughs, a genuine, hearty sound that makes a few heads turn in your direction. “So, you think Oscar is a cat?”

“Well, not literally,” you reply, grinning. “It’s just … he’s got this thing, you know? Like he’s really nice, but you can tell he’s got claws if he needs them. And he’s so … calm. I just want to pinch his cheeks and cuddle him.”

Fernando’s laugh turns into a full-blown chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re smitten, aren’t you?”

“Maybe,” you say, feigning nonchalance as you fold your arms across your chest. “But it’s just … he’s different. Not in a bad way, just-”

“Different,” Fernando finishes for you, nodding thoughtfully. “Yeah, I get it. But don’t let that cloud your judgment on track.”

You shoot him a look. “Please. I’m not a rookie, and besides, I’m at Mercedes now. I’ve got bigger things to focus on than cute cats.”

Fernando smiles, but there’s a serious undertone to his next words. “Just remember, this is Formula 1. There’s no room for distractions, no matter how polite or cute they might be.”

You nod, understanding the weight behind his words, but there’s still a twinkle in your eye as you glance back in the direction Oscar disappeared. “Don’t worry, I’ve got this.”

“Good,” Fernando replies, clapping you on the back. “Because I’m not going to let you slack off, not even for a second.”

“Wouldn’t expect anything less from you,” you retort, smirking. There’s a comfortable silence that falls between the two of you, the kind that only comes from mutual respect and understanding.

But Fernando can’t resist one last jab. “Don’t go soft on him, okay? I’ve got my eye on you.”

You roll your eyes again but with a fond smile. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Of course,” Fernando grins. “It’s part of my charm.”

You laugh, the sound bright and clear in the busy paddock, and Fernando can’t help but feel a swell of pride. You’ve come so far, and he’s been there every step of the way, watching you grow not just as a driver but as a person. There’s a part of him that’s protective, sure, but there’s also a part that’s thrilled to see you standing on your own two feet, ready to take on whatever comes your wa— even if it’s an Australian polite cat.

“Let’s get out of here,” Fernando says finally, leading the way back to the Mercedes motorhome. “We’ve got a race to win this weekend, and I don’t want any distractions.”

You follow him, but there’s a spring in your step that wasn’t there before, and Fernando notices. He doesn’t say anything, though, just smiles to himself. You’re going to be just fine, he thinks, more than fine.

As you walk together, side by side, you can’t help but glance back once more, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Maybe, just maybe, this season is going to be full of surprises. And Fernando? Well, he’s ready for whatever comes next, as long as you are too.

***

The sun hangs low in the sky, casting a warm, golden glow over the vineyard where the ceremony is taking place. Rows of chairs are lined up neatly on the manicured lawn, all facing a simple yet elegant archway draped in white fabric and adorned with soft blush roses. The air is filled with the quiet murmur of guests settling in, the occasional laugh breaking through the serene atmosphere.

Fernando adjusts his tie, glancing around with a mixture of pride and disbelief. How did they get here? It seems like only yesterday he was meeting you for the first time, a determined young driver who refused to be underestimated. Now, here you are, standing at the altar, poised to marry the man you’ve chosen to spend your life with.

Fernando is seated in the front row, just to the left of the aisle, with Mark Webber by his side. The two exchange knowing smiles as the ceremony begins, each lost in their own thoughts. Mark has watched Oscar grow from a promising young talent into a man of integrity and strength, much like Fernando has done with you. There’s a quiet understanding between them, a mutual respect that goes beyond words.

As the officiant begins to speak, Fernando leans over slightly, catching Mark’s eye. “I guess this makes us in-laws,” he whispers, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Mark chuckles softly, nodding. “Seems like it. Didn’t see this coming back when we were racing, did we?”

“Not at all,” Fernando replies with a smile, glancing back at the altar where you and Oscar stand, hand-in-hand. “But I’m glad it did.”

The vows are simple, heartfelt, and deeply personal. Oscar goes first, his voice steady but filled with emotion.

“From the moment I met you,” Oscar begins, his eyes locked on yours, “I knew you were different. You challenged me, inspired me, and made me want to be a better person. In a world that often felt overwhelming, you were my calm, my constant. Today, I promise to stand by your side, through every victory and every defeat. I promise to support your dreams as if they were my own, to lift you up when you’re down, and to love you unconditionally, now and forever.”

There’s a brief pause, the weight of his words hanging in the air. You squeeze his hand, your heart swelling with the depth of his sincerity. When it’s your turn, you take a deep breath, steadying yourself.

“Oscar,” you begin, your voice clear and strong, “You were the unexpected surprise in my life, the calm in my storm. From the moment we met, I knew you were special. You’ve been my partner on and off the track, my biggest supporter, and my best friend. Today, I promise to cherish every moment we have together, to grow with you, and to always be there for you, no matter what. I promise to love you with all that I am, and all that I will ever be. You are my heart, my soul, and my everything.”

Fernando feels a lump in his throat as you finish. He’s never been one to get emotional, but today, sitting here, listening to you pour your heart out, he can’t help but feel a surge of pride and love. He remembers the teenage girl who had to fight for every opportunity, the young woman who never gave up, and now, the bride standing before him, ready to take on the next chapter of her life.

The officiant speaks again, guiding you and Oscar through the final steps of the ceremony. When it’s time for the rings, Mark reaches into his pocket, retrieving Oscar’s band with a small, proud smile. Fernando does the same for you, his hands steady as he hands over the ring you will soon place on Oscar’s finger.

“With this ring, I thee wed,” you both say, sliding the rings onto each other’s fingers. The moment is profound, sealing your commitment not just in words, but in action.

“You may kiss the bride,” the officiant finally announces, and there’s a collective sigh of happiness from the gathered crowd as Oscar leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss that’s both tender and full of promise.

Applause erupts, and as you and Oscar turn to face your family and friends, hands still entwined, Fernando catches your eye. There’s something unspoken between you, a bond that goes beyond blood, beyond words. You smile at him, and he nods in return, his chest swelling with emotion.

The ceremony concludes, and guests begin to make their way to the reception area, where a beautifully decorated marquee awaits. The air is filled with laughter and the clinking of glasses as everyone mingles, basking in the joy of the occasion.

The second dance is a traditional one with your father. You sway gently in his arms as he whispers words of wisdom, of pride, and of love. The moment is touching, a reminder of the family that has always stood behind you, even when the road was hard.

When the song ends, you hug your father tightly, thanking him for everything. But as the music transitions into something new, you catch Fernando’s eye across the room. There’s a moment of hesitation, but then you make your way towards him, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Nando,” you say softly as you reach him, “would you join me for a dance?”

For a brief moment, Fernando is taken aback. He’s always seen you as a strong, independent force — someone who has always forged their own path. But in this moment, he realizes just how much you’ve come to mean to him, how deeply intertwined your lives have become.

“Are you sure?” He asks, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.

You nod, your eyes shining with emotion. “You’ve been like a father to me. I couldn’t imagine today without sharing this moment with you.”

Fernando swallows hard, nodding as he takes your hand. The two of you move to the center of the dance floor, the music soft and slow. As you begin to dance, there’s a sense of calm that settles over you both, a quiet understanding that needs no words.

“I’ve watched you grow,” Fernando says after a few moments, his voice low so only you can hear, “into one of the best drivers I’ve ever known, but more than that … into an incredible person. I’m so proud of you, more than I can ever say.”

Tears prick at your eyes, but you blink them back, smiling up at him. “Thank you. For everything. I wouldn’t be here without you.”

“You would’ve found your way,” he replies, his tone firm. “You always had it in you. I just gave you a little push.”

“A little?” You tease, and he laughs, the sound filled with warmth.

As the song comes to an end, Fernando pulls you into a tight hug, his hand resting protectively on the back of your head. “Remember, I’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”

“I know,” you whisper, your voice choked with emotion. “And I’ll always be here for you too.”

***

The antiseptic scent of the hospital hits Fernando the moment he steps into the delivery wing, mingling with the distant beeps of monitors and the hushed whispers of medical staff. It’s a familiar environment, yet so foreign to him. He’s used to the adrenaline rush of the pit lane, the roar of engines, the calculated chaos of racing — but this, this is something entirely different. He’s been in countless high-pressure situations, but none have ever felt like this.

As he makes his way down the hallway, his heart beats just a little faster than usual, his mind racing with thoughts of you, of Oscar, and of the tiny new life that’s just come into the world. When he reaches the door of your room, he hesitates for the briefest of moments, his hand hovering over the door handle.

It’s not that he’s nervous — Fernando Alonso doesn’t get nervous — but there’s something about this moment that feels monumental, like the start of a new chapter in a book he didn’t even realize he was writing.

He pushes the door open slowly, stepping into the room with a soft smile. The room is bathed in a warm, gentle light, far removed from the harsh brightness of the hallway. It’s quiet, peaceful, with only the faint hum of machinery and the soft breaths of the newborn breaking the silence.

You’re lying in the bed, looking tired but radiant, with a tiny bundle cradled in your arms. Oscar is beside you, his hand resting protectively on your shoulder, his eyes filled with awe and love. When you see Fernando, your face lights up, and despite the exhaustion etched into your features, there’s a warmth in your smile that makes his heart swell.

“Fernando,” you say softly, your voice hoarse but filled with joy. “Come meet him.”

He steps closer, his eyes drawn to the small figure in your arms. The baby is tiny, impossibly so, wrapped in a soft blue blanket, with a tuft of dark hair peeking out. Fernando’s breath catches in his throat as he looks down at the baby, his heart pounding in a way that’s both unfamiliar and entirely overwhelming.

“He’s perfect,” Fernando murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

Oscar grins, nodding in agreement. “We think so too.”

You shift slightly, holding the baby out toward Fernando. “Would you like to hold him?”

For a moment, Fernando hesitates. He’s held championship trophies, gripped the steering wheel at speeds that would make others blanch, but this? This is different. This is fragile, delicate, something that requires a gentleness he’s not sure he possesses. But when he sees the trust in your eyes, he nods, carefully taking the baby into his arms.

The weight is nothing — featherlight, almost — but it’s enough to make his hands tremble just the slightest bit. He cradles the baby close, his eyes wide as he studies the tiny features: the small nose, the delicate eyelids, the impossibly small fingers curled into little fists. The baby stirs slightly, his mouth opening in a silent yawn before settling back into a peaceful sleep.

“What’s his name?” Fernando asks, his voice thick with emotion.

You exchange a glance with Oscar before looking back at Fernando, your smile widening. “His name is Theodore,” you say softly, “Theodore Fernando Piastri.”

Fernando’s breath catches, his eyes snapping up to meet yours. For a moment, he’s speechless, his mind struggling to process what he’s just heard.

“Fernando?” He repeats, his voice barely audible.

You nod, your eyes shining with unshed tears. “We wanted to honor you. You’ve been like a father to me, and now … now you’re going to be a part of his life too. It just felt right.”

Fernando stares at you, his heart swelling with a mixture of pride, love, and something else — something deeper, something he’s never quite felt before. He looks down at Theodore, his namesake, and for the first time in a long while, he feels his eyes prick with tears.

“You … you didn’t have to do that,” he says, his voice choked with emotion.

“But we wanted to,” Oscar says, his voice firm but kind. “You’ve done so much for us, for Y/N. It’s our way of saying thank you.”

Fernando swallows hard, nodding as he blinks back the tears threatening to spill over. He’s always prided himself on his control, on his ability to keep his emotions in check, but this — this is something else entirely. This is a depth of feeling he wasn’t prepared for.

“Thank you,” he finally says, his voice thick. “It means … it means more to me than you can ever know.”

He looks back down at Theodore, his heart full to bursting. The baby stirs again, his tiny fingers twitching, and Fernando smiles, the tears finally spilling over as he lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“Grandpa Nando,” you say suddenly, your voice filled with affection. “That’s what we’re going to call you. How do you feel about that?”

Fernando lets out a laugh, the sound watery and full of joy. “I think I can get used to that,” he says, his voice trembling with emotion. “Grandpa Nando. I like it.”

You smile at him, your eyes soft with affection. “I’m glad. You’ve been a father figure to me, and now … now you get to be a grandfather to him.”

The room falls into a comfortable silence, the weight of the moment settling over all of you. Fernando can’t stop staring at Theodore, can’t stop marveling at the tiny life in his arms. He’s held many titles in his life — champion, driver, mentor — but this, this feels different. This feels like the most important role he’s ever played.

As he stands there, cradling the tiny life in his arms, he feels a sense of peace settle over him. This is where he’s meant to be, here with you, with Oscar, with Theodore. He’s not just a mentor anymore; he’s family. And that, more than anything, is the greatest victory he’s ever achieved.

Finally, after what feels like both an eternity and no time at all, Fernando carefully hands Theodore back to you, his heart heavy with emotion. You take your son into your arms, holding him close as you smile up at Fernando, your eyes filled with gratitude.

“Thank you,” you say softly. “For everything. For being there for me, for guiding me, for … for being a part of our lives.”

Fernando shakes his head, a small, tearful smile on his lips. “No, thank you. You’ve given me more than I ever could have imagined. You — you and Oscar, and now Theodore — you’re my family. And there’s nothing more important to me than that.”

You reach out, taking his hand in yours, and for a moment, the two of you just stand there, connected by something deeper than words, deeper than racing, deeper than anything Fernando has ever known.

This is what it means to be family, he realizes. This is what it means to love, to care, to be there for each other, no matter what. And as he stands there, his heart full to bursting, he knows that this, more than any championship, more than any victory on the track, is what truly matters.

This is his greatest achievement.

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scented-morker · 6 months ago

Text

Lovesick fools

Alternatively… enha’s reaction to being on a variety show with their idol!crush

No warnings, 2k words, implied fem!reader.. these took me forever </3

Heeseung

Fourth gen vocalists on the show ‼️

He was so excited to be there that he totally forgot you would def be there too

Until he was getting his makeup done and you walked in with curlers in your hair and coffees in your hand

He immediately found himself smiling at how cute you looked, and it only got worse when you handed him a cup

"Twitter said this was your order, I hope it's right."

The makeup artist starts laughing and opts out of putting blush on him bc he's all red from you

Once filming starts you all sing a prepared cover, and he's so focused on his own that he stays calm for most of it

Except yours is last, which means his mind is fully empty since he’s done and now all he’s able to focus on is how pretty you sound and the way you smile through the words

You sing 'drinks or coffee' from rose's new album and he swears you wink at him

"We don't have to talk, I know that you want me."

Twitter goes crazy bc you absolutely did wink at him, and they have the slow mo replay to prove it

Him blushing like mad also goes viral

He walks up to you backstage

"So... do you want to get drinks or coffee?" 🤭

Jay

It's shuhua's show again, but instead of sunghoon he's paired up with you

Bro gives himself a pep talk in the mirror before filming starts

"You are cool and calm and will not giggle like a school girl at her. Shes going to look pretty and you're just gonna have to deal with it."

Thinks it should be illegal to look good in a work uniform, but there you are

You guys are cooking and you're so impressed by how well he does at separating the fat from the meat

You are so horribly bad at it that Shuhua looks like an expert 💔💔

"Jay I think you need to help her, she's massacring the product."

Ok girl are you a host or a wingman

But he does, telling you to adjust your grip on the knife, reaching over to show you how to do it better which has you blushing like crazy

You guys are partnered up trying to give away samples against shuhua which is where you shine bc people just can't stay away from you especially when you pout and ask 'pretty please?'

Jay doesn't blame them, he's ready to buy everything in the store from you

One of the girls doesn't bat an eye at you when you beg but you're desperate so you yell after her

"Look how handsome my partner is, don't you want to come buy something from us?"

The girl comes back but Jay can't even be flattered bc he's too busy freaking out that you think he's cute

"Did you really mean that?" He asks you after filming

"Of course I did, I'm not blind."

So he asks for your number and ofc you give it to him

Jake

It’s some sort of school setting show

You guys are paired up against Jay and another member of your group as the four of you compete with trivia questions

You’re all English speakers, so they make you answer everything in English and since we’re already being delulu let’s say you have an English accent bc we know Jake loves that

You have to yell at him to lock in because when you start trying to reason out the question he’s so focused on your voice that he isn’t listening to a word you say

You guys are getting whooped by the other team

That is until your member makes a joke about you saying how your ideal type is a smart guy

Bro instantly locks tf in

“October 23rd, 2016”

“That is correct! Team Hot Accents gets another point as they make an impressive comeback!”

Yes that’s your team name, you both have hot accents and you know it 🤷‍♀️

You get so excited every time you guys score a point that you’re practically bouncing in your seat cheering and giving him high fives

You answer a few questions after that but he’s definitely carrying you guys and he could not be happier about it

“Don’t worry y/n, I got you. Just sit there and look pretty.” 😍

By the end you guys are tied and the hosts ask you to give your partner a good luck charm as he and Jay face off for the last question

You contemplate kissing his cheek before realizing that would probably get you murdered on twitter so you settle for giving his hand a squeeze after interlocking your fingers post high five

When he gets the question right he runs over and picks you up to spin you around in celebration

The editors definitely put some incriminating caption like [a very overexcited reaction from the golden retriever] that fans laugh at him for afterwards

But he doesn’t care bc you were in his arms and that’s all that matters ‼️

After filming you’re like “wow Jake you’re so smart do you want to hang out sometime?”

YEP YEP YEP YES HE DOES

Sunghoon

You guys were both ex figure skaters, so they had you guys film an episode at a rink

They got both of you a new version of one of your old costumes, and sunghoon was immediately red at the sight of you in the sparkling dress with a little cut out on the side

You both spent the first few minutes just running around on the ice, enjoying being back

The hosts had a list of skills they read out and then made each of you try

It only made sunghoon's crush bigger watching you move so gracefully, and he grinned so big whenever you'd compliment him

"Woah, he's still really good!"

Towards the end they had you try partner moves, everyone cheering when you guys synced up so well in the turns and twists

“Woah they look really good together! It’s like fate they move at the exact same time!”

They even let you try a stunt, and sunghoon became a stuttering mess when he put his hand on your waist where the cut out in your costume was

"Is- is this ok? I don't want to drop you, but we could skip it if you want."

"Of course it's ok!"

He's so touched at the amount of trust you put in him while trying out partner tricks

And it's rightfully placed considering the time you guys mess up he makes sure to change the angle of your fall so that he takes the brunt of the impact instead of of you

You apologize so many times, including going up to him after filming to thank him again

"Is there anything I can do to thank you?"

"How about a date?"

