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cressidagrey · 2 months ago

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Netflix Suffers

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

Summary: Netflix suffers through quietly private Oscar for 2 and a half whole seasons of Drive to Survive.

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

(divider thanks to @saradika-graphics )

FEBRUARY 2022

🗂️ FILE: Netflix DTS SEASON 5 - Notes

SUBJECT: Oscar Piastri

AUTHOR: Emily Kingsley (Producer)

New talent, F2&F3 champ, Alpine reserve – strong potential for screen time once on the grid. Quiet but smart. Needs camera time to build profile. Likely to debut in 2023.

Approach for low-key content – i.e., “day in the life” while in reserve role. Ideal filming locations: Enstone, coffee shop, sim work, etc. (NO home shoot yet, build trust first.)

***

📩 EMAIL

From: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>

To: Production Team DTS

Subject: [CONFIDENTIAL] Driver Profiles – Oscar Piastri

We should absolutely start tracking Oscar Piastri content.

Even if he’s just the reserve driver this year, the hype around him is ridiculous. Also, Alpine won’t stop talking about “the future.” He’s calm on camera, photogenic, and his stats in F2 were insane. I don’t think he has the ‘media darling’ vibe yet, but maybe that’s the charm?

(Also, if he ever opens up, I think we’ll find something really good there.)

***

MARCH 2022

📩 EMAIL

From: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>

To: Mark Webber <[email protected]>

Subject: Oscar — Filming Availability?

Hi Mark,

Hope you’re well — I wanted to reach out regarding some potential filming time with Oscar in the next few weeks. We’re spotlighting the Alpine Academy as part of a talent pipeline feature for Drive to Survive, and Oscar’s obviously central to that.

We’d love to do something a little more personal, maybe in Australia if he’s home during the race weekend? Just informal stuff — walks along the coast, cooking dinner, time with the family.

Would he be open?

Best, Emily

***

📩 EMAIL

From: Mark Webber <[email protected]>

To: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>

Subject: Oscar — Filming Availability?

Hey Emily,

Appreciate the ask. Just a heads up: Oscar’s not big on the personal angle. He’ll do talking heads, training shots, maybe some light garage footage, but filming in Aus is a no.

He won’t budge on that.

Cheers, Mark

***

APRIL 2022

🗂️ FILE: Netflix DTS SEASON 5 - Notes

SUBJECT: Oscar Piastri

AUTHOR: Emily Kingsley (Producer)

Piastri’s still cagey. Got him for like 10 seconds in the Alpine motorhome. Media-trained within an inch of his life. Never says more than necessary. No mention of family, background, anything. I swear he arrives and vanishes like a ghost.

***

MAY 2022

📩 EMAIL

From: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>

To: Mark Webber <[email protected]>

Subject: Filming Opportunity

Hey Mark,

Quick question—do you think Oscar would be open to a short sit-down segment before the summer break? Just a few minutes of reflection on the reserve role, how he’s prepping for the future. We wouldn’t push anything personal.

Best, Emily

***

📩 EMAIL

From: Mark Webber <[email protected]>

To: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>

Subject: Re: Alpine Segment

Hi Emily, Oscar appreciates the ask but he’s going to pass. Head down for now.

He’s not the “talk it out on camera” type.

Cheers, Mark

***

AUGUST 2022

📩 EMAIL

From: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>

To: Production Team DTS

Subject: What

Update: Alpine just announced Oscar Piastri as their 2023 driver.

Two hours later… Oscar publicly denied it.

We’re pivoting this entire storyline.

Please prep:

New B-roll

Emergency reaction interviews

A very patient attitude

God help us.

— Emily

***

📩 EMAIL

From: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>

To: Mark Webber <[email protected]>

Subject: URGENT: Oscar Piastri Content Opportunity

Hi Mark,

We’re obviously across the Alpine press release and Oscar’s... shall we say... firm rebuttal. I know it’s a delicate situation (understatement), but from a Drive to Survive perspective, this is GOLD.

Would Oscar be willing to do a sit-down? Nothing invasive, just some general footage — his perspective on the announcement, what he can and can’t say, maybe a voiceover? We could shoot it neutral — no team gear, simple setting, even his flat or somewhere casual?

Fans are already going wild. This is the biggest off-track story since Ricciardo to Renault. We don’t need the dirt — just a moment of “this is what it felt like from my side.”

Timing-wise, we’d want to film this week. Please let me know.

All best, Emily ***

📩 EMAIL

From: Mark Webber <[email protected]>

To: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>

Subject: RE: URGENT: Oscar Piastri Content Opportunity

Hi Emily,

Thanks for reaching out.

Understand where you’re coming from — and yeah, it’s certainly been a lively 48 hours.

That said: Oscar’s not going to film anything right now. He’s focusing on keeping his head down and letting the CRB process play out. Legal is involved, as I’m sure you can imagine.

Also, he's not keen on filming at home. Ever.

Will keep you posted if anything changes, but I wouldn’t hold your breath.

Best, Mark

***

📩 EMAIL

From: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>

To: Oscar Piastri <[email protected]>

CC: Mark Webber <[email protected]>

Subject: Quick Touch Base – Re: Statement Footage

Hi Oscar,

Just wanted to reach out personally and say we’re all very impressed by how gracefully you’re handling everything — not an easy situation.

If you’re open to it, we’d love to get a short piece to camera — even something as simple as your thoughts on what it’s been like these past few days. We can keep it high-level. No legal landmines, I promise.

Totally understand if now’s not the time. Just thought I’d ask directly.

Hope you’re well, Emily

***

📩 EMAIL

From: Oscar Piastri <[email protected]>

To: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>

CC: Mark Webber <[email protected]>

Subject: RE: Quick Touch Base – Re: Statement Footage

Hi Emily,

Thanks for the kind words.

I’d prefer not to be filmed right now. Nothing personal — just trying to keep things quiet while everything gets sorted.

Appreciate you checking in though.

Best, Oscar

***

INTERNAL NETFLIX SLACK THREAD: #DTS-production

Emily: Okay, so… Oscar very politely said no. Again. Mark also said no. I swear, they are a unified front of chill, lawyered-up silence. Which, okay, fine — but this is the most dramatic moment in F1 driver contract history and we’re filming damn car factories.

Emily: Also, quote of the week from Mark:“He’s not keen on filming at home. Ever.” What does he do at home? Stare at walls? Garden in secret? Marinate in contractual ambiguity?

Jason: I don’t think he even has a home. He might just unplug at the back of the simulator when no one’s looking.

Laura: Honestly, I’d believe that.

***

📩 EMAIL

From: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>

To: Production Team DTS

Subject: Oscar Piastri Situation – Emergency Pivot #2

Oscar has signed with McLaren. Alpine is pissed. The internet is on fire.

We absolutely need to feature this in the next season. Please prepare:

Voiceover drafts for "F1’s biggest contract twist"

New graphics

Backup plans for literally everything

He’s still refusing to be filmed outside of team facilities. I asked for a reaction clip — he said “no comment”.

This is going to be painful.

— E.

***

📩 EMAIL

From: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>

To: Oscar Piastri <[email protected]>

CC: Mark Webber <[email protected]>

Subject: Okay, but hear me out

Hi Oscar, Totally respect your privacy—promise! But with everything happening, the contract, the Alpine/McLaren tug-of-war—this could be a defining story moment. Even just five minutes of your thoughts would mean so much.

We can do it on neutral ground. In a field. A parking lot. A hallway. You don’t even have to sit.

Please? Best, Emily

***

[NO REPLY]

***

📩 EMAIL

From: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>

To: Production Team DTS

Subject: Filming Opportunity

I don’t even know which team to email anymore.

Alpine says he’s theirs.

Oscar says “no.”

I asked for an interview — even off-record. He said “not until everything is settled.” And he meant it.

At this point I’m tempted to just film Mark’s facial expressions and stitch a narrative together from that.

Oscar is cool as a cucumber and somehow still tells me nothing.

***

SEPTEMBER 2022

📱Text Message – Emily Kingsley -> Mark Webber

Emily: Hey — is Oscar open to a small sit-down to talk about his career path? Nothing contract specific.

Mark: He’ll do a brief neutral one, but no questions about Alpine or McLaren. And no “fun behind-the-scenes” stuff. Just racing.

***

DECEMBER 2022

📩 EMAIL

From: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>

To: Production Team DTS

Subject: Oscar Piastri – Summary of 2022 Access

All personal/home/family requests denied.

No on-location filming allowed outside official team appearances.

Only gave us 2 usable soundbites and one very neutral post-contract interview.

Refuses to discuss “loyalty” or “betrayal” — insisted “it’s just contracts.”

Tried to bribe cameraman with coffee to stop filming.

Did not laugh at any of my jokes.

Conclusion: Oscar Piastri is the single most media-resistant driver we’ve ever had.

Future suggestion: If he ever lets us film at home, there’s either been a major personality change… or he’s hiding something.

(Honestly starting to bet on the second one.)

— Emily

***

FEBRUARY 2023

📩 EMAIL

From: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>

To: Sophie Ogg <[email protected]>

Subject: Oscar Piastri Filming Access (Clarification)

Hi! Just checking again on the possibility of doing a “rookie spotlight” feature with Oscar. Something simple: breakfast, drive to the track, post-race reflection? We can be as unobtrusive as needed.

Let me know what he’s comfortable with!

Thanks, Emily

***

📩 EMAIL

From: Sophie Ogg <[email protected]>

To: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>

Subject: RE: Oscar Piastri Filming Access (Clarification)

Hi Emily,

Oscar is happy to participate in behind-the-scenes filming at the track, during media day, or at the McLaren Technology Centre (MTC). He’s not comfortable with at-home or family-based filming at this time.

We’ll loop you in when he’s scheduled for a sim session or debrief we can film.

Best, Sophie

***

🗂️ FILE: Netflix DTS SEASON 5 - Notes

SUBJECT: Oscar Piastri

AUTHOR: Emily Kingsley (Producer)Production Log – Episode Notes: Oscar Piastri Rookie Year (Draft)

All track footage cleared.

MTC sim session + papaya feature: ✅

Emotional arcs = ??

No family interviews, no at-home footage, no old footage allowed.

Oscar is friendly, professional, and zero drama.

***

MARCH 2023

📩 EMAIL

From: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>

To: Oscar Piastri <[email protected]>

CC: Mark Webber <[email protected]>

Subject: DTS Filming Requests – Oscar Piastri

Hi Oscar,

Thanks again for letting us tag along during media day in Bahrain. Really appreciated your patience with the cameras—and the boom mic guy stepping on your shoelace.

As discussed, we’d love to schedule a small sit-down interview for the Melbourne episode. Maybe something reflective, personal—“Coming Home” kind of vibe?

We’re thinking your old karting track, maybe your parents’ place if they’re comfortable?

Let me know what works!

Best, Emily

***

📩 EMAIL

From: Oscar Piastri <[email protected]>

To: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>

CC: Mark Webber <[email protected]>

Subject: Re: Re: DTS Filming Requests – Oscar Piastri

Hi Emily,

Thanks for the email. Glad the crew got everything they needed.

Appreciate the idea—but I’d prefer not to film anything personal around Melbourne, if that’s okay. I’m happy to do more McLaren-based interviews, behind-the-scenes from the garage, prep footage, etc.

Thanks for understanding.

Best, Oscar

***

📩 EMAIL

From: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>

To: Mark Webber <[email protected]>

Subject: Request Re: Australia GP Segment

Hi Mark,

We’d really love to get Oscar into a segment for the Melbourne GP this year — something personal, local, that grounds him a bit. Maybe a visit to his childhood kart track? A walk around his hometown? Even just some shots with family, if they’re comfortable? It’d add great context.

Best,

Emily

***

📩 EMAIL

From: Mark Webber <[email protected]>

To: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>

Subject: Re: Request Re:Australia GP Segment

Hi Emily,

Appreciate the thought. It’s a no for the hometown and the family.

He’s not being difficult. He just values his privacy more than most.

Cheers, Mark

***

📩 EMAIL

From: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>

To: Mark Webber <[email protected]>

Subject: Re: DTS Feature Ideas – Oscar Piastri

Hi Mark,

We would love to film some home content with Oscar while he's in Australia. Fans are eager for more of his personality and background, especially given how impressive his rookie season is shaping up to be.

Would he be open to filming in Melbourne with his family? Even just an afternoon BBQ or a sit-down with his parents? We can keep it light and casual.

Let me know! Best, Emily

***

📩 EMAIL

From: Mark Webber <[email protected]>

To: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>

Subject: Re: Re: DTS Feature Ideas – Oscar Piastri

Hey Emily,

Appreciate the enthusiasm, but that’s still going to be a no from Oscar.

He’s been clear since the beginning: no filming with family, and definitely not at his house.

You can try asking again, but between you and me? Won’t change his mind.

Cheers, Mark

***

📱Text Message – Emily Kingsley -> Oscar Piastri

Emily: Hey Oscar! Just wanted to check if you’ve reconsidered filming a short segment in Australia? A lot of the younger guys have had great feedback from showing a bit of their life at home.

Oscar: Appreciate the offer, but that’s a no from me.

Emily: Not even a beach walk? A café? A dog? You don’t even have to speak.

Oscar: Still no.

***

📩 EMAIL

From: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>

To: Production Team DTS

Subject: Oscar Piastri – Personal Storyline Attempts

Notes:

Reached out 3 times for Australia-based filming. All rejected.

Mark Webber confirms this is standard.

Oscar is exceedingly polite but very firm on privacy.

Refuses family involvement. Refuses filming at home. Declined filming with childhood photos or karting footage unless pre-approved.

No girlfriend, parents, or siblings allowed on screen.

“Keeps things boring on purpose” — per one of McLaren’s PR guys.

***

APRIL 2023

📩 EMAIL

From: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>

To: Production Team DTS

Subject: Rookie Coverage – Piastri

Team,

Oscar Piastri is officially the most confusing human being I’ve ever tried to film.

We are four races in. He’s:

Scored points.

Been praised by everyone from Lando Norris to freaking Fernando Alonso.

Referred to as “a robot with a perfect driving line” on Reddit.

And he still won’t film anything outside the paddock. Not even a coffee run. Not even a “walk-and-talk” through the McLaren motorhome.

He said — and I quote — “The racing should be the interesting part.”

I need an aspirin.

— Emily

***

MAY 2023

📱Text Message – Emily Kingsley -> Oscar Piastri

Emily: What about a day-in-the-life shoot? Just a few shots at your apartment, packing your helmet, chatting over coffee?

Oscar: I don’t drink coffee.

Emily: Tea?

Oscar: Still no.

Emily: A silent montage of you sitting on the couch?

Oscar: No thanks.

***

JUNE 2023

🗂️ FILE: Netflix DTS SEASON 5 - Notes

SUBJECT: Oscar Piastri

AUTHOR: Emily Kingsley (Producer)

Asked Oscar directly in the paddock. Said (verbatim): “I’m just here to race. I’m not really into the storytelling stuff.”

Said it politely. Somehow made me feel bad for asking.

He’s 22 and already gives media-trained veteran energy.

No public drama. No family content. No home content. Not even a cat. What is he hiding?

***

📩 EMAIL

From: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>

To: Oscar Piastri <[email protected]>

CC: Mark Webber <[email protected]>

Subject: Mid-Season Filming Plans – DTS

Hi Oscar,

Just circling back on upcoming storylines—we’d love to get a personal angle in the Silverstone episode. Maybe something about how the transition to McLaren has affected your day-to-day?

Let me know if there’s any setting or topic you would be comfortable with. Even something low-key, like lunch with friends or your sim setup at home.

Hope the triple-header isn’t wearing you down too much.

Best, Emily

***

📩 EMAIL

From: Oscar Piastri <[email protected]>

To: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>

CC: Mark Webber <[email protected]>

Subject: Re: Mid-Season Filming Plans – DTS

Hi Emily,

Thanks again—really appreciate the thought and planning. I’m good with filming at McLaren, any sim stuff can be done there too. Just no home filming, please.

Best, Oscar

***

JULY 2023

📩 EMAIL

From: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>

To: Zak Brown <[email protected]>

Subject: Oscar Piastri - Filming Permission Request

Hi Zak,

We’re hoping to film some light content with Oscar off-track — nothing invasive, just lifestyle b-roll. Maybe a post-race decompress scene? It’s for his rookie arc.

He’s been polite, but firm: no house, no “at home,” no background info, no family questions. It’s like trying to film a hologram.

Would appreciate your support in encouraging him — he’s a huge part of this season.

Thanks, Emily

***

📩 EMAIL

From: Zak Brown <[email protected]>

To: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>

Subject: Re: Oscar Piastri - Filming Permission Request

Hey Emily,

Appreciate the hustle, but Oscar’s...let’s say “particular.” Doesn’t like cameras unless he’s in the car or on the grid.

We’ve all tried. Even Lando gave up.

Keep doing your best — and don’t take it personally. That kid keeps his world very locked down.

***

SEPTEMBER 2023

📩 EMAIL

From: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>

To: Production Team DTS

Subject: Rookie Year – Piastri Workaround

Still no home footage.

Still no family mentions.

Still no idea what this man does outside of racing and eating bananas.

BUT:

He said we can film a sit-down if it’s in a neutral hotel room, lasts no more than 12 minutes, and avoids questions about “loyalty,” “controversy,” or “anything that sounds like a TikTok thirst trap.”

He did blink when I asked about his support system, so... possible crack in the armor?

Still suspicious about why he’s so protective of home life. My bet: secret girlfriend.

Emily

***

📱Text Message – Emily Kingsley -> Oscar Piastri

Emily: Okay, totally off the record — is there a reason you’re so locked down about your personal life?

Oscar: Probably.

Emily: That’s not an answer.

Oscar: Still true.

Emily: Come on, even Lando lets us film his kitchen. Just one little peek into home life?

Oscar: There’s nothing interesting there.

Emily: I don’t believe you.

***

OCTOBER 2023

📩 EMAIL

From: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>

To: Mark Webber <[email protected]>

Subject: Oscar Piastri - Filming Permission Request

Mark.

I will buy you a very nice bottle of wine if you just tell me why Oscar is so secretive. Is he secretly a monk? Is there a bunker full of cats?

I’m not trying to pry. I just want to make good television.

Please.

Emily

***

📩 EMAIL

From: Mark Webber <[email protected]>

To: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>

Subject: Re: Just Tell Me Why

Ha.

Emily, he’s not hiding scandal, if that’s what you’re worried about. He just keeps things close. Always has. Family, relationships, the whole deal.

You won’t get him to change his mind unless he decides to. Trust me.

Cheers

Mark

***

DECEMBER 2023

📩 EMAIL

From: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>

To: Production Team DTS

Subject: End-of-Season Wrap – Oscar Piastri

Final access level:

Filmed: 2 interviews, 4 race weekends, 0 personal segments.

Declined: 12 off-track requests.

Quotes of the year: “I don’t think that’s relevant,” “Not today,” and “No thanks.”

Still no footage of:

His apartment

His family

Literally anything that tells us he’s a human being and not a polite race-bot

Final verdict: He’s hiding something. I just have no idea what. Yet.

— Emily

***

JANUARY 2024

📩 EMAIL

From: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>

To: Production Team DTS

Subject: Piastri Segment – “Still Nothing” Update

Team,

We’re heading into Season 6 planning, and in case anyone had delusions of cracking Oscar Piastri this year, here’s a little refresher of how the last few weeks went:

Team McLaren OK’d filming around the garage, factory, even a simulator session.

Oscar OK’d a sit-down interview, as long as the topics were racing, racing, and also racing.

Oscar absolutely, categorically, politely said “no thank you” to anything involving:

His home

His background

His personal life

His off-track activities

Any “day in the life” filming

Every single “soft” question we attempted (ex. “What’s your go-to comfort food?” led to: “Whatever Bees likes—sorry, I mean—whatever I feel like.”)

He nearly had a stroke when someone asked if he had a pet.

We’re still in the dark. I don’t know what’s going on. But I know it’s not nothing.

— Emily

***

📩 EMAIL

From: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>

To: Oscar Piastri <[email protected]>

CC: Mark Webber <[email protected]>

Subject: DTS Season 6 – Early Shoot Availability Hi Oscar,

Hope you’re doing well and had a restful off-season! We’re lining up some early-season shoots with returning drivers and wanted to check if you’d be available for a quick segment in February.

Nothing invasive — just a casual piece on how you spent the break, training routines, and maybe a few reflections from home. Could be in Monaco, or if you’re back in Australia—

Best, Emily

***

📩 EMAIL

From: Oscar Piastri <[email protected]>

To: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>

CC: Mark Webber <[email protected]>

Subject: RE: Filming Opportunity

Hi Emily,

Thanks for reaching out. Appreciate the offer, but I’ll pass on the home segment.

