#i imagine it would be more like. you first ask him out on a date within a preestablished relationship

[erimyya]

Thinking about an Otome game au with Phainon with sprinkle of self aware au. Someone said Phainon is born to be in otome game but force to be a tragic character in turn base game. I cannot unseen it.

Imagine if hoyo made an otome game dedicate to Phainon after the whole Amphoreus patch.

You get to interact and see more of the character outside of the story quest and literally date him. Although it's a different game, it still connected to one another. You can call the otome version as a sequel to the main story in their main game. Take it as a heart warming dessert all of us player deserve after sobbing over this man.

Tbh it's almost the same as LaD concept, you can custom made your mc, dress your mc and take picture with Phainon in various poses. The different is you can run around freely in the open world with him or not— that's up to you. Now, why wouldn't you bring Phainon along with you? What is he there for? Decoration? You can explore the Amphoreus world in different perspective, more detail perspective. The building that you can't enter in hsr? You can enter it but whatever you saw in there better stay there. Phainon had to drag you out before you cause more peace disturbance and get in trouble.

Not to mention, you can jump now. Don't try to jump off the building. You don't want to give Phainon a heart attack now, would you? Game or not, you can respawn or not, just don't do it. Ignore the intrusive thought. He's begging you.

You can toggle with the pov perspective too! You want to feel more immerse in it? Use the first person pov! You want to see the world in more wider perspective? Just use the third person pov! Use the first person pov more often, Phainon may kabedon you when there's no one around.

You can fight too! But you gotta bring Phainon with you or else the game won't let you. That man forbid you from fighting by yourself.

Don't forget to build him. Yes, you gotta grind for his relic all over again. Additionally you need to build your mc as well. Then you just log in the next day and find Phainon hitting big damage. When you check the build, your Phainon is almost perfectly build. You just startle like two days ago? Let's just assume that the game copied your phainon's build in hsr since the two game is connected.

Did I say the two game is connected? Yes. If you used the same account to play the otome game, when you log into your hsr game, there will be some easter egg where he mention you from the otome game after you finished the whole Amphoreus quest. Phainon mention of your very recent activity from your interaction in the otome game almost everytime when you play around in his voice line or just talking with him in the over world.

When you log in into the otome game, Phainon will sometimes slip something like "You're not getting bore of me, are you?" or "You haven't been using me for a while now. Why is that?". You never suspect a thing because you thought the otome game keep track of your characters usage in hsr. You're not wrong, he did keep track of your interaction with other character.

Gacha system? Yes, they have it there too. Is it really hoyo without their gacha system?

You can gacha the lightcone —brace yourself for the fluff and angst those lightcone brought along— that come with their own specific outfit. Cough cough Flame Reaver's outfit. Phainon may or may not be jealous if you prefer his alter ego more though. But most of the time, I'm sure he don't mind.

Sending message to you. Yes. You bet he will. Phainon cannot send message directly to you in hsr but in otome game his own dedicated otome game. He can freely do that. So don't be surprise if you get a notification from the otome game, a message from Phainon begging asking you to take a stroll with him.

After what he's been through? Let this man have his quality time with you. He will appreciate it very much.

[calebsdog]

"Young lady? You're going to kill yourself like this."

The cemetery, home to Caleb's final resting place, doesn't receive many visitors. Flowers wither, the decorations and trinkets get blanketed by white snow, and names on gravestones rot into an ugly, moldy brown.

But there was one person you keep running into. Every day like clockwork, an elderly woman visits the headstone to Caleb's right.

Someone her age shouldn't be out in the elements like this. The paper thin skin hugging her frail bones could split at these below freezing temperatures.

Months ago, before your world tilted, you wouldn't have hesitated to voice concern for a poor stranger. Nowadays striking conversations took more energy than you can persevere.

"What do you mean, ma'am?"

"I see you everyday. You're too young and pretty to waste your life visiting a cemetery."

Yellow home-knit gloves brush excess snowflakes off of vibrant pansy flowers. They were resilient even at this time of year. The purple petals are as bright as they were in spring.

She must have been thinking ahead for the winter months, planting flowers that would survive the entire year. Her husband's grave looked beautiful, well-tended in comparison to Caleb's. Maybe you should take a page out of her book.

"You visit everyday too," you mumble, rubbing your frigid, bare hands together. It was a work day. You never bother heading home first to change out of your hunter's uniform.

Your schedule consists of driving to your office, staying at the graveyard once you clock out, and only returning home once visiting hours run out. It's been months since you've taken a break in this routine.

"I'm old, dear. I chose to settle down with my husband decades ago. My life is coming to a close. Nothing is wasted if I visit him everyday."

Slowly, she struggles to sit her weary body on the snowy ground. It was uncomfortable for you, still in your prime, to sit on the frozen dirt like this. You can't imagine how she feels.

"You have your whole life ahead of you. It's painful to lose someone you love, no matter what age you are. But I'm sure your boyfriend wouldn't want you to be this heartbroken."

"He's not my-"

Huh. The words had died in your throat. Caleb was a friend, the first family you knew, everything but a boyfriend.

Visiting his grave everyday must be taking a toll on you. You don't have the energy to correct this older woman innocently mistaking Caleb as your deceased boyfriend.

"How am I supposed to move on? I wouldn't want to date anyone he doesn't approve of. But he's not here for me to ask anymore."

"Do you believe in an afterlife?"

"I don't know what I believe."

"Well, maybe you can start from there. It might be easier to think he's out there somewhere, still watching over you. He'll send the right person to take his place."

Wouldn't it be nice if it were that simple? No, you don't want Caleb to be looking out for you, even in the afterlife.

He would be so, so disappointed to see what you have become. A shell of the person he grew up with, only living to visit his grave. A grave filled with ashes that don't belong to him.

They weren't able to find a trace of his body after the explosion. Every part of him was gone. All except that stupid necklace. It was a gift for him. You weren't supposed to be the one wearing it.

"But if I don't visit him everyday... What if he thinks I'm forgetting about him?"

All of these graves around you, so many people you don't know, so many lost loved ones. They all used to be someone's family, someone's friend. But you were alive to witness their resting place deteriorate, times between visiting family increasing, until they stopped coming all together.

Is that how Caleb's grave will end up if you quit visiting? All alone, truly dead to the world, nobody around to preserve his memory or keep him company?

"If healing means abandoning him, how can I possibly move on from this pain?"

The hot tears pooling in your eyes sting in the dry, cool winter air. Sniff... And, of course, your nose wants to cause you extra suffering, already clogging.

It's been a long time since you've cried over Caleb. Even longer since you've cried in front of someone else because of it.

All it took was one conversation with a stranger to unearth everything you haven't been able to say. Someone going through their own loss seeing you, calling you out, and forcing you out of this shell.

"Sweetheart, would you like a hug?"

In the blink of an eye, the only family you had ever known was taken from you. Reduced to ashes, pieces of them never recovered.

Once you were released from the hospital there were two funerals to attend in one day. As Gran and Caleb's only surviving family, you needed to be there.

For months you've held your head high. Arranged their burials, comforted those affected by the losses, and never let anyone know how much you were breaking.

"Please." You needed a hug. Desperately. It doesn't matter who it was from.

"That's it. Just let it all out." She shuffles in the snow, making a mess of her nice pants, to make her way to you. Her old arms tremble as they wrap around you, tucking her chin over your shoulder.

It's been so long since you've been held like something delicate, something precious.

"It's not fair! It's not fair, it's not fair, it's not fair! I wish I was dead instead of him! I wish I... I wish I..."

Your choked sobs are lost, carried away by the winds in the cemetery.

"I know, dear. I know." It doesn't matter how powerful this grief is. You would give everything you had, pay any price, to go back in time and take Caleb's place.

He should be the one to bury you, not the other way around. He's left you to suffer in his absence. Pain, misery, it would change nothing. Caleb was a headstone now. For the rest of time he's trapped here.

Born in the summer, lost to the world in the spring, left to rot through a bitter winter.

Turning your head, you see Caleb staring thoughtfully at a sign. On it are the words 'Deepspace Aviation Administration Memorial Cemetery.'

"You're not thinking about..."

"Yeah. I am. Where's my grave at?"

Today was meant to be dedicated to picking up Gran's death certificate. Knowing Caleb wasn't sure where she was buried you invited him to pay a visit.

It's been months since this place crossed your mind. Life has changed drastically since you had found Caleb, alive and somewhat whole, far away in Skyhaven.

Now, when you want to visit Caleb, you take a train instead of taking a trip to his grave. Something you were once convinced was impossible.

"You want to look at your tombstone? Don't you think that's a little crazy?"

"Not really. Isn't it basically forward-thinking? Come on, lead the way."

The situation was really bizarre. But you can't think of a good reason why Caleb shouldn't be allowed to visit his own grave.

With a sigh, you concede to his wishes. Threading your fingers with his, the two of you walk underneath the memorial sign, going deeper into the cemetery.

The graveyard was barren as usual. No visitors in sight, headstones still molding from a lack of care. The only difference was the changing of seasons. Spring is starting to grace Linkon.

No visitors in sight. Except for one familiar, kind face.

"Oh dear! It's been a while since I've seen you. I missed you. But I was glad you stopped coming here."

Clear droplets of water leak from the tip of her gardening can. She sets it down on a bare patch of grass, wiping specks of dirt off on her clothes. Her warm gaze drifts between you and Caleb.

"You brought someone else to visit?" She steps forward, offering her now clean hand for a shake.

"Nice to meet you, ma'am. My name is Ca- oof!" An elbow to the ribs cuts Caleb off before he gives his honest introduction.

God forbid the woman who stands next to Caleb's grave everyday finds out you brought Caleb himself.

"My name is... Carlos."

"Hm." Graciously ignoring that odd behavior, something brought a smile to her face. Following her eyes, she's looking at your hand. Still comfortably intertwined with Caleb's.

"Your eyes aren't puffy anymore. And you're wearing such a beautiful smile. Thank goodness you aren't so skinny now. This young man takes good care of you, doesn't he?"

Without you having to say anything she can already tell. Caleb, or as she knows him, Carlos, is your boyfriend.

"Are you happy, sweetheart?"

"Very much, ma'am."

"Wonderful. I'm so proud." Her weather hand reaches up, cupping the swell of your cheek. There was no need to ask for permission to touch you. She's already become family.

"I told you he's still watching over you. I think your boyfriend would have approved." The woman gestures her head to Caleb's not-so-permanent resting place.

"Yes ma'am. I think he would approve too."

"Good. Well, unfortunately, I should be heading home now. My Mavis gets fussy if I don't feed her on time ," she picks up her watering can, fondly reminding you of her cat.

"I'm happy I ran into you and your boyfriend today. Keep taking care of her, okay? She's a good one."

Caleb has been staring at his tombstone in silence while you spoke to her. When she addresses him, patting his shoulder in farewell, he snaps out of thought. Solemnly, he nods.

"Of course. She's safe with me."

You and Caleb watch as she leaves the cemetery, her boots barely leaving dents in the fresh grass. Just as she's almost out of sight, something beautiful catches your attention.

"Ma'am! Did you do this?"

Bright purple pansy flowers have spread from her husband's grave. Now, Caleb's headstone was being embraced by those same delicate buds.

"Yes! You said you were afraid he would be forgotten. Somebody had to be there to take care of him while you healed."

And with that, you are left alone with a very alive, breathing Caleb.

"So, boyfriend huh?"

Careful not to ruin her gardening work, Caleb takes a seat on the ground in front of his tombstone. Earlier, he made you believe he was determined to pay himself a visit. But since you've arrived, something is making him look spur conflicted.

"Yeah. She thought I was visiting to pay respect to my boyfriend. I didn't feel like correcting her."

An uncommon silence envelopes you when you sit next to him. Both of your eyes reread the bold letters etched permanently into stone.

Caleb Xia

"Do you... Do you still love him?"

Caleb's thumbs twiddle with the grass beneath him. His grip not quite tight enough to uproot the blades, but still twisting the tips. He looks like a child.

It's strange. You swear you've heard Caleb ask this same question before. Only, it had been worded differently back then.

'Do you miss the old Caleb? The one who wasn't so dangerous?'

"Of course I still love him," you say honestly. The truth may hurt him. It shouldn't.

"He was the Caleb who first held my hand. He was the Caleb who taught me about the world. Who helped me become the person I am today. I could never, ever stop loving him."

Caleb is so preoccupied fidgeting, venting his frustration on innocent plant life, he doesn't notice you leaning in. Until your warm cheek, plump from so many home cooked meals, uses his shoulder as a pillow.

"And the Caleb with me now is my first love. He gave me my first kiss, my first relationship, my first... You know. I'll never stop loving him either. No matter how much he changes."

A gentle breeze ruffles the pansy. It was the warmest day of the month. Almost as warm as the person beside you. A long, lonely winter is coming to a close.

"Thank you. For coming back to me."

Pluck!

The sound of a stem snapping catches your attention. Going to lift his head, ready to scold him for coldly murdering one of the gorgeous flowers, a touch softer than the spring breeze grazes your ear. Petals tickle your face.