Sunoo

Who knows why the show paired you guys up

Maybe they saw the media attention from your brief waves to each other at an award show and the viral ‘bite me’ challenge you did together

But they bring both of you to a cafe set and you have to make coffees and such before being interviewed

You’d worked at a coffee shop predebut so at one point you reach over and grab his hand to adjust the way he holds the cup under the milk steamer

The editors zoom in on his red face while you turn around and practically sprint away

Your last task before the interview is to make a drink for the other person while they film a confessional about you

You’re sitting there stuttering over your words as an explanation as to why you ran after helping him earlier and how kind he was when you filmed your tiktok together last time

Meanwhile, sunoo is asking the staff for help to make your super specific and stupidly difficult drink order that he knows from watching your interviews

He pretends it was casual and easy once he joins you at the table, setting the cup down in front of you like he didn’t restart it 3 times

“This is my favorite coffee!! I didn’t even remember them teaching us this!”

“Wow that’s so weird, lucky me I guess”

He tried to be nonchalant but it was NOT working

He literally lets out a giggle as soon as you drink it and do a little happy dance when it’s exactly how you like

When the interviewer asks about your relationship (bringing up the award show wave) Sunoo says that you guys are casual friends but he hopes you can become closer after filming together

To which you respond ABSOLUTELY and promise to wave at him at every schedule you see him

That’s enough for his weak heart for one day so he doesn’t end up following up after the cameras stopped

but you kept your promise and after a few months of excited waves and animated conversations at award shows he secures your number and a date

Jungwon

He’s too responsible to risk anything by talking about his crush on you but once in a live you said you really admired him because you couldn’t imagine having to lead your group while being one of the youngest members

(He saved the video and probably replayed it about fifty times afterwards)

But that was enough to make one of the shows want you guys together !!

Which is how you end up trailing behind him through a creepy dark building while scare actors try to freak you guys out

Bro was not excited for this but he is doing his best bc YOU NEED HIM ‼️

You are so close to his back that he can feel your body heat and when someone jumps out you practically climb on his back

You apologize profusely afterwards, but he waves it off, offering you his arm to grasp onto for the rest of the time

You say in a confessional part that you were scared out of your mind but it was bearable bc Jungwon was there

“He was so brave and cool, it made me feel so much better!”

He isn’t even scared anymore, he’s just mad bc they’re intentionally making you upset so his cute angry face pops out and the two of you make it through the whole haunted house in record time

Afterwards he tells you that he hopes he wasn’t mean or anything, he was just upset they were scaring you

He was mad at them for doing their jobs 💔 rip

But that just made you appreciate him more

“Can I treat you to lunch one day? To thank you for taking such good care of me?”

He MELTS, of course you can

Riki

You and him were both on a variety show to show the difference between maknaes

He was the image of a cool and mature maknae, while you were the giggly pink maknae of your group

He thought it was gonna be awkward bc the whole point of the show was how different you guys were, but you got along so easily

As soon as you started talking he was a GONER

He'd watch you answer a question and get so distracted looking at your face that the hosts would have to repeat the question for him to respond to after 😭

So much for being cool

They ask him how he feels about aegyo to which he describes how passionately he hates it

So they make you do aegyo for him to see if he reacts

HE DOES

Homeboy starts blushing without even realizing it

It puts the biggest smile on his face that they tease him about for the rest of the show

You tell him you'll give him lessons in it if he wants while live and that's how he approaches you after

"You probably need my number to set up those lessons right?"

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oscpstri · 8 days ago

Text

twin flames | piastri

piastri x fem motogp!reader, 1.06k

oscar piastri was a force to be reckoned with and whatever he was in formula 1, you were the same in motogp. you were always around each other, but you couldn't help it, the challenge was delicious.

INCLUDES: use of y/n, reader is an exact replica of osco maybe even a bit more badass bcs duh, inaccurate and fictional events

NOTE: ok i got this idea from the smooth criminal glee cast performance...... they're both so hot AND literally the best in both of their groups so like why not recreate that same tension in a very (VERY) serious sport. again, i only know the basics to motogp so pls do bare w me. also im not the proudest of this but i wanted to write

FULL ONESHOT: BUT YOU LIKE IT

( masterlist | more OP81 )

You and Oscar Piastri were the same person in different fonts and different websites.

Oscar was well-known for being a rising superstar in Formula 1— winning Formula 3, Formula 2, and being the championship leader in the season so far.

You were the same— just in a different motorsport. You took home the gold in Moto3 and Moto2 and were high up in the clouds mid-season, absolutely dominating the field.

The both of you started at the very same time— careers paralleling each other in different universes. You two knew of each other, but never met until one fateful day when Quad Lock decided to create an F1 and MotoGP crossover with their global ambassadors.

You sat in your brand gear, cradling your helmet in your hands. Oscar stood with his arms crossed, Quad Lock hat on full display.

They had decided it would be a good idea to put the both of you in karts and pocket bikes for two separate videos. Obviously, Oscar crushed you in karting and you crushed him in bikes— everyone saw that coming.

The media thought that interaction would be the last they saw of you two in a while. Until the annual motorsports gala where the both of you tie for "Athlete of the Year".

They bring you both on stage— the perfect representation of differing categories in the sport. Oscar lets you talk first, signaling you to go ahead in front of the microphone. As you do so, you say something that triggers the tension that you and the F1 driver have had since you both saw each other from across the room.

"...And lastly, I want to thank Mr. Oscar Piastri who I share the stage with today for being a great second option." You lift the trophy up as the crowd breaks out into applause. You spot your fellow riders cheering you on and you spot the F1 drivers snickering in their seats like pre-pubescent boys.

Media outlets explode at your acceptance speech, reporters have a field day asking Oscar what his thoughts were on your words, and you merely enjoyed the entertainment of it all.

Two months later, the both of you find each other at a charity event. You get in the simulator and impress everyone with your lap times. Oscar gets on the bike and impresses everyone with his balance. And while a crowd of interested fans crowded you, you only paid attention to each other.

"And you doubted my two-wheel abilities?"

"Yeah, thought you'd find it hard to balance. What with that big head and all."

You two bicker the whole time. Focus still locked onto the simulators you both started, but attention onto the person beside you. The crowd started pulling their phones out, tweeting and posting clips of the moment. Your dynamic eventually went viral and the media dubbed you two as golden twins— the prince of Formula 1 who crossed paths with the princess of MotoGP.

This eventually leads you two to exchange numbers, not doing much with it except for the weekly banter. After a race, you would text Oscar and compliment him on it. Of course, mentioning the atrocious understeer that almost cost his race. After a race, Oscar would text you and compliment you on it. Of course, mentioning the cocky stab at gravity that almost makes you go flying into the stands.

You two eventually end up on a podcast together, trying to out-snark each other with each flying minute. This leaves the hosts confused as to what was happening and the fans just ate it up like they were starved. Were they flirting? Fighting? Or both?

Then this leads to a helmet swap a week after the podcast aired. Your teams called it marketing, you two called it stupid. Yet you still did it. And the only evidence that that interaction happened is a picture of the two you side-by-side, holding each other's helmets up like you enjoyed it. And maybe you kinda did.

Fast forward a few months, Quad Lock has you both in a chokehold once again. Marketing makes you do simulators, reaction tests, everything you do as training. And its a back and forth of you and Oscar winning.

"Now I know why you win all the time." Oscar sends you a cheeky smile.

You narrow your eyes playfully, trying to hide the smile that wanted to stretch on your face. "Oh yeah?"

"I've never been there to distract you."

Twitter erupts, fan pages explode, and the Formula 1 and MotoGP teams absolutely love the back and forth. So much so that Quad Lock decides to bring Oscar to a race.

You won, of course, and Oscar stayed for the entire podium celebration. You enter your garage afterwards, sticky from the champagne. You spot Oscar and quickly walk towards him, a smirk on your face.

"Enjoyed the race?"

Oscar smiled at this, shoving his hands in his hoodie pocket. "Yeah, until you won."

You place the champagne bottle and trophy down on an empty table, looking at the driver with an impressed expression. You take your hat off and toss it towards him. He effortlessly catches it and admires it, the blue Michelin hat sat drenched in champagne in his hands.

"You can have that as a token of you being here," you start, picking up your trophy and bottle. "Already have a lot of those, anyway."

You wink as you walk away, leaving him stunned in place, hands still gripping onto the hat like it was a brick of gold.

Two weeks later and it was your turn to show up for the other's race. Oscar won, like he always did, and you stayed for the podium celebration as well.

Walking back to the hospitality, you hear footsteps jogging towards you until you spot a familiar champagne-soaked driver next to you. He says nothing, just a stupid smile on his face, before he holds out the Pirelli hat that you take.

"Hope you were taking notes, two-wheels." And he runs off before you could reply. You walk slower than you did a few minutes ago, mentally processing what just happened.

Because whatever this was, you liked it. You had finally found someone who could match you. Someone who wasn't better or worse than you— but someone who was the exact same. And you found it intoxicating.

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militaryapple · 4 months ago

Text

MY BEST FRIEND'S BROTHER IS THE ONE FOR ME .ᐟ

synopsis. mc leaves to go to the store and youre left alone with her wildly hot "brother". so what if you both get tipsy? whats the harm in that? its not like she liked him anyways.

cw. fem!reader, you & mc are bff's, virginity loss, cunillingus, oral ( fem recieving ), p in v creamie, pet names, unprotected (PLEASE BE PROTECTED OMG), praise like a lot of it, fingering, use of term "babygirl", biting, teasing (omg i need this man bad.)

add ons. this came to me in a dream. sum like that.

wc. 2.6k

sundays were the best. why? because you spent the entire day with her. your best friend in the entire world, and you meant that. you couldn't do anything without her, not like she'd let you anyway. you'd both had always been with each other. you guys were practically holding hands in the womb. which could probably explain the same brain wave you both share.. nonetheless it doesn't wipe away that Sundays were the best. hanging out with your best friend, playing games and well..

eyeing her super-hot unrelated related brother. okay, fine, you go over her dorm on Sundays to oogle her so-called "brother". what's the harm in that? it's not like you're acting on your feelings. it was just a small crush you've had.. since forever. it's also not like he noticed you anyways, he's always had his eyes set out for her. you don't loathe them for that. its how things have always been. its fine you don't mind, as long as you get to keep your friendship its fine.

a loud slapping noise snapped you back into reality as you look down at the table, the red uno card with a number 6 on it scattered down. fuck. pick up 3. you groan as you watched how happily she hummed. for a hunter, she knows how to play uno really well. you sigh in defeat as you set down the uno cards.

"whatever" you mumble softly. "you probably cheated anyways! hey, actually lets do a rematch! I can win!" you slammed your soda down on the table as she shook her head in disapproval. "nuh-uh! you said if I won 3 times in a row you'd do it!" she slammed her cup down in resilience. you really need to stop making bets you cant win. you fall back on the bed to resign. "fine! I'm not going to the store with you though. that shits like an hour away for one and two I do NOT want to hear you rub in my face on how you won."

she hummed in approval as she eyed you down. "I can take that over not winning any day. you might miss out on some really good in and out though" she said sweetly, you thought about it before huffing out "a slushy and small fry." was all she needed to hear before getting up, and right on cue, he came in. caleb looked down at her, then at you. his face widens in a grin. "what bet did you win today pip-squeak?" he said patting her head and chuckling. she pointed towards you and embarrassment washed in. next thing you know she had taken caleb's key and waved goodbye to the both of you.

knowing her it would take 2 hours to get from the store and back, she gets side tracked too easily. sometimes you worry for your best friend. caleb slumped down on the couch, turning on the tv as he looked at you before calling out. "hey, get over here. you and I both know it'll be a while until she comes back. plus.. she has my keys and car. can't go anywhere now." he scooted over patting next to him on the side of the couch.

you got up and moved next to him, scooting towards the other end of the couch as you both watched the agonizingly boring movie that played. sometimes you didn't get these one on one moments with him. compared with her, he's more quiet around you. sometimes with the occasional flirty friendly banter, he seemed.. more comfortable. you two have known each other for a long time, so it wouldn't hurt to just make a simple conversation with him right? with that thought you scooted closer to him.. then after a while a little closer.. then just pushing your luck just a tad bit closer.

caleb looked down at you, he let out a small laugh before holding his arm out and shifting his position, he pulled you closer now wrapping his arm around you while you leaned on him. you could smell the faint scent of musk, like a woody pine tree. it wasn't a bad smell. "you thought I wouldn't notice?" he said gently. he looked down at you in amusement. he enjoyed this, and it was good for you to know that thankfully you didn't step over any boundaries you thought you two had established.

you huffed as you looked away. "I was just making this more comfortable for us." you waved your hand in his face. "we're stuck together, right?" you hummed looking up at him. his face shifting from calm to surprised, and then smug.

you swore you could see a glint in his eye.

"okay, take a shot if you don't want to answer, or you can answer. there was more to the game but uh, that's more for parties." he said sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. your face waved over with an emotion of shock, or was it amusement? whichever came into your mind first. "I didn't know mr. gentleman here was the party type. caleb we've been friends since we were kids, I want to play the actual game. not some remake you just made up." you snickered, your arms crossing as you leaned back on the couch, caleb sat across from you on the floor, yet he was still eye level with you.

"hey." he snapped back in a hurt tone, "Im not just a party guy. I only do it if you and her aren't here entertaining me or if you guys are done and I have some spare time. I cant always intrude on both of your adventures. and I still am a gentleman." he prided himself. it makes you think, how many times have you and your best friend left caleb while you both went on your little rendezvous? oh whatever, think later win now.

caleb started out first, he flipped the card over and handed It to you. you looked at it. you gave a quick glance at him before you read the card out loud. "okay, how many times have you got off this week.. and what to?" you said shyly, setting down the card gently. fuck that was a weird question. It's a drinking game but, jesus. caleb turned flushed, he coughed before looking away and pouring himself a shot.

"..."

that's okay, you wouldn't answer either, and skipping it would be more embarrassing, you picked up a card and slid it over to caleb. he almost choked. "are you sure-" he said in-between coughs, "you want to play this? I think I have the wrong deck-" he said quickly scrambling to grab the cards before you could stop him.

"its fine" you said happily "I want to play caleb, seriously." with that, he settled down, looking at the card you picked up once more and reading it out loud. "think of a person, and point out the feature you notice the most when you see them." he said, placing down the card. fuck.

you don't want to point out his obviously big dick that you look at everytime you see him, but you don't wanna get tipsy the first couple of rounds. you looked at your body and the clothes you had on, oh fuck it. lets go out with a bang. you slip off your black shirt, your pink bra flawlessly taking the spotlight. caleb couldn't help but stare at what seemed to be the prettiest bra in the entire world to him before he looked away. "great start." he mumbled.

caleb picked up a card and handed it to you, a grin forming on your face as you held the card, "biggest turn on?" you asked amused. staring at him as his face gave a wash of surprise, he let out a small chuckle. "ah, cliche to say pretty girls with pretty undergarments?" he said softly. your grin stiffening while you placed the card down. whatever, two can play that game.

you grabbed a card, moving in and leaning towards Caleb because all of a sudden he was just oh so far. handing him the card he could see just enough of your boobs, was that a part of your nip- no. Caleb shook it off as he looked at the card in his hand. "wildest sex dream you've had?" he asked, putting the card down and taking another shot. was it him or was the room warm?

you would tease him and say "my best friend's boyfriend and I on a couch fucking nastily" but you couldn't muster up the words. so instead you poured yourself a shot and down the hatch it went. you weren't a heavy drinker, and not much of a tolerance, which is why you chose to skip and strip instead of sink and drink. so much for not getting tipsy, let alone drunk.

he gulped, grabbing another card, before sliding it to you. he was nervous, had he ever been this nervous around you? like really really nervous? fuck fuck fuck. so many things were going through his mind. it was driving him nuts. you picked up the card and read it, snorting. "childhood crush?" oh. that was easy for him.

"you."

you looked up blinking, scanning his face for any sort of joke, any sort of shift to tell you "haha I'm joking" but there wasn't. he was serious. you grabbed the bottle of pink Whitney, downing as much as you could in a cup before setting it down. "you're fucking lying caleb. don't think I don't see how you look at her." you snapped at him, which only made him laugh. god you were cute.

"yeah," he nodded "but how do you think she'd feel if i was messing around with her best friend hm? how i think about you in ways I shouldn't, how I crave you." oh shit. he had a point. though you looked at your phone, you two still had some alone time. "caleb.." you whimpered softly.

"don't do that to me baby. please." he almost begged you. he got up moving to the couch and leaning over you. his eyes scanning over your body, then his gaze unwavering from your face. "I've always wanted you. ha, sometimes I go crazy thinking about how many guys have even attempted to touch you." his voice barely above a whisper. his breath tickling your face.

"caleb, please. I fucking need you."

the sounds of sloppy kisses and clothes unraveling filled the air, you both moving from the living room to your room. you knew this was bad, but all the guilt you felt seemed to be swept to the side. you could deal with the emotional luggage later, you didn't want it to ruin the perfectly good scenario playing out, the one you thought about ever since you were in high school.

caleb was gentle with you, his hands placed behind your back as he attempted to undo your bra, clearly lost, you took it off and held on to him. he was sweet but eager yet tender with you and patient.

"this is my first time," you say sheepishly. caleb's eyes lit up, a smile on his face while he planted a kiss on the crown of your forehead. "It's alright baby. It's my first time too, I'm especially happy because it's with you." his hands circled around your stomach before making its way down to your clit. he pressed softly against the fabric of your panties while you let out a small mewl.

you sounded better than he imagined. his fingers circling around your clit, and in response he got to hear your beautiful sounds. he was practically drunk off them. his fingers pushed over your panties, exposing your cunt. caleb got down. his hands spreading your legs wider as his lips pressed small kisses against your lower ones.

he was like a pro, his tongue hitting all of your spots as you grab his hair. the way the vibrations of his groans overstimulated you more and more. "you taste absolutely delicious. where has this pretty cunt been all my life?" he groaned, breaking away from your swollen cunt. he got up and leaned into you, bringing your head up.

"wanna know how you taste?"

he kissed you while undoing his pants. sweats dropping while he pushed you down the bed, bringing his cock out. and jesus was he huge. you pulled him down on the bed with you, pushing him against the wall as you sat up towards him. "'m gonna ride you, okay?" you dropped your head down, positioning yourself before selling down on his cock. he was huge, fuck did it hurt so good. caleb couldn't help but dip his head in the crook of your neck, grabbing your hips as he whined in approval.