Happy to do something at the track during pre-season testing though.

Regards, Oscar

***

FEBRUARY 2024

INTERNAL NETFLIX SLACK THREAD: #DTS-production

Emily: Oscar deflected a “What do you like to do in your free time?” with “Tidy the garage.”

Jason: That’s so serial killer coded.

Emily: He said he’s “too boring for Netflix.” With a straight face. I know he’s hiding something.

Owen: Secret girlfriend?

Laura: Or has a dog named after a politician. Or something. No one is this allergic to personal questions unless they’re deeply interesting.

***

MARCH 2024

📩 EMAIL

From: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>

To: Oscar Piastri <[email protected]>

CC: Mark Webber <[email protected]>

Subject: Drive to Survive – Post-Race Australia Segment?

Hi Oscar, Congrats on surviving the Melbourne media gauntlet.

We were wondering if you'd be open to filming a short post-race reflection scene in Australia. Could be something casual—coffee with a friend, walk around a local kart track, even something at home if you're comfortable. We’d love to highlight the “local kid comes home” angle.

Let us know. We're flexible on format and timing!

Best, Emily

***

📱Text Message – Oscar Piastri → Mark Webber

Oscar: Did you see Emily’s email? Again with the home filming ask.

Mark: You know the drill. Smile, say thanks, say no.

Oscar: Smiled. Said thanks. Said no.

***

📩 EMAIL

From: Oscar Piastri <[email protected]>

To: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>

CC: Mark Webber <[email protected]>

Subject: Re: Drive to Survive – Post-Race Australia Segment?

Hi Emily, Appreciate the note and the kind words.

I’d prefer to keep any filming this season within the McLaren environment or at-track settings. I’m not comfortable including personal locations or relationships in the show at this stage.

Thanks again for understanding.

Best, Oscar

***

INTERNAL NETFLIX SLACK THREAD: #DTS-production

Emily: Oscar Piastri is the politest stone wall I’ve ever met.

Owen: We got nothing personal from his Australia weekend?

Emily: He let us film one (1) shot of him walking into the paddock in the rain. Incredible cheekbones. Zero content.

Jason: I tried asking him about his life outside the sport and he hit me with a “I’m focused on the team and the car this season.” Man’s media-trained like a royal.

Emily: I swear he has an underground bunker where his personality lives.

***

📩 EMAIL

From: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>

To: Mark Webber <[email protected]>

Subject: Just Checking In Again

Hi Mark, I know I sound like a broken record, but we’d really love to get a bit more personal access with Oscar this season—maybe even just a sit-down interview off-track, something with a bit more narrative depth.

We’re not trying to push. But it feels like there’s a story we’re missing.

Emily

***

📩 EMAIL

From: Mark Webber <[email protected]>

To: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>

Subject: Re: Just Checking In Again

Hey Emily, Appreciate the persistence. But as I said back in '22—if he hasn’t offered it, he won’t. Oscar keeps his circle tight and his cards closer. It’s not a slight. It’s just how he’s built.

Cheers, Mark

***

APRIL 2024

📩 EMAIL

From: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>

To: Mark Webber <[email protected]>

Subject: Quick sanity check

Hi Mark, Sorry to bother you—just wanted to check if there’s any movement on Oscar maybe letting us do a more personal feature. Doesn’t even have to be Australia. A glimpse into his life off-track, maybe a cooking scene or something with friends?

We keep getting polite refusals, and I just want to make sure we’re not missing a scheduling window or an angle he would be comfortable with.

Appreciate the help. Emily

***

📩 EMAIL

From: Mark Webber <[email protected]>

To: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>

Subject: Re: Quick sanity check

Hi Emily, You’re not missing anything. He’s just not going to do it.

Oscar’s private life is exactly that—private. Always has been. Always will be. Take it from me: if he hasn’t agreed by now, he’s not going to.

Cheers, Mark

P.S. Don’t take it personally.

***

INTERNAL NETFLIX SLACK THREAD: #DTS-production

Laura: I JUST SAW THE CLIP.

Emily: guys

Emily: GUYS

Emily: OSCAR IS MARRIED

Josh: huh?

Josh: LIKE ACTUALLY? was this announced?

Emily: YES. 10 MINUTES AGO. FAN STAGE. LIVE.

Emily: Lando had a SPIRITUAL CRISIS on stage

Josh: pls tell me we have the rights to that footage

Josh: pls

Naomi: I’m already scrubbing the audio

Naomi: it’s Oscar saying “10/10. would always marry her again.” while Lando combusts

Naomi: Oscar dropped a wife reveal like it was lap data

Emily: I HAVE SPENT TWO YEARS TRYING TO FILM THIS MAN’S HOME LIFE

Emily: HE SAID NO. EVERY TIME.

Emily: AND HE WAS MARRIED THE WHOLE TIME

Emily: MARRIED.

Emily: WITH A WHOLE ASS WIFE.

Laura: He said "at home. On the bed." That man is accidentally romantic. Is he okay?? Are we okay??

Tom: Compiling top fan tweets now. Lando screaming "YOU HAVE A WIFE?!" is our new episode cold open.

Owen: Also, is it true Nicole Piastri only found out after the wedding? Because that’s... incredible.

***

📩 EMAIL

From: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>

To: Production Team DTS

Subject: URGENT: PIASTRI MARRIAGE REVEAL - DAMAGE CONTROL & CONTENT PITCH

Team,

Hi. I am going to scream into the sun.

Apparently, Oscar Piastri has been married since he was eighteen. He announced it casually at a live fan stage during a game of "Would You Rather."

I’m attaching the clip. Please note the moment where Lando nearly dies. That is not an exaggeration.

Key Details:

Oscar is married. Legally. Since age 18.

No one on our team knew. No one in the paddock seems to have known.

His wife is still unnamed. No photos. No social media. She’s basically an encrypted file.

Lando screamed “I’M YOUR FRIEND” and the internet is now in full nuclear meltdown.

I AM GOING TO LOSE MY MIND. This is the best story we never got. Five seasons of silence and he was SITTING ON A SECRET WIFE.

We had NO IDEA.

Immediate action items:

Get the footage — we need every angle of this meltdown. Lando spitting out his drink is already trending.

Contact McLaren PR — and offer our eternal sympathy. Also ask if Oscar is open to filming with his wife. (I'm laughing. But also crying. But mostly laughing.)

New season pitch update — working title: "The Mysterious Mrs. Piastri"

Figure out what else he’s hiding — goats? underground bunker? A baby??

I will personally be contacting Oscar. I have already made peace with the fact that he will say "no."

Emily

***

📩 EMAIL

From: James Landon (Post-Production)<[email protected]>

To: Production Team DTS

Subject: Oscar Segment - Recut Suggestions

Can we go back through the Season 5 footage and check for:

Any signs of a ring

Vague mentions of "someone"

Literally ANY CLUE

We might have to go full "true crime" voiceover: "The clues were there all along..."

***

📩 EMAIL

From: Legal <[email protected]>

To: Production Team DTS

Subject: Request for Contact - Mrs. Piastri

We will need:

Name

Signed release form

Any footage/photos if she's ever appeared accidentally

***

📩 EMAIL

From: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>

To: Mark Webber <[email protected]>

Subject: Can We Get Her On Camera?

Mark,

Any shot Oscar’s wife would be willing to do a sit-down? Even just audio? Silhouette? Shadow puppet reenactment?

Emily

***

📩 EMAIL

From: Mark Webber <[email protected]>

To: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>

Subject: Re: Can We Get Her On Camera?

Emily,

Felicity Piastri is as scary with power tools as she is with spreadsheets.

Your odds are low.

But hey, miracles happen.

Mark

***

📩 EMAIL

From: Hannah Gray <[email protected]>

To: Production Team DTS

Subject: Emergency Title Brainstorm - Oscar Episode

Options so far:

"The Mysterious Mrs. Piastri"

"The Quiet One"

"Marriage? I Hardly Knew Him!"

"Oscar and the Secret Life"

"How To Hide A Wife"

Open to pitches. (Also therapy.)

***

📩 EMAIL

From: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>

To: Sophie Ogg <[email protected]> , Zak Brown <[email protected]>, Andrea Stella <[email protected]>,

Subject: Netflix Inquiry — Episode Rights: Oscar Piastri Reveal

Hi Sophie, Zak, Andrea —

Hope you’re surviving the media spike after the fan stage.

We’d love to coordinate on messaging around Oscar’s marriage announcement. It seems to have caught the internet (and... Lando) by surprise, and obviously we'd like to be sensitive but thorough in our approach moving forward.

Can we please set up a time tomorrow to discuss:

Whether you’ve worked with Oscar’s wife in any media/brand capacities

Any upcoming content opportunities that include her

Name/pronunciation/bio for our internal briefings

Preferred narrative tone from McLaren’s side

Thanks in advance, Emily ***

📩 EMAIL

From: Sophie Ogg <[email protected]>

To: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]> , Zak Brown <[email protected]>, Andrea Stella <[email protected]>,

Subject: Netflix Inquiry — Episode Rights: Oscar Piastri Reveal

Hi Emily,

Thanks for reaching out.

To be entirely transparent with you… We didn’t know either.

Zak may have been aware, but the wider team (including PR) was very much in the same position as Lando: confused, betrayed, and on the verge of cardiac arrest.

We don’t have a name, a bio, or a backstory. We don’t even have a wedding date. There is apparently a whole wife who has been around for years. Since Oscar was in high school. We are still... adjusting.

So at this stage, we unfortunately can’t provide any of the materials you're requesting. We also do not currently have any brand involvement or photo access.

As of now, we have no official statement prepared. PR is regrouping. I cried.

Please give us a moment to breathe.

We’ll reach out to Oscar once he’s finished his debrief (and Lando stops yelling), and update you as soon as we can.

Best, Sophie ***

📩 EMAIL

From: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>

To: Oscar Piastri <[email protected]>

CC: Mark Webber <[email protected]>

Subject: Re: Just Following Up (About The Whole Secret Marriage Thing)

Hi Oscar,

I hope you’re well and had time to breathe after what was… arguably the most internet-breaking moment of the entire season.

To be direct: First, congratulations. Second, WHAT THE HELL. Third, would you be open to a quick follow-up filming session or even a private sit-down interview to elaborate a little more on today’s revelation? Just… anything, really.

It’s safe to say you’ve just ignited the most unexpected story arc of Drive to Survive Season 7, and we’d love to give it the justice it deserves. We can keep it tasteful. We can blur the wedding photos. We can film in shadows like a crime doc if you want.

Let me know your thoughts — or have your mystery wife get in touch if she wants to.

Warm regards (and mild panic), Emily

📩 EMAIL

From: Oscar Piastri <[email protected]>

To: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>

CC: Mark Webber <[email protected]>

Subject: RE: Filming Opportunity

Hi Emily,

Thanks for the congratulations. And sorry, I didn’t mean to cause… whatever that was.

To clarify:

Yes, I’ve been married since 2019.

No, we’re not filming anything at home.

No, we’re not filming my wife.

Happy to talk about racing, contracts, simulator work, car setup, or tire degradation. Private life is private, as always.

Best, Oscar

#formula 1 #f1 fanfiction #formula 1 fanfiction #f1 smau #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #f1 grid x reader #f1 grid fanfiction #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri #Oscar Piastri fic #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri imagine #op81 fic #op81 imagine

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jo-com · 2 months ago

Text

──★‧₊˚🖇️✩ MY DADDY!

Max Verstappen x Family

୨ৎ Summary: During a race weekend, Max shares a quick thank-you hug with the event organizer’s child. But their own toddler sees it—and instantly gets upset.

୨ৎ Genre: Cute and Adorable

୨ৎ Note: Doing some fluff cuz i write angsty stuff all the time. There are some grammatical errors, google translated dutch and this is also not proofread but hope y’all enjoy.

ARCHIVES ⭑.ᐟ

The paddock was alive with noise—mechanics rushing, cameras flashing, fans cheering from behind the barriers. It was just another race weekend, buzzing with excitement and chaos.

Amongst it all, there walked Max, along with Y/n and their daughter lily—who was holding onto his hands while the other held a small stuffed toy that he had recently bought her and was now her current favorite toy to bring.

The camera soon turned all their attention on them— capturing the small yet warm moment between the three.

Lily glanced around, her wide eyes meeting the curious stares surrounding them. Instead of shying away, she beamed a gentle smile and gave a cheerful wave with her tiny hands, still clutching her favorite toy. When she noticed a camera nearby, she tilted her head and smiled a little brighter, as if offering a quiet hello to whoever might be watching.

Max and Y/n shared a look of fondness as they saw the cute interaction. Grinning widely at their daughter’s antics.

…

Once they arrived at the Redbull hospitality, Lily was quick to rush towards to plop down at the couch, struggling slightly from the height.

“Want me to help you out baby?” Max spoke, his tone gentle like he always was with her. Not the serious and assertive one he always had on camera. No. It was something he reserved only for the two of you.

Lily shook her head. Determined. “No papa, I could do it”

You smiled from ear to ear as you crouched down besides her level. "Sure you don't want any help schatje?"

She stopped mid way and sighed deeply— as if gathering all her strength for one big moment—Her eyes glint with pure determination, trying once more to climb the couch.

Max stood there watching, a wide grin plastered on his face, as Lily successfully climbed onto the couch all on her own.

"See mama, told you i don't need help" she spoke— her tone laced with pride, the kind she inherited straight from Max.

He chuckled, crossing his arms as he watched her triumph. "That’s my girl," he said proudly. "A true Verstappen—stubborn, fearless, and always finishing what she starts."

...

Later that afternoon, Max was showing Lily around, pointing out cars and waving at familiar faces in the paddock, when one of the organizers approached, a friendly smile on his face and a young boy trailing beside him.

"Max! Hope we’re not interrupting," the man said warmly. "Thought I’d introduce my son—he’s a big fan."

Lily peeked up from behind Max’s leg, clutching her toy. The boy, a little older than her, gave a shy wave.

She looked back at him but not with the same energy. A flash of predatory gaze lingered on the poor boy.

Max laughed awkwardly as he scratched the back of his head. "Sorry, lily isn't usually like this."

"No it's fine, he can get a little bit shy too." The man said, waving off his hands assuringly.

The organizer smiled warmly. “Actually, Noah really wanted to take a picture with you, is that okay?” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and held it up.

Max chuckled, nodding. “It’s nice to know he’s a fan at such a young age—guess the racing bug really starts early.”

He gently took the phone from the organizer’s hands and crouched down beside Noah, wrapping an arm around him in a one-sided hug as he snapped the picture.

From the side, Lily stared with pure hurt. Her once cheeky smile turned into a scowl almost instantly. Without a thought she plunged forward and lightly pushed the kid.

"My Daddy!" she yelled, eyes blazing with jealousy.

Max’s eyes widened, clearly caught off guard. He quickly stepped between Lily and his son.

“Lily, what was that for?” Max asked gently, then glanced back over his shoulder at the boy, who looked startled but unharmed.

Max turned back to the organizer, an apologetic smile tugging at his lips. “I’m really sorry, she isn’t usually like this—I don’t know what came over her.”

The organizer gave a reassuring nod, kneeling down beside his son. “It’s alright. Kids will be kids. I’m just glad no one got hurt.”

He looked back at Lily, then Max, with a patient smile. “If anything, it just shows how much she cares. Sounds like she’s a true Verstappen—fierce, determined, and not afraid to stand her ground, just like her dad.”

Max let out a dry chuckle, waving goodbye to the organizer after apologizing once more before they leave.

...

He then gently took Lily’s hand and led her to a quieter spot away from the crowd. Crouching down so he was eye-level with her, he gave her a look that was both serious and soft.

“Lily,” he began, his voice calm but firm, “you can’t push people, even if you’re upset. That’s not how we show our feelings, okay?”

Lily huffed, arms crossing tight over her chest. “But he was trying to take you,” she said, her lower lip jutting out. “You’re my papa.”

Max sighed, trying to hide a smile. “I am your papa. And I always will be. But hugging someone or taking a picture doesn’t mean I’m not yours anymore.”

She looked away, grumbling under her breath, “Still looked like it.”

Max gently touched her chin to bring her gaze back to him. “It’s okay to feel jealous, but you have to use your words, not your hands. Got it?”

Lily’s shoulders slumped just a little. “Okay…” she mumbled, then added more clearly, “I’m sorry, Papa. I didn’t mean to be mean. I was just mad.”

Max’s face softened completely. He pulled her into a hug. “I know, Lil. And thank you for saying sorry. That’s really brave of you.”

She hugged him tightly, then leaned back and gave him a dead-serious look. “But he still can’t have you.”

Max blinked. “Oh?”

Lily nodded firmly. “Only I can hug you. ‘Cause I’m the boss.”

Max laughed, standing up as he ruffled her hair. “Yes, ma’am. Boss of me it is.”

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xcziel · 2 years ago

Text

not me trying to explain to everyone else at work that we need to put like an approximation of an armed guard on the jungkook standee once it's out on friday

#they're discounting all kpop an extra 10% for the weekend #well - excluding vinyls #but they don't give us display space so half of it is hidden away bc #the girlies keep ripping open the packaging to steal the inclusives and photo cards #my advice is check online to see if stores have what you want and reserve it before you go to a store #that saves you having to scramble around and instead the staff do it for you lol #but there's lots of older stuff so browsing isn't pointless - what we get is really weirdly unpredictable #obviously this only applies if you're in the us and aren't waiting on a pre-order to arrive #i think maybe we'll do a raffle on monday - ooh we can do it at the iron flame midnight party #surely there's some overlap in those audiences kekeke

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sbcdh · 17 days ago

Text

Professor Imanaga was scared. I don’t think he really understood what he saw.

Was he prone to visions?

No, not at all. I mean, not that I know of. I worked with him back in the 90s, when he was still writing The Final Republic. I did hypnoregulatory work for like half my professors, but I didn’t become friends with them. Professor Imanaga was different. He was always such a friendly, level-headed guy. You know, I don’t think he really understood what his book would do.

What it would do?

You know, all of it. Intellectuals don’t get attention like that. You might publish something that gets cited in congress. If you’re lucky, you might get interviewed on the news, but you don’t stick around. I don’t think Professor Imanaga was expecting to be –I dunno– elected? As the representative for Equilibralism.

Public attention can be stressful. How did he handle it?

I think he liked it, in his own way. He was used to talking in front of people, and he could handle an interview. Even back in the 90s he was the type of guy to answer “I don’t know” or “let me think about it.” He would start every conversation with “well, let us define our terms-” that sorta thing. He’s always had that whole thoughtful grandpa vibe. I think that’s part of why he handled the success of Final Republic so well.

I imagine the professor has a complicated relationship to his work.

Eh. I think he stands by the thesis. You gotta remember, he wrote Final Republic back in 94. The wall just fell. Everyone was liberalizing. Liberalizing and hypnoeconomizing. Before that, damn near every intellectual was saying that some system would eclipse liberal democracy. It really did seem like the future was gonna be liberal democracy hooked up to a hypnoeconomy. I don’t think he was wrong. The world is still mostly equilibral systems. Most people seemed to agree.

It must have been a strange time for him, getting so much attention as a professor.

Maybe? It was kinda sweet. He would call me every weekend and tell me stories of all the talk shows and panels and dinners he was asked to be on. Half the time I already saw them on TV, but it was nice to hear him talk. He was so excited! Sometimes he would even invite me as a plus-one when he needed a hypnoregulatory specialist. He was always more interested in the sociological side of things. He left the nitty-gritty of hypnoregulation to the doctorate students.

Dinners?

Oh yeah. People were always inviting him to stuff. You know one time, we were in Cambridge, just wandering around looking for a bite to eat. So we walked into some restaurant. Waiter asks if we have a reservation. We say no we don’t have a reservation. Hes about to turn us away when –get this– Henry fucking Kissinger walks up to professor Imanaga, shakes his hand, and invites him to come sit down for dinner with the owner of the restaurant! The whole time we just kept looking at each other like we just got a free ticket to Disneyland. Food was great too. Thats where he met Krauthammer.

That is journalist Charles Krauthammer?

Yeah. Pretty soon he was hanging out with all those guys. Kept inviting the professor to state dinners. Lotta country clubs. All that stuff. Every friday I’d get weekend updates about the people he met and who he was talking to. It was like getting a whole second education in American politics. He’d tell me how many politicians loved his book, how popular it was.