"No, thank you. For loving every version of me."

[kentblvd]

before clark kent and hyperfeminine!reader dated… ‧₊ ᵎᵎ 💗 ⋅

pairing | clark kent x hyperfeminine!reader

note: 99% fluff!! 1% suggestive, clark kent is an awkward and sexy dork, reader is very sweet and charming, just cuteness all around

before you two had dated expect . . . to have awkward hallway collisions that feel like fate—except he’s the one who keeps walking into things. he was always so bashful and shy but with you? he couldn’t imagine having such a beautiful thing feel uncomfortable in the office. he’s always got his head in a folder or adjusting those thick black-rimmed glasses, and you? you float through the daily planet offices in a cloud of perfume and pink, always talking to people, being so friendly. every single time you cross paths, he stumbles—over his own shoes, a trash bin, or even thin air. the first time it happens, he spills his coffee and stammers out,

“i—sorry, i swear i saw that trash can move—” and you just giggle, breezing past with a little smile on your face.

he turns beet red. every time. you swear he’s avoiding you for a full week afterward, until you show up in the break room and pretend not to notice him nearly choking on his tea.

before you two had dated expect . . . to learn miscellaneous facts because clark panics when you talk to him first. you lean against the copier one day, bored, pink nails tapping your phone screen, and clark—returning from actual journalism—spots you and freezes. you look up, tilt your head, smile, and say,

“what’s up, smallville?”

he would oprn his mouth, no sound. then:

“did you know octopuses have three hearts?”

“really? that’s … a lot. i couldn’t imagine..”

he wants to crawl into the copier. but you laugh—a sweet, delighted sound—and ask him to tell you more. he does. little facts become his thing, the way he copes with your prettiness, your perfume, the soft swish of your skirts when you pass.

“you know, technically, pluto is a dwarf planet now—”

“clark, I just asked where the vending machine is.”

“...right. down the hall, and make a left!”

before you two had dated expect . . . constant gossip about you two, and clark has no idea.

lois raises a brow the first time clark “coincidentally” shows up near your desk three times in one morning. jimmy nudges him in the ribs after clark tries to casually ask,

“ya think she… likes cats? because i saw her with a cat calendar and—”

and you hear everything, but you think it’s adorable. you make a point to drop by his desk and compliment his ties—especially when he wears the burgundy one.

“looks good on you, kent. real serious-reporter vibes.”

he fumbles his pen. drops it even cause he just can’t believe you stopped by and his efforts weren’t going to waste.

before you two had dated expect . . . clark to start noticing everything about you, and he can't help himself.

the way you color-code your sticky notes. how your pens all have cute little charms. bow your lip gloss always smells like strawberries. he tries not to stare, but you catch him all the time, wide-eyed like a deer in headlights.

“hey clark…do i have something on my face?” you ask sweetly one day.

clark shakes his head too fast. “no! no, i just… you, uh… that color suits you.”

you raise a brow. “my lip gloss color?”

“yeah,” he mumbles, ears red. “It’s… pretty and uh sparkly like you.”

cue you swiftly turning away with a he doesn’t see you cheesing and his adorableness

before you two had dated expect . . . clark to start awkwardly flirting with you sooner or later. but to be honest with, his compliments are real, and they work.

clark isn’t the smoothest when it comes to flirting, watching it on television is much easier than actually executing it out on women in the daily life— especially women like you. so knowing himself he would put the forced flirtations aside and just do what he knows best.

“the lipgloss—you wore it last week, right? i think… it’s really pretty on you.”

you blink. “oh so…you remember my lipgloss?”

he shrugs, smiling shyly. “well i mean yeah. i, uh, remember you.” he says whilst tugging on his tie.

then it turns into sweet little things. bringing you tea just the way you like it. holding the elevator for you. saving the last donut and leaving a note: ‘for the prettiest reporter in the building – c.k.’ he gets bolder. just a little, never anything to scare you off.

“you always smell nice,”

he murmurs once, while standing close in the archive room, surrounded by dusty file boxes. you look up at him, heart fluttering.

“so do you,”

you reply, voice low. he swallows. you swear his pupils dilate.

and before you two had a first date expect . . . clark to properly ask you out nervous as hell at that. he corners you after work, jacket slung over his shoulder, tie loosened, looking unfairly good in the dim office lights.

“i, uh, was wondering… would you want to maybe get dinner? with me. like, a real date. not—not just lunch from the food truck.”

you bite your lip to hide your smile.

“hmm. like a date-date?”

clark nods, flustered, hands shoved in his pockets.

“yeah. like, i pick you up. you wear something pretty—which, don’t get me wrong, you always do—and i try not to make a fool of myself.”

you lean in, teasing, voice soft.

“hmm..you’ve been so sweet to me, how could i not! but just one last thing, a kiss please?”

he groans, head tipping back.

“gosh, you’re gonna kill me.”

you don’t. you just kiss his cheek and tell him,

“seven o’clock. and don’t be late.” <3

a/n: please send me requests to work on before i come back to writing long fics again :))))

taglist [dm or comment to be added!] @jimmys-tiara @dolleciita @budgiefeatherboa @flixpii @redhairedgardenfairy @faestunna

© kentblvd | don't copy, steal, or translate any of my work

[thatonegirlonhere]

Tap, Tap, Tap

Seungmin x F!Reader

If you couldn’t already tell, I think hands are hot as fuck. Like… deliciously hot… sooooo, what happens if seungmin Pavlov’s you… for his hands?… (also, you’re about to be spammed with one shots because my draft section is getting too full from pre-written series chapters so I gotta clear it out)

Panty soaking, thigh clenching smut happens. And as per usual: Eat a snack, drink some water, put a towel down, and get ready to read ;)

There’s so much smut in this…. Like- sooooo much….

Content warning: edging, fingering, mirror sex, teasing, dominance, mind games, hand kink, multiple rounds, multiple orgasms, fingering.

word count: ~3100

Master list

Lmk if you want to be added to my tag list ☺️

MDNI 18+⚠️⚠️

You were careful.

So careful.

You thought you’d hidden it well��this quiet, creeping obsession that had been growing since the first night you’d seen him backstage after a show.

He was shirtless, hair damp, eyes glittering under the fluorescents. But none of that registered. Not at first.

You’d noticed his hands.

Long fingers curling around a water bottle. The flex of tendons as he adjusted his in-ear pack. The lazy flick of his thumb over the mic he’d been holding just moments earlier.

You’d swallowed hard. Looked away.

And that was the beginning.

You didn’t mean for it to grow. But it did.

You loved his hands.

The way they moved when he was talking—precise, expressive.

The way his fingers grazed the steering wheel, knuckles flexing casually during red lights.

Even the way they clicked open vitamin bottles or zipped up his hoodie—mundane motions that left you squirming.

There was something dangerous about them. Something exact.

And when they were on you—brushing your hip, combing through your hair, tilting your chin for a kiss—you had to force your breath to stay even. You couldn’t let him notice.

You didn’t want to ruin things. You didn’t want to be weird.

Because you were just his girlfriend.

The quiet one. The normal one.

The lucky girl he took on secret dates. The one the fans didn’t know about.

You didn’t want to be the freak who got wet when he cracked his knuckles.

So you stayed silent.

You memorized the shape of his hands in private. Bit your lip when he stretched in bed and his fingers flexed over the sheets.

You told yourself it was harmless.

But Seungmin was observant. Too observant.

And one night, it slipped.

⸻

It was a regular Thursday. He was back from practice, hair still damp, shirt hanging loose off one shoulder. He’d tossed himself onto the couch beside you, feet up, laptop open on his knees.

You were curled against him, legs tangled, half-distracted by the show playing on TV.

And then—without thinking—you traced your finger down the line of his forearm. Over his wrist. To the base of his thumb.

He stilled.

“Hmm?” you mumbled, not looking up.

He tilted his head.

“You like my hands or something?”

The question was so direct, so casually delivered, it knocked the air out of you.

Your hand froze. Your throat went tight.

“…What?” You laughed—too quickly. Too loudly. “No—what are you talking about?”

His eyes lingered on you. Sharp. But then he smiled. Turned back to his laptop like nothing had happened.

“Nothing. Just asking.”

And that was it.

He didn’t bring it up again.

But after that night… things started to change.

⸻

At first, it was little things.

He tapped his fingers a lot more than usual. On the armrest. On the steering wheel. On your thigh.

Three taps. Always three.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

You thought you were imagining it.

But every time he did it, something in you flickered. Low and deep and embarrassing.

Your stomach tightened. Your legs crossed.

Once, you felt yourself throb. Out of nowhere.

He said nothing. But his eyes would flick to you—just for a second. Like he was waiting.

And then he’d look away. Smile to himself.

⸻

One night, the two of you were sitting at a quiet ramen bar after hours—hats pulled low, sunglasses on, tucked into a corner booth away from view.

You were chatting about your day, your fingers brushing his wrist without thinking.

And right in the middle of your sentence, he set his chopsticks down and tapped the wooden counter—

Tap. Tap. Tap.

You blinked. Stuttered. Forgot what you were saying.

Seungmin tilted his head. “You okay?”

You nodded quickly. Swallowed. “Yeah—yeah, I just lost my train of thought.”

He hummed. Smiled.

And then went back to eating like he hadn’t just short-circuited your brain with a simple motion.

⸻

Weeks passed.

The tapping continued.

Every time he did it, your body reacted more. Not dramatically—but enough.

A flinch. A flush. A press of your thighs.

It was like a switch you couldn’t turn off. And worst of all—you had no idea if he knew.

That changed one night.

You were sitting on his lap, both of you quiet and warm, half-watching a documentary on his laptop. Your arms were around his neck, your cheek pressed to his shoulder.

His hand drifted up your thigh.

Not in a sexual way. Just absentminded affection.

And then—gently, deliberately—he tapped.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Your whole body tensed.

You felt it again—that shameful, liquid heat between your legs. That flush crawling up your spine. You tried to shift subtly in his lap, to adjust, but he noticed.

He definitely noticed.

Because his voice dropped.

“You feel that?”

You froze.

He didn’t look at you—he just kept tapping, slow and light against the curve of your inner thigh.

“Every time I do this,” he murmured, “you react.”

You swallowed hard. “I—I don’t know what you mean.”

He turned his head. Finally looked at you.

“You do,” he said softly. “Your breathing changes. Your eyes shift. Your thighs clench. Every time.”

You were burning. Speechless. Mortified.

“And the best part?” he whispered, tapping again—

Tap. Tap. Tap.

“…I didn’t even have to touch you like that. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t even kiss you.”

His hand stilled.

“But now?” He leaned in, lips brushing your ear. “You’re already soaked.”

Your mouth dropped open. A soft, helpless sound caught in your throat.

And Seungmin smirked.

“Good girl,” he murmured.

Then went right back to watching the documentary.

Like he hadn’t just broken you.

⸻

It started softly. Always softly.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

It was everywhere now. He did it while handing you your coffee. While waiting in elevators. While brushing your waist when he passed behind you.

And every time—your thighs would twitch, your eyes would flutter, your breath would catch.

He didn’t have to say a word.

But you knew what he was doing now.

Seungmin had admitted it—I’ve been training you—and since that moment, everything changed.

You started bracing for it. Anticipating it.

Wanting it.

Which is exactly what he wanted.

⸻

The night it all locked in… you didn’t even realize it had started.

You were in his apartment, legs over his lap, hoodie hitched up to your ribs. You were soaked, thighs trembling from nothing but teasing kisses and whispered commands.

He hadn’t even undressed.

He sat there—fully clothed, calm, in control—while you lay open for him on the couch, panties pushed to the side, mouth parted and breathless beneath his gaze.

“Look at you,” he murmured. “All this just from my hands?”

You whimpered. Couldn’t find words.

His fingers—long, warm, dangerous—dragged slow circles along your inner thigh. He wasn’t even touching your pussy yet, and still… you were clenching.

Your hips twitched. You tried to grind up into his hand.

“Don’t be greedy,” he warned, tone soft but final. “You know how this works.”

And then—he did it.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Right against your thigh.

Your body jolted. Pussy fluttered.

You gasped. Your head fell back.

“There it is,” he whispered.

One finger—just one—slid through your folds. Dragged through the slick mess you’d already made, and Seungmin groaned under his breath.

“So ready for me,” he murmured. “Just from a little tapping.”

You were too far gone to speak. Too hot. Too wet. Too ruined.

He leaned down, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“I want your body to remember this,” he whispered. “Permanently.”

Then—slowly, teasingly—he slid two fingers inside you.

You cried out. Back arched. It felt like relief, like you’d been waiting days.

“Shhh, good girl. Just breathe.”

He moved slowly at first, curling his fingers up until you were moaning into his hoodie.

And then—while he was inside you—he tapped the curve of your belly, right above where his fingers were driving deep.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Your walls clamped down. Your pussy clenched so tight he groaned into your neck.

“Oh fuck,” he laughed, breathless. “You really are trained.”