"thaaats it babygirl. you got it, you're so sweet, just for me, yeah?" he praised you, planting soft kisses all over, his hands guiding your hips rocking you back and forth and around. you held on him as he held you still, his hips thrusting in and out of you at a steady pace. you were cock drunk.

his tip hit every spot, every curve, every corner and inner spot of yours. you were made for his dick. you couldn't help but praise him on how good he was hitting your sweet spots, "you flatter me baby" caleb moaned, biting down on his lower lip.

caleb collected your head pulling it back as he bit down on you, sucking you and licking you. leaving marks showing people that you were his. you were taken, and that would never change. in exchange, you dug your nails in him, and only you would know that they were there, that you were there to place them on him.

caleb flipped you over, pounding into you. one blow after the other. there was no stopping him as he rolled his head back in pure bliss. from this angle he could see all your pretty curves, how your back naturally arches for him. he had fucked you stupid.

caleb growled, "finish with me, please baby" he pleaded, "I wanna feel you cum over my cock again 'n again. you can do that right baby?" he coos. you could feel him reaching deeper in you, stretching you out as his balls slap against your abused cunt.

your body felt like it was on fire. electricity flowing through every vein as you shook your walls gummy and clamping down on him. you're shaking violently as Caleb can't help but get a last few thrusts in. you were squirting.

everywhere.

caleb pulls out and moves back, admiring you, like a piece of artwork. "messy girl" he clicked his tongue before scooping you up and fixing the pillows on your bed, lying you down on one side while he moved to other to lie right next to you. he was sweet. Caleb cuddled and coo'd you, telling you how much of a perfect girl you were, how good you took him and how beautiful you were.

he just stared at you, you looked at him before getting out a small laugh, "yes, I love you too caleb." you say sweetly and he was sure his heart skipped a beat. all he could give back was a smile, kissing the crown of your head.

it was a tender moment before you both were rudely awakened by the door slamming open and loud voice in the back. "what the fuck do you think you're doing?"

oh shit.

1K notes · View notes

watchmegetobsessed · 14 days ago

Text

UNDONE II.

A/N: sooo 👀 i feel like we all wanted more of them, so here it is! and i think there could be maybe a part 3 as well, let me know if you agree!

WORD COUNT: 5.8k

WARNING: sexual content

SUMMARY: What happened between Harry and Y/N on that one night in his office can't be undone and it is now bringing them to a whole new territory.

MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME! | PART I.

Presenting was never Y/N’s thing. All the attention aimed at her, watching all of her moves and listening to what she is saying, it puts such a pressure on her that always gets her palms sweating and her speech stuttering. But today, as she presents her latest report at the bi-weekly meeting, she feels extra anxious.

And that’s because of Harry.

He has always been part of this meeting, he is sitting in the same spot as usual with the same gruff expression on his face while Y/N is talking through the numbers, but today his presence is entirely different to her.

Because just three days ago he watched her come as she grinded on him in his office.

The memories still live vividly in her mind and that’s probably because she hasn’t stopped replaying them: sitting at her desk, making her third coffee of the day, on her route home, cooking in her tiny kitchen or lying in bed late at night, it’s all she thinks about.

It’s a shame nothing more has happened though.

The past few days have been quite hectic, mostly for Harry. An unexpected issue has been keeping him at work late, not leaving him any time to focus on Y/N and his promise to her. All they had was a couple longing gazes, a handful of hidden touches when passing by each other and murmured questions asking if they could postpone their meeting another day.

Y/N understands it, he is busy, a whole department relies on him and great responsibility. That doesn’t take her disappointment away every time he apologizes when he asks to reschedule.

Now that they are locked in a room with other people when the tension between them is palpable and Y/N is trying her best to control the ache for him in her chest and lower as well.

Once her presentation is over, a few questions are thrown her way, then she returns to her seat while feeling his burning gaze on her all the way. When she dares to look up from her notes he is still looking at her, but there’s a bit of softness in them now. Maybe even a tiny smile is hiding in the corner of his mouth, but maybe she is just imagining it.

People start flowing out of the room when the meeting ends, while Y/N and Harry are lazily gathering their stuff in hopes of having just a couple of moments alone, but that’s entirely crushed when the HR manager barges in and her eyes settle on Harry.

“Harry, can I have a word with you?”

Swallowing his disappointment, he shoots a short look at Y/N who just nods and leaves and it takes everything in him not to go after her.

The past few days have been pure torture for him as well, having her so close yet he can’t even touch her. He’s been doing everything in his power to bend his schedule so he could at least put work down early enough that she is not asleep by the time he heads home, but he did not succeed.

“Sorry to steal you away, but I wanted to chat with you about the new team lead’s onboarding,” Rita, the HR manager explains as they head to his office. He gives her a puzzled look. “You know, Rowan, the analyst lead you interviewed.”

“Oh… but that was so long ago, I thought he didn’t accept the offer.”

“He did, but he had a 2 month long notice period. He starts tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” his eyes widen. He completely forgot about it, though now he has a faded memory of Rita asking him about when he should start. To which he apparently said this week. “Uh, okay, tomorrow it is then.”

“He is coming at ten, I’ll do the paperwork with him and then bring him down here probably before lunch. He has the ‘meet the team’ event at two. Sam, Brian, Tate and Y/N already accepted, you haven’t, but it’s in your calendar.”

“Wait, who? Meet the team with…”

“Sam, Brian, Tate and Y/N. The analysts,” Rita repeats just as they step into his office. “Since Rowan will be their team lead.”

That’s right. Now Harry remembers. Rowan James is going to fulfill the Analyst team lead position that Harry has been substituting since what feels like forever, because they couldn’t find the right person. The vacancy has also been the only reason why Harry has been Y/N’s immediate boss since she’s joined the company.

But that comes to an end with Rowan’s arrival.

***

It’s once again past nine when Harry finally shuts his computer off. His eyes hurt from staring at the screen all day and he already has a mile long to-do list for tomorrow. This week sucks, he thinks to himself as he stands from his desk, expecting complete darkness outside his office, but he is surprised to see a sliver of light at one of the desks.

It’s Y/N.

She is sitting at her desk, phone in hand as she scrolls with a tired look on her illuminated face. Harry’s chest warms at the sight.

Walking out he approaches her and he notices the nervousness in her eyes once she spots him, locking her phone.

“What are you doing here so late?” he asks, grabbing a chair from the neighboring desk and rolling it over so he sits right in front of her.

“I just… thought that I could… wait for you.”

“You should be home, resting.”

“You too,” she retorts and he can’t help the smile that tugs on his lips. She looks so soft and warm, he must reach out and touch her, so leaning forward he places a hand on her thigh and he doesn’t miss how she sucks on her breath at the contact.

He grabs onto her with his other hand as well and pulls her closer, until he can reach her face and cup her cheek in his hand. She melts into his touch instantly and Harry realizes how much he craved to touch her for more than just a fleeting second.

“Why did you want to wait for me, Y/N? Hm?” he murmurs lowly, leaning forward until his forehead meets hers. She just hums in reply, her eyes fluttering close. “Did you miss me?”

“Yes,” she breathes out.

“But I’ve been right here all week,” he teases her.

“But not… like that.” It comes out as a whine, her hands grab onto his shirt at his stomach, tugging on the fabric needily.

“Like what?” His nose brushes against hers, his lips only a breath away from mouth. She squirms when one of his hands slips down to her neck. He is going insane at how responsive she is, just one touch and she trembles, giving away just how much she wants him.

Fucking addictive.

“I want you, like… last time…”

It’s clear to him how bashful she is, talking about what happened between them, but he is eager to hear her say it out loud.

“What did we do last time?” He angles her face so his lips could press against her cheek while his other hand wanders down to her lap, sneakily slipping between her legs. He feels the heat instantly and when he gently presses against her clothed center, she moans shamelessly and Harry’s cock twitches in an instant.

“We… we…” Now she is struggling, because he is slowly stroking her, teasing and playing with her.

“Come on, baby. Say it for me.”

“We… Y-you made me come,” she finally answers and Harry hums approvingly before gently biting her jawline, then presses a kiss to the same spot.

“That’s right, how?” He pushes his fingers against her slightly harder and faster now, her hips start rocking at the same pace, eager for more friction. She lets go of his shirt and her hands grab onto the base of his neck as if she is about to fall and she needs leverage.

“I was… It’s…” Words get lost on her tongue, her thoughts are a mess and incoherent as she feels herself inching towards her orgasm.

“Come on, Y/N. I want to hear from you. I won’t make you come now until you say it.”

To emphasize that he is serious, he retreats his hand and she hisses unhappily at the lack of it instantly. Her eyes pop open and he loves the fire in them, almost angry at him. It’s such a turn on for him, he would love to fuck her until she turns back into her soft, sweet, submissive self.

“You made me grind on your hard cock until I came.”

Her words come out crystal clear, none of the shyness is there that kept her stuttering before. Harry’s grin grows wide and his hand returns between her legs to finish what he started.

It doesn’t take long before her breath hitches as her orgasm blows up and when her lips part, he is quick to swallow her moans, kissing her so roughly it’s almost painful, but it just makes her climax even stronger.

“You are so fucking beautiful when you come undone from my touch.” He keeps kissing her, softer and softer until he is basically just pressing his lips against hers while she is still trying to catch her breath.

Once her head clears her eyes instantly snap down at his lap, the outline of his hard cock making his lust quite undeniably.

“No, Y/N.”

“Again?” She almost pouts, her hands falling to his thighs, gently rubbing them up and down.

“I told you. If you touch my cock right now, there is no going back, but this is not the right time and place.”

“But when?” she practically whines.

“Friday? I’m hoping to finish at a human time,” he chuckles softly, placing a kiss to the corner of her mouth.

“Okay,” she nods, defeated.

“Don’t be so sad. I promise to make up for the delay.” He flashes a devilish smile at her before kissing her hard, then standing up. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

***

Y/N arrives at work with a buzz and it’s not because of the end of the work week. Well, kind of, because that also means she is finally meeting Harry outside of the office.

He texted her last night, assuring her that he will put everything down once the clock hits 5 o’clock and then asked for her address so he could send a taxi to pick her up and drive her to his place later in the evening. And now Y/N can’t wait for the day to be over so she could head home, have an everything-shower and then finally do what she’s been wanting to do not just all day but probably since her interview months ago.

Focusing on her work is harder now, but she somehow manages to get into the flow, so when her calendar’s reminder pops up about a meeting starting in ten minutes, she has to snap out of all those numbers and tables that sucked her right in.

Then she realizes she is about to meet her new boss.

She meets her teammates halfway to the meeting room and they walk in, finding Harry already in there with an unknown man. Harry’s eyes flicker at Y/N for a short second, but she can’t read anything in them as he stands from his seat.

“Hello everyone. I would like to introduce you to Rowan James, your new team lead,” Harry announces.

Rowan James is an objectively attractive guy, Y/N can’t deny that. In his tailored navy blue suit and crispy, white shirt, hair tousled just enough to give him that slightly unfinished look while still appearing put-together. His warm brown eyes swipe over the team before he walks over and shakes hands with everyone.

His hold is firm, but not painful and he pays extra attention to listen to their names to learn them as fast as possible. If Y/N met him a couple of months ago or even two weeks ago, she probably would have had a fleeting crush on him. But now, as her gaze slides over to Harry all she can think about is what he has planned for her for tonight.

She cannot look at other men the same way she did before him.

“It’s so nice to meet you, I’m looking forward to having a one-on-one session with all of you.”

“I will be onboarding Rowan in the next weeks, gradually handing over all tasks, but I would like you all to evaluate the tasks you currently have and should be handed over as well.”

Y/N straightens her back as if she is sitting across from a teacher. Harry is radiating authority, he has that expression on that’s all business, focused and professional. It could be scary, but for Y/N it has always brought an odd sense of comfort, because she knew whatever they had to handle, they would succeed no matter what if Harry looked like that.

They talk a bit about themselves, hobbies, interests and then start to map out how they can all work together to make Rowan’s onboarding as smooth as possible. When the meeting is over everyone has their own action items and Y/N knows they got this. However, Harry seems somewhat… grumpy. As people start going their own way she tries to have a word with him, but he is busy instructing Rowan about something on his computer, so she leaves as well and carries on with her day.

***

Harry feels off.

He’s been having non-stop meetings with Rowan and everyone else he will be working with and he is trying his best to do a thorough handover while taking care of his own tasks as well, so it’s a crammed day. Rowan is nice, has good humor, a pleasant guy to be around and yet…

Something feels off.

Harry can’t put his finger on it, the feeling settles in his chest and keeps bugging him all day, but realization hits him sometime in the afternoon when he sees Rowan sitting next to Y/N at her desk, looking at her screen.

It’s a simple scene, Y/N is talking about their ticketing system and how they usually assign tasks between each other, nothing unusual, but when he sees them share a laugh at something, everything clicks.

He is jealous.

Rowan is a good looking bloke, nice and smart, exactly like the kind of guy Harry imagines Y/N go for and seeing them work together just amplifies that thought in his mind. As he returns to his office and joins another call he is still musing over how he feels possessive over her even though she is not even hers.

But he’s the one who’s made her come the last two times… Or is he?

The thought of Y/N messing around with someone else makes him feral. The call he is in is long forgotten, all he can think about is how crazy he is going over her and by the time he ends the call he knows he should clear the air out before he touches her tonight.

***

She feels like before her first ever date in high school. Jittery, nervous, kind of lost.

The taxi picks her up at seven, sharp, and then she is on her way to Harry’s place. Even the thought makes her stomach churn, it all kind of feels like a fever dream still.

How is it going to be? What will happen? What if she messes up? Will he kick her out right after?

When she gets out of the taxi in front of the luxurious apartment building, her hands are shaking and she thinks about just walking away, but she also wants this so much, she would regret not even trying. In the elevator she watches the numbers change, taking deep breaths after every fifth floor. And then she arrives at the twenty-seventh floor, the door opens and there she is, standing in front of his front door. Just when she is about to knock, it opens, revealing him.

Harry stands there barefoot, in the same outfit he wore today, but the first few buttons are now undone on his shirt, revealing his tattooed chest, some hair and also a thin chain with a pendant that’s hidden from her eyes for now.

“Come on in,” he softly murmurs, holding the door open for her.

The place is somewhat what she expected, tasteful, expensive but not loudly, though it’s cozier than she imagined. Seemingly, Harry likes art, paintings, sculptures, books, there is something in almost every corner.

Harry leads her into the open concept kitchen and she spots two wine glasses on the counter already.

“Would you like a glass?”

“Sure,” she nods and lets out a shaky breath that catches his attention.

“You don’t have to, Y/N. It’s all on you.”

He is talking about the wine, but at the same time, something else too.

“I know. A glass sounds good,” she nods with a soft smile and watches him grab a bottle from the fridge and then pour some into both glasses, handing her one.

She feels out of place and quite unsure what should be happening right now. Are they just gonna drink and talk? Or shouldn’t they just jump right into the fun?

“I wanted to talk to you first,” Harry says as if he could read her mind. He is leaning against the counter while Y/N is by the kitchen island, they have a decent distance between them, but it could be crossed with just one stride.

“Okay.”

“I assume that since you’re here, you still feel the same way about… me.”

Heat creeps up her neck, to her cheeks and ears. She just nods, confirming his words.

“Good.” A tiny smile tugs on the corners of his mouth and it’s a relief, seeing this reaction, because he’s been acting quite distant towards her all day.

Harry takes a sip from his wine and she mirrors him, doing the same, then he puts the glass down while she keeps it in her hands, just to busy them.

“Are you in any type of relationship with someone else?”

Her mouth runs dry at his question.

“N-no. Are you?”

“No,” he answers firmly. “Are you planning to be sexually active with someone else if we take this further?”

“I’m not a hooker,” she scoffs, finally understanding what it’s about.

“I’m aware. But you’re an attractive, smart, wonderful woman who has every right to have fun with multiple men parallelly.”

She finds it hilarious that Harry thinks she is one, the type to hook up with more guys at the same time and two, she can get more than one guy to hook up with her.

Because finding just one had been hard for her.

Harry exhales through his nose and she notices a change in him. His shoulders fall and his expression looks almost… tortured.

“I don’t share, Y/N. If you plan on hooking up with others, then just tell me now, because I can’t–”

“I don’t want to hook up with others,” she blurts out. “I only want you.”

The vulnerability of her confession tightens her chest and the way he is inspecting her doesn’t change, but then she sees the fire in his gaze, though he is obviously trying to hold it back.

“What about if you meet someone new?” he challenges. She narrows her eyes at him.

“Is this… about my new team leader?” Harry’s lack of answer talks for him. “I don’t want anything from him. I don’t want anything from anyone else.”

It’s hard for her to believe Harry is asking her all these questions because he’s jealous, but the look on his face clearly gives away his doubts right now.

“He just seemed like… a great guy.”

“Yeah,” she nods, putting her own glass down before folding her arms over her chest. “He is a great guy.”

Harry’s jaw flexes and he nods, his annoyance and jealousy is now quite amusing to her, but she doesn’t want to push him more.

“But I don’t want him to bend over his desk and fuck me until I forget my own name.”

The fire she saw in his eyes earlier is now a full on, raging wildfire that’s consuming everything around. His eyes drag down her body, taking his time without any shame as he drinks in the sight of all of her curves before his gaze drags back up to her eyes. She is throbbing just from his look.

“I need your consent, Y/N,” he firmly says. “I need to hear that you’re not here because you feel obligated, because I’m in a higher position. You have to say it before I touch you.”

“I’m here because I want you, it has nothing to do with your position or your power in the company. You have my full consent–”

That’s all he needed. He finally takes that one long stride and his lips smash against hers in a hungry, demanding kiss as his hands grab her face, pulling her into him even though she possibly can’t be closer as he is pushing her against the kitchen island with his hips. Suddenly, everything is forgotten, her nervousness and fears, his doubts and jealousy, it’s just their combined want and lust for each other.

Harry loosens up his push against her just enough so that he can grab the hem of her shirt and get rid of it, throwing it to the side while her fingers start working his shirt’s buttons. Once his chest is revealed, she wastes no time gluing her palms onto his pecks, fingers digging into his flesh, loving the feeling of the muscles moving underneath them as Harry takes the shirt off.

She gasps shortly when he grabs the back of her thighs and lifts her up into his arms while his lips start kissing and nibbling on the soft skin right underneath her jawline. Y/N can sense that they are moving somewhere, but her eyes are rolled back from the sensation his tongue is giving her against her heated skin. They don’t move too far though and Harry puts her back down to her wobbly feet, she is standing now on something softer, a rug, then pulls away and she almost starts protesting, but then her gaze meets his and the words die on her tongue.

He doesn’t say anything, just reaches down and starts undoing his pants, pushing them down his legs until he can just step out of them, leaving him only in his boxer briefs. It’s an invitation, an unsaid one, but Y/N understands it clearly.

Now is the time to do what I didn’t let you do before, his look says and she is more than eager to take on the task.