If I recall correctly, professor Imanaga has attempted to distance himself from Equilibralism as an ideology.

Oh he hates the term. He never used it himself. It was some columnist from the New Left Review who actually came up with it. The principle is more or less the same; liberal democracy hooked up to a hypnoregulated economy. Actually…no. Now that I think about it, he wouldn’t use the word hate. He would always say he “strongly disliked” stuff. He’d say equilibralism is imprecise. It implies a see-saw relationship rather than symbiotic relationship.

I see. What would you say turned the professor away from contemporary Equilibralism?

Iraq.

You sound very sure.

Iraq. He called me up one night. I think it was 2004. I think he had been crying. Like, he wasn’t crying on the phone, but he had been crying earlier. I’d never heard him like that before. Not until, well, you know. He told me about this dinner. He told me “They were all cheering.” you know, cheering for the war, for the whole new “unipolar” world. He said it was all one big blunder. He hasn’t talked to Wolfowitz or Cheney or any of those guys since.

I see.

I think it was, I dunno, sudden for him. It was a surprise. He sounded like he just learned an old friend had fallen off the wagon. Or like- Nah I dunno. I dunno. I can’t tell you what was in his mind. But he felt confused and betrayed. He said he was gonna head out to- Oh my god. Oh my god he said he was gonna go to his house in Reno.

Reno?

Yeah. He had a little desert ranch way out in Reno. He’d go out there in winter when he needed to relax. You know, I think- yeah. Yeah he invited me out for Christmas that year. I remember he didn’t seem 100%, but having people around seemed to help his mood. I remember it was late and we’d been drinking wine. Once the sun had set he asked me about religion.

Was he religious?

Well, thats the thing. He didn’t really go to church but his father was a minister. I was just surprised because he never talked about it. He never seemed remotely interested in religion. He never brought it up again I just- I think thats when he had his vision. He didn’t tell me until years later but I think thats when it happened. Oh my god, that’s when he must’ve wrecked his car too. It has to be. He told me he wrecked his car on the way to Reno.

Slow down. Start at the beginning.

Okay. Okay. I think, in February of 2004, Professor Imanaga goes to this dinner. It upsets him, and he wants to go out to his house in Reno to calm down. He totals his car and has a near-death experience. He sees something, but he keeps it quiet. Later he invites me to Christmas, and he tries to tell me but hes nervous about –I dunno– being seen as crazy? Then a few days ago, he left me a voicemail where he tells me the story. So I come to you people.

He didn’t tell his children? His wife?

No. I think…I think he was worried he would come off as crazy. And you know, I was his touchstone for hypnoeconomic matters. Its kinda intimate, doing someones taxes, its kinda like being in their brain.

Do you have the voicemail with you?

Yes, here give me a moment. Here.

“-eant to tell you a long time ago. It was early in the morning. The sun hadn’t come up yet. I was driving in from Tahoe and there was something in my headlights. It was some sort of reptile, a big fat iguana or something like that. I swerved to avoid it, and rolled the car bad.

I think I was thrown. The next thing I know, I was lying facedown in the dirt. I couldn’t feel a thing. To- to tell you the truth I thought I might’ve died. I could’ve sworn I wore my seatbelt. That was my first thought, honest. I could’ve sworn I wore my seatbelt. I never drive without it, but I was thrown clear. I think I was in shock. I couldn’t move, or speak, or call for help. All I could do was lay there and watch the car burn. But then-

I wasn’t thinking straight. I couldn’t have. But I remember it so clearly. Sitting there on the burning undercarriage. It was a lamb. It had a little golden bell around its neck like they have in cartoons, and it- I swear on my life it was smoking a cigarette. Just…balanced there in its little hoof. I remember it so clearly, like it’s still right there in front of me. Everything else is so hazy and the lamb just, isn’t.

It talked to me. It said –and I remember this clearly– It said “A storm is blowing from Las Vegas, Thomas. It’s blowing so hard the planes can only fly one way.” And it kept looking over its shoulder. I could see over its shoulder. There was nothing there! So I asked it. I asked “What are you looking at? What is back there?” And the lamb looked at me. I think it was crying. It looked at me and took a long drag on the cigarette and it said “Everything, Thomas.”

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Good god, its like I’m back there again. I’ve never told anyone about this. Not one. But I have to tell someone. The next thing I remember is the ambulance. The lamb was there. One of the paramedics was holding it like a child. It said “Don’t worry Thomas. You’ve done nothing wrong.” I- I don’t think I’ve done anything wrong. Have I done something wrong? I just don’t understand.

I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I thought this sort of thing would fade with age. But it hasn’t. It just hasn’t. I swear on my life this was the first and only time. That morning in the ambulance. That was the last time I ever dreamed like this.”

That’s where it ends.

Have you spoken with Professor Imanaga about this?

That’s part of why I came to you. Probably hasn’t hit the news yet. I went over to Thomas’s house just this morning. He passed last night. Peacefully, in his sleep.

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miaaaxxz · 19 days ago

Text

Unfinished Business | OP81

betrayal. silence. distance.

next part

summary: She was there when Oscar Piastri was Alpine’s hope, the quiet force everyone underestimated. When he left without a word, she was left to pick up the pieces. Now, years later, with Oscar leading the championship and tensions flaring, she’s sent to McLaren to smooth things over. But some stories don’t end, they just wait for the right moment to ignite.

pairing: oscar piastri x alpine strategist!reader

word count: 1.2k

You were already working at Alpine when he joined as reserve.

You weren’t in PR. You weren’t some junior. You were on the strategy development team, quietly rising, trusted for your insight especially in sim runs and long-term driver projections.

He was a rookie. Smart. Too quiet to be friendly, too precise to be ignored. You didn’t talk much, except for the occasional nod in the hall, or clipped briefings in pre-sim meetings.

But you noticed him. Everyone did.

Especially when, during quiet winter months, he stayed after sim sessions and asked questions no one else did. Smart ones. Stuff most people assumed was beyond his role. You never said it out loud, but you respected that.

Then came the contract drama. And just like that, he was gone.

No warning. Just press releases, lawyers, and silence.

You weren’t heartbroken.

But you were... insulted. Like none of the late nights, the investment, the belief, had meant anything.

જ⁀➴

Years later you’re still in the Alpine garage, headset on, focused on a tire strategy recalculation when someone calls your name.

“Heard the radio?” the engineer mutters under his breath. “Piastri’s got opinions.”

You glance up at the screen.

Oscar Piastri (radio):

"Alpine still finds ways to fuck me over, even after all these years."

You knew it would be a bad weekend the second his voice echoed through the paddock speakers.

It was the kind of radio message that gets printed on shirts before the checkered flag even drops.

Everyone around you went silent.And then they looked at you.

Because years ago, when Oscar Piastri was just a quiet reserve driver no one quite knew what to do with, you were the one who stayed late running data simulations for him. You were the one who told your boss, during a coffee-stained strategy meeting, “He’s worth the long game.”

He didn’t even say goodbye.Not when the McLaren contract dropped.Not when the drama unfolded.Not when you sat through media scrums, taking blow after blow like Alpine personally wronged him.

And now? Now he was leading the championship.

And still talking about Alpine.

So when the team principal asked to "borrow you" for a task, you already knew where you were going.

જ⁀➴

The door clicks shut behind you and the atmosphere inside is completely opposite to what you left in the Alpine garage.

Bright lights. Easy laughter. Glasses clinking. McLaren’s just pulled off a 1–2 finish. The place feels like a winner’s circle disguised as a lounge.

And yet… as you step in, the noise dips just slightly. Enough for you to feel the shift.

You’re wearing Alpine on your chest, and the tension in the room wraps around your shoulders like a second jacket.

Oscar is there.

Leaning against a high table, talking to one of the engineers.He sees you. Doesn’t react.

Lando is across the room, mid-laugh with someone.

And Zak Brown is already moving toward you, glass of champagne in one hand, napkin in the other.

“Y/N” he says, friendly, but cautious. “Didn’t expect to see you up here.”

You offer a nod. “Wasn’t exactly planned.”

Zak gestures toward the door behind him. “Look, if it’s about the radio message, I get it. We’ve already briefed media, and I’m happy to smooth it out with your comms team—”

“I’m not here to escalate,” you interrupt, calm but clear. “I don’t want to turn this into a bigger story than it already is.”

Zak raises an eyebrow. “Okay... so?”

You glance toward Oscar, then back at him. “I’d like to talk to him. Alone.”

He pauses. Clearly debating whether to ask why.

Then he nods. “You sure? I can help manage the tone—”

“No offense,” you cut in, polite, “but this doesn’t need management. I just want a word with Oscar.”

Zak hesitates again, then gives you a tight smile. “Alright. I’ll tell the boys to give you some space.”

You watch as he moves through the room with practiced ease, waving off a few photographers, nodding at Lando, then saying something low to Oscar before gesturing toward a quieter corner near the back wall.

Oscar’s expression doesn’t change much. He just gives a small nod and steps away from the group same smooth walk, same unreadable calm.

And just like that, you’re alone with him.

You cross your arms, steadying yourself.

“You really couldn’t help yourself, could you?”

Oscar lifts a brow. “You came all the way here to tell me that?”

You shake your head. “I came because they made me. Because you put Alpine in every headline today when you’re not even in our car.”

He doesn’t look smug. Or defensive. Just... tired.

“So say what you came to say,” he murmurs.

You swallow hard, pulse high, breath tight.

This isn't the conversation you imagined.

You cross your arms, leveling your voice even though everything inside you is wound tight.

“You need to stop dragging Alpine into your mess,” you say. “Radio or not, the media’s already eating it alive. "

Oscar just watches you, jaw tight.

“I get that you were frustrated. But you can’t keep throwing your old team under the bus every time something goes wrong. You left. We moved on.”

He blinks slowly. “Did you?”

You ignore the sting behind the question. “What you said wasn’t fair. And you know that.”

He finally speaks. Calm. Measured.

“Fair is being pushed off track by a team that ‘moved on’ from me and then being told I’m out of line for saying something.”

Your lips press into a thin line. “So you think that justifies blowing everything up mid-race?”

Oscar shrugs slightly. “I think if your drivers stopped sabotaging my races, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

You step closer, voice lower. “You don’t actually believe it was intentional.”

“I don’t believe in coincidences either,” he says, sharp now, something flickering in his eyes , not anger, exactly. Just... the edge of something heavier.

You pause, jaw tense. “You know what people are saying? That you’re still bitter. That you can’t let it go.”

He lifts his chin just slightly. “Maybe I’m just tired of pretending everything’s fine when it’s not.”

There’s a silence between you , taut, like a cable about to snap.

You break it, finally. “This isn’t about being ‘fine,’ Oscar. We’re not your story anymore.”

He holds your gaze. Unblinking. Then:

“I was never part of your story”

The line lands hard. Before you can figure out if it’s an accusation, a confession, or both he looks away, jaw clenched.

You inhale, steady. “I’m not here for drama.”

He doesn’t look at you when he replies. “Too late.”

The words hang in the air between you. Cold. Final.

You swallow hard and take a slow step back, blinking against the fluorescent light overhead.

You’re about to leave ,say something sharp, maybe, something to regain control of this whole unraveling mess ,when you hear a muffled cough.

Your eyes flick toward the hallway.

And there, about three feet away, awkwardly frozen behind the corner, is Lando.

Head tilted. Phone in one hand. A Kinder Maxi in the other.Very much not minding his business.

Oscar’s eyes narrow.

“Seriously?”

Lando lifts both hands like he’s innocent. “Look, in my defense, I thought you were breaking up.”

Oscar groans under his breath.

You stare. “We’re not—”

You stop yourself. Not worth clarifying.

Lando just grins. “Could’ve fooled me. The tension in here could melt the tire blankets.”

Oscar sighs. “Do you need something?”

“Nope,” Lando says brightly, already backing away. “Just grabbing a protein bar and accidentally walking into a very not team-friendly exchange.”

Then, grinning over his shoulder:

“You two have fun.”

next part

#f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 one shot #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fic #f1 fiction #formula one #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x you #op81 #op81 x reader #op81 x you #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 #oscar x reader

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camille-aurelie-deveraux · 2 months ago

Note

Hiii, beauty!

Could I please request some George content. His girlfriend is the secretary from Toto, so the two get to spend a lot of time together. Them being like Kimis parents and stuff.

Thank you so much and may God bless you!

Love is in the air

The hum of engines and the rhythmic chatter of paddock life was a comfort to Yn now. Years ago, when she’d first taken the job as Toto’s secretary, the sounds had been overwhelming—a tangle of chaos she hadn’t yet learned to decipher. Now, it was just background music to her world, the soundtrack to mornings spent typing schedules, coordinating interviews, and weaving through engineers with a clipboard in hand.

And then, of course, there was George.

She had been sixteen, a little more reserved, a little more unsure of herself when they met. He was seventeen, all bright smiles and boundless energy, already halfway in love with the world and very quickly, with her. Now, years later, as she passed through the garage clutching a coffee and a schedule, she felt the familiar tug on her waist.

"Gotcha," George whispered, his arm slipping around her and his hand shamelessly finding its way into her back pocket.

Yn didn’t stop walking. "George," she warned, though her voice betrayed her with the hint of a smile.

He matched her stride, completely unfazed. "What? Can’t I say hi to my girlfriend? In my defense, you walked right past me. That’s cruel, you know."

She raised a brow. "I have twenty minutes to organize Toto’s meeting with the FIA and get two media slots confirmed."

"Exactly twenty minutes to walk with me first." He leaned in to press a kiss to her temple, then her cheek, then finally landed one on her lips mid-step. It was a kiss that still made her heart skip despite knowing this boy—now man—for so many years.

"George," she warned again, although this time it was breathier. "I will spill this coffee."

"Risk I’m willing to take."

---

When Kimi joined Mercedes, it wasn’t a surprise. The whispers had been swirling for months—how the prodigious young talent would step up in 2025, the way he’d dominated F2, the way Toto’s eyes would light up every time someone brought up the name "Antonelli."

What was a surprise, though, was how quickly he became their kid.

"So...what do I even do at media day?" Kimi asked, nervously tugging at the collar of his team shirt. Yn was typing something out on her tablet while George leaned lazily against the garage wall, sipping his protein shake.

"You stand there, smile, say things like 'we’re looking forward to a good weekend,' and resist the urge to call the media stupid even when they ask stupid questions," Yn replied without missing a beat.

Kimi blinked. "What if they ask me about George’s skincare routine?"

George looked deeply offended. "That’s a very important question."

"Tell them," Yn added dryly, "that he uses my expensive serums without asking."

"They make me glow," George said, grinning.

Kimi looked between the two of them, exasperated. "You two are...weird."

"That’s code for adorable," George said smugly, bumping shoulders with Yn.

Yn gave Kimi a sympathetic pat on the back. "You’ll get used to us."

---

The dynamic settled fast. Kimi, just eighteen and still finding his voice, fell into the rhythm of the team under their watchful eyes. George, despite his teasing and golden retriever exuberance, took his role seriously. He shared tips, coached him through awkward media moments, and more than once lent him a pair of sunglasses and told him it was fine to cry after a bad race.

Yn, in her quieter way, always made sure Kimi had what he needed—snuck him snacks between briefings, reminded him to rest, and once, after a particularly rough qualifying, sat beside him in the hospitality unit and just...let him sit.

"It’s okay to not smile all the time," she said then, voice soft. "You don’t have to fake it."

Kimi hadn’t said anything, but later that night, he sent her a text: Thanks.

George saw the message flash on her phone. He didn't ask, just leaned over and kissed her shoulder. "You’re really good at that, you know."

"At what?"

"Loving people. Quietly."

She smiled, her black cat aura softening under his gaze. "One of us has to be subtle."

---

Their coupledom had become legend by now. Everyone on the grid knew about George and Yn—how she calmed his chaos, how he dragged her into it anyway, how they somehow balanced each other in a way that just made sense.

"Look at them," Pierre said one afternoon, nodding toward the pair walking through the paddock. George had his hand in her back pocket again, and Yn was reading something on her phone, completely used to his clinginess.

"One day she’s just gonna throw him over her shoulder and carry him out of here," Lando muttered.

"She could. She has that scary strength."

"And George would thank her."

Even Max, who rarely commented on anything remotely sentimental, had once said, "If they don’t get married, love is fake."

---

They didn’t talk about marriage much—not because it wasn’t on the table, but because it was just...a given.

"Do you ever think about the wedding?" George asked one night as they lay curled on the small sofa in their shared hotel room, post-race adrenaline finally wearing off.

"Sometimes," Yn admitted, her fingers combing through his hair. "Not in detail. Just...you. Me. Maybe Kimi giving a very awkward speech."

George chuckled. "He’d read it off his phone and accidentally open his Spotify."

"And then cry when he hears our first dance song."

"What is our first dance song?"

"I’m not telling you yet."

He pouted. "Tease."

"You’ll live."

He kissed her, gentle and slow. "Yeah. Especially with you."

🥰👨‍👩‍👦🥰👨‍👩‍👦🥰👨‍👩‍👦🥰👨‍👩‍👦🥰👨‍👩‍👦🥰👨‍👩‍👦🥰👨‍👩‍👦🥰👨‍👩‍👦🥰👨‍👩‍👦

Hello my lovely reader! I hope you had a lot of fun reading this little piece of art. I'm always so happy to receive some requests, so don't hesitate to send some!

Cami🥰👨‍👩‍👦

#f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #george russell x reader #carlos sainz x reader #charles leclerc x reader #lewis hamilton x reader #f1 x female reader #lando norris x reader #max verstappen x reader #kimi antonelli x reader #ollie bearman x y/n #cami #cami: creating stories and crafting worlds

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moonstruckme · 2 months ago

Note

Heyy this is my first time I'm requesting from you so I hope I'm doing this properly. I love your fics so much I literally always go to your profile since it's a comfort space for me. I had a flight today that I had to reschedule because I forgot to make an important document. Thankfully it only came to me having to reschedule the flight but I feel so bad cause I feel like I'm constantly forgetting important stuff and making mistakes and have people scramble around me to help fix it even if they tell me it's ok i feel so so bad. Can you write me a comfort fic around smthn like that? Marauders, anyone of them is fine or poly. Sorry if my request is too specific and thx!! 💜

Thanks for requesting angel <3

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

“Walk faster,” you call over your shoulder, laughing.

“Relax.” Sirius’ tone is scoffing. He refuses to quicken his pace down the sidewalk. “They’re not going to kick us out for being ten minutes late, you pest.”

“They might! It’ll be fifteen by the time we get there at this rate.”

“And if they do,” James says, catching up to you and throwing an arm around your shoulders, “you can tell them it was all Sirius’ fault.”

Sirius scoffs again, but it’s an amused sound. James can practically feel Remus’ fond look directed at your slow-moving boyfriend. You’re all in a good, sunshiney mood after spending a long afternoon at the park, teasing without bite and taking pauses for kisses in between quips. Your idea to make reservations at everyone’s favorite dinner spot, always too busy to walk into on a weekend night, was inspired; James’ heart feels as full as his stomach does empty. Nothing sounds better than tucking into a good meal and then spending the rest of the evening near comatose with all of you on the couch.

You’re twelve minutes late by the time you make it into the restaurant. (James wouldn’t have guessed, but you make a point to let Sirius know.) You give the hostess your name, and she begins searching for your reservation on her list.

“I apologize, it doesn’t seem we have you down here,” she says after a few moments.

You smile, sheepish (and adorable). “Yeah, we’re a bit late, sorry. The reservation was actually for seven.”

“Right.” The hostess glances over the list again, hesitating. “I don’t see your name here at all, I’m afraid.”

“Oh. Um.” You begin chewing your lip. James exchanges a look with Remus. “I’m sorry, can you check one more time? Just to be sure.”

The hostess is accommodating. She has you spell out your name, running through the list again before telling you again, remorsefully, that it’s not there.

“Is it possible you booked with our other location?” she asks you.

Any remnants of a smile drain from your face. Your eyes round out. “There’s another location?”

“Yes.” She gives you a thin smile. “We have one south of the river as well.”

“I had no idea,” you say, voice quieter than it had been.

“Me neither,” James chimes in in solidarity. You’re getting this look like you think you’re an island. Waiting to be attacked from all sides.

“Alright, that’s okay.” Sirius reaches over to squeeze your shoulder, sensing with the rest of them your rising embarrassment. “We’ll just go there, then. Thank you.” He shoots the hostess a winning smile and leads you back towards the door.

“I’m sorry,” you say as you go outside. “I had no—I didn’t think to check if there was more than one.”