You sobbed.

Every time he did it—tap tap tap—your body reacted harder.

He fingered you like he was playing an instrument he’d memorized. Curled deep, pulled back, circled your clit with his palm—tap tap tap—and you were unraveling.

“Say it,” he whispered. “Tell me what it does to you.”

You gasped, thighs shaking. “Y-Your fingers… every time you tap I—”

“Say it.”

“—I get wet. I need you.”

He smiled darkly. Pressed deep and held.

“Good girl.”

And then he didn’t stop.

⸻

He fingered you through your first orgasm, shushing your cries as your thighs locked around his wrist.

But he didn’t let you go. His fingers stayed buried, slow and deep.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Your pussy fluttered again.

You were sobbing now, overstimulated. Eyes glossy, lips trembling.

“I know, baby,” he whispered. “But you’re learning. Your body’s doing exactly what I want.”

Another tap.

You came again.

And again.

Each orgasm was worse—more helpless, more messy. You didn’t even know what you were saying anymore. Just babbled his name and begged for his hands, begged for his taps, begged for mercy.

And Seungmin…?

He just watched you. Smiling. Soft. Proud.

Like you were his masterpiece.

And honestly?

You were.

⸻

‘You trained her too well.’

That’s what Seungmin realized as he leaned back in his studio chair, watching you from across the room—legs crossed, hoodie two sizes too big, neck covered in fading marks from the night before.

You weren’t touching yourself.

He wasn’t either.

But you were already wet.

All because he’d just tapped his fingers against the edge of his keyboard.

Three. Precise. Beats.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

And you’d stiffened.

He saw your thighs squeeze together. Your breath hitch. Your hands twist nervously in your lap like you were trying to distract yourself from what your body already decided to feel.

Seungmin smiled lazily.

You were across the room and you were already falling apart for him.

All it took was three simple taps.

He let you squirm in silence for a few minutes. Then leaned back in his chair and said, voice low and warm:

“Do you want me to fix it, baby?”

You didn’t answer.

Couldn’t.

So he stood. Walked over. Sat on the couch beside you and spread your legs with just a glance.

You were soaked through your panties.

“Mm,” he said, pressing his fingers against the heat of you. “Always so fucking ready for me.”

You whimpered.

“Say it,” he whispered. “Say what happens when I tap.”

“I—I get wet,” you whispered. “I need you. Every time.”

He dragged his fingers slowly up the damp curve of your underwear.

“That’s right.”

Then—tap tap tap—he pressed three soft beats right against your clothed clit.

You jerked.

“You gonna cum just from this, sweetheart?”

You were shaking already.

⸻

He was on a trip—schedule packed, five cities in three days—and you hadn’t touched for almost a week.

You called just to hear his voice.

But Seungmin? He had other plans.

“Put the phone on speaker,” he said calmly.

“Why?”

“I want to hear what you sound like.”

Your stomach dropped. You already knew where this was going.

“But you’re not here…”

“I don’t need to be.”

Silence.

“Do it,” he said. And you obeyed.

Then—through the speaker—you heard it.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Faint. Metallic. Like he was tapping against his mic stand or a table.

And your whole body responded.

“Touch yourself,” he whispered. “Right now.”

You whined. Already dripping.

“I’ve trained you so well, haven’t I?” His voice was a low rasp. “Your body’s mine. Even from miles away.”

You came with his voice in your ear and his fingers only in your memory.

And he laughed, soft and dark.

“My good girl. Always so obedient.”

⸻

You were twitchy.

That was the word Seungmin thought best described you tonight—nervous little tremors in your legs, flinches when he got too close, a shy glance at his fingers every time he lifted a hand to rub his jaw or adjust his rings.

Three days without touching.

Three days of teasing taps, voice notes, and that little trick he pulled during your phone call where he made you cum twice just by whispering and tapping near the mic.

And now, back in the apartment, you were so pent up it was almost adorable.

Almost.

Seungmin stood behind you in the bedroom, hands on your hips as you stared at yourself in the mirror.

“Say it again.”

You swallowed.

“When you tap…” you murmured, already flushed, “my body reacts.”

“Say it properly.”

Your thighs trembled. “When you tap three times… I get wet. I get so turned on. I need your fingers. I can’t help it.”

He smiled, satisfied.

“Good girl.”

He pressed a slow, lazy kiss to the side of your neck. His hands moved up, pulling your oversized shirt over your head—leaving you bare in front of the mirror in nothing but your underwear.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured.

“I-I want you…”

He didn’t say a word.

Instead, he slid one hand down to your stomach. Then between your thighs. His fingers dragged along your slit, and fuck—you were already soaked through the fabric.

He didn’t even tease this time.

He just pushed your panties aside, slid two fingers in slow and deep—and you moaned like you’d waited a lifetime.

“Oh my god—!”

“That’s it,” he whispered, curling his fingers inside you as you bucked into his hand. “You’ve been such a good girl for me.”

Your eyes fluttered closed.

“Open your eyes,” he snapped. “Watch yourself.”

You obeyed instantly.

He fucked you with his fingers from behind—slow at first, wet and deep—and you watched it happen in the mirror. Your mouth open. Chest rising fast. Thighs trembling. Your pussy clenching around his fingers like it was the only place they belonged.

And then he did it.

With his free hand—still holding your waist—he tapped your lower belly.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Your whole body spasmed.

You nearly fell forward.

He groaned, still fingering you with relentless pressure.

“Every time, baby. You can’t fight it, can you?”

“N-No—!”

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Another orgasm hit you like lightning. You doubled over, crying out as your walls clamped around his fingers.

“That’s my girl,” he whispered, pressing kisses to your shoulder. “So fucking trained.”

You were panting, eyes glassy in the mirror.

But he wasn’t done.

He pulled his fingers out just long enough to spread your legs wider and shove them back in, this time faster, filthier, palm rubbing against your clit with every thrust.

“You’re gonna cum again,” he said.

You shook your head, whimpering, “I—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.”

Tap. Tap. Tap.

“Say my name when you feel it hit.”

You screamed it.

“Seungmin—!”

And again.

“Seungmin—oh fuck!”

Your legs buckled. He caught you, held you up, kept going.

Over and over.

He pulled you upright by the throat, still behind you, whispering into your ear as his fingers wrecked you completely.

“I want your body to remember this every time I walk into the room. Every time I touch the table. Every time I tap on your thigh.”

Tap. Tap. Tap.

You came again—so hard it knocked the breath from your lungs.

Tears streamed down your cheeks. Your pussy was a soaked, twitching mess.

And Seungmin?

He looked at you in the mirror, fucked-out and shaking in his arms, and said:

“Look at you. My perfect little reflex.”

⸻

It started with his voice.

Low, soft, careful. Telling you what a good girl you were. Whispering how proud he was every time your body responded the way he wanted.

“You’re doing so well,” he’d murmur, fingers deep inside you as he tapped lightly on your clit with his other hand. “So responsive. So sensitive. You were made for this, weren’t you?”

Tap. Tap. Tap.

You’d scream every time. Your body convulsing around his fingers, your voice broken into sobs of “Yes, yes, yes—made for you—”

And Seungmin would just smile. Slide those soaked fingers out of you. Kiss your temple. Then do it again the next night.

He started giving you tests.

Day 4. You were told to sit across from him while he worked—no touching, no underwear, only a loose hoodie and his command to “sit still.” He tapped his phone against the table, and when he looked up, you were already trembling, thighs clenched together under the table.

He tilted his head.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

You gasped—loud. Shuddering in your seat, hand flying to your mouth as your pussy pulsed, even without a single touch.

“Ohhh…” you whispered. “Oh my god—Seungmin—”

His smile was cruel and soft. “That’s what I thought.”

Day 6. He made you straddle him in front of the mirror. Hands behind your back. Blindfolded. Naked.

“I’m not going to touch you,” he murmured.

You whimpered. “Please—”

“You’ll cum when I say so.”

You shook your head. “I can’t…”

He leaned in, lips brushing your jaw.

“Yes, you can.”

Then—

Tap. Tap. Tap.

And you fucking exploded.

No fingers. No cock. No friction.

Just the sound.

You moaned—loud and broken—and arched against his chest, grinding against the air as your body short-circuited and came for him like it was begging to be owned.

“Fuck,” he whispered, watching the way your body spasmed. “That’s it. My perfect little experiment.”

Day 9. The hoodie test.

You came home to find it laid out on the bed: his grey oversized hoodie with the sleeves too long for you. No panties. No bra. Just the hoodie and his voice through a headset.

He called you from the studio.

“Put it on,” he said. “Sit on the bed.”

You obeyed instantly. The fabric still smelled like him.

He was quiet for a moment. Then:

Tap. Tap. Tap. (on his desk)

You screamed into the pillow.

You could hear him breathing through the phone, listening as you writhed and whimpered on the bed, thighs slick and soaked, hoodie hiked up around your waist.

“Again?” he asked.

You didn’t even answer.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

You came again, harder than the last, your body twitching, crying his name like a prayer. You could barely breathe.

“You’re so good for me, baby,” he whispered. “So, so good.”

Day 12. You failed the challenge.

He made you go a whole day without cumming. No tapping. No tricks.

But that night… you begged.

You dropped to your knees. Looked up at him with tears in your eyes.

“Please,” you whispered. “I need it. I need the sound—I need you.”

He didn’t move.

He just raised his hand.

And in the silence of the room…

Tap. Tap. Tap. (on the desk behind you)

You collapsed.

You came right there on the carpet, no stimulation, just the psychological command his training had wired into your soul. You curled up on the floor, sobbing, broken, cum dripping down your thighs.

He picked you up, whispering, “My beautiful little project. You don’t even need me to touch you anymore, huh?”

You shook your head, weakly.

He kissed your forehead.

“Good girl. You’re mine now. Completely.”

TYSM FOR READING!!

If you enjoyed this then feel free to check out my master list for more of my works!!

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[shangrila11]

Across lifetimes // Phainon x reader

Spoiler for HSR 3.4 main story!

(Note: Khaslana = original Phainon, Phainon = the current one)

(Y/N) stood face to face with Khaslana, practice sword in their and Khaslana's hands.

"Ready?" they asked, assuming a fighting stance.

"Of course," he grinned. With that, the two of them began swinging your swords at each other. The two of them were on par with each other, being able to parry and block each other's attack. This went on until Khaslana was able to find an opening and struck. (Y/N) tried to stop subsequent attacks but it proved futile. They were pushed back and out of the boundary that the two of them had established earlier, thereby losing the match.

"Good one," they complimented, extending thejr hand. A bright smile lit up Khaslana's face. He took your hand, shaking it.

"Thanks. You did well yourself," he answered. "Stay here. I'll get ourselves drinks. And before you protest, I insist."

"Alright. I'll treat you to something next time," (Y/N) smiled slightly. Khaslana's smile widened. With a nod, he went to get the drinks. (Y/N) shook their head, still smiling. The guy was as stubborn as always. But that's what made him charming.

He soon came back with the drinks. He handed a bottle to (Y/N).

"Thanks." they accepted the bottle gratefully. Never could they imagined that you would end up becoming close with the white-haired male when they had had not the best impression of him at first. They and Khaslana first met when he and Mydei had had their first duel. Being the bodyguard and friend of the Kremnoan crown prince, (Y/N) had accompanied him the Abyss of Fate. Khaslana had quipped that Mydei would not be able to use violence to win the trial. (Y/N) had felt a little offended on the crown prince's behalf, thinking that he had been disrespectful to Mydei. However, they had held their tongue, knowing better. Their opinion of him had changed when he had presented his answer for the trial. It had struck a chord with them. Like him, they had lost your home and your loved ones. Their admiration for him had only deepened as they had spent more time with him. Not only was he a skilled warrior, he was kind, amicable and courageous. This admiration gradually blossomed into romantic feelings.

"Hello? Amphoreus to (Y/N)," a familiar voice called, snapping them out of their reminiscing. Khaslana gave them a concerned look. "Is something the matter?" (Y/N) shook their head.

"It's nothing. Just recalling the past," they assured him. They took a deep breath, Mydei's words echoing in their head.

"You are a warrior, (Y/N). If you're really in love with the Deliverer, face your feelings head on and let him know. Before it was too late."

They exhaled. The crown prince was right. While they would of course want to live through the black tide crisis, with how unpredictable the battlefield could be, everyday could be their last. And they didn't want to have any regrets.

"Are you free next week?" they began.

"Yes, I am," he nodded. He tilted his head. "Why are you asking?"

"Would you like to go on there with me on a date?" (Y/N) decided to be direct and straight up asked him. "There will be an antiques fair at Mamoreal Market. We could there if you like. If you do not wish to view it as a date, that is fine as well. We could take it as us hanging out as usual." Their heart racing, they watched Khaslana's expression morphed into one of surprise before a warm smile graced his features.

"I would love to. Go on a date with you, I mean," he replied, blushing slightly.