She sinks to her knees with ease, her hands reaching back to gather her hair with the elastic she put on her wrist before leaving, but he is quick to stop her.

“I’ve got this,” he murmurs lowly, his palm closes around her hair and twisting it he makes sure he is pulling it just enough that he is not hurting her, but gives her scalp tingles.

She grabs the elastic of his underwear, almost expecting him to stop her again, but when he blinks up at him, she only sees him expectantly staring down at her with slightly parted lips. So she tugs on the fabric and a moment later his cock springs free, hard and throbbing and fucking mouthwatering.

She glances up at him again and wraps her hands around the base, feeling up the girth and length at first, giving him a few gentle tugs and judging from the way his hold on her hair tightens, he is very much enjoying her touches. Then she leans closer, eyes still up on his face as she sticks her tongue out and swirls it around the head. His cock twitches in her hands and he hisses at the sensation. Loving the reactions so far she gains confidence and then moves her head further forward, his cock sliding into her wet mouth inch by inch until the head hits the back of her throat and she pulls back.

“Fuck, you look so good with my cock in your mouth,” he groans as she slowly starts moving back and forth, trying to take as much of him as possible, her hand playing with the rest of his length and his balls, fighting the urge to reach between her legs and touch herself as well.

She tries to change up the angle a few times, push herself some more and make him go deeper into her throat and every time she earns a deep, guttural groan from him, a clear sign that she is doing well.

His hold on her hair tightens then and when she is going forward, he pushes on her head just a little more, until she is gagging on him and then he pulls her back and up onto her feet. She is still a mess, tears and her own saliva is smudged on her face, but he doesn’t hesitate to kiss her, hard and eager as his hands work the front of her pants. She is quick to give a helping hand and once the pants are pooling on the floor, he picks her up again and carries her into the bedroom this time.

She gasps when she is thrown onto the firm, but comfortable mattress and Harry is quick to climb on top of her, his lips smashing against hers. His briefs are still on, though his erection is free, Y/N blindly reaches down and pushes the fabric further down until she can sink her fingers into his ass, bringing him closer, his cock pressing against her soaking wet center.

Harry pulls back so he can get rid of his underwear and then in all of his naked glory, he takes a few seconds to admire the sight of her sprawled out in front of him in her underwear, the fabric of her panties has a clear darker spot between her legs and her nipples are poking against the thin material of her bralette.

“Fucking hell,” he breathes out, one hand wrapping around his cock, giving it a few lazy tugs

Y/N has never felt more beautiful and wanted in her life, the burning lust in his eyes, the heat radiating from his body, she is now questioning every previous experience she has had, because they didn’t bring her this kind of explosion in her veins.

Harry climbs on top of her again, he kisses her, but he is a tad bit softer this time, like he wants to savor this moment. He slips one hand under her back and easily unclasps her bralette. She wiggles it off her arms and pushes it to the side right before Harry slides lower, his mouth finding one of her pebbled nipples.

“Fuck!” she gasps, when he gently bites it. He flashes her a smug grin before pressing a kiss on it and moving to the other one.

He takes his sweet time kissing all over her chest and stomach, then he moves down to her thighs, avoiding to even touch her anywhere near her underwear that’s the very last item she is wearing. With every teasing kiss he presses to her soft skin, she starts wiggling more underneath, desperate to feel more of him, but it seems like he is sticking to torturing him.

“Harry, please!” she begs when his lips are so damn close to her cunt, but still not there.

“Please what?” he asks, hooking a finger into the elastic, but not pulling on it yet.

“I need more!” she whines, chest heaving, hips grinding.

“More of what?”

“You!”

Her answer surprises him, not what he wanted to hear, but… it might be even better and enough for him to give up the game he’s been playing. Finally, he pulls her panties down, throwing it to the side and when Y/N instinctively tries to snap her knees together to cover herself, something she doesn’t do on purpose, he is quick to wedge his hands between them, forcing them apart, wide open so he has a great view of her cunt, glistening from her arousal.

Harry reaches out and drags two fingers down between her folds, softly and almost shyly, as if he couldn’t believe he is touching her and she is this wet, all for him. Then he gets comfortable between her legs, his hands on her inner thighs to keep them open and he wishes he could record the moan she lets out once his mouth is on her cunt.

She grinds her hips against his face, his tongue moving perfectly against her clit and then teases her opening. He pays close attention to her reactions, making sure to keep doing what makes her shiver or gasp for air. When the muscle on her inner thigh starts twitching he assumes she is close, so he pulls back, climbing off the bed all together, walking over to his nightstand to grab a condom. In the meanwhile, Y/N is trying to catch her breath and fight the urge to cry at the lack of him all of a sudden. Turning her head to the side she catches as Harry rolls the condom on and then he is back on the bed next to her. He kisses her, lazily but deep, their tongues melting together before he pulls back and gently starts to rearrange her on the mattress. She obeys like a doll, ready to do anything he asks from her just to feel him some more.

Soon, she finds herself on all four facing the end of the bed, Harry kneeling behind her and when she lifts her head she notices there is a big mirror right in front of her, allowing her to see him clearly even despite the position. Harry’s gaze catches hers in the mirror as his hands grab onto her hips, squeezing them and before moving to the next step he leans down and presses a gentle kiss to her spine at her waist.

“Let me know if it’s too much,” he tells her and she just nods eagerly, only wanting to feel him inside her already.

When she feels his head poking at her cunt her arms shake for a moment. He wedges his shaft between her folds at first, thrusting back and forth a few times, gathering her juices before he grabs the base and positions himself to her center.

Her mouth hangs open as he starts pushing in, watching his face twitch in the mirror as he tries to hold himself back from pounding into her without a care. Her walls are stretching, trying to shape to his size, painful and blissful at the same time. He pushes in halfway at first, stops for a few seconds, then pulls out and goes in again, this time deeper. He goes like this, inching further with each thrust until she is taking his whole length.

He starts off slowly, but the pace quickly changes when he feels like she is used to him. His grip tightens on her hips as his thrusts get rougher, his hips smacking against her ass. Every time she feels like her arms and legs might give up she looks into the mirror and seeing him pound into her keeps her together. She watches as his skin starts glistening from the sweat and especially loves it when he moves a bit, finds a new, better angle and his head falls back as he moans her name.

A sight and sound straight out of heaven.

Harry notices that she is struggling to hold herself up, so leaning forward he circles his arms around her and pulls her up until she is kneeling as well, her back against his chest. She lets her weight push against him as he keeps fucking her in this new position. She looks into the mirror again, the sight of his hands gripping her stomach and breasts is so pornographic. Then he buries his face into her neck, sucking on the skin as she reaches back and rakes her hand through his damp hair.

“I’m close,” she pants. She is practically sitting on his lap as he is fucking her from behind, the position is allowing him to reach a spot that’s rapidly pushing her towards the edge.

“Go on, want to feel you come on my cock. Give it to me.”

His hands grope her breasts hard, his fingers might leave marks, but it feels so good, the pain paired with her nearing orgasm.

When she finally tips over the edge her hands snap against his thighs, her walls grip his cock tight as he keeps moving. She is still riding the last waves of her orgasm when he follows, his thrusts fall out of rhythm and go even deeper if that’s possible as he releases himself into the condom.

His movements become sloppy until he stops, but they remain in the same position, neither of them wanting to break the connection between them.

Then gently, he pulls out of her, a disapproving whine bubbling from her throat that just earns a chuckle from him as he carefully moves them around until they are lying on the mattress again. Her whole body feels like noodles, sweat is drying on her skin, the coldness slowly wraps her in its arms, but she is way too sent to cover herself.

Harry slips off the bed, he doesn’t fight the urge to kiss her swollen lips softly before he disappears in the bathroom. He returns with a damp towel and he carefully cleans her up while she just enjoys the sight of him taking care of her. He quickly disgards the towel and then leans down, hands on each side of her head as he holds himself up.

Now she notices the necklace again, the cross pendant is hanging in front of her, along with a…

She reaches up to grab it and takes a closer look and when she realizes it’s a banana, she can’t help the soft chuckle.

“What?” he grins down at her.

“Has this been under your shirt all along?”

“Never take it off.”

Instead of a reply, she just hooks a finger into the chain and pulls him down until their lips meet again.

“Do you want something to wear for the night?” he asks between kisses. She swallows back her smile, because his question means he wants her to stay.

“No.”

“Good answer.”

Harry climbs back to bed and peels the covers from under her so he can wrap themselves, though she is enjoying him wrapped around her a lot more. Their limbs are tangled, her head is pressed against his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat while he plays with her hair, occasionally kissing the crown of her head.

“Good night, Y/N,” she hears him murmur and a moment later she is drifting off to sleep.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

#harry #styles #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles blurb #harry styles smut

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inkydelusions · 19 days ago

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written in the stars - 2.1k

summary: spencer’s been spending too much time with morgan and now he’s a flirt. reader had an interesting conversation with a fortune teller and now it seems everyone around her is plotting to make her fate come true. c.warning: bau!reader x bold/flirty spencer. reader has their fortune teller on speed dial. tension. lots of it. suggestive content? maybe? nothing too serious and also barely descriptive. everyone knows you about spencer's and reader's mutual crush, and they're trying to give them a little push. a/n: this literally came to me as i was brushing my teeth last night, so enjoy it!! reblogs are appreciated !! <3

part two !!

“You’re kidding.” You huffed a laugh. Morgan, who was resting against your desk with his arms crossed and a cheeky smile on his lips, simply nodded. “That many?”

“Never underestimate the power of these, baby.”

“Ew, Morgan. Put those away.” You jokingly cover your eyes, as if the sight of Morgan's biceps was the scariest thing ever. “Don’t ever do that again. I mean it. It’s inappropriate.”

You hear a snort from the other side of the wall that separates your desk from Spencer's. His light and yours are the only ones still around you.

The rest of the team already headed out a while ago. Emily left the office in a rush; said she was done for the week and needed some alone time. Hotchner didn’t specify, just left with a king and stern goodbye. And Garcia made sure to let everyone know that she was going to spend the weekend with kevin. The way she had said it—plus the way she’d wiggled her eyebrows as she said it—was enough to know you shouldn’t ask any questions.

“Ha, ha. Funny.” He raised from your desk and picked up his stuff from his own. With his jacket hanging from his arm he turned to both you and Spencer, who was still working on some paperwork. “Anyway. If you'll excuse me, I have a date to attend to.”

“With which one of the twelve girls that gave you their numbers last night?” you asked, but he didn’t answer. He leaned down to murmur something to Spencer that sounded a lot like good luck, boy, and clapped his back before he started towards the elevator. Once inside, he winked at you just in time before the doors closed. “How the hell does he do it?”

Spencer raised his head from the stack of papers he’d been reading for the past ten minutes. Pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, he said, “Well, he’s objectively attractive. Athletic. And he knows how to read people, which means that he knows what to do and what to say to appeal to them. I'd say he has the perfect combination of attributes to make him an excellent suitor.”

“Suitor, huh?” He shrugs. “So, what are your plans for tonight?”

You laid back on your chair, playing with the blue pen you were holding in your hands. Spencer watched as the small tube danced between your fingers, twirling clumsily before clattering against your wooden desk.

“I don't have any.”

“Really? You don’t have a never ending list of phone numbers to call when you need a date?”

He stared at you for a second, wondering if you were joking.

“No. No, I don't.”

You pouted. “That’s a shame.”

Why? he wanted to ask. Why would you care if he had dates or if his phone was full with numbers of random girls he met under even more random circumstances. But most importantly, he wanted to ask why you’d seemed so relieved when he’d said no.

“Do you?” he ventured. “Have a collection of phone numbers to hit on Friday nights, that is.”

“Oh, yeah. definitely.” You’d swear you could see him visibly cringe at your answer. “One of them is my favorite pizza place right around the corner from my apartment. The owner and I are already on a first name basis. I'd say that’s promising.” Spencer looked down to his stack of papers to hide a grin. “The other is the number of my personal fortune teller. I call her every three weeks to see what the stars have in store for me.”

Spencer huffed a laugh, feeling a heavy weight lift off his shoulders.

“You don’t actually believe in that, do you?” he asked.

“I'm not sure what I believe.” You shrugged. “I know I have fun talking to her, though.”

Before you could contain it, a laugh slipped past your lips at the thought of your last session with the fortune teller. Her read had been too off, so terribly wrong you’d jokingly threatened to sue her.

“What?” Spencer asked, smiling like a fool. That was the effect your laugh used to have on him. “What is it?”

“Nothing. I just remembered something the fortune teller told me some days ago.”

“What? Did she promise you’d be rich by the end of the month?” he joked.

You leaned over your desk, eyes staring straight into Spencer's. He noticed the vibrant spark in your eyes, the one that always let him know what you were about to say was going to crack him up, and he almost wiggled in his chair, all excited.

“Hey guys. What are you still doing here?” JJ came out of her office as she finished buttoning her coat.

“JJ, hey! what are you doing here?” you asked in return, confused. “I thought you’d left hours ago.”

“Oh, no. I was finishing up some papers for the upcoming week. And I was waiting for Will to come pick me up.” She walked down straight to your desks.

“Will's in town?” Spencer asked.

JJ nodded, smiling broadly. “He came over for the weekend. We were going out for dinner tonight.”

“That's awesome. have fun, you two.”

“Thanks.” She beamed at you and started walking to the elevator. Something made her stop in her tracks, though. “Actually… why don’t you guys come with us?”

That got Spencer's attention.

“Are you sure?” you asked, frowning. “You don’t think it could be weird?”

“Weird? no, no. It'll be fun. like a double date!”

That has you laughing. Not in mockery, but out of nervousness. You’ve never been on a double date. You haven’t even had that much experience with individual ones. You had dreamt about going out on dates to fancy restaurants, to beautiful parks and museums. and most of the time, your companion was a certain BAU agent known for his analytical mind and his tendency to yap in the most inconvenient of moments. But that’s not here nor there.

In your experience, dating has never been that fun. Talking with someone for hours just to realize with every passing minute that the person in front of you was simply not it. They were never the one. Because the one was probably sitting on his couch reading something written by an ancient philosopher or watching star trek—or whatever it was cute nerds like him liked to watch in their free time.

“That’s… that’s ridiculous,” you said, tone faintly wavering.

At the same time, Spencer said “it could be a good idea.”

Your words seemed to surprise him, making him blink several times and readjust his glasses again. Just like his answer made your eyes open wide and look away from him.

“I mean… as we discussed, none of us have other plans for tonight. Besides, this could be a great moment to catch up with Will, right?” He turned to JJ for support. She smiled proudly at him before turning her eyes to you.

“Of course. It’ll be fun.”

She was smiling in a way that had you wondering if maybe your discreet glances towards your teammate hadn’t been all that discreet. She was looking at you like she knew why, all of the sudden, you were blushing and shaking like a teenager.

“Well, then. If it’s okay with you guys…”

JJ waved her hand around. “Oh, Will won’t mind it. Besides, he loves you two. He’ll be happy to see you again. He's actually waiting down in the lobby.”

And so Spencer and you started packing up your stuff. you could feel his gaze on you the whole time, like he was listening to all your tells. You prayed that he didn’t notice the way you almost dropped your bag twice because you were fumbling with the strap. Without needing to look at him, you could feel him standing right next to you, so close you could smell his cologne. You thought he was just walking up to the elevator, but then you heard him say, “JJ, you go ahead. I just remembered, we still have to finish something before we leave. it won’t take long, I promise.”

JJ nodded, a shadow of a mischievous smile on her lips. “Sure. I'll see you guys in a bit.”

You’d have swore your mind was playing tricks because you thought you saw JJ wink at you just like Morgan before as the metalic doors shut before her.

“Do you need help with that?” Spencer asked, seeing you struggle with the folder you’d been trying to fit into your bag.

“No, don’t worry. It's fine. See? done.” The paper is now all crumpled and the corners are folded inwards, but hey, at least it’s inside the bag.

There was a beat of silence and you felt him get closer, just barely. The points of his converse were merely an inch away from the side of your boot. With the back of his fingers and with so, so much care, Spencer lifted your chin up so you both were staring eye to eye. He looked confused, and excited, and maybe a bit hurt. And you wanted to punch yourself because you knew it was your fault, that it had been your words that made him feel like that.

“Can I ask you a question?” His voice was soft, barely a whisper. you could only nod. “Why is the idea of you and me going on a date so ridiculous?”

You bit the inside of your lip, hating that you’d said that. But also extremely surprised at his boldness. Never before had he dared to get so close, to touch you like this, with such care and softness. He took another step, backing you up against your desk. His other hand landed on your hip, helping you keep balance.

you stared right into his eyes, wondering what exactly had happened for him to behave like this with you. He'd always been shy, quiet and reserved. choosing to hide his feelings behind longing stares and awkward smiles as he handed you files and takeaway cups of coffee. So why was he behaving like the lead in a romcom? Not that you were complaining, though. you were pretty much enjoying it, if the bubbly feeling in your belly meant anything.

“You need to stop hanging out with Morgan,” you whispered back. “He's turning you into a flirt, just like him.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Yes.” You wet your lips, eyes breaking apart from his.

“Why?” His voice was full of genuine confusion, his eyebrows knit in a soft frown.

“Because it makes me want to flirt back. That’s why.”

“Would that be so bad?”

“Oh, definitely.” You grip the edge of your desk to refrain from holding onto him.

“Why’s that?” His thumb was now tracing the line of your jaw, walking a path up and down and getting dangerously close to your lower lip.

“Because you know what flirting leads to.”

“Dates? Double dates?”

You were thinking of way more private activities, the kind that didn’t involve fancy clothing—or any clothing at all—, but sure, his answer was also true.

“Mhm.” You nodded.

“And would that be so bad?”

Your eyes drop to his mouth out of their own volition. No, no it wouldn’t.

Suddenly, one of your phones started ringing, completely watering down the tiny spark lighting between you two. Spencer fished his phone out of his pocket and answered. And you take the opportunity to take a deep breath. He didn't move an inch, though. His body still pressed against yours, your legs pressed to the edge of your desk. His stare did not break away from yours while he spoke to JJ.

“Yeah, sorry. We’re heading down right now. Sorry.”

He put his phone back in his pocket and took a step back, offering you his hand. You didn’t consider it for longer than a second before taking it and starting towards the elevator with him right behind you. Once inside, giggling like a pair of teenagers, you rested your head against the metallic walls and looked at him from beneath your eyelashes. He stared at you like he’d never seen you before, or at least not like this: all flushed cheeks, excited giggles and sparkly eyes.

“Do you want to know what the fortune teller told me the last time I spoke to her?” he nodded. “that i had a great dating opportunity coming my way.”