“It’s fine.” James shoots you a smile. Remus is already on his phone finding the other location. “I wouldn’t have guessed there was another one either, lovely. But maybe it’ll be even better, yeah? We might end up crossing the river every time if we really love it.”

You look slightly comforted, but then Remus says, almost under his breath, “Oh.”

You slow your pace warily. “What?”

“Um.” He looks up from his phone, wincing like he doesn’t want to say. “It looks like the other location closes a bit earlier than this one. Even if they let us keep our reservation, I’m not very sure we’d make it, and with traffic…”

“Oh my god.” You bring a hand to your face, rubbing harshly above your brow. “I’m so sorry.”

“We can find somewhere else to eat around here,” Remus tries to placate you. “It’s not a problem. I think we’re all hungry enough that any food would be good, yeah?”

“Yes,” James agrees heartily.

You, however, remain put out. Your walk back to the car becomes a trudge, guilt thickening the air around you.

“Hey.” Sirius bumps your hip with his. “It’s fine, baby. Everything’s fine. We aren’t going to go hungry.”

“I know, I just…” You shake your head, gnawing cruelly on your lower lip. “I’m always messing this stuff up. I’m really sorry.”

James watches as Sirius’ brow creases defensively. Remus ducks to try and catch your eye. “What makes you say that, lovely? This could have happened to anyone.”

“It always happens to me, though,” you confess lowly. A moment later, you seem to change your mind, waving it away with forced lightness. “It’s fine. I’m just sorry.”

“It only happened to you because you were the one with the idea to make a reservation,” James points out. “We still wouldn’t have ended up with a table if you hadn’t done anything. It was just a little mistake.”

“Okay,” you say, but your voice is quiet. Your smile wan. “Where should we go?”

“Hey.” Sirius grabs your hand before you can get into the car. He pulls you into a hug. “Get over yourself, yeah?” he says, squeezing your middle. “Nobody’s upset with you. The same thing could have happened with literally any one of us. If you’d asked me to make the reservation, I would’ve known fuck all about there being more than one and done the exact same. So you’re off the hook, okay?”

“Okay,” you murmur again.

“That’s right,” says James, taking the opportunity of Sirius’ distraction to position himself closest to the passenger door. Remus sends him a knowing look from across the car. “If Sirius could have done it, it can’t be anything bad.”

“Precisely.” Sirius grins. He lets go of you but keeps you trapped with his hands on your shoulders, his eyes narrowing playfully. “Stop punishing yourself. No one is asking you to.”

You shrink a bit, shying in a way that’s difficult to avoid when Sirius makes his gaze all intense like that. Remus looks to be hiding a smile. “Okay,” you say for a third time, sounding like you mean it. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” Sirius lets you go, signaling for you to get in the car with a pat to your bum. “James, don’t think I don’t see you edging in on my seat there. Turn it around.”

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keirareidss · 3 months ago

Text

the ink on your skin - s.r

♡ summary: spencer is obsessed with his girlfriend's tattoos pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader wc: 1.1k

Spencer Reid had a thing for tattoos. Specifically his girlfriend's. One of his favorite pastimes was tracing them with his finger. Exactly what he was doing now.

He laid in bed, the early morning light peeking through the cracks in the blinds, painting the mattress in golden stripes. His deft fingertips traced the black ink decorating your skin. He followed the lines, recreating the intricate pattern with his touch.

"What are you doing?" Came a sleepy mumble from beside him. He looked up from your back, glancing towards where your face was buried into the plush pillow, arms curled underneath it. Your eyes were still closed but your face was turned towards him.

"Nothing. Sorry. Did I wake you?"

"No." You hummed, snuggling closer. "I dreamt about you."

"Really?" He asked, his fingers skimming down to the side of your thigh where another tattoo laid. He gently began tracing it. You weren't even sure if he knew he was doing it.

"Mhm. We were just walking around the city. Running errands and stuff. It was pretty domestic actually."

"That sounds nice." Spencer murmurs.

"It was." You both fell into a peaceful silence, your eyes still closed while Spencer traced over your ink from memory.

You dropped the clasp again, huffing in annoyance. Why is it so hard to put on a necklace? You didn't want to go without it though, it really accented the dress you were wearing. Backless with a deep V in the front, hugging your curves nicely. You tried again to clasp the necklace behind your neck, internally cheering when you succeeded.

"Hey, are you ready?" Spencer asked, walking into the room, adjusting his tie. He froze when he saw you, barely keeping his jaw from dropping to the floor. "Wow, you look... amazing."

"Thank you. You look awfully handsome yourself."

"Is, um, is that a new necklace?" He asked, unable to stop his eyes from dropping to your cleavage.

"It is. I got it when I went shopping with Penelope last weekend." You said, stepping closer to him. His hand instinctively moved to your waist, the other moving to the necklace. He fiddles with the charm, a small silver S.

"S?" He asked, looking into your eyes.

"For Spencer." You grinned up at him as his knuckles brushed your chest. He blushed, glancing back at the necklace. His eyes caught on something else though, the tattoo trailing down your cleavage into the hem of your dress. His fingers leave the small charm to brush over the ink. He traces the design forming a vine as it descends down your chest, watching his own finger skim along your soft skin.

"Spence?"

"Hmm?" He asks, snapping out of his trance.

"Are you ready to go?" You asked in a soft, teasing voice.

"Mhm." His eyes finally lift from your chest to look into your entrancing eyes.

"C'mon babe. We're gonna be late to our reservation." Spencer trails behind you his eyes caught on the way your hips sway. It was gonna be a long night.

The case was rough. Weeks of work and the victim barely made it out alive. Now that the BAU was back on the jet, they all stayed pretty quiet, sitting with the after effects of the case. You sat across from Spencer, headphones in, music nearly blasting in your ears to drown out the memories of the case. Spencer sat with his back to the kitchenette, nose deep in his notebook, drawing something. Derek got up for the third time, getting another coffee for himself. He headed to the kitchenette, refilling his cup. When he turned to go back to his seat, he noticed something. He stepped closer to the back of Spencer's seat, peeking over his shoulder.

"What is that?" He asks, making the genius turn around.

"Wha- none of your business!" He says, pressing the notebook to his chest to hide it from view.

"Nah, that looked familiar. Lemme see." He reaches for the notebook but Spencer jerks back.

"No! It's- it's nothing." His face is bright red by now. He glances across the table to see you looking up, pulling an earbud from your ear to tune into the conversation. Derek uses this distraction to snatch the notebook from Spencer's hand. "Morgan-"

"Hang on, is this... is this what I think it is?" Derek grins teasingly.

"No." Spencer defends pathetically.

"It is. You're doodling your girlfriend's tattoos."

"Just- give it back." He yanks the notebook back, tucking it to his chest again.

"You are?" You asked, taking your other earbud out.

"Maybe..." Spencer blushes more, if that's even possible.

"Which one? Show me." You said. The flustered man across from you slowly hands you the notebook. You look down at the drawing your eyes widening slightly at the detail. "Wow. This is good."

"Thanks." Spencer rubs the back of his neck and Derek ruffles his hair, smirking as he heads back to his seat. "You're not mad?"

"Why would I be mad? This is amazing. You should draw my next tattoo." You said offhandedly, sliding his notebook back across the table to him. You moved to put your earbuds back in but stopped when he spoke again.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"I can draw something... if you want."

"That'd be awesome, Spence." He smiled to himself, burying himself back into his notebook.

It had to be perfect. He wouldn't accept anything other than perfect being put on your body permanently. Since you told him he could design a tattoo for you, he hasn't stopped thinking about it. He's been brainstorming and sketching but nothing has felt right. He crumbled up and threw away yet another sheet of paper containing a design that was still not good enough.

"It doesn't have to be perfect, Spence. I'll love anything you draw. Promise." He shakes his head.

"You don't know that." He muttered, shifting to get more comfortable. He was sitting in the dining room chair at your apartment where he had been for almost the last hour. You sat down next to him, taking his hand.

"Honey, it's not that big of a deal." You reassured him, smiling slightly, amused at his determination.

"It is a big deal! This will be on your body forever!"

"If you're this stressed about it, you don't have to do it."

"Do you not want me to?" He tilted his head, his brown puppy dog eyes boring into yours.

"Of course I want you to. It'd be great to have a little piece of you everywhere I go."

"Wait... I have an idea." Spencer says, grabbing his pencil and starting to quickly sketch. He's done in a few moments, sliding the notebook over to you.

"Is that...?" You smiled, looking down at the sketch.

"It's the day we met. And that's a carnation. Your favorite, right?"

"Yeah. It's perfect." You lean forward, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, his winding around your waist. "It's perfect." You murmur again, this time into his neck. His arms tighten around you, smiling at the promise of permanent ink on your body, tying you together. Forever.

#criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid one shot #♡ keira's fics

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ducktoo · 20 days ago

Text

Until Cold Do Us Apart

fromis9's Jiheon x Reader

Note: fromis9 supremacy. Jiheon my bias supremacy. Like Me Better is such a pretty song ngl.

You don’t remember much about the ceremony, and you’re pretty sure that’s a trauma response.

Your mother had cried—though you still weren’t sure if it was joy or guilt. Your father, tight-lipped and straight-backed in his suit, shook hands with Jiheon’s manager like this was some brokered truce between warring companies. It was quiet, not in a peaceful way, but in the kind of way that felt like everyone was walking on eggshells because someone might snap.

The bride didn’t wear white. She wore black slacks, a blazer, and a look on her face that could’ve made the sun rethink shining that day. Jiheon didn’t even look at you as she signed the marriage registration—her gaze focused just over your shoulder, as if she was mentally somewhere far, far away.

Honestly, you wouldn’t have minded being there with her, if only to escape the suffocating weight of what had just happened.

An arranged marriage. In this day and age.

You weren’t royalty, or chaebol heirs, or reality show contestants. You were just… the unlucky child of a powerful real estate family, and Jiheon, the idol of a company that was barely having its first step in entertainment.

Business ties. Contractual benefits. Media coverage. Whatever the real reason was, it clearly wasn’t love. Hell, it wasn’t even like.

It reminded you of the first (and the only) meeting before the arrangement was final. At a company dinner, where she sat three seats away and didn’t even acknowledge your existence beyond a polite nod when her manager introduced you.

Her fans would’ve called her elegant. Reserved. Maybe even cool.

You, on the other hand, saw the exact moment she looked at you and realized she was going to be tethered to you legally for the foreseeable future. Her eye smile barely twitched. But her eyes—those adorable yet sharp, unreadable eyes—darkened like storm clouds right before thunder hits.

After that dinner, your parents tried to convince you. They brought up her reputation—how she was smart, how she always carried herself well, and how this alliance would benefit both sides.

You tried to push back. She was a member of fromis_9, for god’s sake. She was active, popular. You were some half-baked heir who hadn’t even figured out what you wanted to do with your life yet. What would she gain from marrying you, outside of a bullet point on a corporate merger document?

“Jiheon agreed,” they said.

You still winced how that sentence stung more than it should have. Not “she wanted to.” Not “she likes you.” Just—“she agreed.”

Like she was tolerating this.

Like she was tolerating you.

Anyway, back in the present, she walks ahead of you as you step out of the city registry office.

Her pace is fast and exact, her heels clicking sharply against the pavement, not once glancing back to check if you were keeping up. The car is waiting at the curb, black and sleek and silent, much like her.

You slide into the backseat beside her, trying not to let the awkwardness crush your lungs. Her gaze is glued to her phone, thumb scrolling with surgical precision. Probably messages from her group chat. Probably better people to be around than you.

“Should I, um… move my stuff into the guest room when we get back?” you ask, voice embarrassingly unsure.

Jiheon exhales. Not a sigh exactly, just... a long, slow breath like she’s reminding herself she still has to breathe near you. “Do what you want,” she mutters.

You nod. Stare out the window. Try not to drown in the silence.

The apartment is new. Too new.

White walls, untouched counters, and everything smelling like plastic wrap and a showroom catalogue. You’d picked the unit together during one of those “family obligation” weekends, though she didn’t say more than three full sentences the whole time. Still, she gave a small nod when you suggested this one—slightly bigger than necessary, with two bedrooms and a view of the Han River.

You don’t know why she agreed. Maybe because it let her avoid being near you more than necessary.

As you step inside, she kicks off her heels and heads straight to the larger bedroom without a word. The door shuts behind her before you can say anything.

Not slam-shut. But final.

Like a period at the end of a sentence you weren’t allowed to finish.

You sigh and roll your suitcase into the guest room.

It still smells like fresh paint.

You flop onto the bed and stare at the ceiling, trying to figure out where to begin when your partner—your wife, legally—is the kind of person who barely tolerates being in the same airspace.

You thought marriage wasn’t supposed to feel like a contract between strangers.

But maybe that’s what you two are. Strangers, now wearing rings you didn’t pick, in a home that doesn’t feel like yours.

You think about the way she avoided your eyes the entire time you said your vows. Cold. Untouchable.

So you made yourself a quiet promise, lying on the unfamiliar mattress with the ceiling fan humming above you. A vow you didn’t say out loud—not to her, not to anyone. Just to yourself.

If this marriage was inevitable, then at the very least, you weren’t going to make her feel like she was trapped.

But for now?

You settle in the guest bed, alone.

And the house remains just as silent as the ceremony.

You started small.

Fresh towels on the rack before her shower. Her side of the fridge stocked with her favourite drinks—those weird fizzy kombuchas you noticed she drinks all the time. Slippers left by the front door facing outwards, so she wouldn’t have to turn them around when she came home exhausted.

She noticed. Of course she did. You could tell by the way her eyes lingered for half a second longer on the table when you left out her coffee just the way she liked it—black, no sugar, no comments.

But that didn’t mean she liked it.

One morning, you were plating up toast and eggs—nothing fancy, but warm and ready—when you felt her eyes on your back.

“You don’t have to do all this,” she said, her voice flat, more exhausted than angry.

You turned around, spatula in hand. She stood a few feet away, arms crossed over her hoodie, hair still damp from the shower.

“It’s just breakfast,” you offered with a small shrug. “You haven’t eaten anything since yesterday’s schedule.”

She raised a brow, unimpressed. “And how would you know that?”

“Um…You left your lunch in the fridge. Still untouched.”

That made her flinch slightly—barely visible, but you caught it.

She scoffed, brushing a hand through her hair. “I didn’t ask you to keep tabs on me.”

“I’m not,” you said, gently. “I just… noticed.”

“Then stop noticing.”

That one stung. You looked down, pressing your thumb into the edge of the counter just to ground yourself.

“I’m not…I'm not trying to pity you, Jiheon,” you said, carefully, like every word might be landmines. “This is your home too. I’m just… trying to make sure you feel that.”

She stared at you for a beat too long, and you weren’t sure if she was about to throw her mug at you or leave again.

“I don’t need your comfort,” she said finally. “Or your kindness. Especially not if it’s because you feel sorry for me.”

“I don’t feel sorry for you,” you replied, softly. “But I do feel responsible—for making sure you don’t feel alone here.”

She shook her head, lips tight. “You don’t get it.”

“Of course I don't. Help me understand.”

Her shoulders dropped just slightly, like she wanted to argue, wanted to fight, but was just too tired. She turned around instead, muttering under her breath as she walked away.

“I never asked for any of this…”

Still, you didn’t stop, and she didn't even try to hide her disdain.

You heard it in the frustrated sigh she let out when she opened the fridge and saw the labelled containers: ‘Dinner (spicy, for Jiheon)’.

You caught her rolling her eyes when you left two umbrellas by the door during the rainy week.

Once, during a particularly long day, you’d seen her struggling to adjust the strap of her bag before heading out.

You reached forward, gently fixing it for her without a word.

She jerked away like your touch burned. “Don’t.”

You froze mid-reach. “Sorry,” you murmured, taking a step back. “Just… trying to help.”

She glared. “You’re not my manager.”

“No. I’m not,” you said quietly. “I’m just your… husband.”

The word tasted bitter when you said it. Like it didn’t belong in your mouth.

She didn’t respond. Just left. The door clicked shut behind her.

The first real crack happens over laundry. Literally.

You’re carrying her load out of the washer—because she’s forgotten it for over six hours and you figured it’d start smelling otherwise—and as you pull out one of her dark stage outfits, a delicate black top with pearl detailing catches on the corner of the machine.

You freeze.

Then you hear her door open.

“What are you doing?” she asks, sharply.

You turn slowly, the top in your hand, pearl hanging by a thread like a guillotine about to drop.

“I—was just moving your stuff to the dryer,” you say, holding your breath. “I didn’t mean to— It got caught—”

“Don’t touch my things!” she snaps, stepping forward and yanking it from your hand.

You flinch, but she’s already glaring down at the snagged fabric like it personally betrayed her. Her fingers tremble, and you realize—she’s not just angry. She’s upset.

You exhaled before choosing your words carefully. “I’ll pay - I'll pay for the repairs.”

Her voice is low this time, not yelling—just cold. “You think money fixes everything?”

"N-" You want to say no, but that’s exactly how this marriage started, isn’t it?

She doesn’t wait for an answer. She turns and disappears back into her room, laundry abandoned.

So that night, you stayed up late watching YouTube tutorials on how to sew, practicing on your old T-shirt like it’s your final exam. Even on the break of dawn, you rushed to the craft store the next day and buy a matching pearl kit.

And when you finally fix it—clumsy but careful and attentive—you leave it folded outside her door with a note:

“Didn’t mean to touch your stuff. Just didn’t want it to gone bad. Sorry for the pearl. I tried. (Also, the washer’s a bitch.)”

She doesn’t say anything.

But one day, you find your favourite hoodie, the one you thought went missing, folded neatly on your bed.

One night, you came home late after pulling an all-nighter at work.

Your muscles ached, your brain felt like it had been replaced with mashed potatoes, and all you could think about was diving face-first into the couch. You barely even registered the lights were still on in the living room until your hand brushed something soft—warm.

A blanket. Neatly folded at the corner of the couch. Yours, but you hadn’t left it there.

Blinking, you sat up. On the coffee table sat a plate of food—kimchi stew and rice, still faintly steaming. A post it note stuck on the side of the plate read:

“Don’t let it get cold. — J”

You stared at it for a long second.

It was the first time Jiheon had referred to you by anything other than passive-aggressive silence or the occasional "you."

And somehow, the ‘J’ felt more personal than if she had written her full name.

You stood there dumbly for a moment, holding the note between your fingers, your stomach growling in agreement with your disbelief.

You’d been married for over three months now.

The start was a disaster. She was an idol. You were a nobody.

Okay, not a nobody, but to Jiheon—whose schedule was booked months in advance with music shows, practices, radio appearances—you might as well have been a money bag couch cushion with a pulse. A necessary condition of this ridiculous contract between your families. You weren't even a fan of fromis_9 when the proposal came through. In fact, you barely listened to idol music. So you weren’t dazzled by the glamour or the idea of being married to "the Jiheon of fromis_9." If anything, that made things worse.

She thought you were pretending. Faking indifference to gain favour. But you weren't pretending.

You were just... trying to exist.

And slowly, she must've started to see that as you found her in the kitchen the following morning, hair tied up messily with strands escaping around her face. She moved quietly, careful not to disturb the stillness, grabbing a smoothie from the fridge. The sunlight filtered softly through the window, casting gentle shadows across her face—softening her usual stern features.

She didn’t look up when you entered, but her voice startled you.

“I added tofu,” she said, voice casual but not unkind. “You said you liked it.”

You smiled, warmth spreading through your chest like slow sunrise light. “Thanks. It was really good.”

She shrugged, already turning away. “Don’t expect it every time.”

You laughed softly, the sound light but genuine.

Days turned into weeks, and the ice around Jiheon began to chip away—not with grand gestures or words, but in small, almost imperceptible ways.

She stopped sighing audibly when you were around. She ceased glaring at you when you accidentally left a dish in the sink overnight. And sometimes, when she thought you weren’t looking, she would watch you with something softer in her eyes—like a slow dawn creeping over a mountain peak.

One evening, she came home from dance practice limping slightly, the usual confident grace replaced by quiet pain. You noticed immediately, heart tightening in your chest.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she said too quickly, brushing past you.

You followed her anyway, watched her sit on the edge of the bed and grimace as she untied her sneakers.

“Is it your ankle?” you asked.

“I said I’m fine.”

You didn’t respond. Just quietly knelt down, reached for her foot.

Jiheon moved her ankle away. “Don’t—”

“I’ll be gentle. Please?”

She didn’t stop you. Just watched.

Your touch was tentative at first—fingers tracing the warm, swollen skin beneath her sock. You could feel her tension slowly melting away, her breathing evening out.