"Oh, g--great," they stammered, not expecting him to accept it so easily and quickly. "See you then." The two of them continued with their sparring session before going on your seperate ways. A rare grin made its way across (Y/N)'s face. As much as they felt a little nervous, they couldn't help looking forward to the date.

xxx xxx

"Amazing. This artefact dates back many eons when Titans first existed..." Khaslana explained the history of each antique you came across, his cyan eyes gleaming. The corner of (Y/N)'s lips curled into a soft, affectionate smile.

"Oh, sorry. Am I rambling too much?" Khaslana laughed sheepishly. Shaking their head, they nonchalantly assured him that he wasn't. In fact, they enjoyed hearing him talk about something he was passionate about.

"Glad you don't find my babbling annoying," their date chuckled. Gently taking them by the hand, he led them to look at more artefacts until the two of them came across an antique from your home, an intricately designed lamp to be more exact. A pang of homesickness and sorrow hit (Y/N) but they tried not to show them. As if sensing your emotions, Khaslana squeezed their hand comfortingly.

"Don't worry about me. I'm fine," they assured him. The last thing they wanted was to dampen the mood. But the white haired male did not seem convinced. He gave them a thoughtful look before turning to the stall owner.

"Boss, is this for sale?" he asked.

"It certainly is, Lord Phainon!" the stall owner smiled amicably. "Would you like to buy it?"

"Yes, please. How much is it?" Before (Y/N) could object, Khaslana was already taking out a bag of coins.

"It originally costs 300 balance coins but for you and your friend, that would be 225 balance coins," the stall owner grinned. Surprised, (Y/N) and Khaslana asked if he was fine with giving the two of them a discount. Laughing heartily, the stall owner answered that it was the least he could do for heroes such as them.

"Well, if that's the case, we'll accept your generosity," Khaslana smiled broadly. After counting and making sure the correct amount was paid, he handed the lamp to (Y/N).

"Here you go," he beamed.

"I... thank you. You didn't really have to," they smiled a little, carefully taking the lamp from him.

"But I want to. It means a lot to you, after all. Besides, I think it makes a nice souvenir for our very first date."

"You're right," they agreed. The two of them continued looking around the fair for a while longer before (Y/N) suggested grabbing a bite.

"My treat," they added.

"Alright. I am starving anyway," Khaslana grinned. Hand in hand, they and Khaslana walked towards a restaurant.

The 1st Eternal Recurrence

Khaslana stared at (Y/N), overwhelmed with emotion. There they stood next to Mydei, looking just as radiant as the day he had lost them. Without thinking, he pulled them into a hug.

"Pardon me but have we met?" (Y/N) frowned, pushing him away.

"I know it's hard to believe but we have. In a previous loop," he answered. He explained to them and Mydei the true nature of Era Nova.

"How can you prove what you are saying is true?" the crown prince questioned, folding his arms. In response, Phainon told (Y/N) and him the prophecy that would fall upon him. Mydei nodded, his expression calm as usual.

"Huh, there may be some truth to your words, after all."

"So you want our assistance to retrieve the Coreflames?" (Y/N) asked. The white-haired male nodded. They turned to face Mydei, silently seeking his approval. He nodded. They turned back to face Khaslana.

"Alright, we will help you. But if you try anything funny..." they shot him a stern look. "I won't show you any mercy." Khaslana smiled a little despite the situation. They were still the same as ever.

"Thank you. Your trust will not be displaced."

xxx xxx

"Hey."

"Yes, (Y/N)?"

"Were we... in a romantic relationship?" (Y/N) asked. They noticed the way he looked at them and treated them. There was a gentleness and a hint of sorrow in his eyes that for reasons they couldn't explain, tugged at their heartstrings. And then there was the fact that he had hugged them when they had first met. Khaslana went silent for a moment before nodding.

"Yes, we were. With that said, I won't force you into a relationship just because you are like the (Y/N) I knew. You are your own person, after all."

"... I see," they murmured. The heavy silence that soon followed conveyed more than words could.

The 3rd Eternal Recurrence

Khaslana cradled (Y/N)'s wounded body, gritting his teeth. The two of them had been fighting the black tide creatures when a Black Tide's Champion tried to attack an unguarded Khaslana. (Y/N) had jumped in front of him, taking the blow instead. With a weak smile, (Y/N) mustered all the strength they had to touch his cheek.

"It's alright. As a warrior, it is an honour to die for my home and for the ones I love... including you," they whispered. They coughed out blood but continued on, "See you in the next cycle." Their hand went slack and they closed their eyes, a peaceful expression on their face. Khaslana was motionless for a moment. Tears brimmed at the corner of his eyes which quickly evaporated. He let out an anguish wail that echoed through the air. His usual warm cyan eyes glowed golden with fury. Wings sprouted from his back and his white hair turned golden. With a cold gaze, he swung Dawnmaker at the hoard of black tide creatures. In an instant, the enemies dissipated. Khaslana's golden eyes softened a bit as he looked at (Y/N)'s lifeless body.

"I'm sorry, my love," he whispered. He had sworn that he would protect them but had failed. His eyes blazed with determination. "I promise, Amphoreus will usher a new dawn that you and everyone else will witness. Even if this body burns to ashes."

The 33,550,336th eternal recurrence

(Y/N) grunted as they fought against the titankin, sweat rolling down their forehead. There were too many of them. The Kremnoan warrior wasn't sure if they had enough stamina to fight them all. You were so preoccupied that didn't notice a titankin was about to strike.

"Look out!"

Before they could react, the titankin was vanquished. A young man stood in front of them. He had short, white hair and cyan eyes. A sun tattoo covered part of his neck. (Y/N)'s heart throbbed. Why did he seem so familiar even though they had not met him before? And why did they feel a sense of longing? The man turned around to face them. His eyes widened but his surprise disappeared soon after.

"Are you alright?" he asked, concerned. (Y/N) nodded.

"Yeah. Thanks," they replied. The male smiled softly, seeming relief.

"Great. What say we take care of the rest together?" he suggested, readying his sword.

"Sounds good to me," (Y/N) agreed. Together, the two of them fought the remaining titankin, covering each other and coordinating their attacks. Some time later, the titankin were eventually defeated. The male turned towards (Y/N).

"Have we met before?" he asked, tilting his head. "You seem familiar to me for some reason." The Kremnoan warrior shook their head.

"No, but you look familiar to me as well," they answered. The young man looked thoughtful for a moment but then shook his head, smiling.

"No matter. Anyway, I'm Phainon of Aedes Elysiae. Nice to meet you." He extended out a hand. (Y/N) took his hand and shook it.

"I'm (Y/N). It's nice to meet you too, Phainon."

[rosefantasy77]

can you do an imagine where the reader and malachi have a duet and they’re being touchy with each(like hugging, touching their cheek) and it could be a smut that’s up to you!

—Summary: Duet between you and Malachi at the tour. He can't help but show everyone that you are his and he is so proud of you

—Warning: Fluff, touchy feeling w/each other, not sexual, Malachi does touch y/n's chest at the end, can be suggestive with certain words

—Song: Stargazing; Myles Smith

Preforming in Sacramento is a big thing. This is the third night all of you guys have preformed.

In the new Zombies movie, you play Nova's sister. She is a very kind and understanding character. She relates to your character a lot. Not just in real life but in reality. It's like they're the same person.

You have been so ready for this performance. This is the third time you ave done this. The crowd is big tonight. You have been rocking that stage since 7:00 o' clock tonight.

Every single of your friends has been so happy for you. Especially Freya and MK. But, there was one person that thinks you own the stage. Meaning, it was made for you.

Malachi Barton. Your boyfriend of 10 months.

You and Malachi had feelings for each other since auditions. You weren't like Freya. He considers Freya his closest friend. Like a sister almost.

You?

You were a gift. Blessing. You were something Malachi was looking into. He wasn't sure what it was. But, you were everything to Malachi. He absolutely adores you. He still does.

When you first saw him, he was special to you. You weren't sure what it was. Is would be the word to use.

There was a spark. You had many dancing scenes with Malachi. Not like him and Freya though. But, certain dance numbers there will be passionate eye contact. The spark still shooting at the two of you.

You and Malachi got really close. Especially when you had to dance. He wanted to grow a closer friendship with you. And you did. What Malachi wanted, he got.

At first, it came off like him and Freya. Best friends at the start. Then it was like brother and sister. But, it seemed more than that.

Everyday Malachi was falling for you and you are falling for him. Everyone could see that.

Especially MK and Freya. They could see it all over y'all's faces. Besides, everyone was shipping you and Malachi on social media. Might as well do it now before it gets too out of hand.

Malachi asked you out about the middle of filming. Gladly, you accepted the proposal. You would love to be Malachi's girlfriend.

Both of you have worked on this project for 3 months. It has finally made it's course. It's out on Disney+ and Disney Channel. There have been so many people watching it.

Tonight is your time to shine. It's time for all of you to shine. This is the night all of you guys have been waiting for. The Descendants and Zombies cast together. That's what has needed to be happening since 2015 and 2018.

However, there was just one issue. You are so nervous for one song. granted, this is the third night you have done it. But, there have been so many people.

Tonight?

It's like the crowd has gone wild. Because it has! Everyone is here to see you, your friends, and Malachi included. So there is no need for you to be nervous. You got this.

You and Malachi have a single duo. Other words, you sing Someday together. The original song from the first Zombies. Meg is the only one that can hit that high note.

You have practiced all day and all night for it. You just want everyone to enjoy it. That's what they will do. But, they can't unless you are singing.

It was time to go on the stage. It was just you and Malachi. Besides, everyone knows you and Malachi are dating. They all think this is your song. Make it your song between you and Malachi.

Dara was announcing who was up next. Giving the crowd your entrance. Malachi grabbed your hand. Locking your hands with his. He gave you a small, but passionate kiss before it was your time to shine.

"You got this. I am right here with you." Malachi reassured.

You smiled. Your heart warming at Malachi's words. The lights went dark. Then, it was just you two.

You two against the entire world.

"I know it might be crazy, but did you hear the story?" Malachi started to sing. He grabbed your hand, looking into your eyes.

"I think I heard it vaguely" You smiled into the mic, including Malachi

"A girl and a zombie" Malachi wrapped his arm around your shoulder. His fingers brushing against your chest.

"Oh, tell me more, boy, sounds like a fantasy" You sang.

What could be so wrong with a girl and a zombie"Both of you sang

You're from the perfect paradise, and I'm living on the other side

Oh, I've got a feeling, if you get to know me

"Right from the start, you caught my eye Something inside me came to life" Malachi sang

"Ooh, I've got a feeling, if you get to know me" Your voice sang through the mic. Malachi falling in love with your voice again.

"Someday, this could be, this could be ordinary Someday, could we be something extraordinary? You and me, side by side, out in the broad daylight If they laugh, we'll say, "We're gonna be someday" Both of you sang.

Malachi looking into your eyes. The crowd was screaming. Shipping just the two of you. It felt like you were the only two people in the world.

"Someday, someday We're gonna be someday Someday, someday We're gonna be someday"

After the last note, you felt so relieved. You finally did it. You couldn't ask for anyone better than Malachi. Without him, you would never make it this far.

There is no going back anymore. This your place. Shining your light. Telling other to never give up.

That's what you did. You never gave up tonight. That's a dream come true.

[bi-bard]

Pathetically Naive and Desperate to Believe - James "Bucky" Barnes Imagine [Marvel | Captain America]

Title: Pathetically Naive and Desperate to Believe

Pairing: James "Bucky" Barnes X Reader

Word Count: 2159 words

Warning(s): insecurities

Summary: [Inspired by "Pretty Funny" from Dogfight | prior to first Captain America movie] Bucky tries to finally make a move with a close friend. However, his interest seems to be disingenuous when he leaves said friend sitting alone for the night. He's left scrambling to fix everything between them before he loses the most important person in his life.

Author's Note: This deadass only happened because I saw a video of this song like ten minutes after watching the first Captain America for the first time. This doesn't super strictly follow the song because it would make me too sad if I did.

And, yeah, Bucky's my favorite and I don't think that surprises a single person who has looked at my blog before.

Navigation Guide | Prompt List - Romantic Tropes | Original Characters Masterlist | Album Writing Challenges

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

Bucky Barnes was one of the most infuriatingly charming people I have ever met. A natural flirt, even though he always seemed determined to deny it.

In any other course of events, I would've avoided a man like him like he had the plague. But I had an obstacle keeping him around: Steve. My oldest friend. Bucky's too. And I was unwilling to lose Steve just to avoid how Bucky acted every day.

And maybe, just maybe, there were times that I didn't mind Bucky's behavior. Like the times he'd throw an arm around my shoulders to make sure I didn't get too far from the group. Or when he throws a wink at me after making a joke that would've likely gone over my head if he hadn't. Or when he would make small comments about making sure I was taken care of with the sincerest look on his face that it would knock me over.

But I wanted to believe that I knew better than to ever get caught up in those moments. Bucky was still Bucky. He still found someone new on his arm every time I saw him. I had no interest in being a name on a list. I was a bit too much of a romantic for that kind of thing.