With a lopsided smile that was so uncharacteristic of Spencer—and yet it looked so good on him—he hummed and said, “maybe we should start believing what this lady has to say.”

thanks for reading <3 likes & reblogs are appreciated !!

#dr spencer reid #spencer reid x you #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid blurb

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custody-if · 26 days ago

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CUSTODY is a slice-of-life IF rated 17+ for explicit language, child abuse, substance abuse, self-destructive behavior, sexism, sexuality and more. Inspired by the movie Thirteen. Please avoid if you don’t enjoy reading these themes.

Note: I’m new to all of this so please bear with me!😭 Also know that I don’t condone to any of this, if you see or know a child is being abused please say something or call the authorities!

⟡ DEMO (TBA) ⟢ FORUM (TBA) ⟡ INTROS (TBA)

Step into a life of a teenager, trying to survive along with their three siblings, and with the court system trying to pull you all apart—you must not let them.

You always felt that you’ve been cursed since birth.

You and your siblings being taken away from your parents when you were twelve by child services due to child abuse and domestic violence really put a traumatic impact on your innocence and child like imagination. And thanks to the court systems and such you and your siblings weren’t split apart—imagine what could have happened if they did…

Moving from place to place and home to home has really put a weight on you, but that’s not the real issue. The real issue is them, your foster “parents” and they are something you can’t really get rid of either. Finally settling in your new home, California Los Angeles, you really thought everything would get better. I mean you just started becoming a teenager lucky number thirteen, by now life should be better right?

No.

In fact it got much worse.

Your older brother stopped coming home more, your sister started bringing a new boyfriend home every week because something obviously went wrong and she won’t tell you, and then there’s your younger brother who doesn’t even know what’s truly going on.

The world along with your body is changing every second.

Your now in the 8th grade where there is significant physical changes and emotions all over the place, your starting to notice things that weren’t as important then they were as before and the main focus is to fit in.

Completely shut down and make your own decisions because you feel like you’re old enough.

Make your foster parents life a living hell, and deal with your siblings.

Deal with running away, drama, fights, teen heartbreak, late-night parties, peer pressure, self-discovery, court systems, small teen romance, and parental relations along with family dysfunction…yea it’s a lot.

Will you be able to keep yourself from breaking?

✦ CUSTODY is highly inspired by the movie Thirteen but will have no spoilers! ✦

Full character customization (with wide-ranging effects on story and gameplay): pick your gender, height, build, personality, and sexuality.

Choose your background such as race and backstory.

Choose your aesthetic and how your bedroom looks.

Choose how you react with your older siblings (such as being clingy, avoidant, dependent, innocent, quiet and more).

Be a parent figure for your younger sibling or let the older ones do the work.

The choices you make affect how others around you look at you.

Customize your foster parents by choosing them to be FM, FF, or MM.

Choose to trust your foster parents or don’t it’s your choice. (You don’t have a choice)

Make your foster parents frustrated by being a rebellious teen or obedient.

Choose the family pet (Cat, dog, parrot, or bunny).

Try to fit in with the other kids in the neighborhood by choosing to do drugs, skip school, or dress more “revealing”. (That’s if you fall into the peer pressure)

Create friendships or be a loner.

Have a small crush, full time relationship (by choosing between 3 love interests)

Create a reputation for yourself in the 8th grade.

Avoid being split apart from your family by behaving or misbehave.

Child services checks in every time once a month (choose how to react when you see them).

⟡ MAIN CHARACTERS ⟢

The Older Brother: Sylas ⟡ he/him, 18 ⟢ The ordinary rebellious teenage boy who literally doesn’t give a shit about you or anyone else in that matter. Sylas who was born first already knows how it all goes, he told you many times how child services had almost taken him away before you was even born, and to be honest it almost sounds like he brags about it. Highly reserved and keeps to himself in his room or is either never home. You wondered why he never tried to save himself and run away. Maybe it’s because you and the rest of his siblings are his last hope in this hell hole.

Personality: confident, rebellious, short tempered, and charismatic. He likes dark humor and is not afraid to tell you how stupid you look.

Appearance: 6’3 in height with chin length dyed black messy wavy hair dyed with black streaks that he somehow makes looks good, with tanned like skin which is weird since he never leaves his room, and dark brown eyes along with his angel bite piercing, tongue piercing, eyebrow piercing on the left, and ear piercings. He wears a black band t-shirt from the 90’s that he stole from a thrift store and wears baggy grey ripped jeans with a black belt that has silver rhinestones with a skull along with black sneakers. He also has a full tattoo of angel wings on his back, rumor says it’s because it was his nickname back at his old “job” when he was 17.

Your Only Sister: Darcelle ⟡ she/her, 16 ⟢ Darcelle always gotten the spiteful looks from mom every time she was either getting ready for school or just to go hang out with her friends. It was obvious that she was jealous of her, even dad would give her unusual stares. Darcelle was one of the prettiest girls in her whole school and neighborhood, and I mean everyone loved her but that didn’t take her time away from you and the rest of her siblings. She would always take you out along with your younger brother when things in the house got really bad. Now..she doesn’t do that anymore. Maybe there’s something more going on than you realize.

Personality: sharp and quick-witted, she holds confidence on the outside but in the inside she’s emotionally unstable. She treats you and your siblings entirely different than she treats everyone else.

Appearance: 5’5 in height with long length brown wavy hair with dyed blonde highlights and amber eyes along with pierced ears that holds gold hoop earrings. She wears makeup which you don’t understand why since she looks beautiful with or without it. She has tanned skin just like your older brother but with moles all over her body. She wears a red lace crop top and jean shorts with long white socks with red stripes at the top along with red adidas. She likes the color red which is obvious, her nails are also painted red with gold highlights.

Naive Younger Brother: Ollie or Oliver ⟡ he/him, 7 ⟢ You can’t blame him from being naive, I mean he’s only seven but even you knew what was really going on by the age of five. You guess that happens when neglecting parents choose to live through their youngest child. Your older brother always told you that Ollie wouldn’t survive in a world like this and should just hurry up and put him down before something worst gets to him first, he was quickly put to silence by your sister. What ever happens you will make sure nothing ever happens to Ollie, not while you’re still here.

Personality: shy, quiet, dependent, he has a hard time looking at people in the eyes and always hovers around you when he doesn’t have his toys to play with.

Appearance: 3’9 in height with short messy dark blonde wavy hair with brown eyes and tanned skin with freckles all over. He has a small scar near his eyebrow ever since he fell from climbing a tree, you can trust that he never climbed a tree ever again. He wears a normal dark green hoodie with a picture of a dinosaur on the front and long jean shorts with brown sneakers and white socks. He carries his stuffed bear that’s nearly falling apart every wear he goes.

⟡ ROMANCES ⟢

The Handsome Stoner: Scott or Smokey ⟡ he/him, 13 ⟢

He’s known all around town as the stoner kid. He is usually seen behind stores or with his group of friends near the abandoned mall. He’s popular with the girls and rumors say with the boys as well, but when it comes to teachers and police officers not so much. He was the first to talk to you on the first day of school, he gave you some pointers of what you should and shouldn’t do, which was no help at all but you didn’t tell him that. You will always know if he’s near when you smell that huge aroma of marijuana.

Personality: easygoing, creative, openminded, and empathetic. Smokey will always have your back and even more if you offer him a blunt, if you smoke ofc! He once told you that his first blunt was when he was 8, it was offered to him by his older brother which he talks about all the time. When that stupid redhead tried beating you up along with his friends, Smokey came to the rescue earning himself a purple eye and a free new Pokémon card deck which is his second favorite thing besides weed. He said he never had a fear of death since everyone dies, but his true fear was never being able to be high again.

Appearance: 5’3 in height with shoulder length dirty blonde hair, fair skin with light freckles, and hazel eyes with a silver eyebrow piercing on his right and a single silver peace piercing on his left ear. He has a secret tattoo of a weed plant on his shoulder. He wears a brown hoodie with a white peace logo on the front and dark grey sweatpants with floral patterns, green converses, and a grey beanie. He also wears a sliver ring on his middle finger that he got from a corner store near the bowling alley.

(TBA)

#custody-if #interactive novel #interactive fiction #interactive game #interact-if #choice of games #cog #choice script

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struwberrii · 11 months ago

Text

haikyuu!! boys crushing on you ₊˚⊹♡

here are some silly headcanons on how i think the shiratorizawa guys would act while they have a crush on you + eventually confess :3

characters: ushijima, tendou, semi, shirabu, goshiki

˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆

ushijima

its weird because he knows he likes you and everyone else THINKS he MIGHT like you but hes so blunt and deadpan that its hard to tell

he doesnt treat you differently than he treats any other person but hes very kind and generous

gives you random compliments though, like is hes thinking something he just says it to you

'you look very beautiful today' or 'are you wearing a new perfume? it smells nice'

but at the same time he accidentally insults you like hell ask you when the last time you showered was

because of this nobody can really tell exactly how he feels about you until he eventually confesses

he would probably be very deadpan and unromantic about his confession too, he would just straight up ask you to go out with him (˶˃⤙˂˶)

but TRUST once he gets you out hes bringing you flowers, hes buying you your favorite snacks, hes holding doors for you pulling your chairs out for you

u rlly gotta trust the process LMAO i feel like hes just a lil dummy

tendou

i feel like he wouldnt confess because hes rlly insecure and doesnt think anyone would ever have romantic feelings for him so you would probably have to confess

he does little things to let you know he cares about you, like hed suggest manga he thinks youd like or some songs or has movie nights with you and brings snacks

jokes around a lot with you and actually shows a vulnerable side when hes alone with you

i can see him inviting you out just randomly and casually, like bringing you to a bakery he likes or going to the park with you late at night to swing on the swing sets and chat

also compliments you very boldly but immediately gets super blushy and flustered and starts stuttering ( ˶°ㅁ°) !!

probably teases you a lot though but gets really nervy if hes too flirty about it

i feel like youd DEF have to confess but he'd probably be throwing you hints all night, complimenting you, buying you little keychains or snacks, holding your bags for you all that jazz

once you guys are officially together OH MY GOSH is he a different person, constantly flirting and teasing and now youre the one blushing and left stuttering by his words ( ꩜ ᯅ ꩜;)⁭ ⁭

semi

hes actually very sweet and chill about it

like when he first meets you hed probably just straight up say youre really pretty and ask for your phone number

hed be shocked to learn that you actually have a lot in common with him

overall is just very flirty and romantic while crushing on you, like he makes it NO secret that he has feelings for you (˶ ˘ ³˘)ˆᵕ ˆ˶)

jokes about you being his girlfriend but surprisingly take a while to actually ask you out

despite that he still is very protective over you and literally treats you like youre his girlfriend

def writes songs for you and sends voice memos of him playing them on his guitar ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

i feel like he wouldnt really try to hard to impress you or anything, hed just feel comfortable being himself around you and doesnt want you to end up falling for someone who isnt him (as in him not acting like himself)

invites you out on dates often before officially asking you out

he ends up asking you out with a cute stuffed animal and candy at your doorstep

shirabu

lurks from the shadows

i feel like he would probably push you away and be kind of cold twoards you because he thinks your really pretty but doesnt want to have feelings for you

i feel like hed just watch you and like admire you from a distance

would probably be too scared to have a genuine conversation with you so he sends you annonymous notes

hes your little secret admirer ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

his notes are so sweet though, like he writes you poems and tells you how nice you looked

i feel like hed be ok just being your secret admirer forever but he realizes he wont be your classmate forever so he ends up writing a note to meet him on the roof of the school during lunch

you end up meeting up with him and he asks you on an official date ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

goshiki

CONSTANTLLY trying to impress you (╥﹏╥)

just a big dork honestly

always invites you to his practices so he can show off his skills to you

if you compliment him hed probably be all blushy and smiley and hit you with the 'yeah it was nothin'

invites you out to play gacha machines and spends a bunch of money on you trying to win the figures you want

also brings you snacks and gives them to you during lunch (˶˃⤙˂˶)

honestly would do anything for your validation

tries to be cool and tough but you see right through that act almost immediately

probably invites you out to a movie and awkwardly tries to hold your hand but only ends up brushing hands with you

would try to ask you out after the movie ends but hed just be stuttering then ends up saying nevermind

you probably have to ask him out lol

even after all that hes STILL trying to act like a tough guy

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writeriguess · 2 months ago

Note

I gotta say☝🏼 you are too good of a writer, I THANK YOU!!! Soo I got a request for ya! I was thinking about Katsuki having a major crush on reader(who secretly likes him too) trying his hardest to make her fall for him. He sees that showing off his "skills" just isn't enough, so he makes multiple attempts to flirt with her until he can finally see her become a blushing mess. (≧∇≦)/

Flirting Lessons

Katsuki Bakugo was many things—loud, brash, stubborn, and explosively talented. But smooth? That was a different story.

Unfortunately for him, his usual methods of impressing people—blowing stuff up, dominating in combat, and being the best at literally everything—didn't seem to be working on you. And that was frustrating as hell.

Because, damn it, he liked you.

You were different. You didn't fawn over his strength like others did, and you sure as hell didn’t let his temper intimidate you. You treated him like a person, not just the future Number One Hero. You teased him, challenged him, and worst of all, you didn’t even seem affected by him.

He had to change that.

So, Bakugo devised a plan: Operation: Make You Blush.

Attempt #1 – The Classic Show-Off

It started with what he did best—showing off.

During training, he made sure to push himself even harder than usual, making his explosions extra flashy, his dodges extra sharp, his victories extra brutal. Every time he landed a hit, he’d glance at you, waiting for that moment when you'd look at him with admiration, maybe even awe.

Instead?

You yawned. Yawned.

“Oh wow, another explosion. Shocking,” you deadpanned, leaning against the wall. “What’s next? You breathing fire?”

“The hell?! That was awesome!” he snapped, stomping over to you. “You try pulling that shit off, smartass!”

You smirked, tilting your head. “You’re already great, Bakugo. No need to keep proving it to me.”

For a second, he forgot how to breathe.

You—wait. Did you already think he was great? Did that mean—no, wait, focus. That wasn't enough. He needed to see that flustered expression.

Time for Plan B.

Attempt #2 – The Accidental (Not Really) Touch

The next time he saw you, he made sure to get close. Real close.

It started small. Brushing past you in the hallway, lingering when he handed you something, letting his fingers graze yours just a second too long. He even "accidentally" sat too close during class, his knee nudging against yours under the desk.

But did you react? Nope. You just gave him a look and went back to taking notes.

Fine. Desperate times, desperate measures.

One afternoon, when you were reaching for a book on a high shelf, he saw his chance. Casually, he strolled up behind you, caging you in with one arm as he grabbed the book himself.

"Need some help, princess?" he murmured, voice low and teasing.

You turned your head slightly, blinking up at him.

"Thanks, Bakugo," you said simply, taking the book and walking away like nothing happened.

He stood there, book still in hand, fuming.

Attempt #3 – The Nicknames

Alright. The nicknames had to work.

He started off easy—"Dumbass," "Extras," "Nerd." But those were normal, and you barely reacted to those.

So he stepped it up.

"Oi, sweetheart, you comin’ to train or what?"

"Keep up, babe, or I'm leavin’ your ass behind."

"Damn, you look good tod—" No, too much, too much! Abort!

At first, you just rolled your eyes. Then, slowly, he started catching it—the slight hesitation in your step, the way your ears tinged pink for a fraction of a second before you forced yourself to act normal.

Bingo.

He grinned. "What's the matter, sweetheart? Cat got your tongue?"

You scoffed, shoving past him. "Keep dreaming, Bakugo."

But you were blushing.

And he saw it.

Attempt #4 – The Direct Approach

By now, he was feeling cocky. If the nicknames worked, then maybe—just maybe—he could push it further.

So, one day, after training, when the two of you were the only ones left in the gym, he decided to go all in.

"Hey."

You turned around, towel around your neck, sweat still clinging to your skin. "Yeah?"

He smirked, taking a few steps closer until he was right in front of you. "You're into me."

You blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You're into me," he repeated, tilting his head slightly. "I see the way you look at me when you think I ain't payin’ attention."

Your face remained neutral, but he saw your grip tighten on your towel.

"Wow," you said flatly. "Humble much?"

"Tch, I'm not wrong," he shot back, crossing his arms. "So just admit it."

You stared at him for a long moment before letting out a slow sigh. Then, with a small smirk, you leaned in—close enough that he could feel your breath against his skin.

"If I'm into you," you whispered, "then what does that say about you, Bakugo? Since you've been chasing after me this whole time?"

His brain short-circuited.

For the first time, he was the one caught off guard.

You? You just winked and walked away, leaving him standing there like an idiot, face burning hotter than his explosions.

Shit.

Final Attempt – Success

Days passed, and despite his failure, he didn’t give up. He couldn’t. He just needed to hit you with something you wouldn’t see coming.

And then, it hit him.

Late one evening, as you were sitting outside the dorms, enjoying the quiet, he walked up and plopped down next to you. No teasing. No smirks. Just him, sitting there, staring at the sky.

"You're really somethin’ else, y'know that?" he muttered after a moment.

You glanced at him. "That a good thing or a bad thing?"

He scoffed. "Dumbass, it's a good thing."

Silence.

Then, softer, almost hesitant—"I like you."

Your breath hitched. This… this wasn’t his usual cocky, over-the-top flirting. This was just him. Honest. Real.

And that was what finally did it.

Your face turned bright red.

Bakugo saw it. He smirked.

"Finally," he muttered.

"Shut up," you groaned, covering your face.

"Nah," he said, leaning back with a grin. "Took me long enough, might as well enjoy it."

And for once, you let him have his victory.

#bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou x you #bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugo x you #bakugo x y/n #bnha #mha #mha fanfiction #my hero academia #boku no hero academia

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txniesha · 2 months ago

Text

Complication Sylus x Non!MC reader Pt.3

Synopsis: Sylus says no love is purer than his, which is true. But he forgot to include that no obsession is more intense then his.

CW: SMUT and it is explicit, cursing, some angst but not a lot, typos, grammar. Other LI are mention. Zayne x non!mc

A/N: thank you guys for liking the first two parts, y'all I been working on this for like 4 days because I lowkey been busy but also the Zayne scenesssss. I take..inspiration.....from my own experiences. Hope you guys enjoy! Tagging is allot of work I hope I didn't miss anyone

Words: 5092

You spent the rest of that night drinking your frustration (and embarrassment) away, drowning your sorrows in 1942 anejo and deftones. You woke up the next morning feeling like shit, not remembering the rest of the night after your third glass of tequila. When you checked your phone, you saw you had a few missed calls from some friends and two missed calls from Sylus. You scoffed seeing his name and were going to text him to see why he had called but was surprised you had already texted him.