"That must've been painful."

"Thanks, Sherlock…" She murmured, but there were less snarky as usual.

“I’ll get ice.”

She didn’t say anything as you left the room, or when you came back with a towel-wrapped pack. But when you gently rested it on her ankle, she let out a small sigh.

Not pain. Just relief.

You looked up.

She was watching you.

And for the first time since your wedding day, Jiheon looked at you like you were real.

Like maybe you weren’t just a stranger forced into her life.

Like maybe she didn’t mind the thought of you being in it.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

And this time, you didn’t pretend not to hear it.

The rain came down steady one night, light tapping against the metal railing of the balcony. You sat beside Jiheon (couldn't sleep, the neighbour got a bit too loud), each of you holding a mug, steam curling upwards and vanishing into the cold air. She wasn’t looking at you. Just out — past the apartments across the street, beyond the rows of windows lit in soft yellows and whites. Her legs were drawn up loosely to her chest, chin resting on her knee, hoodie sleeves covering her hands.

Neither of you had said anything in the past ten minutes. And honestly, you were okay with that.

Then, quietly, she spoke.

“I hated this, you know.”

You turned slightly. “The rain?”

“No,” she said, eyes still forward. “This whole arrangement. The marriage. You.”

It didn’t sting. Not really. You’d figured that out ages ago — the way she avoided you, the way she barely let you exist in her orbit unless it was necessary. But hearing it out loud… that was a different kind of weight.

You didn’t say anything. Just let her keep going.

“I felt like I was being forced to open a door I didn’t want to walk through. I didn’t know you. Didn’t want to know you. And yet I had to wake up with someone else’s breathing in my space.”

She paused, then let out a short breath. It wasn’t a sigh exactly — more like she was sorting through the rest of her thoughts before deciding which ones were worth saying out loud.

“But you weren’t… what I expected,” she said finally. “You didn’t push. You didn’t hover. You just… stayed.”

You watched her fingers tighten slightly around the mug.

“I kept waiting for you to be selfish about it. To ask for something in return. But you never did.”

You blinked, surprised. “You make me sound a lot more noble than I actually am.”

Jiheon snorted. “Don’t get cocky. You still microwave the fucking fish like a war criminal.”

A small laugh escaped you. “Okay, rude. I was hasty that one time.”

She finally turned to look at you then — not fully, just a glance. But there was no sharpness in her eyes tonight. No cold barrier. Just something calmer.

“I’m can't promise you anything,” she said, voice lower. “I’m still figuring things out. Still figuring this out. Still figuring you out.”

You nodded. “I’m not asking for anything, either.”

Her gaze lingered on you a second longer before she looked down at her tea.

“…I don’t hate it anymore,” she sipped her tea. “Coming home and seeing you here.”

You swallowed. The rain suddenly felt like background noise, faint and distant.

“I'm glad you don't,” you said.

She nudged her mug against yours lightly. Not a toast. Just contact.

Then, almost like it was nothing, she added, “Also, you can stop pretending you don’t know I’ve been eating the dinners you leave in the fridge.”

You raised an eyebrow. “So it was you. I thought we had a polite ghost. It even washes the dishes as well.”

She looked at you again. No smirk this time, just a small twitch at the corner of her mouth.

“Gosh, you’re such an idiot,” she murmured.

“But a tolerable one?” you offered.

Jiheon didn’t answer immediately. She just nudged your knee with hers — subtle, barely there — then went back to sipping her tea.

"…maybe."

Her murmur was more than enough.

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

lowkey into girls that hate you....at first-

#kpop #fromis 9 #jiheon fluff #jiheon #baek jiheon #jiheon x reader #fromis 9 fluff #fromis x reader #jiheon fromis 9 #kpop x reader #kpop fluff

400 notes · View notes

prettylilyanime · 4 months ago

Text

Blooming Hearts ♡ Chapter 07

˚✿˖ Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x fem reader

˚✿˖ Synopsis: All your life, you’ve had it all—wealth, beauty, and a quirk good enough to secure your spot at UA. But after three years, you still feel more like an outsider than a future hero. Social life? Barely existent. Friends? Who needs them? You’re ready to coast through your final year solo… until fate lands you squarely in the lap of a certain hot-headed blonde—literally.

˚✿˖ tags/warnings: 18+, smut in the later chapters, reader is spoiled, shy reader, they're all third years at UA, Fluff, strangers? to lovers trope, not really strangers, miscommunication, drama, y/n just wants to make friends, reader is canonically pretty, reader is a hero in training, whipped bakugou, she falls first but he falls harder

˚✿˖ Authors note: Things start getting...heated

˚✿˖ Masterlist ♡ Previous ♡ Next

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This was a mistake!

Your body betrays you, as it usually does—shoulders tense, stomach coiled tight, fingers twitching at your sides like they might still find a way to escape.

You know Ochako means well, has only ever been kind to you in these last 24 hours, but that doesn’t stop your pulse from hammering against your ribs like a frantic warning bell.

Run. Hide. Fake a headache. There’s still time!!

But Ochako’s grip is ironclad.

“C’mon! We need to get down there before everyone starts wondering where we are!” She laces her fingers through yours, warm and insistent, dragging you out the door of your shared room before you can so much as think of an excuse.

The scent of her coconut sunscreen lingers in the air as you stumble after her. Your heart is a mess, part nerves, part anticipation. You can’t remember the last time you felt so nervous!

Scratch that, landing on top of Bakugou over the weekend was pretty traumatizing...

Still, this feels like a close second, judging by the nauseating urge to turn back and pretend you never agreed to this.

The hallway is alive with movement, a blur of swimsuits, cover-ups, and damp footprints smudged against the floorboards.

You're really trying to focus on not throwing up right now.

Ochako pulls you along though, her chatter light and cheerful, and you do your best to focus on her words instead of the way the floor feels like it’s tilting beneath your feet.

You’re not used to this, like at all. God, you don't think you've ever made this much contact with another human being in your life!

When you finally reach the outdoors, the sight sort of lifts a heavy weight from your chest. You look around, wide eyes taking in the scene.

The blue water sparkles under the afternoon sun, ringed by lush greenery, its surface kissed by golden light. Your classmates are already splashing around, tossing a beach ball back and forth, setting up the bonfire pit for later.

You've been all over the world, traveled to every unbelievable destination money could buy, and yet—you find yourself in awe at the sight of this little lake. There’s something inviting about it.

Well, you're actually quite terrified...But you imagine the scene is inviting to somebody like Ochako!

As if to prove your point, a few of the girls immediately spot Ochako and wave her over from the water. She perks up, bouncing on the tips of her toes to wave back, her excitement so genuine it makes your chest ache.

Instinctively, you shift a step behind her rather than beside her, eyes darting to the sides to ignore any stray gazes on yourself.

But then she nudges you forward, and your stomach lurches as you stumble into view.

Mina spots you first. She’s radiant in a lilac bikini that pops against her skin, her pink curls damp but still bouncing as she bounds over. “Y/N! No way—you came!” Her golden eyes widen in surprise, and just like that, others take notice, heads turning in your direction.

A chorus of greetings follows—some cheerful, others more reserved, but none of them unkind.

It’s… new.

It’s the stuff of nightmares, honestly. You suck at this. Socializing. Group settings.

You can feel the awkward tension in your own smile, stiff and unsure, as you mutter half-hearted hellos in return. Do you look as uncomfortable as you feel? God, probably.

Why did you come? It’s a toxic cycle—wanting to be invited, then immediately regretting it the second you are.

Mina doesn’t seem to notice your spiraling. She wraps Ochako in a quick hug before turning her full attention on you, manicured fingers resting lightly on your shoulder. “You guys look so good! Y/N, you look insane.”

You freeze. Panic surges.

“Insane… in a good way?” Your voice comes out so worried that you immediately want to fling yourself into the lake.

If you looked crazy, Ochako would’ve told you, right? Right?!

Mina snorts, giving your shoulder a playful shake. “Girl, insane great. Your body is killer.”

You blink, thrown off by the unexpected compliment. This is your chance to return the favor! Compliment her back! Say something, anything—

A sudden, thunderous splash pulls your attention to the lake.

Your brows shoot up just in time to see Sero shoving Denki straight into the water.

The blond resurfaces a second later, sputtering, his drenched hair plastered to his forehead as he glares. Sero doubles over, laughing, his drink still held aloft like it’s the most important thing in the world.

You blink, processing. You know they’re close, but… is it normal to shove your friends into the water like that?

You’ve seen it in movies, but you can’t decide if you’d find it fun or if you’d immediately die of secondhand embarrassment.

Mina, clearly unfazed, rolls her eyes and calls out to them. “Hey! Watch it over here, the water’s cold!” She gestures at the splash that nearly reaches your feet.

Ochako giggles, nudging you again. “Let’s go in!”

Your stomach flips, but you nod, trailing behind her as she slips off her cover-up dress. She drapes it over a wooden bench already lined with bags and sandals, a chaotic splash of colors against the sun-bleached wood.

You focus on the little knot at your sheer skirt, fingers fumbling as you untie it. The sun is warm against your skin, the breeze light and teasing. The chatter around you hums like background noise, but what you don’t notice is the ripple of attention you’ve unintentionally drawn.

By the water’s edge, Denki and Sero are frozen, their expressions comically slack-jawed.

“Dude,” Denki whispers, as if he’s just spotted a mythical creature. “Y/N is actually here.”

Sero nods slowly, drink momentarily forgotten in his hand. “She… is so hot.”

Before their awe can spiral into more whispered nonsense, a swift, synchronized bonk lands on both their heads.

Jirou and Tsuyu stand behind them, arms crossed, expressions sharp with unimpressed judgment.

“Don’t be creeps,” Jirou mutters, pushing her sunglasses up with a sigh. Strands of damp hair cling to the sunscreen glistening on her cheeks. Her deep plum swimsuit is effortlessly cool, a stark contrast to Tsuyu’s soft green one-piece, patterned with delicate lily pads.

“The girl barely ever hangs out with us as it is,” Jirou continues. “The last thing we need is her feeling weirded out because of you two.”

Denki scoffs, looking personally offended. “Excuse me!? The only creep here is Mineta, and you guys know he’s banned from coming to these things.”

Sero nods solemnly, raising his drink in mock salute. “The little perv is under strict surveillance by Aizawa and Present Mic tonight. Thank god.”

Mina, now wading into the water, joins the group. She takes a slow sip of her beverage before sending Denki and Sero a pointed look.

“Anybody else a little confused by Y/N showing up?” she muses, tilting her head. “Not complaining, just... surprised. You two better not make it weird.”

Denki’s jaw drops in offense. “Hey!”

Their bickering dissolves into splashes and laughter, but you remain blissfully unaware of it all.

You're too busy steadying your breath, caught between the cool breeze and the lingering warmth of the sun. It feels surreal—being here, surrounded by your classmates, the lazy hum of summer wrapping around you like a soft, sun-warmed blanket.

“Should we grab drinks first?” Ochako’s voice is casual, but there’s something airy, almost calculated, about her tone.

You follow her gaze toward the makeshift drink station, a folding table cluttered with pitchers of neon-colored juice and a cooler packed with ice.

Midoriya, Shouto, and Tenya stand nearby, their silhouettes framed by the lake’s shimmering expanse.

Your brows knit together as you glance at Ochako’s oddly focused stare. Surely, she’s not that thirsty… right?

Then, the puzzle pieces snap into place.

Oh. She’s staring at Midoriya!

It’s almost cute how obvious it is. Since your first year, it’s been clear to everyone, probably even the birds in the trees—that Ochako and Midoriya had a thing for each other.

Even you, someone who couldn't be worse at picking up on social cues, had noticed!

Before you can say a word, Ochako's fingers curl around your wrist, tugging you forward with surprising strength.

You barely have time to process before you’re standing at the drink table, flashing a tight, polite smile at the boys while Ochako dives headfirst into conversation with Midoriya.

The green-haired boy looks like he’s barely holding onto his composure.

His freckles stand out starkly against his flushed skin, his cheeks nearly as red as the watermelon slices bobbing lazily in one of the juice pitchers. His gaze flickers everywhere, desperate to focus on anything that isn’t Ochako’s swimwear-clad form.

You suppress a smile. This feels like watching a rom-com unfold in real-time!

“Y/N, I’m surprised to see you here.”

Your attention shifts to a familiar face, Shouto Todoroki. He sits on a wooden bench, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, his posture relaxed.

Next to him, Tenya sips from a cup, his rigid posture a sharp contrast to Shouto’s.

You push your sunglasses up, using them to sweep your hair away from your face. “Y-yeah. Ochako asked if I wanted to come. I thought it’d be refreshing after Aizawa pushing us this morning,” you say, your voice light—too light—the lie slipping out before you can stop it.

Because to be honest, the last thing on your mind was how refreshing a swim would be.

You came for the sole purpose of not feeling like a total loser for once....

But you’d never admit that. Especially not to him, the boy you’d known since childhood.

Your families had woven your lives together from the start. Same private schools, same gated communities, same stiff playdates arranged more out of obligation than friendship.

You remember the afternoons spent under perfectly manicured trees, the two of you side by side, sharing crayons and silence.

Shouto studies you for a moment, his heterochromatic gaze unreadable—not piercing, not heavy, just... observant.

“Yeah, your quirk has been flaring up lately. I’m sure Aizawa pushed you harder today.”

Your breath catches.

He—he noticed!?

Aizawa hadn’t actually paid you any extra attention today. Training had been perfectly normal.

But the fact that Shouto had even thought otherwise—the fact that he’d noticed the way your quirk had been acting up lately—sends a jolt of something sharp and embarrassed through you.

Because he doesn’t know why.

He doesn’t know that every time your mind even drifts to Bakugou Katsuki, a million delicate petals betray you, spiraling into existence without your permission.

That your quirk has become your worst enemy, weaving your feelings into reality whether you want it to or not!

Your fingers tighten slightly around your cup. He doesn’t know, and he can’t know.

You force a small shrug. “Yeah”

Thankfully, Tenya, bless his overly formal soul—cuts through the moment. “Would you like something to drink, Y/N? We have quite the selection of fruit juices—grape, pineapple, mango, and I believe that one has a mix of berries.”

He gestures toward the pitchers like a waiter at some high-end restaurant, each glass container beading with condensation, jewel-toned liquids shimmering in the sun.

You could almost hug him for the distraction!

You offer a small, grateful smile. “Oh, sure. I think I’ll go for the mango.”

“Excellent choice.” He moves with crisp efficiency, pouring the drink with such ceremonial care it’s almost comical.

You take a sip, the cool sweetness bursting across your tongue, grounding you just a little. “Thanks"

He nods, the gesture polite, precise—like everything else about him. “You’re very welcome. It’s great to see you here, Y/N. We don’t often get to socialize outside of training or class, and it’s important for team morale to build connections in less formal settings.

Your fingers swirl the straw through your drink, watching the ice clink against the sides. “Yeah, it's nice” you say softly, your gaze drifting back out to the lake.

The sun-soaked scene feels almost surreal, like a postcard from a life you never thought you’d step into. And beneath all the noise, something settles in your chest—warm, quiet, nice.

Ochako suddenly appears at your side.

She nudges you, her smile wide, her cheeks flushed a charming pink—whether from the heat or whatever Midoriya had just told her, you aren’t sure.

“Ready to get in the water?” she asks, leaning over to pour herself a berry-hued drink. She taps her cup against yours with a soft clink, liquid sloshing playfully.

You blink at the red plastic cups—wow, it really is like the movies!—and glance toward the lake.

Sunlight dances on the surface, rippling with the chaos of your classmates. Mina and Tsuyu are deep in a water war now, their laughter carrying across the breeze.

But your gaze drifts past them, searching for something, someone else.

And then, you find him.

Bakugou sits at the water’s edge, his feet submerged, gentle waves lapping against his sculpted calves.

His elbows rest on his knees, hands loosely clasped as he talks with Kirishima. Even from here, you catch the sharpness of his profile—the strong set of his jaw, the slight furrow of his brow.

You’re not sure beautiful is a word people often use to describe Bakugou, but right now, you swear he’s every bit of it.

Oh. He’s also shirtless.

And dear god, you really hope no flowers are blooming around you right now. That would be mortifying.

And way too obvious...Shoto would definitely pick up on it.

Your pulse picks up, your heart doing a ridiculous little flip in your chest. It’s humiliating, really, how just looking at him can make you react like this.

And then, as if feeling your gaze on him, he looks up. Crimson eyes find yours, steady and unblinking.

You freeze, manicured fingers tightening around your cup, the plastic giving slightly under the pressure.

The world slows, the noise around you dissolving into a distant hum, like you’ve suddenly been dropped underwater. It’s funny, you think bitterly, how now when he looks at you, there’s recognition there. Like he actually sees you.

Before this weekend, Bakugou’s gaze would’ve skimmed past you without a second thought—just another classmate who barely spoke, never worth lingering on.

But now? His eyes catch on you. Like something’s shifted. Like you’ve somehow forced your way into his line of sight.

Was it when you tripped and fell against him, practically tackling him to the ground?

Or when he helped you move all your boxes into the dorms, grumbling the entire time but never once walking away?

Maybe it was when he spent over an hour teaching you how to navigate the public transportation system without getting hopelessly lost....

All of it, jumbled together into one little weekend, had somehow tackled your heart and refused to let go.

You know it probably meant nothing to him. Just Bakugou being a surprisingly good person. But to you? God. It was everything.

And now you can’t stop thinking about the nickname he gave you earlier—sad eyes. A clear demotion from princess.

It’s devastating....

Do your eyes really look sad right now? God, you hope not! You don’t want to be known as the girl who looks miserable all the time....

You stand up straighter, forcing a small smile, as if that’ll help. Maybe it’ll make you look normal!

But then Bakugou shifts, turning back toward Kirishima without another glance in your direction, and the moment shatters like glass. Something tight in your chest loosens—but disappointment seeps in almost instantly, and you hate yourself for it.

He didn't even look at my swimsuit...does he not like the pink?

Wait- why are you even thinking about him liking your swimsuit? Get it together!

Ochako leans in, her shoulder brushing against yours. “What was that all about?”

Her question jolts you back to reality, and you nearly spill your drink. “Huh? N-no, it’s nothing.”

“it was so something!” she gasps, watching you from the corners of her eyes with sudden intrigue.

You clutch your cup tighter, heat pricking your cheeks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Ochako just grins, entirely unconvinced. “I’ve never seen Bakugou look someone up and down like that—unless he was about to fight them. But something tells me that wasn’t the look he was giving you.”

Your throat dries instantly. "What?! No, He definitely wasn’t—”

“Uh-huh,” she hums, her grin only widening as you flounder for a believable response. “Right.”

Mortified, you take a hasty sip of your drink, the coolness doing little to ease the sudden, frantic buzz in your chest. But despite yourself, a small, reckless thought unfurls in your mind, curling up all hopeful and dangerous.

What is she thinking!?

You’re still overthinking when Ochako grabs your wrist and drags you toward the lake. The water is cold, a welcome shock against your skin as it rises to your waist. It helps—sort of.

The group has already settled into easy conversation, splashing each other and laughing as though this wasn’t absolutely the most socially overstimulating day of your life. You hover at the edge, fingers curled around your cup, letting Ochako do most of the talking.

Your mind keeps drifting. It shouldn’t, but it does. And when you can’t help yourself, you sneak a glance back toward the shore—

His spot is empty.

Your stomach dips. Where did he go?

“Bakugou, man! Finally decided to join us,” Sero calls, his voice bright as he pushes his wet hair back from his face.

You frown. Wait—

But Sero isn’t looking at the shore. He’s looking at you.

The cold prickle is instant, creeping down your spine like a warning. Slowly, you turn— And you almost scream when you find Bakugou standing right there.

Towering. Close.

You stumble back a step, your throat locking up. “What—?! How do you keep doing that?!”

He doesn’t answer, just flicks his gaze down at you. Quick, sharp—before scoffing. “Sad Eyes, should’ve called you ‘Jumpy’ instead. That’s three for three, huh?”

Your skin burns. “What?!”

“This is the Third time you freaked out ‘cause I showed up. I’m keepin’ track now.”

Your jaw drops. He’s been keeping track?!

Mortification settles deep in your bones. This is getting ridiculous. How does he keep sneaking up on you like this?!

And now he’s calling you jumpy? That’s somehow worse than Sad Eyes!!

You sputter, grasping at the shredded remains of your dignity. “It’s not my fault! Who just sneaks up on people like that? You’re way too quiet for someone who’s, like, six feet tall!”

The group falls silent. A ripple of surprise spreads, heads turning, eyes widening.