If I lived my whole life being nothing more than friends with that man, I would have lived a fine life. A life of denial, but a fine life.

But fate- and Bucky- seemed determined to ruin my plans.

"There you are!"

I jumped at the sudden loud sound of Bucky's voice as he made his way over to me.

"Sorry," he replied, seeming amused by my fear. That stupid smile. "I've been looking for you all day."

"I'm not a difficult person to find," I replied. "Unless you're blind... or easily distracted."

"Are you implying I get distracted easily?"

"Well... you're not blind."

He scoffed, running his hand through his hair. I silently scolded myself for staring at his smile a little too long.

"What did you want, Bucky?" I crossed my arms over my chest.

"I was wondering if you'd let me take you out tonight," he asked.

"I don't have any plans," I explained. "I could meet you and Steve-"

"Not with Steve," he stopped me. "Just the two of us."

"Oh," I mumbled. "Like a..."

"Like a date, yeah," he confirmed.

It felt like my heart jumped into my throat. And I felt like I did a truly awful job hiding it.

"Is it that bad of an idea?"

"No, no," I replied a little too fast. "I just... I wasn't expecting that."

There was a pause before he slowly stepped closer to me. "What do you say?"

"I think...," I trailed off, looking for any sign in his eyes that he was lying. I couldn't find one. "I think that sounds great."

His smile got a little bit wider. "Good. I'll stop by your place around seven."

"Sounds like a good plan."

He reached over and grabbed my hand, pulling it up to kiss the back of it. "See you tonight."

I just grinned like an idiot as he dropped my hand and walked away.

I waited until I knew he was out of earshot and sight to celebrate a little bit. I bounced on my feet a little bit. I only stopped when I saw someone looking at me with a weird expression.

Going about the rest of my day was almost painful. My brain kept drifting. What I would wear, what we'd do for the night, if Bucky would kiss me that night. The last thought was what always snapped me back to what I was supposed to be focusing on. I had lost all sense of logic.

What happened to being sure that I knew better?

I had never made my walk home so quickly.

I spent ages looking through my clothes. I then realized that Bucky never said what the plans were tonight. I didn't know if I should've looked formal or casual or somewhere in the middle.

Somewhere in the middle was safe. Right? Maybe?

I hated not knowing.

But it's fine. Everything was fine.

It only took me ripping everything out of my wardrobe, putting it back, and then ripping it out again to figure out what I wanted to wear. Yup, perfectly fine.

After picking up my place and finally managing to grin at myself in the mirror, I placed myself firmly in my seat and waited.

I noted that despite the chaos, I had managed to be incredibly early.

I watched the clock move slowly.

I watched seven o'clock arrive. There was no knock at the door. No charming greeting waiting for me on the other side. There was nothing but the sound of my own heart beat and breathing.

I watched as ten minutes passed then thirty and then an hour.

My heart kept dropping farther and farther.

No. No.

Bucky was a lot of things. Cocky, a flirt, stubborn. But he wasn't mean. He wouldn't make plans with me and then leave me high and dry. He couldn't. There would have to be some kind of explanation. Some excuse.

My mind thought of every other time I saw Bucky with someone on his arm. Every single person that suddenly seemed so much better than me.

I felt like a ghost. No personality or physical form or independent thought. Just a thing that existed. That hovered around, even when unwanted.

The tears that filled my eyes as the night went on were humiliating.

It was ridiculous to feel this way. Bucky didn't owe me anything. Not really.

I fell asleep while curled up in my chair. Tears dried on my face, eyes puffy, and lips cracked from my constant biting to try to get those tears to stop.

The next morning was hell.

I had to pull myself out of my seat, which was met with cramped muscles and cracking bones. I pulled my carefully chosen outfit off like it now truly meant nothing to me at all. I washed my face like it would undo the tears falling if I scrubbed hard enough. None of it changed how I felt. How miserable I was.

I made it out of the house later than usual.

I had never been so determined to just go through the motions of a day.

But again, the universe decided to play a game at my expense.

"There you are!"

I didn't jump this time. I just continued walking.

I hated how easily I recognized Bucky's voice. I hated that he could pick me out of a crowd so easily that I couldn't hide from him. I hated that those facts both impacted me more than they truly should have.

"(Y/n)! (Y/n)! Wait!"

I still didn't acknowledge him.

"Oh, for the love..."

I suddenly found my wrist being grabbed as I was pulled down a nearby alleyway. Just far enough that any conversation was hidden from the crowd on the sidewalk and road.

I shoved against Bucky's chest, freeing my wrist from him.

"You've got some nerve, Barnes," I snapped at him.

"I needed to talk to you-"

I was seething at his calmness. "You ditch me last night and then act like you deserve any of my time the next day? That's bold. Even for you."

"I'm sorry," he muttered. "I didn't mean to do that."

"Oh, I'm sure," I replied, sarcasm dripping from every word.

There was a pause as he gave me a sad look. He was clearly searching for something to say.

"What were you expecting, Bucky? That I would promise that it wasn't a big deal? That it was all fine? It wasn't. You left me. Alone. That was rude... cruel"

Another pause. Like he already knew exactly what he had done wrong, but only now realizing how deeply his mistake had hit me.

"Are you embarrassed of me?" I mumbled after a moment.

Bucky looked at me like I had two heads.

"It'd make sense, wouldn't it?" I looked down at my hands now. "Being friends with me is one thing because Steve gives you a buffer. But being with me, alone in public? That's too far. Too many people would have an opinion."

"Where did you get that idea?" he seemed offended.

My eyes snapped back to him. "When you left me on my own! Had a lot of time to think then!"

He jumped when I raised my voice.

I looked away from him.

"(Y/n), I never wanted to leave you on your own," he explained. "I did everything I could to get there, but it was an emergency. My folks needed my help. By the time I did get away, you wouldn't open your door."

I closed my eyes immediately, not even bothering to mutter about how vague his excuse was or how I was likely asleep by the time he showed up.

"Please look at me," he begged. I heard the gravel shift under him as he stepped forward. "Give me a chance to fix this."

I finally looked at him. "I can't go through that again-"

"Then I'll make it up to you right now. No more waiting."

"Bucky..."

"I'm being serious," he pushed. "I will spend this whole day with you showing you how bad I want you."

I shook my head.

"You know that I'm not giving up on this."

"Yeah, it'd damage your ego."

He chuckled. "I was hoping to be called stubborn, but sure."

When I didn't speak up again, Bucky seemed to get a little antsy. He started glancing around the alleyway, as if he were looking to see if anyone was watching. My heart dropped a bit. I was right.

And then, he grabbed my hand and started pulling me back down the alley.

"You can't just pull me around whenever you want," I snapped at him, going to pull my arm away from him.

"Just give me a second," he argued, tightening his hold on me. "Trying to prove something."

I stumbled to a stop with him back in the middle of the sidewalk. He looked around the crowded space. I didn't. I just stared at him.

He smiled when he looked back at me. That infuriating smile that made my heart race at a stupid speed. The one that could've gotten me to forgive him with no explanation if he just let me see it for long enough. The one that reminded me how much of a fool I was.

I was so focused on his smile that I didn't pay attention to anything else he was doing.

I didn't see how his eyes jumped between every part of my face. I didn't notice his hand dropping mine. I didn't notice that he was suddenly touching my sides. I didn't notice him getting closer to me until I could feel his breath on my face.

"Bucky..."

He shushed me quietly. "Just give me a second."

His lips touched mine a moment later.

My mind went so fast that it almost gave me a headache. I fought between pushing him away or pulling him closer. I didn't know what to do with my hands.

All of those worries didn't seem to be enough to stop me from slowly kissing him back. As if it were natural. As if I had done it countless times before. It had all been a matter of when and not if.

He pulled back first, looking almost as shocked as I was by the moment we just shared.

"I would never be embarrassed of you," he said. "Never. You are one of the best things in my life. I would never be able to forgive myself if I screwed up everything between us right as I'm finally getting my chance with you."

My words got caught in my throat as my face heated up.

"I... I am completely in love with you," he added, pressing his forehead against mine. "You don't have to say it back. You don't have to say anything at all. All I ask is for a few hours to make up for last night. Please."

I finally found my words and finally managed to get them to come out of my mouth, "I think I can make that work."

He smiled again as I chuckled to myself. This smile wasn't infuriating this time. It was lovestruck. Completely and utterly lovestruck. And then I noticed that it looked the same as every single smile he’d ever sent my way.

I took a deep breath, letting some of my fear roll off my shoulders. "I love you too, Bucky."

His smile widened as he leaned in and pressed another kiss to my lips. Shorter and softer. Maybe living a life where I was only friends with Bucky wouldn't be as fine as I originally thought it would be.

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

Tag Lists:

Overall - @geeksareunique @daisydark

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

Some Important Causes:

GLAAD - LGBTQIA+ Organization

National Coalition Against Domestic Violence

CHIRLA - Coalition for Humane Immigrant Rights

Palestinian Red Crescent Society

[kinokoshoujoart]

the coolest kids in forgotten valley!!☆

(…it seems there may have been a stretch of time where rock and lumina were the only kids in forgotten valley…🥲)

poseref

[greasydumbfuck]

during a rivals session i said to the other people in my group that i only play that game to spend more time with frank and one guy said "should have maybe played a dating sim instead" and like yk what. im in video game college. i could just make a frank castle dating simulator. i could do that

[mackthecheesy]

rip to the person in my dream last night who i was in a time loop trying to save </3 woke up before i ever could

[hvackisser]

After seeing that last art and the lostboys poster on Michael's wall and thinking about some timeline stuff I got the idea of being able to see it when it came out in theaters...with him...like a sorta date 👉👈

[404superman]

the necklace ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆

Pairing: Clark Kent x reader! Word count: 2.2k

Description: You get Clark a silly little gift, a necklace with his ‘superman’ logo on it. He loves it when you bite it while he’s fucking you.

This was requested by the lovely @heroesnpink here

Tags/warnings: smut, piv, allusions to breeding kink, clark is down bad, he’s sweet and hot as hell, necklace kink(?)

Note: Second smut for Clarkie, my god this man has me on my knees 🙂‍↕️ currently trying to catch up with the requests on my inbox! I hope I did this one justice, loved writing it🫶🏼

Masterlist

It started as a joke, really.

You wanted to give Clark something special for his birthday, but it was a bit of a challenge at first. Because what do you get the man who has everything? Who is everything?

Sure, you could give him a pack of mints and he’d still act like it’s the most precious gift in the world, just because it came from you. But you really wanted to do something that felt meaningful.

So you took half a day off from work to wander the mall, hoping to find something nice. You weren’t sure how you ended up in front of a jewelry store, staring at it’s window display, but the moment your eyes landed on it, you burst into a quiet laugh.

There, in the middle of a perfect burgundy velvet case under a spotlight, was displayed a necklace of the iconic ‘S’ symbol, identical to the one he wore on his chest.

“That’s hilarious,” you thought immediately, tilting your head and imagining the look on Clark’s face. You considered it as a joke, something to make him laugh. But the longer you stared at it, the less ridiculous it seemed.

Actually… it started to feel kind of perfect.

You couldn’t help it, really. Giggling to yourself like an idiot while you asked the clerk for the piece. Because you, dating Clark Kent, Superman himself, were about to give him a cute little necklace with his own symbol on it.

If anything, you thought it would be a funny gag gift. You’d laugh about it the whole night, he’d say it’s cheesy and then you’d end up returning it the next day like nothing happened.

And you did laugh the whole night about it. He did say it was cheesy. But you never returned it.

Because he ended up loving it.

Clark walks around wearing his superman necklace proudly, without a single hint of shame when Lois or Jimmy tease him after catching a glimpse of it under his collar.

“My girl got it for me,” he always says, like that explains everything.

Which, in theory, it kind of does. You could get him the ugliest tie in Metropolis and he would still wear it proudly every single day of his life if it made you happy.

Because his girl got it for him.

In the end, the necklace did end up being the special gift you wanted for him. Because yes, it’s cringy, but it means something. It represents everything he stands for, hope, courage, who he is, what he is on this earth for.

And Clark? he adores it.

He practically lives in it. Never even thinks about taking it off.

You don’t complain either. There is nothing sexier than Clark stepping out of a steamy shower, water droplets raining from his dark curls, running down the sharp lines of his gorgeous body. Only a towel covering his lower half and that little necklace gleaming around his neck.

You love pulling him by it, kissing him around it, feeling the cold of the metal against your skin when he hugs you. Getting a peek of it under his work shirts. You just love how much he loves it.

But what you love even more, is when he fucks you wearing it.

When he’s on top of you, his arms braced on either side of your head to hold his weight, caging you with those huge muscles flexing with every deep thrust.

It’s hard to focus on anything when Clark’s cock is buried so deep inside you it makes your whole body shiver, but you always notice the necklace. How it swings with the rhythm of his thrusts, crashing gently against his collarbone with every rock of his hips.

And he knows you like to stare at it. That knowing smile on his face is proof enough.