You open it and read the message “fuck me” you curse as you read the texting containing your resignation from Tarus within it. You had gone off on Sylus calling him every name in the book as well as stating ‘don’t come looking for me dickhead’ at the end of the message. “What the actual fuck did I do” you say frantically typing out a text to Sylus before stopping. You realized if you didn't send this text, you would never have to deal with Sylus again, but you would be out of a job for a few weeks, which you were perfectly fine with considering you had more than enough money saved up. If you did, you would never be able to get rid of the feeling you had for Sylus, to be able to rid yourself of the resentment that you held for him picking another woman over you.

The two of you would never be able to have a ‘normal’ boss/employee relationship, it would always be something more there. Words left unsaid, calls you wanted to make but couldn't because he's there with her, feelings left unrecognized. You just couldn't deal with that, not after last night. You sighed, putting your phone down, and going to take a shower.

When you got out and were getting dressed you went into your purse searching for a pair of earrings you had sworn you packed but instead came across the business card you had acquired yesterday. You smiled looking down at the card ‘Zayne Li Chief surgeon Asko Hospital xxx-xxx-xxxx' you took this as a sign to finally call him. You put the number into your phone, confidently pressing the green call button.

The phone rang maybe twice when a soft voice spoke on the other end “Dr. Li speaking” he says, the statement sounding monotone. “Hey Doctor, this is [name], we met yesterday at the airport” you say a little nervously, you didn't know why you were nervous, but you just brushed it off. The line went quiet for a moment before he made a sign of acknowledgement “I remember, I didn't actually think you would call” he sounded amused now, but his voice was still a bit monotone.

You could hear the sound of a chair moving back making you picture him in his office, stretched back at his desk with a smile on his face while speaking to you. It made you feel like a schoolgirl talking to your crush. “Did you call for more information on the health risk of smoking cigarettes” he says in a way that made it impossible for you to tell if it was a joke or him being serious. You let out a laugh at this statement sitting down on the couch that was in the room kicking your legs giddily at the conversation “no I'm calling to invite you out to lunch” you say biting on your manicured nail nervously, “that's if you're not busy” you quickly add.

The line goes quiet for a second and you hear the sound of papers rustling. He speaks up after a moment “No I'm not busy, I just finished with my last patient. When do you want to meet?” he says. You let out a small sigh of relief putting the phone on mute for a second as you let out a squeal, you clear your throat and unmute the phone “in an hour if that's okay, I'm staying in a hotel that has a pretty good restaurant. I've heard plenty of good things about it” you say, your nervous habit of biting your nail coming back once again. He doesn't hesitate this time, “that sounds fine, text me the location and I'll be there in an hour” he says softly. You go on mute again and let out a squeal and do one of those happy jumps for a second before quickly composing yourself and unmute “I'll be waiting” you say coolly, he just hums, and you end the call.

For your lunch with Zayne, you wanted to make sure you looked good, putting on a black strapless satin maxi dress with white and gold heels and gold Jewlery to match. You looked down at one of the rings that you were putting on realizing it was one that Sylus had gotten you for your birthday. It was a solid gold band with your birthstone in the middle and an inscription saying ‘eternal.’

When you had first gotten it, you were confused looking up at Sylus with a big grin on your face and a raised brow “what do you mean by eternal” you said looking over to him where he sat across the dinner table sipping on his wine. He put the glass down and grabbed your right hand slipping the ring onto your ring finger, you looked down at your hand confused and then back at him. He smiled, this one was different from the other smiles, it was softer “that's how long I'll be here for you, how long I’ll care for you” he said bringing your hand to his lips and kissing the ring finger.

That memory was one you held dear for a long time but now, now you wonder if it was just a sick cruel joke he was playing on you. If he had meant anything he said, anything he had ever done for you or of you were just a place holder for when he eventually found his way back to her. Your eyes watered at the memory, and you quickly blinked the tears away pulling the ring off your finger and flinging it onto the bed.

The hour to get ready to meet Zayne passed quickly and you were now rushing out of the door to get downstairs to meet him. You saw him as soon as you stepped out of the elevator, he looked even more beautiful than the last time you saw him. His gaze found yours quickly and he smiled softly as he saw you walking over to meet you halfway. He was wearing a three-piece suit again, this one a cream color and the sleeves weren't rolled up this time. “I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long” you say as you approached him.

He laughs softy looking you up and down “no, I would say you’re right on time, you look...good” he says the last part a bit awkwardly, you could see the tip of his ears go red despite the stoic look on his face. You laugh at his compliment and smile, “thank you, I already made the reservation for the restaurant” The restaurant inside the hotel was elegant but modern—sleek marble tables, soft jazz humming through the speakers, and light filtering in through high arched windows.

You picked a table by the window, one with a perfect view of Linkon City’s skyline, hoping the bright setting would keep your mind off darker thoughts. You pulled your phone out taking a picture of the Linkon skyline wanting to capture the moment. You looked over to Zayne seeing he was watching you with a small smile on his face. You smile and apologize to him, to which he just shook his head still keeping that soft smile on his face. The server came over and got your drink orders to which you got a glass of Dom Perignon vintage, and he got some mocktail that sounded overly sweet. “You don't drink Doctor” you ask him as you looked over the menu. “No, I try not to because I don't hold alcohol very well” he says not looking up from the menu. You were about to respond when you heard a familiar voice cut through the soft jazz music.

It wasnt a lot of people in the restaurant so it wasnt hard to tell her voice through the noise of others, especially when it was a voice you had begun to hate. You gripped the edge of your menu tightly as you clenched your jaw, you stopped yourself from looking over at her as you already had a feeling who she would be with.

You felt a soft hand touch yours and you looked up at Zayne, his expression showing concern “are you alright?” he says softly. You shook your head forcing a smile “I'm fine” you choke out. He shakes his head, his long slender fingers wrapping around your wrist, his index finger pressing against your vein “Your complexion has paled, your pulse quickened, and your breathing has become a bit erratic. Those are not the symptoms of someone that claims to be fine” he says a bit sternly. You wanted to snap at him, to snatch your hand away but you didn't. You liked that he showed concern, and the warmth of his hand wrapped around your wrist.

You went to respond but this time were stopped by her calling your name, both you and Zayne looked back at her. He was a bit surprised to see her also and you were (not) all that surprised to find Sylus standing behind her. His face was hard as he looked at you and it was an expression you had never seen before. Zayne stood to greet her making your eyebrows furrow “MC, I didn't expect to see you here” he says his tone the same as ever. She smiled “I didn't either especially not with [name]”

Her comment was so backhanded, so...petty, that you couldn't stop yourself from rolling your eyes and sucking your teeth. This wasnt something that went unnoticed with the three of them looking over at you. Sylus smirked bit at your reaction, and you stand not wanting to deal with his unbearable interaction any longer. “I’m going to the restroom, I'll be back” you saying smiling at Zayne giving his arm a slight squeeze. You were already walking away before Zayne could even respond not missing the “what's wrong with her” coming from MCs mouth. Your hands balled into tight fists as you walked away. You wanted to go back and slap that stupid fucking smile off her face, but instead you just kept walking. Instead of going to the restroom you stopped by the Maitre d stand and asked if one of them had a cigarette, thankfully one did.

You stood outside of the hotel smoking a cigarette with shaking hands, taking long drags as your mind raced. “i thought you would be here” a voice speaks up behind you. You sigh deeply, turning to look at Sylus as he stood there, his expression unreadable. You continue to smoke the cigarette “Stop pretending you fucking care” you snap at him. He just stands there and looks at you and then he grabs your right hand causing the cigarette to fall out of your hand. You scowl trying to pull your hand away, but he holds it firmly “the fuck are you doing” you say angrily.

“Where is it” he says harshly glaring down at you. You sigh angrily looking away from him “I took it off, now let me go” you say pulling your hand again. He backs you up against the wall, grabbing your face making you look at him “You’re not allowed to take it off, you're not allowed to quit, and you damn well aren't allowed to be on dates with other men” he says sternly his face close to yours.

“Why are you being like this, you're here with her right now, you left me for her last night, everything you do you do it for her. I don't get why you're acting as if you actually care about me when she's the one you want; I'm just something coming in between the two of you and I don't understand why you would make me feel as if I mattered to you. Why you go to the lengths you do to sit and play in my fucking face as if your heart isn't in there with that bitch. Why does everyone around her act like she's their entire fucking world. I matter too Sylus, I have feelings just like she does and for you to continue to choose her over me it hurts!” Your voice raised with every word, your eyes watering more and more as you spoke and he just stood there, looking at you. “I meant what I said even if I was drunk don't contact me, don't try to find me, stop thinking of me as yours because I'm not” you say pushing him away forcefully causing him to stumble back.

You walk back into the restaurant quickly, wiping any evidence of the interaction you just had away, seeing Zayne still sitting there at the table. He smiles as you approach, and you sit down at the table “everything went well in the...restroom” he says his tone light. You nod smiling and pick up your glass of Dom, quickly downing it. He looks at you with a hint of amusement on his face and his brow raised, “everything is okay now’ you say straightening your dress out. He hums and nods his head. You looked over as you felt eyes burning into the back of your head, seeing Sylus a few tables away staring at you and you ignored him.

The rest of your lunch was spent with you and Zayne getting to know one another, the conversation was unlike any other you had with a man before. He listened, took interest in what was being said, and gave you advice (even if wasnt asked for). When lunch was coming to a close you found yourself wanting to spend more time with him. He sat eating his overly sweet dessert that was covered in chocolate, and you raised your brow. “Don't you know all that sugar is bad for your teeth?” You said amused, he looked up at you and shrugged. “I'm a doctor I know all the health risks that excessive amounts of sugar bring. But just one sweet a day will not kill you” he says taking a bite of the dessert. “I'm not a big fan of sweets” you say taking a sip of your champagne. He raised his brow “weird” he says quietly. You laugh “I heard that.” He looks at you with a smile “I said it loud enough for you to hear it” he says with a playful eyeroll. The server comes and puts down the check and he swiftly grab it sticking his card in the bill and handing it back to the server. You smile “I could've paid you know, Dom isn't cheap” you say, and he just shrugs “I'm not short on cash so I don't mind” he says. You two finished up your lunch and he offered to walk you back up to your room like the gentleman he was.

When the two of you arrive at your door you smile at him “well this is me” you say shrugging and he nods. You grab his sleeve “you don't have to leave just yet though, stay if you’re not busy.” He hesitates for a moment and then once again just nods, his expression unreadable. You swipe the card to open your room and push it open holding it long enough for Zayne to enter.

You slip your heels off sighing and put your purse on the table nearest the door. Zayne walks over to the open curtains looking out over Linkon “This hotel has some really nice views” he says as he looks out the window. You hum in agreement sitting on the bed and rubbing your feet. He looks over at you “the heels you're wearing are terrible for your feet; the arch isn't deep enough to support comfort and are too high. It's recommended that you only wear heels no higher than 3 inches” he says walking over to the bed and sitting next to you. He gestures to your feet “may I?” he asks softly. You nod and he grabs your legs slinging them over his lap. His hands work expertly down your legs, massaging the tight parts in your calves before finally reaching your feet. You bite your lip suppressing a moan as he worked his magic, he wasnt even doing this in a sexual way but the actions were turning you on.

“I didn't know it was part of a doctor's duty to be a masseur” you joke, and he laughs. “it's not a requirement but it does come in handy” he says. You looked at him, his face wasnt as stoic as it was when you first met, and you could tell he was a bit more comfortable with you. “You don't open up to people easily, do you?” you ask him softly. His movements stop for a moment, but he continues and then answers, “no I don't, not usually” You nod “Then why me?” you say quietly almost scared to ask the question. He stops completely now and looks at you “truthfully...I don't know. You just...make me feel comfortable to open up. You don't ask for anything out of me or see me any other way other than as Zayne. Which I know is a little silly to say as we’ve only known each other for a few hours but that is what I feel”

You scoot closer to him and smile “I get what you're saying. Truthfully, you're not what i expected. I thought you’d be cold… but you’re warm. Quiet. Kind” He turns to you slowly, his eyes tracing your features. You can’t tell what he’s thinking, but you feel it in your chest—the same way you felt the tension earlier, the way his eyes lingered just a second too long during lunch. “If I kissed you right now,” he says, voice low, “would you stop me?” You don't answer, you just lean over and kiss him.

His kiss was different from any others you’ve had. It was soft and gentle. His hand went to the back of your neck holding it gently as he deepened the kiss. You reposition yourself, now sitting on top of him as you deepened the kiss. His arms come around your waist, not possessively or pulling you closer, just grounding himself. You push him backwards onto the bed slowly, your kisses getting more and more desperate. “This isn’t… what I usually do,” he murmurs against your mouth, but he’s not pulling away. “I can tell” you say back to him.

He runs his hands up your side slowly and unsure. It was almost as if he was waiting for permission to touch you more, waiting for you to tell him to stop. But you don’t. You deepened the kiss, pressing your body flush against his and tangling your hands through his hair. Zayne holds you firmly as he flips the two of you over, his body now on top of yours. “Are you sure you want this; we can stop anytime” he says softly staring into your eyes. You smile at him and nod “I'm sure.”

That was all he needed. His lips were now pressed to your neck leaving soft kisses on it as his fingers trailed up your thigh. He caressed and massaged your thighs as his lips worked against your neck making its way to the curve of your breast. Looking up at you for permission, he slowly pulls your dress down, revealing one breast—and he takes it into his mouth. You gasp, his hot tongue swirling around your nipple, making your back arch as you grind helplessly against the growing bulge between his thighs.

He doesn't object or stop you, instead he guides your legs open further “wrap them around my waist” he murmurs against your breast. You obey, your dress riding up to your stomach, allowing your aching core to grind against him freely. His hands grip your hips, guiding you, letting you use his body for the friction you crave. He pulls away from you breast and sits up unbuttoning his vest, since it was a three-piece suit you decided to help him to get him out of his clothes faster.

You work with him to quickly discard his shirt and run your hand down his firm chest. “Like what you see” he teases as you run your hands over is abs “I do” He grabs your waist again but this time he helps you out of your dress leaving you only in your panties. His lips find their way back to your skin, leaving soft kisses trailing all the way down to your panty line. He grabs at the edges and slowly pulls the lace underwear off. You bit your lip as you looked down at him.

His eyes trail over your body, they don’t linger with lust; they linger with admiration, as if he’s memorizing every inch of you. “You’re so beautiful” he murmurs his hands trailing down your sides. He dips back down but this time he's positioned between your legs. His breath hot against your aching pussy as he looked up at you “tell me if you want me to stop okay” he says as his tongue darts out leaving a hot, wet, streak against your clit. You grab his hair tugging at it tightly as he expertly worked his tongues against your heat. His hands hold your hips still as you bucked against his face. Every flick, every swirl, every press of his tongue is met with a response from your body, and he adjusts to it seamlessly. When you gasp, he stays there. When you shudder, he doubles down. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging desperately as you moaned and writhed beneath him, coming undone on his tongue. He chuckles softly against your pulsing clit, refusing to let up as he pushes you through it. “Zayne” you moan desperately “please I need you inside of me.” He looks up at you his lips wet with your slick and a soft smile on his face “you don't have to beg” he says, kissing your thigh “all you have to do is ask.”

He kisses his way back up your body stop just low of your jaw. He swiftly slips his pants off leaving him only in his underwear. You could tell he was big even without him being fully naked yet and the sight made you even wetter. He looks down at you sheepishly “I don't do this often, so I don't carry condoms with me” his ears went pink slightly as he said this. You just laugh and slap his chest softly “it's okay I'm always prepared for anything” you say reaching to where your purse was and pulling out a three pack of condoms. His face visibly went red at this, but he just cleared his throat “that is a very smart practice, always be prepared” he says grabbing the box. He takes one out and finally pulls his boxers down.

You lick your lips at the sight of his long thick cock standing towards you, the tips leaking precum. You reach up and rub it softly causing him to let out a sharp breath, his eyes following your every movement. You swipe your thumb across the tip smearing the precum all over the slit. His hips buck slightly at the action, and he lets out a soft moan. He grabs your wrist gently, removing it from his member. His hands grip your hips, and he pulls you towards him. He takes his cock and rubs the thick head up and down your slit, dragging it slowly around your clit. You buck against his cock, aching to have him buried deep inside of you.

His eyes flick up to yours, dark and intense. “You’re so wet,” he mutters his voice strained. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.” He pulls away slightly and rolls the condom onto his aching cock. He grabs your legs hoisting them up to your chest and you wrap your hands around your thighs to hold them there. He rubs his dick along your slit one more time before he pushes into your tight wet hole with a long, drawn-out moan.

You dig your nails into your thigh, burying your head in your arms as you moan. The stretch makes you gasp, your back arching off the mattress as he slowly fills you. Inch by inch. Deep and deliberate. You clench around him instinctively, and a guttural groan tears from his throat. He digs his nails into your thighs letting out a soft restrained moan as he pushed in and out of you slowly. His thrusts were deep and slow and hit that spot that made you clench around his cock tightly every time.

Your moans rise with each movement, the sound of skin against skin echoing in the room. One of his hands slips between your bodies, fingers finding your clit and circling it in time with his thrusts. You rutted against him seeking for him to go deeper and this sent him off. His thrust became harder and faster, his fingers circling your clit faster. You couldn't take it anymore. The orgasm crashes into you fast and hard, your walls pulsing around him as you cry out his name, your body shaking beneath him.

He grabs your thighs and quickly flips you over. You gripped the sheets tightly as he pounded into you, the position making it feel as if he was thrusting into your stomach. He gripped your ass pulling you back against him with every thrust, his moans coming out loud and ragged. “Fuck...you feel so good,” he growls through gritted teeth, his rhythm relentless, his control slipping with every moan you let out. Your thrust back against him , breasts pressed to the bed and ass high in the air, and every time he slams into you it sends another wave of pleasure crashing through your core. You arch your back for more, and he meets you there, one hand trailing up your spine before curling into your hair to tug your head back gently. His hands had a gentler but firm grip on your hair as he made you look at him. Your mouth was open letting out loud moans as you stared into his eyes.

You can barely breathe. Barely speak. All you can do is feel—his cock pounding into that spot again and again until your whole body trembles. “Fuck Zayne I think....” your voice breaks as another orgasm builds. “I know, baby,” he says still staring into your eyes his voice ragged, he slams into you harder, “I’ve got you.” Your eyes roll to the back of your head. You scream his name as your second climax hits, thighs shaking violently as you fall apart around him again. He follows soon after, thrusts erratic and deep as he buries his head into your neck his hand now wrapped around your throat. He bites down on the back of your neck as he spills hot cum into the condom with a final hard grind of his hips. He lets go of your hips, his cock sliding out of you with a wet sound.