You, who barely even makes eye contact with most of them—talking to Bakugou like this?

And more than that… you two had hung out before? Three times now?!

Kirishima is the first to recover, throwing his head back with a laugh before slapping a heavy hand on Bakugou’s shoulder. “He actually grew, you know! Six-two now! Our manly Katsuki’s all grown up!”

Bakugou immediately shoves him off with a sharp snarl. “Shut it, dumbass.”

You’re still trying to steady your breath, heart hammering from both the shock of his sudden appearance and worse—the new nickname.

Why couldn’t he just go back to Princess?

Mina scoffs, nudging Kirishima with a pointed look. “Quit it, don't give Y/N the wrong first impression of us,” she mutters—like she meant to keep it quiet, but you definitely hear her.

Your eyebrows lift, heat creeping up your neck. First impressions? Three years in?!

If only she knew your actual first impression of Kirishima—him holding the door open for you on the first day of freshman year, flashing an easy grin like it was second nature.

Not that he’d remember. But you do. A small, insignificant moment that somehow stuck, tucked away in the back of your mind, untouched and warm.

The conversation shifts, the group slipping back into their usual rhythm—Mina teasing, Kirishima laughing, Denki making some ridiculous joke. Their voices rise and fall like background noise, familiar and distant.

You stand quietly, retreating into yourself, drink in hand, eyes fixed on the surface of your cup like it holds the secrets of the universe.

You don’t notice the way Ochako watches.

She’s spent enough time around you to pick up on the obvious—you’re shy. Painfully so. It’s not what people assume at first, not with the way you dress, the quiet confidence in your posture, and the sharpness of your gaze. But once they get to know you, it’s impossible to miss.

What surprises her more is how, despite that hesitance, you instinctively shift closer to Bakugou.

And he isn’t so innocent either. His gaze flicks toward you, sharp but unreadable, lingering just long enough to be noticeable before he looks away. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t react.

But he doesn’t move either.

Something clicks for her.

She nudges you, soft but deliberate.

You blink up at her, confused. What?

She only raises her brows, like she knows something you don’t.

Your frown deepens. What?

But she doesn’t explain, just grins to herself before turning back to the conversation.

The weight of it lingers, settling in your chest like you’re missing something important, but you try to ignore it. It's Just another thing you don't quite get yet.

It’s easier to focus on your drink. The cool glass against your fingertips, the slow trickle of condensation, the soft lap of water around your legs. The conversation hums around you, voices rising and falling like waves.

You don’t need to force yourself into it.

For now, this is enough.

For now, you’re comfortable.

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You sit at the lake’s edge, toes skimming the surface as gentle waves lap at your ankles.

Your white gold diamond tennis anklet catches the fading sunlight, glinting with every ripple. The sun has dipped lower now, streaking the sky in hues of gold and orange, its reflection shimmering across the water in shimmering fragments.

Ochako left a few minutes ago to grab marshmallows for the bonfire, and honestly, you don’t mind the solitude!

Your social battery is drained, and the distant sounds of your classmates—laughing, splashing, calling out to each other—feel muffled, like you’re hearing them from behind glass.

It’s nice, though. Being here. Being part of this.

You let yourself sink into the quiet, watching the way your feet sway in the water, the way the coolness soothes the lingering buzz beneath your skin.

Then—

A shadow falls over you.

You blink up, and nearly choke on air at the visual.

Bakugou stands over you, hands shoved into the pockets of his black swim trunks, droplets of water trailing down his chest. Against the warm hues of the setting sun, his silhouette is sharp, cutting through the golden light like a blade.

“Sad eyes,” he drawls, tilting his head. “You’re really livin’ up to the name right now.”

You blink, caught off guard. Huh?

“But I’m not sad!” you insist, frowning.

His brow lifts, skeptical. His gaze lingers, tracing the natural pout of your glossy lips, the way your eyes seem distant even when you’re not trying. Something pricks at the back of his neck, heat creeping up his spine before he looks away.

You shift slightly, fingers tightening around your cup, the plastic slick with condensation.

“You’ve been payin’ more attention to that damn drink than the actual lake.” Bakugou snorts, nodding toward the vast stretch of water behind him.

You try not to stare, but it’s difficult. His ashy blonde hair, the sharp contrast of his red eyes against the cyan blue of the lake—if you let yourself, you could sit here and admire the view all day.

Unfortunately, you realize too late that you have been staring. For way too long!

Panic sparks in your brain, and before you can stop yourself, your mouth moves faster than your common sense.

“Well, the water looks great, but I’m focusing on my drink! It’s really tasty. Do you wanna try?” The second the words leave your lips, regret slams into you like a wave.

You briefly consider slipping into the lake and letting the water swallow you whole. Would they let you drown if you tried?

…No, probably not. Too many future pro heroes around.

But to your utter disbelief, Bakugou doesn’t call you an idiot. Instead, He just flicks his gaze down to your cup, then—before you can process what’s happening—crouches down to your sitting height.

The water shifts beneath him, sending ripples through the lake. He’s closer now than you expected, all sharp angles and damp skin, the scent of caramel and lake water clinging to him.

Is the caramel like a cologne? Seriously! He smells like a roasted sweet treat at all times!

Your breath catches as his fingers brush against yours, the warmth of his skin a stark contrast to the cool plastic. Then, without hesitation, he lifts the cup to his lips.

And drinks.

For you, the world tilts. The sun, the water, the distant chatter of your classmates—it all fades into static.

It’s just him now. The slow sip, the soft slosh of liquid in the cup, the way his lips curve around the straw—the same one you’ve been using all day. Time stretches impossibly thin, and you swear the air between you hums with something heavy.

A single drop clings to his bottom lip as he pulls back. He swipes it away with the lazy flick of his tongue before his gaze catches yours—steady, unreadable, something warm simmering just beneath the surface.

“Not bad,” Bakugou mutters, his voice low, careless. “But I think the glittery shit you got on messed with the taste.”

Your brain stutters. Glittery…?

Oh.

Your lip gloss. The pink, strawberry-flavored one you had just recently reapplied.

Heat floods your face so fast it makes you dizzy, your heart hammering like you just ran laps with Iida.

Bakugou stays where he is, the water sloshing gently around his waist, completely unfazed. Meanwhile, you’re left staring at your cup, at the place his lips just were—desperately trying to remember how to function.

You gulp down your nerves, eyes flickering toward the water, focusing on the gentle ripples. Anything but him! Slowly, you lift the cup to your lips again.

Only to freeze.

Oh my god.

Right where his lips just were.

Your mind spins, and you can practically feel the steam rising from your skin. You could actually combust right here, more a ball of flames than human! The cool lake water around your ankles does nothing to soothe the heat crawling up your neck, pooling in your cheeks.

Bakugou doesn’t seem to notice your internal turmoil. His arms are crossed over his chest, muscles flexing, and his expression is somewhere between bored and contemplative. The silence stretches, thick and pressing, equal parts thrilling and terrifying.

You force yourself to take a sip, pretending like your heart isn’t trying to break out of your ribs. The drink is still sweet, still refreshing, but now all you can think about is the fact that his mouth was just here.

It’s like an indirect kiss!

He can’t be thinking about it that way, right?! If he did, he probably wouldn’t be so quiet about it!

Bakugou shifts, the water rippling around him. His red eyes flick to your face, and you brace yourself for some snarky remark—but it doesn’t come. Instead, he just watches you, like he’s trying to figure something out. It’s unnerving.

Then—

“Why does your quirk do that?” he asks, tilting his head slightly.

Your breath catches.

You blink at him, thrown completely off guard. “I don’t know what you mean.”

You glance around your sides first, eyes darting to the water, the shore, anywhere he could possibly be referring to. But nothing looks different. There’s no telltale glow, no signs of your quirk activating. Confused, you glance back at him.

“I don’t see anything,” you say hesitantly.

His smirk widens just a fraction. “Yeah? Look behind you.”

A nervous lump forms in your throat. You slowly twist your torso around—

and your heart plummets.

The tree behind you, once lush with soft green leaves, is now covered in delicate, glowing pink blossoms. Every inch of it, every branch, every tiny leaf that was once green has been replaced with flowers, radiating a gentle light in the darkness.

Your breath catches in your throat.

A whole tree.

Oh, no. No, no, no.

A beat of silence passes, stretching unbearably long as you stare at it, horror dawning.

This is mortifying!

You snap back around, scrambling for a way to downplay this, to brush it off, but your mind is blank. Completely empty.Your fingers tighten around the cup in your hands, your pulse a frantic drumbeat in your ears.

Bakugou watches you, unimpressed.

The bonfire crackles in the distance, flames licking at the air, casting long, flickering shadows against the trees. Laughter drifts over from the shore, light and carefree, but it barely registers. The world has narrowed to this moment, to the weight of his gaze, to the pounding of your heart in your ears.

You open your mouth, scrambling for something—anything—to say in your defense. But no words come out.

Bakugou clicks his tongue. “Tch. So?”

You blink at him, stomach sinking. “So what?”

He jerks his chin toward the tree. “That happen every time you get nervous?”

Your breath hitches.

Your voice jumps an octave, frazzled beyond belief. “I am not nervous!”

Bakugou lifts a brow, eyes gleaming with something wicked. “Yeah?” He exhales sharply, almost amused. “Might have to start calling you Squeaky.”

Horrified, you let out an embarrassed groan, heat rushing to your face. You don’t even think—your hand moves on instinct, reaching out to shove him.

Your perfectly manicured nails, white French tips, delicate and polished, press against solid muscle, barely making him budge.

“Don’t tease me so much,” you whine, already waving the white flag. “I might pass out.”

His eyebrows lift slightly, head tilting. “Who said I’m teasing you?”

Your glare sharpens, suspicious. “You are.”

Bakugou huffs, but he doesn’t argue. He should be more focused on the ridiculous fact that your quirk just bloomed an entire cherry blossom tree in his presence.

But right now, he’s distracted. Very distracted by the look on your face.

Your cheeks are puffed out slightly, your glittery pink lips pursed in a pout that’s way too damn distracting. And those eyes—big, wide, pleading, blink up at him like you’re silently begging for mercy.

Damn it.

He almost wants to keep pushing you just to see how much further he can take it. The way you react—it’s too easy, too entertaining. But there’s something about this whole situation, about you, that makes him feel… off. Like his balance is shifting beneath his feet, and he hates it.

You two have barely talked before this—what, a handful of conversations? A week of knowing each other at most? And yet somehow, you’ve already got him feeling weird.

This has gotta end.

Without warning, Bakugou steps forward, cutting through the water until he’s right in front of you, just within reach. His presence looms, heat radiating off his skin despite the cool night air.

Your breath stutters.

His hand lifts slightly, and for one wild second, your brain short-circuits. Is he going to—?

But instead, his knuckles brush the bottom of your cup, nudging it lightly.

“You gonna sit here all night or what?” His voice is rough, casual, but there’s something else beneath it—something unreadable. “Bonfire’s startin’ soon.”

Your lips part, but no sound comes out at first. You swallow, clearing your throat, scrambling to get a grip. “Oh. Right. Yeah.”

His gaze lingers on you for a second longer, like he’s making sure you actually heard him, before he turns away.

The water ripples in his wake as he wades back toward the shore, hands stuffed in his pockets like nothing even happened.

You finally exhale, shoulders sagging, the tension unraveling from your body.

The night air feels warmer now. Softer.

With one last glance at the lake, you set your drink aside and push yourself up.

⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖

After that borderline confusing and mortifying interaction, you’re left with a choice the moment you step out of the water.

Option one: Stay. Sit on a rough block of wood, eat a damn roasted marshmallow, and painfully maneuver your way through awkward small talk with your classmates.

Option two: Leave. Retreat back to your bedroom, put on some mind-numbing reality TV, and rot in bed after a long, refreshing shower.

The second option sounds incredibly tempting. You can already imagine the warm spray of water against your skin, the fresh scent of your favorite body wash, the way your comforter would swallow you whole as you melted into your mattress.

Plus, you've packed your favorite Dior pj's!

And you’re going to do it! You swear you are—but then you catch Bakugou’s sharp gaze flicking back at you over his shoulder. He doesn’t say anything, but the subtle glance alone is enough to pin you in place, a silent, unspoken question hanging in the air.

Still here?

Damn it.

With an internal sigh, you resign yourself to option one. The night is almost over anyway.

That’s how you end up here, seated on a weathered log, chin resting against your manicured hand, staring blankly into the fire while Denki animatedly recounts some story about a trip to the mall a few months ago.

The others laugh, voices rising and falling around you, but you only catch pieces of it—bits of inside jokes, exaggerated retellings, the occasional snort from Sero that sets off another round of chuckles.

Your focus drifts.

Above, the sky is a vast stretch of inky darkness, dotted with a scatter of stars. You tilt your chin up slightly, eyes tracing their soft glimmer, losing yourself in the quiet vastness of it. The fire crackles, the warm glow licking up into the night, sending embers drifting into the air like fireflies.

It’s warm right here, close to the flames—but the heat only reaches so far, and beyond it, the night is settling in deep.

You shift on the log, arms wrapping around yourself as an involuntary shiver runs down your spine.

The flimsy cover-up you’d thrown on after the lake does little against the creeping chill, and you curse yourself for not grabbing a sweater like the other girls had. You remember seeing them duck back inside, giggling and chattering as they pulled on oversized hoodies and sweatshirts over their damp swimsuits, but you had been… distracted.

Or more accurately—Bakugou had been a distraction.

Your gaze flickers toward him briefly, though he’s focused on something else, watching the fire maybe, or just lost in thought.

Either way, he’s not paying attention to you. Good! You're not sure you could handle much else of him today.

Because truthfully, you feel a little ridiculous. The day had started off simple enough, but now you’re stuck in this strange in-between space—part of the group, yet somehow still lingering on the edges.

Ochako is talking with the others, easily swept into the rhythm of their conversation, and you wonder if you should try to do the same.

The idea of forcing yourself to be social makes your stomach twist, but sitting here, curled in on yourself, cold and silent, doesn’t feel much better.

You exhale softly, watching the way your breath barely fogs in the cool air. The warmth of the day has long since faded, leaving behind nothing but goosebumps on your skin and the distant hum of voices around you.

And for what feels like the millionth time today, you’re not entirely sure what to do with yourself.

Then, out of nowhere, a weight drops into your lap.

You blink down at it—a hoodie, deep burgundy, clean, thick and slightly worn, the sleeves spilling over your thighs. The fabric is still warm, carrying the lingering heat of the person who had been wearing it just moments ago.

You glance up, and lo and behold—Bakugou.

He’s standing in front of you, hands shoved into the pockets of his shorts, shoulders set in that familiar rigid way, like he’s already bracing for whatever dumb thing you might say in response.

But he doesn’t speak, doesn’t demand a thank you, doesn’t even really look at you—just waits, expectantly, for you to do something.

For the first time in what feels like forever, you actually understand what he means without him having to say a word. And yet, you hesitate.

“Bakugou…” You frown, holding the hoodie up against your torso. It’s massive. “But won’t you be cold?”

He scoffs, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Sad eyes, you’re givin’ me that look again. Just put on the damn jacket—I’m fine.”

Your brows lift, but your fingers are already slipping into the sleeves. The warmth of the fabric engulfs you immediately, the scent of caramel and something distinctly him wrapping around you in a way that makes your stomach flip.

“Well… thanks then,” you murmur shyly, hugging the hoodie closer. The oversized fit swallows you whole, the hem brushing against the middle of your thighs, covering the last remnants of your damp bikini. A sigh of relief escapes your lips.

“There you go saving me again,” you admit sheepishly, eyes glued to the ground. If you look at him now—if you meet those sharp, unreadable crimson eyes—you might just combust on the spot.

Bakugou side-eyes you, his lips twitching like he’s holding something back. The firelight flickers across his face, casting golden shadows along the sharp cut of his jaw, the slight furrow of his brow, the way his gaze lingers on you for just a second too long.

Behind you, your classmates' laughter rises over the crackling flames—marshmallows catching fire, old stories being passed around, Sero's obnoxious cackling piercing through the night.

They’re absorbed in their own little world, too wrapped up in the warmth of the moment to notice the quiet exchange happening just outside the fire’s glow.

Thank god.

Bakugou clicks his tongue, looking away, like he’s already over this. “Well, somebody’s gotta do it,” he mutters, stuffing his hands deeper into his pockets. Then, with a snort, “What’s U.A. gonna do when they lose their precious Y/N to the Tokyo subway system?”

You groan, ducking your head as heat rushes to your cheeks. Of course he had to bring that up.

“It was my first time! Give me a break” you grumble under your breath, arms curling around yourself, pulling his hoodie tighter.

Bakugou huffs out something that sounds suspiciously like a chuckle. And even though he doesn’t say anything else, even though he just stands there beside you with his hands in his pockets, shoulders slightly slouched, weight shifted like he might stay for a little while longer—

For the first time tonight, the cold doesn’t feel quite as bad.

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supernovafics · 6 months ago

Text

𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐑 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐄

"i'll be there for you" universe masterlist

pairing: bestfriend!roommate!steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 4.9k words

warnings: explicit language, a bit of angst (bc of some family drama), lots of fluff, smut (18+), unprotected piv sex, tiny hint of praise kink

summary: in which a family wedding makes you think about the future

author's note: i love when i randomly get hit with inspiration for this universe<33

general note: everything in this universe/series can be read as standalone oneshots but to understand the full “lore” it would prob be best to read the other stuff too<333

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Summer 1986

You had been trying to stay on your parents’ good side. They hadn’t been pestering you a lot about your future— specifically college and transferring to the University of Chicago, where they had wanted you to go since you were a kid— and you wanted to keep it that way. And if that meant going to a family wedding in Illinois, then so be it.

The only bearable part about it was that Steve was coming too, and it had taken absolutely no bribing to get him to say yes.

“Is this my girlfriend privilege coming into play?” You asked him as you two sat on the couch in your apartment’s living room. “Because I swear if we were still just friends you would at least force me to do all of the driving or something.”

Steve gave you an amused smile. “Do you want me to make you do all of the driving?”

“Nope, not at all,” You shook your head. “So, actually, I’m gonna stop talking now.”

Steve laughed a little and you focused your attention back on the random sitcom playing on the TV, a small smile on your face.

“Do you think Dustin will wanna babysit Harold again?” Steve asked as he mindlessly reached out to grab your hand that was buried under the blanket draped over your laps and intertwined it with his.

“Oh, yeah, definitely,” You answered with a nod, taking a look over at the brown and white hamster’s cage that was sitting on the low shelf you two had next to the TV. “Honestly, I think he’s starting to like Harold more than us.”

“I’m pretty sure that happened right when we got him.”

“Shit, you’re right,” You said as you shifted a bit and wrapped Steve’s arm around you so that you were nuzzled more comfortably in his side and then intertwined your hands once again. “I actually feel kinda offended about that. Just so you know, I love you and Harold equally.”

“Equally?” Steve said, sounding playfully shocked. “I’ve known you for basically ten years.”

“Yeah, but Harold’s our son, so…” You shrugged, trying to contain your growing smile.

“Okay, I guess I’ll share the number one spot, then,” He responded as he pressed a kiss to the side of your head.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The four-hour drive to the town just out of Chicago where the majority of your family lived wasn’t terrible. You and Steve evenly split the driving time and spent most of it playing silly games; mainly the license plate game because it was a car ride staple, and also a game where you two had to try and think of the same word and say it at the same time, and you two were eerily good at it.

By the time you made it to the hotel that all of the out-of-town family members were staying at because of how close it was to the wedding venue, it was the middle of the night. Even though Steve didn’t have to work today— he took off the entire weekend, actually— you two still decided to leave later in the day because you wanted to avoid as much unnecessary time with your parents as possible.

Unsurprisingly, you and Steve were the only people checking in at ten o’clock at night.

“So, it looks like there are two rooms in the reservation,” The lady at the front desk told you; her name tag said Joan. “One under your name, and one under Steve Harrington.”

“Oh,” You said and then nodded after a second. “Um, okay.”

Joan seemed to take note of your slightly confused tone. “Did you not book two rooms?”

“My parents handled all of this, so I guess they did the two rooms.”

She nodded at your words. “I’m gonna go grab the room keys and I’ll be right back.”

She headed off to what you assumed was the back room and you turned to look at Steve who was standing right next to you.

He let out a quiet laugh as his arm slipped around your waist. “Did your parents forget that we live together and that we've been dating for the last five months?”

“They probably think we still sleep in our own bedrooms,” You said, leaning into his touch and realizing just how tired you were.