“Look at you sweetheart, always taking me so well,” he praises in that deep voice. A grin grows on his face like he’s not actively making you see stars around the charm hitting his skin repeatedly.

“Come on, darling,” he whispers, the necklace almost brushing your chest. “I know you can give me just one more…”

And you can. You’d give him as many as he wants.

Clark coaxes you through it, always does. He knows how much he takes, how his cock fills you in ways you were never meant to handle. How every time he makes love to you he gets that dazed, blissed out look in your eyes, and those moans slipping from your lips like you’re not even thinking, just taking him in. All of him.

And this is only your second round.

“Fuck– right there, Clark,” you whimper, barely. Your eyes do the rest, telling him thank you for fucking me this good.

“Right there?” he asks back with a soft chuckle, like he’s delighted to see you fall apart like that.

So he does it again, rolls his hips the exact same way, just to hear the broken sound that escapes your throat as your head falls back in pure bliss.

He leans in closer, burying himself deeper, if that’s even possible. He braces his weight on his elbows now, so he can slide his large hands to cup the back of your head, cradling you carefully. He then lifts your face toward his and places a kiss on your forehead.

And you smile, God you smile, because Clark always manages to be the sweetest man on earth while fucking you into next week.

He pulls apart just enough to look into your eyes, still supporting your head in his hands because he knows you can’t do it by yourself at this point. His mouth stays parted, letting out those heavenly filthy grunts that make you let him use you in any way he wants just to hear them over and over.

He keeps the unrelenting pace without breaking a single sweat, slamming in and out your pussy in sloppy sounds as your wetness drips around him. And that damn necklace keeps swinging, but this time is lightly hitting your collarbone, your jaw, your cheeks. The cold metal is a sharp contrast to your hot skin.

It’s driving you crazy.

“Clark,” you pant, breathless. “T-that thing…”

He slightly tilts his head, stuttering his rhythm when he realizes what you mean. One hand leaves your head, already reaching for the chain, but you stop him.

“No no … leave it,” you say, grabbing the chain and looping your fingers around the charm, pulling softly to drag him closer to your face. Your breath ghosts over his lips, giving him a quick peck before whispering. “I like it.”

“Yeah?” he asks back with a groan, in that maddening tone he loves to use when you do something that drives him crazy.

You hold his gaze, nodding innocently, and slowly pull the charm into your mouth.

Just the tip of it, the cold metal resting against your tongue. You suck it in, swollen lips wrapping around the symbol he carried in his chest like he’s your personal savior. And lord, he is.

Clark makes a sound you’ve never really heard before. A helpless, strangled growl under his breath. His next thrust goes harder, like he just can’t help himself. Like you fucked something in his brain chemistry by doing that.

So he keeps pushing, his speed and strength less controlled now, getting completely lost in the way your face contorts in pleasure while your moans get strangled by the charm in your mouth.

“Sweet Jesus,” he rasps. “Don’t–don’t do that unless you want this to be over right now.”

You can’t help but laugh mid bliss, the necklace charm falling from your lips with a soft pop as a result. You lift your hand to his chest, trapping the necklace between your skin so it doesn’t hit you again.

“You better hold it together for me, superman,” you tease.

Even if Clark doesn’t admit it out loud, you calling him ‘Superman’ in bed just tickles something in his brain. It flips a switch inside him that tells him to fill you up until you carry a baby from him.

Especially after the whole necklace moment.

“I-I dont think I can, sweetheart.”

He stares at you, barely enough blue left in his eyes from his blown pupils. Flushed cheeks, lips wet and parted like he’s seconds from begging you to let him break you. Of course he wouldn’t. Unless you asked.

But he’s too gone at this point. That usual gentleness, that unhurried, teasing control that lets him drag things out for hours so you have time to recover is gone.

Clark slams into you with enough force to knock the breath from your lungs, his hands now locking under your thighs to fold you up for a deeper angle, like he can bend you however he pleases. And he does, only him. He’s moving now with a pace he doesn’t let out that often with you, in fear of hurting you.

But right now? He’s letting himself be desperate. All because of a little necklace.

“You … you put that thing in your mouth darling, you don’t even know what that did to me–“

“Oh, I know,” you moan, your fingers gripping his chest like a lifeline, nails digging in. “I–I love when you lose your mind like this.”

He chuckles breathlessly, almost apologizing. “You don’t see me much like this … do you?”

You shake your head, too breathless to speak again. Because no, you don’t. Clark is always in control. Always worshipful, mindful, making love like he’s got all the time in the world. But there are still times where even a God like him folds under the weight of wanting you.

And now? That necklace, that cute little gag gift his girl got him is now his fucking kink.

He suddenly shifts again, one hand fisting in the sheets beside your head while the other slips between your bodies, fingers finding your clit instinctively.

“Wanna come with you, darling” he blurts out, disheveled strands of dark hair falling into his eyes as he watches your face when he plays with that sensitive spot. “Don’t think I’m gonna last long … not this time. Not after that.”

Neither are you. You never do with him.

You arch beneath him, back going high, thighs shaking under him from the overstimulation. It doesn’t take long before his name tears from your throat when you reach your orgasm for the … how many times now? Can’t even remember what number it is since you started.

“F-fuck–“ You cry out, nails digging into his biceps for dear life.

He dives in to kiss you through it, deeply, passionate, so fucking heavenly like the only way he knows how to kiss. The chain traps between your lips, the charm cold and wet from your mouth pressing against his tongue. He feels it, God, he feels everything… and that’s it.

He slams into you once, twice, and then he’s gasping against your mouth as he spills inside you in twitches. His body shakes on top of yours, choking on a groan so deep you swear you’ll remember it for the rest of your life. You feel him pulse deep, feel him bury his cum as far as he can go, like it’s feral instinct.

Because Clark Kent comes as hard as he fucks.

He stays inside you, panting, his forehead falls to rest on your collarbone like he needs a minute to catch his breath.

Superman needs to catch his breath.

You’re coated in sweat, the sheets a mess beneath you, and that dumb little necklace is still swinging lightly between your hot chests. He doesn’t move in a full minute, giving you time to come down from your own high, hands going instinctively to his head.

“You alright there, supes?” You whisper amused, running your fingers softly through his hair. He lets out a muffled groan.

“I’m fine,” he mumbles into your skin.

You bite your lip to prevent a laugh from coming out. You know he’s lying. His arms are still shaking. His whole body is tense in that ‘I need to pretend I’m fine so I don’t embarrass myself’ way that only happens when you truly, deeply break him in bed.

Because it’s usually the other way around.

“Clark.” You nudge his cheek softly. “You came in like ten minutes into a round … you never come in ten minutes.”

He finally lifts his head, face flushed red, curls sticking to his forehead, and those beautiful swollen pink lips pouting. Yes, pouting.

“You put it in your mouth.”

“I mean, it’s just a necklace,” you snort, shrugging innocently.

“But it’s the symbol. It’s my … you know …” he gestures vaguely at his own bare chest, clearly flustered. “It’s the whole thing … you, and that mouth, and me, and … I’m only a man, okay?”

“No you’re not,” you’re giggling now, fully delighted, as Clark just buries his face again in the crook of your neck.

He laughs against your skin, tickling you. “You know you’ve ruined it for me, right?”

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t wear this necklace anymore without getting hard.”

You both laugh again, tangled together, his weight on top of you makes you feel warm and safe. And somewhere between the breathless kisses and your fingers tracing lazy shapes on his back, you smile at the cold feeling of the necklace trapped between your bodies.

[lomlsatoru]

i got it — clark kent ⋆౨ৎ˚

꩜ pairing ━━ clark kent x hyper independent!gf

꩜ summary ━━ you tell clark “i got it.” so many times and he is sick of it.

꩜ content ━━ 2.3k words | fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, reader almost has a full blown a panic attack, clark is super duper sweet, reader has… issues but she’s just human <3

꩜ a/n ━━ i wrote this with a plus size in mind but it’s very appearance friendly! and clark being absolutely obsessed with her. might be a smidge little self indulgent im sorry </3 might also have grammatical errors! this is so personal to me i hope you guys enjoy reading this as much as i liked writing it 🫶

as always comments are very deeply appreciated ♡

masterlist | navi | buy me kofi <3

Clark knows you can take care of yourself.

It's one of the things he admires about you. You and your stubbornness, you and your inability to let people help. You, oh you, who is too scared to let Clark all the way in. So unconsciously, you don’t let him do anything for you, including something small as opening the car door. 

Clark finds this out on your first date together.

And boy, you never thought you would be on a date with Clark Kent.

You did imagine it (more than you would like to admit) I mean how could you not? This hulking, tall, 6 '4 broad man that looks like he can throw you around turned out to be the most gentle person you have ever met.

It’s hard not to form a crush.

“I had fun tonight.”

Clark now walks beside you to his car, his height looming and begging for attention. He sounds bashful, and when you turn your head to look at him, you could see how the tips of his ears turn a light shade of pink with him staring down at you.

You softly smile, nervously meeting his eyes, “Me too.”

The walk wasn’t long, and before you could reach for the door handle of his car, his large palm had situated itself there.

You chuckle, “I got it. Thanks, Clark.” placing your hand on top of his to open the door.

Clark’s eyes widened with surprise, his cheeks dusting a light hue at the contact. He was also quite baffled at the fact that you didn’t want him to open the door for you.

He was raised to be a gentleman, opening doors isn’t anything new. Especially on dates. It’s mandatory for him.

He couldn’t even form complete thoughts as the car door opened, your fingers tightening on top of his. You slide in the passenger seat, throwing a cheeky grin at him. You didn’t even let him close the door for you, as you shut it by yourself.

Clark stood outside in the cold night air, staring at you from the window. He cannot believe that just happened.

For once in his life, he didn’t open the door for his date.

The same thing happened when he dropped you off at your apartment. You didn’t even think twice before opening the car door yourself as Clark scrambled out of his seat, racing to open it before you did.

He failed.

But it’s okay, cause you’re pretty and you smell nice, and you’re wearing this giddy smile, eyes a little tired but still sparkling. He stared down at you, with a matching grin and twinkling eyes.

A moment passed, “See you tomorrow?” Clark dumbly asks.

You nod and bite your lip, tummy flipping with excitement and nerves, “See you tomorrow, Clark.”

.

.

.

The past few weeks of seeing Clark has been…nice. He’s sweet, thoughtful and very nice to look at. So when accidentally you snapped at him, you were sure he didn’t want to see you ever again. 

The summer heat is nipping at your skin, you had been stressing out about the printer since morning, the ancient machine that the Daily Planet has kept in store for ‘memories’ will be the death of you.

“Fuck— fucking stupid machine, shit—“

“You need some help there?”

You jump at the sudden voice, butterflies appearing in your stomach as you realise who it belonged to.

“This thing is pissing me off.” you grumble, not even looking at Clark, too busy glaring at the printer in front of you.

The man chuckles, leaning against the wall with hands tucked in his pants pockets as his eyes shamelessly trails over your figure.

“You look pretty.” he absentmindedly said.

The sudden compliment made you freeze your banging on the machine. Finally turning to meet his eyes, with a few strands of hair covering your vision. You tucked them behind your ear.

Because of your frustration at the machine, the small printing room has gotten more hot, which made you more agitated. So, you had put your hair up in a very messy bun, hair coming out in all sorts of directions, two buttons on your top were undone, giving Clark a nice view of your collarbone and a tiny glimpse of your cleavage. He swallowed hard as you fully turned to him.

"I'm a mess." you chuckle, hand resting on your full hips, head tilting to the side.

You look hot and bothered, your cheeks a little pink, your smile is teasing, and your hips are tantalising him. It's making his brain short circuit.

You, successfully making Superman weak in the knees.

He shrugs, hand scratching the back of his neck and awkwardly coughs, "My statement still stands."

Huffing, you face the machine again, "Go back to work Clark, or did you come here just to bother me?"

Clark moves inside the tiny room, his huge figure taking in half of the capacity. You could feel his body heat as he comfortably stood behind you, looking over your shoulder. Stomach flipping when you feel his slow and steady breathing.

"Do you know what's wrong with it?"

"If I did, I wouldn't be here, would I?" you accidentally snapped, eyes widening in horror. Oh no, he's going to hate you. "Sorry. I'm just annoyed and it's so hot in here and—“

His deep laugh stops you from continuing, "It's alright," he shakes his head, "I shouldn't have stressed you out more."

You sigh, guilt eating up your senses. You liked having here with you. He brings a sense of comfort, safety, calmness. He doesn't deserve your little outburst.

Clark sensed the air getting thicker with tension, so he clears his throat, backing up from your personal space, "I can call Jimmy to help you out-"

"It's okay, I got it." you rushed out. Hand clutching tightly at the edge of the printer. You cannot fail this. Don't embarrass yourself.

Clark nodded awkwardly, lingering on the door for a second too long, gazing at you with a certain look before hesitantly leaving you in your little room.

As you hear his footsteps retract, your shoulders slumped in relief, the guilt never once leaving your system.

"Stupid fucking machine."

.

.

.

Turns out Clark doesn’t hate you. 