You collapse onto the bed panting, and you feel him get up from beside you. Moments later he returns with a warm wet rag “Turn around” he says softly, and you do. He gently wipes you down and puts the towel to the side. He lays down beside you propping himself up on his elbow “You okay” he asks. You nod turning towards him, he was so different from Sylus that it made your heart ache with how sweet he was. He hums satisfied with your answer, his fingers trailing up the flower tattoo sleeve that lined your entire leg. “Did this hurt?” he asks curiously, you nod again “Like a bitch” you say with a smile. His eyebrows raised in amusement at your answer “I’ll pretend like I know what that means”

You two spent the rest of the evening talking and cuddling and eventually turning on a movie. You don't remember falling asleep, but you were woken up to the sound of your phone ringing. You shift in Zayne's arms and reach over to answer it not even looking when you answered. You wished that you had. “Had your fun?” Sylus’ deep voice came through the phone. You tensed in Zayne's arms, and you guessed he wasnt a deep sleeper from the way he reacted. His arms wrapped around you instinctively, pulling you closer to him, his hands gently stroking your sides. “What do you want?” you ask with a shaky breath.

“For you to stop being stubborn and come back” he says calmly. You grip the phone tighter in your hand, your knuckle starting to hurt from how tightly it was gripped “I quit Sylus, I left.” you say shakily. Zayne shifts behind you slightly, sensing the tension, his hand brushing up your arm protectively, but he doesn’t speak. “Come home sweetie” he says “Don't make me come and get you myself" he says and then the line goes dead. You look at the phone, your hands shaking in anger. You chuck the phone at the wall in frustration “fucking bitch” you say loudly. You stare at the shattered phone on the floor, your chest rising and falling as your breath comes in quick, furious gasps. Zayne sits up behind you, concern written on his face. “Hey... hey,” he murmurs, his voice like a splash of cold water on a hot day. “What happened?” You look at him angrily “I’m going to kill him. He thinks he can just call me in the middle of the night and snap his fingers like I’m supposed to come running” you say angrily. Zayne doesn't respond, he just wraps his arms around you and holds you for the rest of the night.

tags: @sillyfreakfanparty @crimsonmarabou @z3vl @96jnie @perqbeth @justpassingdontworry @malleus-draconias-rose @sleepykittyenergy @aboobie @syluslittlecrows @scrambledhuevos79 @madam8 @fandomenbylover@insidious-innocence @etherealsoul90 @xsammijoanneex @acasualattempt @sylusgirlie7 @jasperjokester @animegamerfox @jae48 @goldenbirdiee @zoezhive @rxelarailuj @huuvu @simphoursonly @athanasia-day

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13tinysocks · 2 months ago

Text

My Dead Girlfriend

He comes in droves, hoards of himself, brokenhearted and wanting, wrecking cities for a chance to get one last glance at you. You're different, more than all of them expected. It's saddening for some, boner inducing for others. [Invincible Variants x reader]

Tw: Suicide, drug use

[Part one] [3] [Ao3] [Chapter Index] [View Full Piece Here - It's mine!]

2 * RX Only [6.7k]

"While my queendom crumbles around me,

I'm fucking stuck here sucking this cock,

I'll kill myself right here on stage,

And it's gonna fucking rock!"

I Win - Go Hang Music

Blood, guts, and sulfur, but no demons rising from the ground. Just a man in the night, backlit by the burning Sydney Opera House. Watching the blinking dot on his wrist cuff disappear. He holds his breath. Horrified. She was an illusion. A trick of a grief addled brain.

The screen automatically zooms out, showing a pixelated view of the northern hemisphere of the planet. The dot reappears in North America. Numbers flash in the left corner of his blue tinted vision. When he first saw his alternates, he thought they'd have the same upgrades. Super computers laced into the fabric of their suits. Considering how stupid they were acting and how one of them asked where Mount Rushmore was- they likely didn't.

He rises, scanning the numbers one last time, burning them to memory before minimizing them. Your coordinates and vitals, both monitored by the cuff. Perfectly healthy, alarmed, scared shitless probably, but healthy. Alive.

The breath he held lets go.

Eyes scan over Sydney one last time. Before he left, he had to ensure his end of the deal was complete. Be absolutely sure Angstrom wouldn't be displeased and send him back to where he'd came from. Sure, he hadn't expected to see (Y/n) here, so soon, he wasn't really done with Sydney. He could level the place if he wanted. Angstrom would approve, but Angstrom's approval didn't matter. All that mattered was bringing you home. Still, he searches for loose threads. Just in case. The machinery in his suit quietly whirs. He sees no survivors. Not with the rubble and fire. But his goggles lock onto the outline of forms in neon green, hiding behind a slab of rubble where he couldn't see. He's there in a blink. Stood at the one and only entrance of the little hovel the family had decided to hide in. Only one of them lives long enough to scream. There, done. Now he could- His lenses lock onto another hidden form. Then another and another. He sighs. Head turning to the floating ball beside him. Angstrom's drone making sure he was doing what he was supposed to. Five minutes, he told himself, five minutes to kill all these fucking people and be done with this place. It wasn't like he was going to lose track of (Y/n). He rose, up, up, up. More and more forms catching in the lens. He pushed a hidden button on the side of his lenses. A tiny segmented timer started in the left corner of his view. Five minutes, on the clock. *** "You're fucking kidding me." First the apartment, now CVS Pharmacy. You stood in the parking lot, breathing in acrid smoke. Looking at the building that was your personal emergency room for the last five years. That mohawked shapeshifting asshole must have rammed right through the place at some point. Bringing the red roof down on most of the building.

Physically, you were fine but there was something you desperately needed from under that crumbled roof. Especially since you were now suddenly living through the end of the world. The automatic glass doors were crushed under concrete but a massive hole, probably where he flew through, was a perfectly fine entrance into the rubble. You stepped carefully over rebar and the body of a cashier. There was no more inside, just parts where the roof didn't cave in all the way, and you were standing in the biggest one. Shelves tipped, chip bags popped open on the carpet floor. You find yourself meandering into the two upright fractions of aisles in front of you, the store so unrecognizable you felt lost. Caligula laid across your shoulders, over the crook of your neck like a scarf. Gray nose gently twitching at the smell of corpses. There were more in the aisle that was for foot cream. One man bisected by a chunk of roof. One lady who lay stiff, hands still clutching her chest where she'd likely had a heart attack. You exit the remains of the aisle. Not sure why you’d gone down them in the first place, pharmacy wasn't down there. You were still reeling from the last half hour. Was that all it had been- had everything fallen apart in thirty minutes? A clatter breaks your reverie, your head shooting towards it. �� Crawling out from under a piece of roof was a white coated pharmacy tech. The old-timer full-timer, Wes, you used your powers on almost every time you came in. You didn’t wait for him to stand to use your powers on him. “I need my usual.” When he stands, he leans dramatically to one side. The muscles in his side are split, piggy pink insides poking out of his coat. He turns for the wreck that used to be behind the counter, where he’d pass hours by counting pills. Gait short, steps dragging and too slow. “Ignore the pain.” With that, he goes upright. Walking confidently over to a fallen shelf, bending, ignoring the slippage of his guts. He goes from paper bag to paper bag, prescription to prescription. None of them have your name on it. Going official would’ve meant asking Machine Head to pull strings and you weren’t in a hurry for more debt. Controlling the pharmacy techs was the only way. Wes straightens. Walking on uneven ground. Stopping two feet away and holding out a paper bag to you. Prescription for Sandra O'Connell. Probably dead now.

You frown at the bag. Contents soaked into the brown bottom. Dripping out in clear, thick rivulets. You hadn’t been specific enough. Again with semantics, the pain in your ass. “Find me some that’s intact. As many bottles as you can.” *** "No." He's going to vomit. "No." He's going to cry. "No!" He's going to split this planet down the fucking middle, again. His grip on Isotope's throat tightened. "You're lying." Spit flies off his teeth, onto Isotope's cheeks. Together, him, Isotope, and Machine Head, hover over the rubble of what was supposed to be your apartment. A dead woman lying on its very top, head like a maraschino cherry. Machine Head kicked at the air, gargling, "Get us the fuck out of here Isotope!" One look from Dregs pissed off ex-boyfriend and Isotope knew. If he so much as tried to leave, they'd both be dead. "I'm not." Isotope can barely speak, throat the only thing keeping him upright. Hovering twenty feet above the busted building. "She should be on the third floor." "What third floor!?" "The one you fucking knocked down!" Machine Head grappled his arm. Twisting his sleeve, trying to hurt him- him with his weak human hands. His hand tightened on Machine Head’s neck. Something inside his fleshy human body cracked. The man groaned and shuddered but still fought. “That bitch is dead!” His head pounded, like a hammer slamming behind his eyes. His fingers are a flex away from breaking both their necks when Isotope says, “I know where else she could be.” He involuntarily shuddered when his assailant's eyes fell on him. Wild as his wind whipped mohawk. “Spill.” The freak’s grip lightened. Isotope slipped down an inch, latching to the man’s wrist for support like he wanted to be choked. “She’s some sorta dope fiend. Boys see ‘er at the CVS all the time, picking up the same shit.” Isotope’s words came out in heaves as he caught as much breath as he could. “If she’s alive.” At that word, if, his grip tightens, “Hurk— she’s probably at the pharmacy.” His arm came up, red suit creasing at the shoulder, “Right down the corner. Can’t miss it.” His grip clenches tight, shutting Isotope up. “If she’s not there, I’m gonna see how high your body bounces when I drop you ten-thousand feet.” He flew, slower than he’d like, searching for the right building. He knew what a pharmacy was, of course, but this wasn’t his New York. His New York was worse off than this one. Last time he saw it plants were taking over the concrete remains of the city. So he’s slow, only speeding when Isotope coughs and points out another chunk of destruction that looked like everything else in a thirty-mile radius.

***

T-minus eleven minutes until he arrived. He only had to hold onto Mach twelve for that much longer. Think of (Y/n). Think of holding you. Bringing you home. The sound barrier cracked, then there was someone beside him. “What the fuck are you doing in my sky?” Ah. That one. The one that called dibs on the king’s land because at home he was more than a king, better. Clad in his— their— old super suit. Viltrum’s sigil on his shoulders. Shoulder pads thick. "Answer me.” How the hell were they the same person? This version of him was so whiny. More insolent than a child. Apparently, his style was gaudy too. Minutes after they first met he went on and on about his outfit. How he was only wearing ‘this old piece of shit’ because he didn’t want to get his emperors clothes filthy. And still— he’d come wearing shoulder pads and metals of valor that were jittering in the wind, just barely holding on. He’d scoffed at the idea of human blood on his fuzzy emperor's cape. Much as he wanted to, taking on the other version of himself was ill-advised. Sure, they were different but also the same in many ways. He’d know something was up. His lips peeled apart. Glued by stagnant spit and silence. It felt like reopening a wound. “I’m done. Returning to the rendezvous.” His voice came out robotic. A modulator attached on the inside of his suit's throat. The people of his world knew of Invincible but it was better no one saw any part of his face, recognized any inflection of his voice. Whatever was left of it anyways. The other him, Shoulder Pads (there was no way he was calling him Mark), rolled his eyes. “That place better be dirt cuz if I gotta go to that shithole and finish what you couldn’t I’ll—“ “I assure you, the job is done.” Just leave. Go back to torturing people and making weird comments about slaves. Leave me be. Shoulder Pad’s eyes narrowed to slits behind his goggles. “Don’t lie to me.” “I don’t lie.” And that was the truth. Partially. Shoulder Pad’s lips twisted. “Then you won’t mind if I come with you? Be nice to get to know my next commander better.” Under his mask, his eye twitches. He'd heard this before, one too many times. Shoulder Pads saw him and the others as lesser. Good assets for his empire, sure, but lesser. He didn't plan on joining anyone's empire anytime soon.

Putting up a fight would be suspicious. Though his throat was already raw with how much he’d spoke, more than he had in months, he said, “You’re finished?” Shoulder Pads scoffed. “Hours ago. Whole country's ash.” He laughed, though he wasn’t lying. Looking down didn’t provide much of a view. Too much smoke in the way, billowing up from the entire United Kingdom like the thousands of acres were nothing but an overused ashtray. “I’ve been getting bored destroying those things they call islands.” He nodded. A ‘so be it’ kind of gesture. They flew on. Shoulder Pads filling the not-quite silence— ripping through the air at mock twelve was awfully loud— while he thought over ways to get rid of his companion. Too many what-ifs.

What if Shoulder Pads saw you as some human to be killed on the spot, squashed like some kind of bug? What if Shoulder Pads toyed with you, if he tore you limb from limb? Made him relive the same memory in a different universe. Shoulder Pads taking the role of daddy-not-so-dearest. Worse— what if Shoulder Pads was here for the same thing? A second chance. *** One bottle, two bottle, three bottle, four— there was a cute rhyme to tack to the end of that but you didn’t have the energy. Neither did the pharmacy tech, falling stone cold dead soon as he passed you the last bag. You tear open the first bag, medicine for a Nancy Giovanni. You pull out the dark bottle, rolling it in your hand, making absolute sure the dying tech didn’t fuck up. Prescription for: PROMETHAZINE VC/CODEINE [SYRUP] - 4 fl oz. EACH 5ml (TEASPOON) CONTAINS: CODEINE PHOSHPASE USP ... 10 mg PROMETHAZINE HYDROCHLORIDE USP … 6.25 mg PHENYLEPHRINE HYDROCHLORIDE USP … 5 mg ALCOHOL … 7% [RX ONLY] Oh yeah baby, that’s the ticket. Cough syrup. The actually medicated stuff. Totally illegal to buy over the counter. You didn’t know what in it did the trick. The pain killer, the throat soother, cough suppressant, or the drinking so much you got a buzz part— either way, Codeine and Promethazine were a match made in heaven specifically to fix your powers right the fuck up.

You twist the cap and end up dropping the rest of the bags. Sighing, you settle to sit, organize before getting down the business. Though the only place was wasn’t covered in debris was… “Sorry Wes.” You say as you sit on the dead man's back. Something hard pushes into your ass. Shit, right, gun safety. You pull the six-shooter from the back of your sweats and set it by your feet. Not the top of the market stuff Machine Head's guards get, but a solid piece. Got enough of the latest tech to pop a supe's brains out their ass. Small but mighty. ID numbers sanded off, bought off the black market, given to you by your shithead boss. Sometimes things went south. Your mouth covered or earplugs put in. So you took the gun everywhere, just in case.

You finish popping off the cap, take a breath of the rank air, and throw your head back, brown rim to your lips. There's a joke to be had there, but again, too tired for that shit.

Caligula hops off your shoulders, annoyed. Tail twitching as he pads away to explore under rubble. Looking for mice like he always had in your apartment. You let him go. The cat was loyal as a dog, he'd be back.

The syrup comes rolling down your tongue. Bitter, mucus-thick, gag worthy. Nothing you weren't used to. There've been too many times you were run dry and had to chug the slop mid-shootout to keep your head on your shoulders. So you don't breathe and drink, drink, drink until the bottle is a quarter empty.

You lean forward, elbows on knees. Holding your head as things right themselves. Your throat numbed, blood drying in your nose, head not throbbing, only a light pulse.

It was a funny thing really, finding your personal anti-kryptonite. Three years back you were sick as a dog. Of course, you were on duty. When weren't you? You talked a backstabbing rat up to the roof of his apartment building, holding onto him up all the stairs, weak in your sickness. Right before you told him to jump, a coughing fit cut you short. He escaped your hold, pulled a gun on you, almost blasted your brains on the door to the stairwell. Lucky thing Isotope was there, zapping you out of the way. Pushing the dick off himself, and zapping you to this very building. Suggested you fix the problem, whatever it took, because he wouldn't bail you out again.

He sucked balls but at least wasn't a whole dick.

You got a prescription. Drank the allotted amount. The cold cleared. Powers coming back like a tsunami. So strong they demanded to be used. So you drank more than the prescribed amount. Killed the rest of the rats nest of police informants on your own. Almost got killed again. Machine Head was angry you'd gone alone, when not assigned. But you didn't care. You'd found a power-up. Except, because there's always an exception- the boost only lasted as long as you could stay conscious. You’d overdosed more than a few times.

You recap the bottle. Consolidating the bottles in the front pocket of your hoodie. Tempted to down the whole thing, scared shitless from earlier, but it was a stupid idea while not being in immediate danger. Unless Wes decided to get up and chew you out for sitting on his dead body- you were safe.

But not stupid. You pull out your phone, scrolling through your contacts, trying to call contingency one through twenty-seven. Most didn't answer. Dead or unable to come to phone right now, so please leave a message! Some did, orders were given. Help, in case it was needed, was coming. Things like this had a strange way of being nowhere near over once things get quiet.

Boots come down. Your head lolls over your shoulder. Danger is standing twenty feet back. Holding Machine Head and Isotope by the throats. Isotope pale and passed out. Machine Head weakly clawing at the ground, held down, forced to stay on his knees.

He stares at you, the not-Mark with the dark, deep-set eyes, sat on your human throne. "That's... hm. Did you do that?"

There goes saving the syrup. Out comes the partly drunk bottle, off goes the cap, to your lips the bottle goes.

***

What the hell are they doing?

Two dots on his wrist cuff, side by side. Darting through the projected 3D model of Earth. Heading west fast, over the Northern Atlantic. Making a b-line for another dot. The only one of the three who is where he's supposed to be.

"Got'chu now!" A shadow overcasts behind him.

He presses a button, zooming into the map, not bothering to turn. Had he missed a message from Angstrom? No, not possible. He was the most reliable of all of them, no way Angstrom would cut him out. Certainly, he wasn't stupid enough to think he could.

A mace whistled through the air, coming to split his skull. His arm slices out in an arc behind him. Barley trying. The sound of his would-be assailant so keening and pathetic he couldn't even take satisfaction in the kill. He pulls his arm free, the body falls.

He watches the remains splat onto the last intact chunk of sidewalk left in Seattle. The city was destroyed. The last of the gnats swatted down. He might as well investigate. Double check that he wasn't being double crossed.

***

"Wow, oh wow, you like that." He laughed as the last of the syrup disappeared behind your lips. The bottle is thrown to the debris, to be forgotten. His voice is cloying and saccharine, and way too familiar, "Was that good?"

Bitterness coats your tongue. Chemical smell stinging in your nose. Head swimming but feather light. "No." You say. The syrup leaden in your stomach. Throat numb but soon to burn with vomit. You didn't have much time to dispose of this freak. "But-"

"Dregs! Jesus Christ, Dregs get him the fuck off me!" Machine Head kicked at the ground. Mohawk, you'd dubbed him, because no fucking way were you calling a shapeshifter the name it wanted you to call it. Name aside, he wasn’t about to let Machine Head go, or even let him touch the ground. His dignity just a few short inches away as he gagged and kicked.