You truly couldn’t remember the last time you slept alone in the past few months since you and Steve got together, and even before that, you both had spent a lot of time in each other’s beds. It probably would’ve made sense for you two to downsize to a one-bedroom place, but you both loved the apartment so much that you couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.

“Should I pretend that I’m actually staying in the other room?” Steve asked and you quickly nodded.

“Yeah, just in case.”

“Bad idea that we decided to share a suitcase then, huh?”

When you came up with it, it seemed like the perfect idea for the quick weekend trip. Why bring two separate suitcases that would probably be half empty, instead of just sharing one?

You sighed now as you took a look at the black suitcase that Steve was holding the handle of. “Very bad idea.”

Joan returned a moment later. “So, good news, the rooms are right next to each other, and they’re actually connecting, so you two won’t have to be too far from each other.”

“That’s great,” You said, grabbing one of the keys from her outstretched hand, and Steve grabbed the other. “Thank you so much.”

She smiled at you both. “I hope you two enjoy your stay.”

You and Steve said another quick “Thanks” before heading toward the elevators.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“Your room is so much nicer than mine,” You said as you slumped back onto Steve’s bed, head quickly finding the pillow that was actually so soft.

“Do you wanna switch?” He asked from where he stood by the suitcase, pulling on a fresh t-shirt for the night.

The door that connected your rooms was wide open and it would probably stay that way for the entire night.

“No, it’s fine, I’ll deal with my shitty shower pressure and lumpy bed.”

“You can stay in here with me tonight, y’know,” He told you, moving closer and maneuvering so that he was settled on top of you. It was a comfortable position, even though it probably shouldn’t have been. The way your bodies molded so easily for each other always felt like two pieces of a puzzle coming together.

You smiled under his gaze. “Thank you for the formal invitation.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Of course, no problem. I wanna be a gentleman.”

You couldn’t help but laugh a little at his words that were said very seriously, but you knew they were anything but.

You could’ve easily fallen asleep just like that if you wanted to, with his warm body pressed so comfortably against yours, pretty much equivalent to a weighted blanket. And it would’ve made sense to fall asleep after the long drive you two had to endure, but you really didn’t want to.

His head dipped down and yours tilted upward, allowing you two to meet halfway in the softest kiss.

There was something about kissing Steve that always felt so nostalgic, and also the complete opposite. Even five months into everything, there was still a newness to being with Steve in this way that you’d probably never get fully used to. Every time felt like the first one, but there was also so much comfort that had been there from the beginning and it only continued to grow.

After a moment that you considered way too short, he pulled away from your lips and his mouth started immediately trailing along the underside of your jaw and then down to your neck.

You let out the softest hum as you shifted underneath him, searching for any sort of extra friction. Steve’s low groan was the first thing you heard when you brushed against his hardness and you wished that you could pull off the few layers that separated the two of you in one quick movement.

“You still tired?” He mumbled against your neck.

“Yes, but I also really want you right now,” You whispered back as you threaded your fingers through his hair, which was slightly damp from the shower he just took. The only pro about not sharing a room was that you both got your own bathroom, even if the water pressure in yours sucked.

“Yeah?” He asked as he pulled back a bit to look at you. His voice was teasing, playful, but you also knew how much he loved the reassurance too.

“Yeah,” You nodded immediately. “Please.”

There was the sweetest smile on his face as his fingers found the bottom of your t-shirt and proceeded to pull the fabric up and off of you.

You had opted against putting on a bra after your shower, so your chest was left bare for him once your t-shirt was off and he was groaning at the sight.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” He whispered as the pad of his thumb brushed against your already hard nipple.

For the briefest moment, your eyes slipped shut and you bit your lip to hold back your moan, and then you were meeting his gaze again.

“You’re really pretty too, Stevie,” You said, smiling up at him as you reached up to softly poke his cheek.

He laughed a little and turned his head a little so that he was kissing your poking finger. “Thank you. You’re so nice.”

Your shoulders upturned in the most nonchalant shrug, but the same smile was on your face; you were always the one to bring a bit of silliness into moments like these. “I try.”

Steve was smiling back at you as he gave your nipple a quick squeeze and then his hands moved down your sides and settled at the waistband of your pajama bottoms. He pulled your shorts and underwear off in one motion and tossed them to the floor somewhere along with your shirt.

He kissed from your collarbone down to your belly button, stopping and teasing different spots along the way which made you squirm beneath him and you could feel yourself dripping onto the blanket below you with every teasing press of his mouth. He moved lower and lower, and then deliberately skipped past where you needed him to be. Instead, he started kissing your inner thighs.

Your fingers carded through his hair as you looked down at him. “You’re being very evil right now.”

“I’m sorry,” He told you, but you knew that he really wasn’t. He spread your legs further and pressed the most featherlight kiss against your clit before looking up at you again. “What do you want?”

There were a lot of things you could’ve said in answer— in that moment, you were craving his fingers and his mouth too— but after the exhaustingly long drive, you simply just wanted to be as close to him as possible as quickly as possible.

“Honestly, I really need you inside me,” You told him softly, hand moving from his hair to his cheek. “I need your cock. Please. Is that okay?”

He let out a contented groan at your honesty, head falling against the side of your thigh. “Fuck, yeah, of course that’s okay.”

Steve moved away from you then, his warmth leaving your body as he pulled back to look at you. The juxtaposition of you being naked right then and him still being completely clothed, made you pout at him.

“Well, this is very unfair,” You said, reaching out to grab at his shirt.

Steve was smiling as he leaned in to press a quick kiss against your lips. “I knew you were going to say that.”

Before you could playfully complain any further, he pulled his shirt off and your fingers quickly moved to the waistband of his sweatpants. He let you pull them down along with his boxers, revealing his hard cock that you bit your lip at the sight of, and then Steve did the rest of the work of pulling them off his legs and tossing them somewhere to the side.

When his body was once again on top of yours, his warmth enveloping you completely, he didn’t hesitate to push inside of you, your wetness making it easy for him to fill you to the hilt.

Steve’s thrusts were languid and slow, both of you simply craved the feeling of each other rather than anything else. His lips found yours in the most searing kiss that was so different from his unhurried movements above you. It was a messy clash of tongues and teeth and one of your hands came up to tangle itself in his hair.

You broke the kiss when a particularly rough stir of his hips made him push deeper inside of you and you gasped. “Shit, yes, Steve, right there.”

He hit that specific spot again and again and you were moaning louder each time, not worried about how thin the walls maybe were in this hotel. “You sound so pretty screaming for me, honey. You’re so fucking good.”

You nodded profusely, trying to keep your eyes on his, but it was too hard not to let them slip shut with every perfect snap of his hips. “Only for you.”

It didn’t take long for both of you to reach your ends— it was his thumb on your clit that triggered your orgasm, and it was the feeling of your walls clenching around him as you came that sent Steve over the edge too, pressing his face into your neck.

A quiet stillness took over as your racing hearts returned to normal and a deeper tiredness took over and made your eyelids feel heavy.

After you weren’t sure how long, Steve started to shift so that he could move off of you, but you stopped him with a hand on his back before his softening cock could slip out of you and told him that you wanted to stay like this for a bit longer. He didn’t protest your words and instead buried his face back in your neck, pressing the sweetest kiss against your pulse point. You two slowly fell asleep just like that for the time being, too spent and exhausted to make any other movements.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

If it weren’t for the incessant sound of someone knocking on the door, you were certain that you would’ve slept for a few more hours.

The sound woke you up slowly and then all at once. Your eyes opened and you got the urge to pull the blanket over your head. You weren’t even sure when exactly that had happened, but at some point, you and Steve finally made it under the covers and you had also grabbed his t-shirt and slipped it on too.

You ultimately didn’t pull the blanket over your head to muffle the noise. Instead, you pulled it off of you when you realized that the knocking was coming from your room.

“Shit.”

The door that connected your and Steve’s rooms was still open and you were suddenly so certain that the knocks you were hearing were being rapped against your room door.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asked when he felt you get out of bed. He tiredly rubbed his eyes; you, on the other hand, were suddenly the complete opposite of tired.

“I’m pretty sure my mom’s right outside my door. Or my dad. Or both,” You answered him as you quickly searched for your underwear and pajama shorts and found them in different random spots on the floor. “It’s probably both of them, actually, and I’ve had no time to mentally prepare for whatever this conversation is about to be.”

“I can go answer it, if you want,” You heard Steve suggest as you hastily pulled on your bottoms.

“I think it would be better if we kept the illusion up that we don’t sleep together,” You told him. “I’m gonna go see what they want and I’ll be back in a sec.”

You rushed over to where he was now sitting up in the bed and pressed the quickest kiss against his lips before heading over to your room and pulling the door that connected your room to Steve’s shut.

You ruffled up the untouched bed so it looked like you actually slept in it last night and then went to open the door before another series of knocks were rapped against it.

“Hi, good morning, sorry,” You rushed out. It was only your mom standing in front of you, and right then it was hard to tell if that was a good thing or a bad thing. “The bed’s so comfortable, it was hard to wake up.”

She nodded at your words. “The bed in your dad and I’s room is terrible, we’re gonna try to switch to a different room tonight. Anyway, what time did you and Steve make it here last night?”

“It was a little after ten.”

“And how was the drive?”

“Good,” You answered simply. “Me and Steve split the time so that made it easier.”

“That’s good,” She smiled. “Do you know if he’s still sleeping?”

“Um, yeah, he probably is,” You shrugged through your lie. “He’s right next door, but I haven’t seen him since last night.”

“Okay, well, your dad and I are going to have breakfast downstairs in an hour with your Aunt Tracy and Uncle Sean, you and Steve should come too.”

Her words sounded like a suggestion, but you knew that they were actually the opposite.

You forced a smile. “Oh, okay, we’ll definitely meet you guys down there. I’ll go wake him up now.”

“Okay, great,” Your mom smiled back at you. “See you two then.”

You closed the door when she started walking away and headed back to Steve’s room.

“So, what happened?” He asked as you climbed back into bed.

You settled next to him and rested your head against his bare shoulder. “We’re having breakfast downstairs with my parents, and my aunt and uncle in an hour.”

Steve nodded at your statement. “Honestly, that sounds good. The last time we ate was right before we got here last night and it was shitty McDonald’s.”

“Yeah, those were the saddest burgers ever,” You said with a sigh.

“Wait, which aunt is gonna be there?” Steve abruptly asked. “The nice one or the one that hates me?”

You laughed a little. “The nice one. But, I feel like I should remind you again that Cheryl does not hate you.”

“You don’t remember that party the way I do,” He said and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at his seriousness.

It had been a birthday party for your mom a few years back. Of course, Steve and his parents were there, and you and him spent most of the night camping out in your room, away from your mom’s friends and your overbearing family members. It had been your idea to sneak a bottle of wine from the kitchen and bring it to your room, but Steve was the one who actually went and did it. Or at least attempted to before he got caught by your aunt and, according to him, was harshly scolded by her.

“I’ve seen her a bunch of times since that party and I promise you she doesn’t think you’re a bad influence on me or whatever,” You told Steve, lifting your head from his shoulder to press a kiss against his cheek. “And she definitely doesn’t hate you.”

“We’ll see what happens at the wedding later.”

You leaned in to whisper into his ear. “Don’t worry, if she does hate you, I’ll defend you from any and all shitty comments.”

He gave you an amused smile when you pulled back to look at him. “Thank you, that’s all I ask. You’re the best girlfriend ever.”

You smiled at him as you leaned your head back on his shoulder and closed your eyes, attempting to get a little more sleep before you’d have to force yourself out of bed again.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Steve was right and he didn’t hesitate to whisper an “I told you” in your ear seconds after your Aunt Cheryl gave a warm greeting to you and the coldest hello to him.

You didn’t have time to respond to Steve’s whispered words because you two were being told by one of the ushers to find seats since the wedding was minutes away from starting. The weather was pretty much perfect; warm but not so much so that it made sitting outside entirely unbearable, which was a little surprising for the middle of August but you weren’t complaining.

Steve was on one side of you and your parents were on the other, and you smiled in thanks when your mom complimented the dress you were wearing; the long pale pink floral dress that you bought only because you knew she would like it, and you had wanted to avoid her saying anything bad about your clothing choices like she usually did.

About halfway through the ceremony, Steve’s hand found yours, and the simple action made you suddenly feel warm all over. You shouldn’t have felt so fazed by it— that was something that had happened practically a million times before— but the current circumstances made it feel a little different.

Samantha was one of your cousins that you weren’t that close with— you remembered going to the sleepover for her fifth birthday party and that was one of the last times you two hung out before you and your family moved to Indiana, and then you only saw her during random family occasions— but she looked beautiful and seemed so genuinely happy that it was hard not to feel a little emotional; it was what weddings did to people.

You tried to listen to the vows and everything else being said right then, but it was hard to fully focus when all you could think about was a future that would someday involve this with Steve, and how nice that sounded.

Maybe Steve could suddenly read your mind or the subtle smile on your face, but either way, he was giving your hand a light squeeze, as if telling you that he agreed with everything you were thinking about.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

To probably no one’s surprise, you and Steve stayed attached at the hip throughout the majority of the night. Your hand was always laced in his or his was placed at the small of your back.

You were grateful for that closeness and you were especially grateful for him because he made it a thousand times easier to deal with family members that you hadn’t seen in forever and the forced small talk that came along with that estrangement.

It quickly became a revolving door of the same topics and questions— how was graduating last year, how is college going now, what are your future plans, etc, etc— and you thought you’d be able to put up with it for the entire night. However, there were only so many times you could say, “Fine,” “Good,” and “I’m still figuring it out” before it became too annoying.

Therefore, the second the brief conversation with one of your uncles came to an end, your hand found Steve’s and you led him out of the big ballroom where the reception was happening. He didn’t question your current antics and you two ended up outside moments later— it was much cooler out now, but still comfortable— and you headed toward a little garden area with a bench that you had noticed earlier.

“Let’s just sit here for a bit,” You said to Steve, not explaining the why behind you wanting to do this right now, but you didn’t have to.

He nodded, understanding just how exhausting this entire day had been for you, and sat down with you. Things fell into a comfortable quiet, the first silence all night, and you reveled in it. You shifted around after a few moments so your head was in his lap and your legs dangled off the side of the bench.

“Do you wanna leave? I think we’ve been here for a reasonable amount of time,” Steve said, breaking the quiet after a few minutes of you simply holding his hand and looking at all of the flowers in the garden. “We can go to that Dairy Queen we saw when we were driving here last night, if you want. I think it’s only like ten minutes away.”

You knew what he was trying to do— make things light in any way that he could, and in this case, it meant offering up ice cream— and once again you were reminded of just how fucking grateful you were to have him here with you in this moment.

“I love you,” You said instead of answering his question. “Like, a lot, a lot, a lot.”

You immediately noticed the smile spread across his face as he looked down at you. “Hm, you’re not drunk right now, so where is this sappiness coming from?”

“Shh, don’t question it. Just let me get disgustingly cheesy with you right now, Harrington.”

“Okay, sorry, continue,” He told you, but then he abruptly kept going before you could start talking. “And I love you too, by the way.”

You smiled up at him. “Aside from all of the family stuff I had to deal with today, this wedding was actually really nice and it made me think about you and us a lot.”

“In a good way or a bad way?” He was so obviously teasing you because you were certain that he knew the answer to his own question.

You shook your head at him. “I don’t even want to dignify that insane question with a response.”

He laughed a bit as he pulled your intertwined hands up and pressed a soft kiss to the back of yours, and it was hard not to smile at the action.

“This entire day made me realize that when we eventually, one day down the road, do this, I don’t want it to be anything like this,” You told him.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t want all of this huge fanfare and I don’t want a bunch of people that I don’t ever talk to, to be there either. If we just have the kids, and Robin and Eddie, and Nancy and Jonathan too. Oh, and Harold, of course. That’s more than enough for me. Is that okay? Does that even make sense?” You looked up at him to see if he understood what you meant, and of course he did. He always did.

Steve nodded immediately. “That sounds perfect, honestly.”

“I know that probably won’t be able to happen because of how involved our moms are gonna want to be with everything, but I just think the thought is nice,” You said with a halfhearted shrug.

“We can do a small thing with just everyone that we want to be there and then let our moms take the reins on the huge fancy thing that they’ll force us to do.”

“God, you’re so smart,” You said and you wanted to sit up so that you could kiss him— you’d been craving it all night, actually— but you felt too comfortable to move right then. “So, is this a proposal, Steven?”

You were the one doing the teasing now, a smile playing on your lips as you looked up at him and he looked down and met your eyes again.

He shook his head as he smiled at you. “Give me some time to plan the most elaborate one ever.”

“Take all the time you need,” You told him, and you genuinely meant that. In your eyes, there wasn’t any rush to get to that place. Even though you loved talking about the future with him, you didn't feel the need to make it happen before it was meant to. You two were already happy and in love and you felt so certain that that would never change, so you felt content being in this place with him. “Thank you again for coming with me to this, by the way.”

He lightly poked your side, making you let out the quietest breath of a laugh, before speaking. “You know I’d never say no to you.”

“Aw, I love it when you also get sappy with me,” You sat up then and finally leaned in to slot your lips against his. You hummed in contentment the second he eagerly reciprocated the kiss and your hand instinctually moved to the nape of his neck as you pushed yourself closer to him.

You savored the moment for as long as you could before you had to pull away to take a breath. “Okay, now let’s get out of here and get ice cream.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

let me know ur thoughts<333

(requests are open for stuff you wanna see in the universe/series!🫶🏾)

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x you #steve harrington series #stranger things imagine

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cxosmicxo · 5 months ago

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valentines !!