You have been going steady and now have created a little routine. The grocery runs has been fun, a routine that you two have made after 1 month of dating. Restocking in your respective place every first Saturday of the month, has been consistent.

“Aw, you two lovebirds are too cute.” the cashier complimented, “You match each other very well.”

Your cheeks turn warm, hands occupied by putting the groceries in the bags. Glancing at Clark to see his reaction, your stomach flutters when you see his adorable dimples. A shy smile stretching over his face.

He clears his throat, “Thank you, ma’am.” eyes shifting to yours. Fond, warm, and very much in a daze. 

You quietly giggled, sending the cashier a quick smile before leaving the store. 

Clark falls in step beside you, nudging your shoulder, “She said we look like we’re made for each other.” he shyly muttered. 

You raised your eyebrows, glancing at him from the side, “She didn’t say all of that.” you smirk.

He shrugs, “I filled in the blanks.” his voice soft. 

Your heart stutters. 

Two heavy recycle bags settle in your arms as you try to balance them using your hips. Clark immediately took note of your fidgeting, and quickly moved his hand to grab the bottom of the bags, helping you stabilise yourself. 

“Clark, I got it.” you grumble.

The tall man sighed, almost ripping the bags out of your hands. If anyone looked for too long it was like he was trying to steal them.

“I know you do, sweetheart,” he deeply sighed, fingers pressing against his eyebrows, “but I can do it. Do you see these guns?” he jokes, flexing his biceps close to your face. You laughed. He’s so silly. 

Clark was also carrying his 2 bags of groceries, which is why you do not want him to carry yours. It’s yours. Why would you inconvenience him?

But Clark was adamant, Clark’s other fingers securely tucked in near your wrist where the bag handle is.

You playfully roll your eyes, “Back off, Kent.”

He gasps— loud, dramatic and offended, “I can’t believe you just called me Kent.”

You affectionately rolled your eyes and pushed past him, almost sprinting to the car so that he couldn’t keep up.

Oh, but Clark definitely could.

He chuckled to himself, shaking his head fondly at how stubborn you are. But you’re already opening the back trunk, organising your bags in. He underestimated your dedication, sighing softly with a giddy smile on his face, definitely his girl.

.

.

.

This particular day has been awful.

You’re suffering from writer's block and can’t find to type out any good comments and sentences. Everything you created sounded bleak, bland, boring and Perry has been waiting for a piece from you for days.

When he came to your desk, you gave him a thousand apologies, and Perry looked at you sadly… disappointed, if you would add.

“Should I give this to Cat to cover?”

“No!” you stood up abruptly, chair squeaking and making a few heads turn to you. You could feel a pair of specifically worried eyes on your back, “I got it. I promise. I will have this ready by tomorrow.”

Perry sighed, head nodding slowly, “Alright kid, I trust your abilities but tomorrow is final.” he stated, walking away.

You gripped the edge of your table, fingers twitching and heart suddenly pounding in your chest, “Fuck.” your breathing starts to pick up. 

No, no, no. Please, not now.

Your feet moved before you could think and Clark was up on his feet the second he could hear your uneven breathing. Going to the only place he knows you would go. 

The air on the roof is cold, the sky is so blue it reminds you of someone. But your chest starts to tighten, your vision starts to blur and sweat is forming behind your neck and hairline. 

“Please, please–” sobs start to wreck your body, and your feet are now all wobbly. 

Clark could hear everything from the elevator and it made his stomach drop and eyebrows furrow, as he fidgeted in the small metal box, “Why is it moving so slow—” he angrily muttered to himself, fingers aggressively pressing the button level repeatedly. Not caring the weird stares people are giving him.

The rooftop door violently swung open, so hard it almost flew off its hinges and you knew immediately who was on the other side.

“Clark, leave me alone.” you turn, not letting him see you. Your voice sounded so small, it tore his heart in two and he’s supposed to be indestructible. 

He takes small steps closer to you, “I’m sorry, pretty, but there is no way I’m leaving you up here alone.”

"I got it, it's okay." your voice trembles, lips quivering.

Clark huffed, standing straighter, "No." he clenched his jaw, he sounded... angry.

You glance at him through your teary eyes, "What–?"

"Stop saying that line."

You scoff, "What line?"

Clark stares at you with wide eyes, like the audacity of you to even question that insane, "Your 'I got it' line."

Your stomach drops as your sniffling continues. 

He deeply breathes out, moving to stand directly behind you, hands placed on your hips to turn you to face him fully. His thumbs softly caressing your shirt covered waist.

He leaned down, eyes trying to meet yours, "Look at me." he softly mutters.

Your eyes were fixated on the floor for a couple more seconds before they met his ones. Him and his soft, apologetic, blue eyes. Your breathing slows down.

He stares at you for a moment, searching, evaluating, you don’t even know.

But you would never guess what he was going to say.

"I. Got. You." he states, a pause in between every word. It wasn’t an opinion, it wasn't a joke, it's a statement. A fact. Like the nature of it is embedded in him, "Okay?"

Your lips wobbled, nose twitching and a new fresh of tears making their appearance on your eye line. Panicked eyes staring into his ones, trying to come into terms in what he just uttered out of his mouth.

"I will be here, with you." Clark continues, his hand now moving up to brush your falling tears away, "You can try to push me away but you need to call some reinforcements because I am not budging. You understand me?"

Slowly your arms moves to wrap around him, head tucking in his warm chest. "You got me?" your voice hoarse, his heart sinks seeing you tightly shut your eyes and hearing the hesitance in your tone.

His big arms wrapped tightly around your frame, hands softly caressing your back, "Of course, sweetheart. Always."

“Thank you.”

“My baby.” he sighs, emotional and heavy. His head tucking in your neck as he holds you tighter, “No need to thank me.”

“You make me feel so safe.” your trembling voice continues, a new wave of tears making you choke up.

Clark’s stomach flutters and drops at the same time.

For the strongest man alive, he sure feels pretty useless right now.

Because what has happened before that made you need to say that outloud? He thought it was given? He’s your boyfriend?

He doesn’t dwell on it for long, “I can help you with your paper.” he suggests, pulling your face out of his chest, his large hand on your jaw, thumb softly brushing your skin. 

“Clark—“

“I swear to God if you say—“

You giggled. Clark’s eyes widens at your beautiful voice, goosebumps appearing on his skin. 

“I was gonna say, ‘Yes, I would love your help’.” your voice turned down to a whisper, “Save me, Clark Kent.”

Clark grins, the tears are still in your eyes, some running down your cheeks but your eyes are a little bit brighter, your voice a little lighter, your breathing evening out and you’re still hugging him.

It makes him melt.

“I got you, baby. Don’t worry.”

Now Clark is making it his sole mission to take care of you.

reblog for a superman style kiss 😘

[kthologue]

the end times — gojo satoru

synopsis. gojo satoru thinks he’s going to die because you’re giving him the silent treatment. (aka your first big fight with gojo).

contents. hurt/comfort, ooc, lovesick!gojo, you give him the silent treatment and he goes crazy, he is so pathetic in this one, tw obsessive behavior (he makes it EVERYONE’S problem), gojo’s pov

notes. loosely inspired by that one scene from yakuza fiance. not proofread whats new

Gojo knows he’s screwed up the second he steps into the common area of Jujutsu Tech’s dormitory. The air feels thick, wrong. And then there’s you, curled up on the couch, a book open in your lap, but your eyes aren’t moving.

His grin falters for half a second before he masks it with his usual bravado. “I always knew you had a little freak in you, but reading your erotic books out in the open? Who knew my girl was such a perv.”

The joke usually earns him a laugh, a shove, maybe even a teasing retort. But tonight, the silence that follows is deafening.

The pit in his stomach grows.

“Sweetheart?” He tries again, waving a hand obnoxiously close to your face.

You finally react, swatting his hand away, but there’s no playfulness in the motion. Your eyes don't even meet his.

“You’re late,” you say flatly, still staring at your book. “Again.”

Gojo scoffs, irritation bubbling. Not at you, never at you, but at the damn book that’s getting more attention than him.

“Ah, you know how it is. Got held up in Kyoto,” he says with a shrug.

The words leave his mouth too easily. He doesn’t realize his mistake until you finally, finally look at him.

And it’s nothing like usual.

There’s no warmth in your gaze, no sparkle of amusement or exasperation. Instead, you pin him with a look so sharp it strips him bare, leaving nothing but the hollow weight in his chest.

“You missed our date.”

His breath catches. His throat goes dry. “I–”

“I’m not mad about that.”

Relief floods him too fast, too soon. His shoulders sag as he leans down, tilting his head for a well-earned kiss. “You’re the best. I swear, I’ll make it up to you.”

You pull away before he can touch you.

Gojo freezes.

“[Name]?”

You exhale sharply, shaking your head. “You know, it’s funny.”

There’s nothing funny about this moment.

His pulse thrums as you continue, voice eerily steady. “That your mission was in Kyoto. I mean, we have a whole sister school there, full of sorcerers ready to handle a first-grade threat. So why would they need you, specifically?”

His stomach drops.

He’s never been good at guilt, not when he’s spent his whole life believing he’s untouchable. But now, standing before you, unable to meet your eyes, it sits heavy in his gut.

And you don’t let up.

“Of course, I asked around. Thought maybe I was overthinking it.” A humorless scoff escapes you. “Imagine my surprise when I found out my boyfriend was too busy meeting with his future bride.”

Gojo’s mouth opens, but for the first time in his life, he doesn’t know what to say.

“That’s–” he starts, then stops because, shit, you’re staring at him like he’s a stranger. Like he’s someone you can’t trust. The realization makes his stomach churn.

“Oh, don’t stop on my account,” you say bitterly, arms crossing as you lean back into the couch. “I mean, I’d love to hear how you were going to explain this one, Gojo Satoru.”

Full name. That’s how he knows he’s really fucked up.

“It’s not–It’s not what you think,” he says quickly, voice unusually hoarse. His usual bravado, his charm, none of it is coming to him. He doesn’t even know where to start. “I wasn’t–I wasn’t hiding it. I just–”

“You just forgot to tell me that your clan is arranging a marriage for you?” you cut in sharply. “That slipped your mind?”

“No! Yes—Fuck, that’s not what I mean,” he groans, pushing a hand through his hair. He’s never felt like this before. Like he’s scrambling for footing on uneven ground. “I didn’t tell you because it didn’t matter, sweetheart. I wasn’t ever going to go through with it. You know that, right?”

You let out a short, humorless laugh. “Do I? I mean, Suguru seemed shocked when I didn’t know that these were recurring dates set by your clan.”

Gojo falters.

“You didn’t even think to tell me, Satoru,” you say, voice quieter now, but somehow even more devastating. “You didn’t think I deserved to know?”

His heart clenches. That’s not–God, that’s not what this is.

“Of course you deserve to know! But I—” he exhales sharply, trying to gather his words. “I just—Fuck, I thought it was stupid. I thought it wasn’t worth mentioning.”

You shake your head, looking almost tired now. “Right. Because I’m just supposed to assume you’d never go through with it. After your multiple dates with her. Because I’m supposed to read your mind, just like always.”

The weight of your words crashes into him, and Gojo suddenly realizes that this isn’t just about Kyoto. This isn’t just about one lie, one mistake. This is about every time he’s brushed things off, every time he’s let silence speak for him, every time he’s sat through those excruciating meetings, knowing he would never go through with it, but never once thinking about how it would feel for you to find out this way. This is about every time he’s expected you to just get him without him ever having to say a word.

This is about how, even after everything, you still don’t know how much he loves you.

And now, looking at you, Gojo is terrified that he’s already lost his chance to prove it.

“I’m going to sleep,” you stand up from your place on the couch. 

Gojo tries to follow you, “Listen, baby–”

“I don’t want to talk to you right now. I need some space.” you turn around to send him a teary glare and that stops him in his tracks. He had never seen you cry. And it tore him apart knowing that he was the cause. 

The sound of your door slamming echoes in Gojo’s mind. 

Gojo Satoru is the first one in class the next day.

He drums his fingers against the desk, restless in a way he can't explain, but he knows it has everything to do with the fact that he spent the entire night not sleeping. His mind was too busy replaying the way you had looked at him, no, the way you hadn’t looked at him.

He had left you alone and upset. He had made you feel like you were second to someone else. And worst of all, he hadn’t even realized it until it was too late.

“This must be a first.”

Gojo glances up as Suguru enters, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Gojo Satoru, on time? It must be the end times.”

He knows it’s a joke, but it might as well be the end times. Gojo doesn’t respond, just presses his lips into a thin line as he goes back to mentally reciting the apology speech he’s been revising in his head all night.

Then the shoji door slides open again.

You walk in with Shoko, your head tilted slightly as you whisper something to her, something he’ll never get to hear because you don’t so much as glance in his direction. Instead, you take a seat at the farthest desk, as if he isn’t even there.

A part of him withers away.

But Gojo Satoru isn’t one to give up.