"You seriously work for this guy?" Mohawk says. "So weak." His thumb barely flexes and all the air is cut from your boss's throat, the kicks becoming frantic.

You know the shapeshifter is trying to get to you but it gets deep, deep under your skin. You're on your feet, swaying. "Tell me who you really are."

He laughs but the words are pulled out of him anyway. "Mark Grayson."

Your teeth grind. He's not lying. Maybe not a shapeshifter. Maybe a hidden supe. Someone projecting hallucinations onto you, to make you go batshit and somehow kill yourself.

"Tell me if you're real."

"As you are, baby."

"Dregs!" Machine Head screeches the second his thumb relaxes. "Dregs, if you don't get him off me, I'm docking your pay!"

Mohawk's lip twitches, hand flexing. Shit. "Don't kill him." His hand relaxes. Though his eyes aren't as glazed as you'd like. He's still resistant but you've got the upper hand as long as your stomach holds.

"Yes! Yes, now get him to let go!"

The command makes your stomach roil. Probably just the excessive drugs but still, you don't like the motherfucker. He can wait. "Why are you doing this?"

"Made a deal. Break enough shit and I get a prize." Under control, people are emotionless, no use of unnecessary words or turn of phrase. But there he was, talking like a seventh grader.

"Which is?"

"You," you roll out of the way before they touch down. Feet first and much harder than necessary, sending dangerous bullets of rock spraying every which way. You're fine. Clothes dusty whereas Wes's corpse is more cut up than before. Sorry, guy.

If one had been too much, enough to think he was a hallucination, then three was enough to make you consider committing yourself to a ward.

You'd seen one of the newcomers back in Sydney. The other beside him, eyeing you up and down like an antique at auction, was new. You'd forgotten about the cuff on your ankle. You were no techie, but logic and superheroes meant it was a tracker, hell, maybe hand (ankle?) cuffs if activated by something.

"Oh what the fuck!" The mohawked one spoke for you, "I called New York. Find somewhere else to flatten."

"Is this what you were in a such a hurry to finish for?" The newcomer with his stupid shoulder pads kicked a wall to pieces, looking to his companion.

The full-masked one stood still as a statue, quiet as a phantom.

"Course not," Shoulder Pads answered himself, "You came for that," his finger pointed accusingly toward the mohawked one, "isn't that right? He bruised your ego when you first met pretty bad, huh?"

An insult from a version of himself who thought mohawks were peak fashion meant nothing. Sure, he'd called his mask creepy, but he didn't hold enough of a grudge to want to kill the guy over it. He did, however, not like how close he was to (Y/n). Twenty feet was nothing when one moved as fast as they did.

"Who are you?"

"Mark Grayson." The two newcomers answered together. One similar to the voice you knew, if a little nasaler. The other like that Guardian's dickhead, Robot.

You dip down, swiping your gun off the ground. Careful not to move too quickly and let the bottles fall out of your pocket. "Why are there three of you?"

"There's actually eighteen," Mohawk answers. "Dickheads all of 'em."

"To expand my empire." Shoulder Pads says, more responsive to your control.

"To destroy so much, it ruins the life of this dimension's Mark Grayson." The Phantom answers, voice and actually helpful honesty, sending a shiver down your back.

"Dregs-!"

"Shut the fuck up." Your attention on Machine Head is nothing but murderous. As the situation unfolds, you find yourself realizing, for one, Machine Head is most definitely going to die. Villains of the week are stupid, sure, but they also take no prisoners. You’d say Machine Head had less than five minutes' life left on him.

For two, the world was pretty much fucked. Which means- weakness, instability and power up for grabs for Mister Liu to reclaim as his. You could be by his side, his left hand as he already had a right. No more debt, no more humiliation at Machine Head's hands. Because there was no way you were going straight, not after everything. But, you could climb the ladder in the dust of the world and climb it high- as you were right now.

High enough to push Mister Liu off the ledge. High enough to never have to take orders from anyone ever again. Be your own boss. Maybe Machine Head had less than five minutes.

Even better, you could relocate out of the city (which you'd have to do anyway, I mean, look at this place). Somewhere you'd see Mark so little the lingering pain in your heart would maybe start to heal. The thought of killing him had crossed your mind. You placed heavy piles of blame on him for how your life turned out. Still, you ached and yearned for a teenage romance that'd never rekindle. You couldn't kill him, yet, not without crawling into Mister Liu's skin and wearing his shoes awhile. Surely you'd grow into them, give the order for someone to kill your ex without batting an eye- one day.

Your Mark wasn't on the official kill list yet, but these cheap imitations? These dimensional clones or whatever the fuck? Oh yeah baby, they've gotta die.

***

He didn't bother telling his tails to leave. They were all lesser, but still, him. They were good at what they did, destroying things.

"Can you believe that guy tried to trap me in the- what was it- the shadow realm?" The blue and yellow clad gnat yammered beside him. The variant, slightly different from the others without his lenses, blasted up from the Guardian's HQ when he'd flown by. Asking all sorts of questions that were left unanswered and more importantly, unacknowledged. Maybe if he was ignored long enough, he'd go away. "Do'ya wanna know how I got out after I killed 'im?"

No response.

He went on anyway. "So like, after I ripped his heart out his chest the whole shadow realm started falling apart. I was like 'oh shit, I'm gonna die' so I gabbed the guys body and was like 'lemme out'. Shakin' him n' stuff. I dunno what happened, if there was a lil life left in him or what but I think I kickstarted something in him, cuz after eight or nine shakes I was back! Man, I almost forgot how crazy I killed those Guardian guys!"

The other gnat, blue and black and imperceptibly different from this dimension's Mark Grayson, flew up to his other side. "You gonna show me that map or what?"

He did not answer, for they had arrived. Three dots now five, six counting himself. All around the unimportant gray mass of some Earth dwellers' hovel. He stayed above because he was literally above touching down on Earth’s soil. His mother had been from this mud ball but she'd been elevated above the rest of this dirt-loving species by his father when he brought her back to Viltrum, swollen with pregnancy.

The others truly were lesser than he, for they shot down. Too impatient, too stupid to know what it is to observe from afar. They did all have enhanced hearing, did they not?

***

Shoulder Pads shook his head, throwing the control off his brain like a wet dog. "The hell was that?" His head stopped, hair swept across his masked forehead. "How dare you- you-" His head kicked back a degree like he'd been sucker punched. It took him a minute, with the dirt and the outfit and the daring to wave around a gun. He recognised you now. Felt the pain searing hot in his chest. "Leave," he commanded, "All of you but," he turned back to, "you, stay."

Nobody moved to obey.

"I said-"

They came down from the sky like falling angels.

"The hell's this?" You watched him land. Watched him roll his shoulders. Mark, your Mark. Exactly the same. But what the fuck was he doing with this lot? "Where's Angstrom?"

"Not here, duh." The other newcomer says, bouncing on his heels. "Are we gonna turn on each other and fight to the death now? I really hope we turn on each other and fight to the death now." His eyes, lighter brown than you remember, slide from Mark to Mark to Wes to you. "A prize fight! Even better."

You didn't like that word- prize. How he looked at you. Not as a person but as a street dog to collar.

Machine Head's toes displaced rubble. His captor's mohawk stood on end, as if electrified, "Get the fuck out of here." He says, "New York's mine. 'S not the meeting place for when we're done anyway."

The stuck-up one, Shoulder Pads, moved toward you. Ankles breaking rubble as he went, too graceful to do something awkward like stepping over an obstacle. Why do that when you could just break it?

"Leave us now." He doesn't seem bothered by the fact that you raised the six-shooter, aimed straight for his throat. "And I'll consider letting the rest of you serve under me."

He was there in a flash. Arm outstretched in front of his boy king other self, stopping him in his tracks- the phantom. Shoulder Pads stopped, ten feet shy from your person. You don't know what to say because as soon as you really get going, a fight is going to break. You won't survive. You've seen what Mark can do on the news. You don't doubt they can punch holes in you before you say stop. They're not far away like Mohawk had been. They're instant murder close. You have to be careful.

"Don't get in my way." Shoulder Pads sneered to no reply.

The lensless newbie jutted his thumb toward you, "Gonna go out on a limb 'n guess she's also your guy's dead girlfriend?"

The word girlfriend hits you like a sack of rocks. When hit, hit back. You breathe in.

"Dregs!" His voice is nails on a chalkboard, screeching, loud, and desperate. "God damn it! Help me!" Your hold on Machine Head had waned. He was back to whining.

Your hold on his captor had waned as well, telling by his eyes. But he didn't break Machine Head's neck. Instead, he watched, curious, a smile tugged the edge of his lip.

Tension rolled off Phantom and Emperor Shoulder Pads in waves. Lenseless’s knuckles popped, expecting violence with glee. The white clad warrior watched on from above. And your stupid ex-boyfriend just watched you, sneer on his lip like you were the problem. Like he wasn't covered in blood the fucking hypocrite. "I don't kill," my ass. He acted like he was better than you.

"I'll promote you! Right above Isotope." Who was passed out and couldn't be bothered by the betrayal. "We can run this city together. I can get you as much lean as you want! Fuck- I'll put you through rehab if you want!"

A bubble rolled up your throat. Not much longer now before you puke out power. You swallow down the burp. Anger a beat in your throat. "I'm not an addict."

"Sure!" Machine Head laughed, "Sure! Whatever you say, just help me!" Isotope's eyes peeled open. He groaned, barely there. Machine Head noticed, reaching out to shake the man's knee. "Get me out of here!"

Your Mark clicked his tongue. "I can't say I'm surprised you haven't changed."

"Isotope! Hey! Wake up!"

"I used to think you'd be better than," Mark gestures to your boss, to your clothes, to the dilation of your eyes, embarrassingly aware of your high, "this." He sighed, "But I guess the more things change, the more they stay the same or however that shitty song goes. So much potential wasted. (Y/n), Seriously, this is pathetic."

"Dregs, get Isotope up! Get us all out of here!"

Mark smirked, "Name suits you."

Your earlier machinations crumbled. Fuck waiting, maturing. People were going to die here, in this destroyed pharmacy, so why not start with him?

"Hey Mark?"

"Yeah?" It's a shame the others don't reply to the name. Too smart, too aware that if they were locked in conversation and attention, they'd be dead.

"Kill yourself."

One hand to the chin, the other to the shoulder for support, like the first time you tried this trick on his doppelganger. The snap is quick. So powerful it twists his whole body backward, spine ripping out his back. He drops, blood dribbling out his mouth.

A weight lifts off your shoulders. You thought this would be harder. It's sad, sure, first love dead, very Romeo and Juliet, but you're still alive. You wish you could've made him see more, get a more torturous revenge. Or in a perfect world, one you didn't admit but dreamed of anyway, got him to see your side of things.

But you're so happy to see nothing behind his eyes. Dead while you're alive. The laugh forces out of you in a bark. It brings tears to your eyes, doubles you over.

The mood shifts. Tension sizzles away between the Marks. There were expectations, different for each, but this? Certainly was not one.

"Did you just-?" Lensless was at the corpse's side in a blink, poking at his twisted neck. "Oh, he's super mega dead."

"If he was weak willed enough to listen to the whims of a human he should've already been." Emperor Shoulder Pads says. "Better we weed out the weak before going back to my empire."

"Shit, I was gonna kill Seventeen," Mohawk said. "Beat me to it, babe."

"Seventeen?" You question between laughs.

"Uh, yeah? Mark Seventeen. Demsion three-four-five, like neighbors with this one."

"So he's not mine?"

"Yours? Baby, I'm yours- but that guy? Not from here."

Oh? OH! He wasn't yours. Another variant, just awfully close in appearance. Something like relief pools in your stomach, or it's just the promethazine-codeine solution getting ready to come spewing out.

The Phantom keeps his hands at his sides, though they want to go to his head, press into his temples until the pain stopped. You weren’t like this. You weren’t supposed to be like this. Nothing like him. Maybe Shoulder Pads was right. Maybe Seventeen was weak willed, loved you so much he'd do anything you said. You couldn't be a killer. It just wasn't possible- wasn't right.

"Isotope," he was starting to really regain consciousness, head lolling in Mohawk's hand, "Isotope, let's go!"

He was going to leave you. Words of promise meant nothing obviously, you weren't born yesterday but the insult of it was the last fucking straw.

Right as power started to glow weakly from his palms, you say, "Look at me, Isotope."

He does, slackjawed, droll rolling down his lip. Hands still glowing.

Here's the thing about word and meaning induced mind control. Sometimes actions, gestures, are good as words, and as long as you've got your claws in their brain, as long as they're looking at you and understand- a gesture is enough to control.

You lower the gun. As if it'd do anything against Shoulder Pads. One hand slipping off its metal grip, coming to the side of your head right above your ear. Rule number one of gun safety: Never put a gun to your head. So your bare hand comes up to do the job. Pinky and ring curling into your palm. Pointer and middle pressed to your scalp, thumb hanging down like the trigger.

Isotope's hand goes to the holster on his belt. Freeing the pistol, pressing it to the green side of his head, clicking off the safety. Waiting for the last order.

"Dregs! Don't you fucking dare!" Machine Head trashes but his kicks do nothing to Mohawk's balance.

The Mark’s watch, hypnotized like snakes to a charmer.

Your thumb twitches, miming the pull of a trigger.

The bullet goes from one side of Isotope's skull to the other. Stopped by the side of Mohawk's knee, who doesn't even flinch at the lead cracking uselessly against his suit. Pale pink brains splatter his boots and shin guards. Chunks stick to Machine Head's dented metal face. Gravity slowly rolled them down, leaving trails of blood and cerebral spinal fluid in their wake.

The dead weight is so unexpected in his hand, Mohawk is slow to drop the body. Killing another version of him was fair game. They were threatening your planet after all. But an ally? Very un-hero like.

"You murderous yuppie cunt!" Machine Head's hand flies to his own holster.

"Don't talk to me like that, boss." He goes still, gun in hand. Your hand goes to the center of your forehead and so does his. Another twitch of the thumb sends a bullet and shrapnel backward.

Machine Head slumps, gun dropping, body twitching. Not dead yet.

"Access the control panel." You say.

His hand shakes violently as it comes to the side of his head. Pressing a button that makes the front half of his busted forehead come forward. Revealing the computer gore inside his head.

"Remove the leftmost microchip." You'd seen him getting maintenance too many times not to know that the chip contained his very consciousness. He'd yelled at so many paid-off Best Buy employees not to touch it. Threatened their families over it, but here he was, pressing its back so it'd come popping out. Soon as it does, his whole body goes slack.

Killing what you thought was Mark yielded mixed feelings. But Machine Head and his lackey? That was pure cocaine right there baby. You felt like you could climb Everest. Like you really could overtake Mister Liu.

"Holy shit." Lensless let his jaw hang. "Powers, babe!? 'S awesome! Do it again!" His fingerless glove pointed to Shoulder Pads, "That guy! That guy next! Oh, wait, try it on me!" He doubted it'd work. He was way stronger than that pussy bitch Seventeen.

Mohawk pulled Machine Head's slack body high above his head, inspecting. He was dead alright. So dead his bladder released and stained his gray slacks dark. He let the body drop. "You're pret-tee different here, huh babe?"

Another bubble rises up your throat.

"What-" Shoulder Pads started, "What the fuck is wrong with this one?" He was expecting something else. Docile. Sitting at his feet like a good pup. At his beck and call. Especially not powered or alien or experimented or whatever the fuck you were. Clearly, you weren't normal.

Phantom had nothing to say, as usual. Too busy fighting back the tears burning the back of his eyes. What has this world done to you? What had made you so callous? What had made you a killer? Whatever it was needed to burn. This monster in you, it could be culled; he could have the you he knew back. He could have it later, but for now, he fought grief.

In the sky, the white clad warrior lets contentment simmer in his chest. Different, sure, but good different. Nothing like that human he brought to Viltrum to breed. A kicking, screaming crybaby who had no idea how lucky she was. Part of the shreds of resistance left, left alive by him of all people. Nothing like the doting creature his mother was to his father. Relationships like the ones on Earth weren't a thing on Viltrum. His parents were considered strange, but a strange he liked- though he wouldn’t admit it to a living soul.

So disappointing and ungrateful, a waste of time, of resources, he was sour about when he had to kill you. But not here, not this you.

Shadows whipped through the sky hundreds of feet below him. Some came hopping and bounding through the broken street. The few defenders left, not dead due to their own cowardice.

Contingency Six, Twelve, Nineteen, Twenty-two, and Twenty-eight surrounded you in a defensive circle, showing up at just the right time. Machine Head promised security but he wasn't omnipotent, despite his upgrades. You didn't trust him far as you could throw him either. So you had heroes, fellow crooks, and dregs of society on speed dail. Hypnotized at some point in the past with the same little speech.

"See this number right here? Remember it. When you see me calling, you answer, no matter what. I don't care if you're mid-fuck, you'll do as I say. After I snap my fingers, you'll forget we ever had this conversation but a part of you will. And you will never have your phone on silent."

You'd have to reset them anytime you called them in to save your ass from one thing or another. It was always worth the time if it meant you got to live and the other guy died.

Thank God for hindsight. Wait, no, not hindsight, was it foresight? Ah, whatever, you'll remember the right word later when you're not high on power and codeine.

Flesh drones wait for orders. The Mark's wait for someone to make a move. You don't speak, not yet, letting your eyes scan over them all. Thinking of killing them too, how good it'd feel to kill your (kind of) ex-boyfriend over and over. Thinking of the ones not here, the ones you'd seen, the ones you hadn't. You could find them, kill them after. Maybe then you'd be ready for the real thing. No more mixed feelings.

Blood slowly rolls down your nostril. Darkly covering the dried streak from minutes ago. Your stomach rages. Throat constricting as it readies to puke. It hurts so bad, but you can't help but grin. Thinking aloud, "This is going to be the best day of my fucking life."

Orders shoot out your lip. He should prepare for battle, but he couldn't help but be still, staring at you and the malice radiating off you. Lensless tugs on the hem of his mask, swallowing thickly, "Can you hold up a sec with the battle plans? I've got a crazy boner."

#invincible x reader #invincible variants x reader #invincible variants #mark grayson x reader #mohawk invincible #lensless mark #emperor mark #viltrum mark #phantom mark #fanfic #long post #my writing #rea writes #mdgf #guys idk what a tag list is i post on ao3 not tumblr normally lmao #eat my little children eat

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