If words won’t get your attention, he’ll just have to be Gojo Satoru about it. He leans back in his chair and stretches obnoxiously, before loudly exclaiming, “Yaga-sensei! Are those grey hairs from your recent divorce?”

He grins, waiting for the familiar sound of your laugh, for that little shake of your head, for you to scold him like always.

But you don’t even look at him.

Instead, he’s met with Geto and Shoko’s twin expressions of abject horror, and before he has a chance to register what’s happening–

BAM!

Yaga’s palm collides with his head, sending him face-first into his desk.

Even through the throbbing pain, he can only think about one thing.

You didn’t even react.

“And how exactly is she ignoring you?”

Shoko’s grumpy voice echoes through the morgue, where she’s been attempting to practice her technique. She’s clearly unimpressed that Gojo Satoru has decided to spam-call her instead of dealing with his own problems.

“She’s ignoring me, Shoko,” Gojo groans dramatically from the other side of the Jujutsu Tech campus, rubbing the fresh bump on his head as he stands in front of your door. “I’ve been knocking for an hour. She’s in there. I know she’s in there, but she won’t answer.”

“Maybe she finally got tired of your bullshit,” Shoko says dryly. “Honestly, I don’t know why it took her this long to hold you accountable. She’s let your bad behavior slide for way too long.”

“Why are we talking about me like I’m some kind of dog?!”

Shoko ignores him.

“From the sound of it, you really messed up. I mean, who keeps a marriage a secret from their girlfriend?” She pauses, then adds with a smirk in her voice, “Oh, right. You.”

Gojo groans, pressing his forehead against your door. “You and I both know that’s not what happened. But she doesn’t. And she won’t even give me the time of day to explain.”

Shoko sighs. “Give her time to cool down.”

“And what, let her decide she wants to run off and marry some other guy? Move to a cute little beach town in Enoshima, start a family, have three kids, and leave all Jujutsu sorcery behind?”

There’s a long pause before Shoko makes a disgusted sound. “O-oi. Keep your weirdly detailed fantasies to yourself.”

“I’m just being realistic,” he insists, clutching his flip phone dramatically.

Shoko promptly hangs up on him.

Gojo stares at the device for a moment before slowly lowering it, exhaling hard.

Then he rests his head against your door again, defeated.

But Gojo Satoru was never one to admit defeat, so he tries again. He returns to your door the very next morning, bright eyed and bushy tailed.

“[Name]!” he chirps. “I bought us some parfait! Let’s talk things over, yeah?”

Silence.

Not even the sound of movement.

But Gojo Satoru is not easily discouraged.

So Gojo Satoru comes again the next morning.

“[Name]!” he knocks again, this time balancing a slice of strawberry cake in one hand. “This is all my fault, so come out and let me apologize properly!”

Nothing.

Gojo sighs, leaning against the doorframe, about to knock again when—

Your phone rings.

His breath catches as he presses his ear to the wood.

“Hi, Suguru?”

His heart stops.

“Yeah, we’re still on for the movie. I’m just about to leave right now.”

For the first time in his life, Gojo Satoru understands what people mean when they say they feel like they’ve been punched in the gut.

Because you’re going to Suguru.

You’re not just ignoring him, you’re choosing someone else.

His fingers twitch at his sides as a feeling he doesn’t like at all creeps into his chest. It’s something ugly, something unfamiliar. Something that feels a lot like jealousy. Was that how you felt?

He wants to knock again, wants to demand that you open the door, look at him, let him fix this before you walk away from him any further.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he presses his lips into a thin line, shoves his hands into his pockets, and forces himself to step away from your door.

Forces himself to give you the space you deserved.

You don’t know why you relent so easily.

You shouldn’t. Not after the way he lied, the way he kept something so important from you.

And yet, when you hear him pacing outside your door, his nervous energy practically seeping through the walls, you feel something crack.

He’s been outside your room for the nth time this week. Every day, like clockwork, he’s knocked. Brought your favorite snacks. Talked to you through the door, filling the silence with his ridiculous banter, even when you refused to answer.

You squeeze your eyes shut, gripping your blanket a little tighter. You should stay angry. But you can't.

You sigh, pressing your forehead to your knee.

Maybe it’s time to stop punishing the both of you.

With a deep breath, you stand, crossing the room to the door. When you open it, Gojo nearly stumbles forward, mid-step in his pacing.

His eyes snap to yours, wide and filled with so much desperate hope it makes your chest ache.

And the way his face lights up like you’ve just handed him the entire world tells you that, maybe, you were never going to be able to stay mad at him forever.

But you’re here, leaning on your door frame with your arms crossed, your nails digging into your skin as you glare at the man who has spent the last ten minutes tripping over his words, looking wrecked in a way you’ve never seen before. His hair is messier than usual, lips are parted like he wants to say something, anything, but he doesn’t know where to start.

Finally, you scoff, breaking the silence. “If you don’t have anything to say, I’m going back into my room.”

“No!,” Gojo steps forward instinctively, like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers. And after everything, he is. “I screwed up.”

You give him a deadpan look. “Oh, really?”

He groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Okay, yeah, I really fucked up.”

Silence.

You should say something. You should demand an explanation, yell, maybe even cry, but you’re so tired. You’ve spent days twisting yourself into knots over this, convincing yourself you never meant as much to him as he did to you.

And then Gojo says it.

“I should’ve told you.” His voice is hoarse. “I should have told you after the first meeting. After the first second they brought it up.” He swallows hard. “But I was stupid. I thought if I ignored it, if I went through the motions, if I waited for the right moment… then it wouldn’t matter. That it would be over before you ever had to know.”

You shake your head, letting out a hollow laugh. “Satoru, do you even hear yourself? Do you get what it was like for me to find out from someone else? To hear that the person I–” you cut yourself off, but the damage is done. You see it in the way his breath hitches, in the way his fingers twitch at his sides, like he wants to reach for you.

“The person you what?” he asks softly, pleading.

You clench your jaw. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter.”

Your shake your head. “You lied to me.”

“I know,” he says, and the sheer brokenness in his voice makes your throat tighten. “I know, sweetheart. And I swear to you that I never meant to. I never wanted to hurt you.” he exhales shakily, rubbing the back of his neck. “I swear on everything, I was never going to go through with it. I never even showed up to any of the dates, so they kept ambushing me under the guise of missions! I sat through every single one of those goddamn meetings thinking about how ridiculous it was, how there was only ever one person I wanted.”

He stops himself, inhaling sharply.

And then, quieter, almost afraid:

“How there’s only ever you.”

The words hit you like a fist to the chest.

Gojo watches you carefully, breathless, waiting. Hoping. He’s given you the truth, raw and unfiltered, and now it’s up to you.

And maybe it’s the exhaustion, maybe it’s the way he looks at you like you’re the most important thing in his world that makes you believe him.

For the first time in a week, your lips find his, and Gojo swears he can finally breathe again. The warmth of your palm against his cheek, the way your fingers curl slightly as if grounding yourself in him. It’s enough to make him melt.

"You’re so insufferably cheesy, Satoru," you murmur against his lips, your breath warm, teasing. "It makes me so angry that I love it." A pause, a soft exhale. "But I forgive you."

His grin is instant, smug and shameless. "That was good, huh?" He tilts his head, cerulean eyes twinkling. "I’m willing to bet your heart skipped a beat."

You roll your eyes, but you kiss him again, slower this time, because, damn it, he’s right.

extra!

“I demand some extra loving!” Satoru sprawls dramatically across your bed, limbs hanging off the edge like a defeated king.

You barely spare him a glance, flipping a page in your book as you lie comfortably on your stomach. “And why, exactly, do you deserve that?”

He lifts his head, pouting. “I deserve it after a week’s worth of psychological trauma. Don’t think I forgot that you ditched me for Suguru.”

“Oh… that.”

“Yeah. That.” His voice is thick with exaggerated betrayal.

You finally look at him, a smirk tugging at your lips. “It was a fake phone call, Satoru. You were just so insufferable camping outside my door that I had to make up an excuse.”

His jaw drops. “Huh?!”

[lvrclerc]

✶ THE EX EFFECT

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

F1 MASTERLIST | OP81 MASTERLIST

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

wc: 19.2k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still, you decided to try again.

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

You went for humor instead. A joke. 

Terrible idea, in hindsight.

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

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

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

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

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

He didn’t even look away from the road.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah. This was a good morning.

You should have known it wouldn’t last.

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

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

“Y/N?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Small world,” he added to your silence.

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

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

You stared at him.

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

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

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

How surprising.

“So─”

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

You lied.

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

Theodore paused, eyebrows lifting. “Oh?”

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

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

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

Not today, Satan.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You finally turned to face him fully.

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

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

That’s when something clicked.

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N’s told me a lot about you.”

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

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

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

“The highlights?” Theodore asked, dumbfounded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So small,” you nodded stiffly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You paused. “Huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Deal,” you said. “Never again.”

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

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

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

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

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

Lando studied you. Waiting.

“Do I have to guess, or…?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

One you didn’t have an answer to.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It took a while for reality to set in. 

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

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

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

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

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

“No way.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Come again?”

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

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

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

“There it is.”

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

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

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

“Never heard of that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fake dating Oscar Piastri. How hard could it be?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Glitter? Really?”

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

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

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

“Right side.”

“Wrong answer. It’s mine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, maybe I didn’t. At first.” 

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

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

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

“How?”

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

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

“Uh… yeah? It was unnecessarily arrogant!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s because you are.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

His voice cut through the fog. “Tired?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I made a mistake─”

“You made a choice,” you spat.

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

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

“Well─”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Everything alright there?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You couldn’t agree more.

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

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

You gave a small nod.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blinked. “Do you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You closed the space.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yet, you still went to bed alone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The expression on his face stopped you cold.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The world tipped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A beat.

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

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

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

“And what about you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And with it, everything else.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eventually, it came.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why not?”

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oscar’s lips thinned. “Fine. Busy.”

“That’s good.”

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

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

“I’m glad.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And did they?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But that’s not what he did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So… what do we do now?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I wonder whose fault it is, Oscar.”

“I’m just saying, I─”

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

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

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

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

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

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

[phiniusandjelly]

Vaguely inspired by that one post where Danny gets summoned by the JL and keeps throwing his shoes and stuff at them bc HE might not be able to leave the summoning circle but his clothes sure can!

I think the twist for that was that the circle doesnt effect him at all because hes a halfa and he was just goofing with the JL.

But imagine if the summoning and containment WORKED.

Like, he gets summoned and its startling, but once he realizes hes been summoned hes mostly annoyed.

Its a school night! He has work to do! Sure he wasnt DOING it, but it was still a possibility!

And hes trying to banter with the JL. Which for him just means being vaguely-obnoxious-but-somewhat-charming.

But then he tries to leave.

Maybe hes worried about his friends reaction to seeing him disappear.

Maybe the JL are saying some anti ghost/demon/whatever they think he is nonsense.

Maybe he changed his mind about doing that homework.

But either way, it doesnt work.

He drags his hand along the edge of the spell. It doesnt give, and he realizes hes not sure what this spell is supposed to do.

Its all along the floor beneth him, he cant fly through the floor.

He tries to get away from the walls and floor, worried whatever spell makes up the container can be triggered to hurt him or brainwash him or SOMETHING.

Its not his best guest, but he has never been summoned before, at least not with this type of barrier, and he doesnt know what to expect.

He barely gets a few feet off the ground when he hits the spells invisible roof.

And he is trapped.

And now this fourteen year old child is caged in a room with clearly dangerous adult strangers.

After hes been more or less kidnapped.

He’s suddenly regretting insulting them.

And its not his first time beimg kidnapped. Or his first time being in danger in general (obviously).

but its usually some ghost! Or Vlad “Loser, I hardly know her!” Masters!

Both of whom explain literally everything they plan in long ass evil monologues! It usually takes danny five minutes tops to learn their entire life story Dr Doofenshmirtz style!

He knows most of them personally! They hang out sometimes! Heck! even the local ghost hunters are either literally related to him or someone he’s dated!

He knows their powersets, their strengths, their weaknesses.

Most importantly, he knows their goals

But now hes trapped. In a room of clearly superpowerd strangers. With magical abilities strong enough to trap him for real.

And has no idea what they want

And Danny just freezes up

This could be super angsty if the JL were told that he was evil and think his panic + young features are only done to manipulate them.

You can also add angst with a language barrier/translation issue

I imagine the JL would be trying to get information about ghosts/ are trying to get someone to fight a villain they can’t defeat

Its going to scare the shit out of Danny either way- like imagine fourteen year old you gets kidnapped by strangers and they start asking you about your weaknesses or say they will only let you out if you agree to fight this monster.

And if Danny doesnt know this villain or how tf hes going to fight them he might feel like hes being sent off to get his ass kicked.

I can just imagine Danny being told he has to fight this supervillain and being like “…if i like..die…trying to fight this guy…what are you going to do with my body? Like will you send me home? Cause my family will freak if my corpse is teleported into the living room”

JL would not be happy about any of his responses.

Im begging someone to write this please have a nice day