♡ : i. midoriya, k. bakugo, s. todoroki, e. kirishima, d. kaminari, h. sero

☆ : gn!reader, slight fem!reader mention in one of denki's, established relationship, one mention of vomit, very small vocabulary omg, not edited so if you see a typo ignore it

✄ : sorry this is so late!! i hate being busy and i’ve been really busy recently💔 but there will be a new smau coming out later this week also😜😜

- in which the mha boys ask you to be their valentine !

i. midoriya

asks you like the first week of january😭

very responsible!

but hes actually so nervous to ask you even tho you guys are dating ??

almost vomits bc he’s so nervous

was gonna do it in front of your friends but he was too nervous so he did it in private

it was after school and the sun is starting to set so it’s that mix of pink and orange

he texts you telling you to meet him at the pond you guys hangout at

you’re sitting there for maybe a minute, waiting for him

and he comes up behind you with a little “boo!” bc he’s silly😝

you turn around and he’s holding flowers and there’s a little bit of snow on the petals

when he opens his mouth to talk he gets nervous and shuts up and his face is turning bright red

LMAO he turns around, takes a deep breath and turns back around with an anxious smile

“i know it’s early but… will you be my valentine?”

he shuts his eyes like he thinks you’re gonna say no loll

his heart is beating out of his chest when you don’t respond but you’re just awing at him bc he’s so cute💔💔💔

i don’t think i used awing right

he opens his eyes and he’s like “please don’t say no bc i already made a reservation”

you giggle at him and then you hug and say yes of courseeeee

and then you live happily ever after and he gives you flowers, chocolate, stuffed animal, smth you’ve been wanting for a while, and takes you out to dinner and you spend the rest of the weekend together😜

k. bakugo

wasn’t gonna ask you bc he assumed obviously you’re his valentine you’re dating🙄

until he heard your friends talking abt how their boyfriends asked

now he has to one up all of them

does it in private bc “they don’t need to be in our business” but it’s bc no one else needs to see him showing emotion besides you

actually really nervous like izuku it’s giving him a headache

begrudgingly asks his mom what to get you and how to ask you

he just shows up to your dorm and when you open the door he just barges in, shutting the door

you just stare at him confused and he huffs and rolls his eyes

“be my valentine… or whatever”

he’s basically whispering it

but if you ask him to repeat it he’ll walk away😭

you ask him where your flowers/presents are and he’s like “you gotta wait for that, greedy”

but he takes you out to dinner bc he’s had that booked since december/january but you’ll never know that🤫

he gets you flowers and candy and all that cheesy shit but he gets you smth sentimental like omg you loser😩😩😩

very sentimental and probably gave you pictures from when you first met, first started dating, and now

so cute i love him

s. todoroki

also wasn’t gonna ask you but natsuo said he HAS TO

and mina was borderline harassing him abt it lmao

honestly pretty lost and scrolls on tiktok for hourssss looking for gift ideas

he asks you around the first week of february

nothing dramatic he just asked you on a study date at your fav cafe and he brings flowers and asks you as soon as he sees you

he feels like he should be nervous but really isn’t

nonchalant dreadhead shoto

pauses before he asks bc he gets a little nervous but he knows you’ll say yes

omg if you say no as a joke he jaw drops slightly it’s so funny

but on valentine’s day he def takes you to this nice ass restaurant and you guys take cute pictures and everyone’s jealous

when you guys get back to the dorms he gives you your gift and i think he made you a boo basket bc he saw so many videos abt it

has like candy and stuff, probably a jellycat, and the essentials idk you get the point

super cuteness and you spend the rest of the night together and probably go out again the next day😜

e. kirishima

very excited he loves valentine’s day

he just loves loving you!!!

just like izuku he asks you like right after christmas

you guys probably started dating bc he asked you to be his valentine and then you lived happily ever after😝

omg yes wait

it’s the day after christmas and you guys are hanging out with your friends in the commons and he perks up randomly saying he forgot to give you a present and sprints to his dorm

most of you guys are looking at him weird but denki, mina, and sero are looking suspicious

he comes back, out of breath, and he places a medium to large sized box on the coffee table and sits back down next to you

you side eye him with suspicious and take the top off of the box

the box unfolds and there’s flowers and chocolate placed in the middle of a poster that says “all i want for christmas is you… will you be my valentine?” in what looks like mina’s handwriting😭

you gasp and pull him in a tight hug, nodding with a little “of course, you loser” and a giggle

his hands shoot up in victory yelling, “SHE SAID YES!!!” as if he just proposed to you LMAO

everyone (except bakugo bc he left when kirishima left bc he knew the present) cheered loudly and it was so silly😜

valentine’s day rolls around and you’re greeted with him holding flowers in front of your door as so as you open it

“for you m’lady, happy valentine’s day”

after school you guys go eat ofc and go to the park, acting like fools but eventually you guys go back to the dorms and he gives you your presents

he also made a boo basket and has cute sentimental stuff like a handwritten note, a photo album of you guys, and other simple basic stuff

you guys had a romcom marathon and spent the rest of the weekend together with your “extended valentine’s day”

d. kaminari

i’m torn between if he’d lwk forget and ask you the day before or if he’s had this prepared since november😭

def asks you in public and does smth extravagant

like outside your dorm with a boombox

okay so it’s february 1st and you’re finishing up getting ready for school and you’re just abt to head down to the commons

you grab your bag and you hear again by fetty wap blasting on a speaker and it’s coming closer to your room LMAO

so, confused ofc, you step out of your room and see denki holding a poster that clearly wasn’t made by him bc it’s legible, sero holding a boombox, and kirshima holding a bouquet of flowers

can you tell i think im the funniest person ever

most of your class is behind him, cheering him on bc power couple ofc

as he approaches your dorm, sero turns down the music and denki holds the poster in one hand and flowers in the other

his dramatic ass gets down on one knee

“good morning, my beautiful goddess, will-“

“did mina make that poster”

“shut up, will you make me the happiest man alive and be my valentine?”

you laugh and say yes ofc and he jumps up, drops the poster and flowers, and picks you up and spins you around while everyone cheers and takes pictures

very dramatic ofc

on valentine’s day he comes to your door in the morning and gives you flowers and chocolate that he makes you carry it around all day so these mfs know you have a valentine

after school he gives you your presents and he also does a basket thing and it’s very similar to kirishimas but def adds some pictures of himself for you to appreciate lmao

even tho he did a dramatic thing asking you out he’s pretty chill on valentine’s day and just wants you to feel your best and feel loved and appreciated

take insta pics of courseeee and everyone’s jealous and he takes your pictures and he highly trained btw

just like kirishima with the “extended valentine’s day” it’s valentine’s day until you go back to school

you’re attacked by the hip all weekend, everything is a two person job

even if you have to go to the bathroom he’ll stand by the sink

if you kick him out he’ll be curled up against the door while he waits and falls when you open the door

very cutesy very sweet makes sure he’s the best and last bf you have😜😜

h. sero

asks you in a timely manner

very responsible

could do smth extravagant and public or personal and private depending on what you want

probably makes mina ask you abt it so she can tell him

bc of that i won’t specifically describe how he asks so use your imagination to how your perfect valentines proposal would be

classic man, probably brings flowers but if you don’t like flowers or are allergic he’ll bring an alternative like stuffed/dried/lego flowers or wtv

if you want smth public and dramatic he’ll probably yell at you from down the school hallway, run up to you with a poster and loudly ask😭

if you want smth more private and personal he’ll probably ask in the same place he asked you out and have a little cute and meaningful speech

he’s pretty good with words if he wants to and makes you tear up a little bit tbh

use your imagination to fulfill the rest of your dreams <33

similar to kirishima mainly

if you prefer a fancy dinner he’ll book one but if you just wanna get food or stay in the dorms it’s wtv makes you happy bc you being happy makes him happy🤩

but on valentine’s day i’m thinking he gives you smth in the morning like a cute matching bracelet and gives you the rest of your gifts after your date

he follows you around all day and has no shame bc why wouldn’t he

like i said earlier it depends what you want like if you go to a restaurant to eat or just grab some food or stay in the dorms

but after you eat you guys watch cheesy romcoms in his dorm and he gives you your presents

also does a basket and gives you the basic things like everyone else but he does hand write a letter makes a cute thing with pictures from when you first started dating to now

he’s very sentimental tell me he’s not🙄

omg yes he gives you a collage board to hang up on your wall and it’s full of pictures of you guys and tons of memories

he does not play abt valentines LMAO

follows you around all weekend also but he does that anyways

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mrs-delaney · 2 months ago

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Heather

request: a Joe Burrow request based on the song heather by conan gray! but happy ending as usual yk

something sweet for the weekend, babes ✨ took lots of creative liberties with this one—hope you love it! thank you to whoever sent in the request 💌

Joe Burrow x Reader 4.4k Words

masterlist: click here for all my stuff!

tag list: sign up here to get tagged in new stuff! 🌟

December 3rd, 2018

You were walking back from the bar with Joe, the December air just cold enough to make you shiver. Your friend group had just finished celebrating his birthday early—December 10th always fell during finals, so you'd made December 3rd your traditional date for Joe's birthday celebration.

"You're shivering," Joe observed, that quiet way he noticed everything about the people he cared about.

"I'm fine," you lied, wrapping your arms around yourself as you walked across campus. It was mostly empty, just a few students hurrying between buildings under the soft glow of the streetlights.

Without a word, Joe stopped walking and pulled his purple LSU hoodie over his head, his t-shirt riding up slightly in the process. You tried not to stare at the glimpse of skin, the way his hair stuck up after the fabric passed over it.

"Here," he said, holding it out to you.

"Joe, you don't have to—"

"Take it." His voice was gentle but firm, and when you still hesitated, he stepped closer and pulled it over your head himself, his fingers briefly brushing against your neck as he adjusted the hood. "It looks better on you than it did on me, anyway."

The hoodie was warm from his body heat and smelled like his cologne—something woodsy and clean that made your chest tight with feelings you'd been carefully keeping buried for three years. You pulled it closer around yourself, trying not to think about how the casual gesture felt like the most intimate thing in the world.

"Thanks," you managed, your voice smaller than you intended.

Joe's smile was soft, genuine. "Always."

If only he knew how many times you'd replay that moment over the next few days. How you'd wear his hoodie to bed, pressing your face into the soft fabric and pretending it meant something more than friendship. How you'd catch yourself staring at him during your group's regular hangouts at Ja'Marr's apartment, wondering what it would feel like if he looked at you the way you looked at him.

But Joe Burrow had never seen you as anything more than a friend, and you'd accepted that reality a long time ago.

Or at least, you thought you had.

***

December 15th, 2018

"So Heather's coming tonight," Justin announced as your group gathered at the usual bar near campus, the kind of place that was sticky and loud and perfect for cheap drinks and good times.

You tried to keep your expression neutral at the mention of her name. Heather Collins had appeared in your friend group two weeks ago—some connection through one of the girls in your broader social circle—and she was everything you'd never been. Tall, blonde, effortlessly beautiful in a way that made guys stop mid-conversation when she walked by.

Including Joe.

"Cool," Ja'Marr said, already scanning the crowd for their server. "She seems nice."

She was nice. That was the worst part. You wanted to hate her, wanted to find some flaw that would justify the sick feeling in your stomach every time you saw Joe's face light up when she entered a room. But Heather was genuinely sweet, funny, and completely unaware of the effect she had on everyone around her.

"There she is," someone said, and you looked up to see Heather weaving through the crowd toward your table. She was wearing a cream-colored sweater that probably cost more than your textbooks, her hair falling in perfect waves over her shoulders.

Joe stood up immediately, that easy smile spreading across his face—the one that used to be reserved for your group, for moments when he was relaxed and happy. Now it seemed to appear every time Heather was around.

"Hey," he said, pulling out the chair next to him. "Saved you a seat."

Heather beamed, sliding into the chair with graceful ease. "You're too sweet."

You took a large sip of your drink and tried to focus on the conversation Ja'Marr was having about their upcoming bowl game, but your attention kept drifting to Joe and Heather. The way he leaned in when she spoke, like he didn't want to miss a single word. The way she laughed at his jokes, not the polite chuckle you'd perfected over the years.

"You okay?" Justin asked quietly, following your gaze.

You nodded quickly, forcing a smile. "Just tired."

But Justin's expression said he wasn't buying it, and when you glanced around the table, you caught similar looks from the rest of your friends. Everyone could see what was happening except the two people at the center of it.

As the night wore on, you watched Joe become more and more captivated by Heather. He bought her drinks, told her stories about growing up in Ohio, made her laugh until her cheeks flushed pink. And when she got cold—because, of course, she got cold—he didn't hesitate to shrug out of his jacket and drape it around her shoulders.

It was a nice jacket. Nicer than the old hoodie he'd given you two weeks ago. Newer, more expensive, the kind of thing you gave to someone you wanted to impress.

"I should probably head home," you said during a lull in conversation, already reaching for your purse.

"Already?" Joe looked genuinely disappointed, and for a moment, your heart did that stupid fluttering thing it always did when he paid attention to you. "It's not even midnight."

"I'm tired, I wanna go home and crash," you said, which wasn't entirely a lie. Watching Joe fall for someone else was exhausting.

"I'll walk you out," Ja'Marr offered, but you shook your head.

"I'm good. Have fun, guys."

You made your rounds of quick hugs and goodbyes, trying not to notice how Joe's attention was already drifting back to Heather before you'd even left the table. Outside, the December air felt sharp against your skin, but you welcomed the bite of it. Anything was better than sitting there watching the boy you'd been in love with for months fall for someone else right in front of you.

Your phone buzzed as you waited for your Uber.

Joe: Get home safe. Text me when you're there.

You stared at the message, thumb hovering over the keyboard. Months of friendship, and he still texted you after every night out to make sure you got home okay. It was sweet, thoughtful, and completely platonic.

You: Will do.

But as you climbed into the backseat of the car, you made a decision. You were tired of watching from the sidelines. Tired of pretending it didn't hurt. Tired of being the friend who got the old hoodie while other girls got the nice jacket.

It was time to protect your heart.

***

December 22nd, 2018

Joe: Movie night at my place tonight? Ja'Marr's bringing his PlayStation.

You: Can't tonight, working on a paper that's due Monday.

Joe: Bowl party this weekend? Everyone's coming.

You: Might have to work, I'll let you know.

Joe: Haven't seen you around lately. Everything good?

You: Just busy with end-of-semester stuff! You know how it is.

Except Joe didn't know how it was, because his classes were online and his biggest concern was preparing for their bowl game. But it was easier to blame school than admit the truth—that seeing him with Heather felt like swallowing glass, and you were finally putting yourself first.

You'd been successfully avoiding the group for over a week, declining invitations with vague excuses about work and school. It helped that finals were actually approaching, giving you a legitimate reason to be scarce. But the real test would be Joe's next game.

You'd never missed one of his games, not once, since he'd transferred. You had a ritual—his number 9 jersey, the same seat in the student section with your friends, the same pre-game text wishing him luck. Missing it would definitely send a message.

But as you sat in your apartment that Saturday afternoon, listening to the crowd roar from Tiger Stadium a few miles away, you knew you'd made the right choice. You turned off your phone and tried to focus on the textbook in front of you, ignoring the way your chest ached with every distant cheer.

Your phone stayed off until Sunday morning, and when you finally turned it back on, the messages were waiting.

Joe: Good luck, text? Come on, it's tradition.

Joe: Looked for you in the stands. Where were you?

Joe: Call me when you get this.

Ja'Marr: Joe's asking where you were. What do I tell him?

Justin: You missed a good game. Joe threw for 4 TDs.

Joe: Seriously, are you okay? I'm worried.

You stared at the messages for a long time before typing back.

You: Sorry, wasn't feeling well yesterday. Heard you guys won though! Congrats.

It wasn't technically a lie. Heartbreak was a kind of sickness, wasn't it?

Joe: Thanks. Feel better.

The conversation felt stilted, wrong. After months of easy friendship, you suddenly didn't know how to talk to each other. But this was what protecting yourself looked like—messy, painful, necessary.

You just had to stick with it.

***

January 8th, 2019

"Alright, what the hell is going on with you and her?" Ja'Marr's voice cut through the noise of the bar where Joe was nursing his second beer, trying to celebrate their bowl game win and failing miserably.

"What are you talking about?" Joe asked, though he knew exactly what Ja'Marr meant.

"Don't play dumb. You've been asking all of us about her for weeks. She's been MIA since before Christmas. What did you do?"

Joe's jaw tightened. "I didn't do anything. She says she's been busy with school and work."

"School and work." Justin snorted, sliding into the booth across from them. "Right. When did she stop coming around, Joe? Think about it."

"I don't know, a couple weeks ago—"

"Try again." Ja'Marr's voice was pointed. "When exactly did she start bailing on group stuff? When did she miss your game for the first time in three years?"

Joe thought back, a sick feeling forming in his stomach. "I don't know, maybe mid-December—"

"Oh, I don't know," Justin said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Maybe right around when you and Heather started doing whatever it is you're doing?"

Joe went quiet, staring down at his beer. Your short texts. Missing his game. The way you'd barely said two words to him lately.

"Shit," he said quietly.

"Oh," he said quietly, the realization washing over him like cold water.

"Yeah, 'oh,'" Ja'Marr said. "Jesus, Joe. We've all been watching this for fuckin' months, dude."

"Watching what?" But even as he asked, Joe knew. He'd always known, somewhere deep down, where he hadn't let himself look too closely. The way you smiled at him. The way you always showed up. The way you fit so perfectly into his life that he'd never questioned why you were always there.

"She's in love with you, man," Justin said. "Has been for a while. And you've been too up your own ass to notice."

Up his own ass. Yeah, that was exactly what he'd been. So focused on football, on his own stuff, that he'd completely missed what was right in front of him. He'd convinced himself you were being a good friend, never bothering to look deeper.

So he'd dated other girls. Kept things casual. Told himself he was protecting your friendship when really he was protecting himself.

And Heather? Heather was easy. Pretty, uncomplicated, new. He didn't have to think about it.

"Shit," Joe breathed, running his hands through his hair. "Shit, I really fucked this up."

"Yeah, you did," Ja'Marr agreed. "Question is, what are you gonna do about it?"

Joe looked around the bar, suddenly desperate to leave. To find you. To fix this before he lost you completely.

"I have to end things with Heather," he said, already reaching for his jacket.

"And then?"

Joe met his friends' eyes, the realization still sinking in.

"Then I have to fix this."

* * *

January 9th, 2019

Joe found Heather at her usual study spot in the library the next afternoon, her blonde hair catching the light as she bent over her textbook. She looked up when he approached, her face brightening with that easy smile that had initially drawn him to her.

"Hey," she said, closing her book. "I was wondering when I'd hear from you. How was your night with the guys?"

Joe slid into the chair across from her, suddenly unsure how to start. Heather was sweet, and she didn't deserve to be hurt because he'd been an idiot.

"It was good," he said, then paused. "Actually, we need to talk."

Something in his tone must have given him away because her smile faltered slightly. "Okay."

"We should probably stop this," Joe said. "It's not fair to you."

Heather was quiet for a moment, studying his face. When she spoke, there was understanding in her voice rather than surprise.

"This is about her, isn't it?" she asked. "Your friend who stopped coming around."

Joe's eyebrows raised. "You noticed?"

"Kind of hard not to," Heather said with a small smile. "The way you kept looking toward the door when we were out, like you were expecting someone. How you'd get this look on your face when someone mentioned her name." She shrugged. "I figured you'd realize it eventually."

"I'm sorry," Joe said again, meaning it. "I didn't mean for it to happen like this."

"I know." Heather reached across the table and briefly squeezed his hand. "For what it's worth, I hope you figure it out with her. She's lucky to have someone care about her that much, even if you're too stubborn to see it."

Joe managed a rueful smile. "Thanks. I hope so, too."

"Just don't wait too long," Heather said, gathering her things. "Girls like that don't stay single forever."

* * *

January 9th, 2019 - Evening

Joe: Can we talk?

Joe stared at his phone for twenty minutes. No response. Not even read receipts.

Joe: I know you're avoiding me.

Another hour passed. Nothing.

Joe: I fucked up. I get that now.

Still nothing. Joe ran his hands through his hair, pacing around his apartment. He'd never had to chase after anyone before, never had to work this hard just to get someone to respond to a text.

The next day, he was desperate enough to try a different approach.

***

January 10th, 2019

Joe was sitting on the steps outside your building when you got back from your late Thursday class. He looked up when he heard footsteps, and you stopped short when you saw him.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, your voice carefully neutral.

"You won't answer my texts."

"I've been busy."

"Bullshit." The word came out harsher than he intended, and he saw you flinch slightly. "Sorry. But come on. It's me."

You shifted your weight, looking anywhere but at him. "What do you want, Joe?"

"I want to talk to you. Not whatever this has been for the past month."

"There's nothing to talk about."

"Really?" Joe stepped closer, and you took a step back. "Because Ja'Marr and Justin seem to think there is."

Your face went pale, then flushed red. "What did they tell you?"

"The truth, apparently. Something I should have figured out a long time ago."

You were quiet for a long moment, hugging your backpack tighter against your chest like armor. When you finally looked at him, there was something guarded in your expression that he'd never seen before.

"Congratulations," you said flatly. "You figured it out. Do you want a medal?"

The bitter tone caught him off guard. This wasn't how he'd imagined this conversation going.

"Can I come up?" he asked. "Please. Five minutes."

You stared at him for what felt like forever before shaking your head.

"I can't do this right now, Joe."

"When then?"

"I don't know. Maybe never."

You turned and walked toward your building without looking back, leaving Joe standing alone in the parking lot with the sinking realization that fixing this was going to be a lot harder than he'd thought.

* * *

January 12th, 2019

You'd been avoiding the complex's common areas for three days, taking the long way to your car and timing your movements around when you knew Joe would be at practice. But Saturday morning, you ran out of coffee, and desperation won over pride.

Of course, he was in the parking lot, loading gear into his car.

"Hey," he said when he spotted you.

You gave him a small nod and kept walking toward your car, keys already in hand.

"Wait." His voice was quieter than usual. "Please."

You stopped but didn't turn around.

"I ended things with Heather."

That made you turn. Joe was standing a few feet away, hands shoved in his pockets, looking more uncertain than you'd ever seen him.

"Good for you," you said, but there wasn't much bite in it.

"I know you don't want to hear this right now, but I need to say it. I was wrong. About everything."

You studied his face, looking for something you weren't sure you'd recognize. "Joe—"

"Just... can we talk? Not out here. My place."

You were quiet for a long moment, weighing the ache in your chest against the small part of you that still hoped this might mean something.

"Your place," you said finally. "Twenty minutes. And this doesn't fix anything."

Relief flickered across his expression. "I know."

"Twenty minutes," you repeated, getting in your car before you could change your mind.

As you got in your car to get coffee, you tried to prepare yourself for whatever this conversation was going to be. But deep down, you knew there was no preparing for Joe Burrow finally wanting to talk about feelings.

* * *

Joe's apartment was the same as always—a couch, a big TV, not much else. You sat on the edge of his couch while he stood by the kitchen like he wasn't sure where to put himself.

"So," you said when the silence stretched too long. "Talk."

Joe ran a hand through his hair. "I don't really know where to start."

"How about why you suddenly care now?" The words came out sharper than you intended, but you didn't take them back. "Funny how you want to have this conversation right after I stop coming around."

"That's not—" Joe stopped, jaw tightening. "Okay, maybe it is. But not the way you think."

"Then explain it to me."

He was quiet for a moment, staring at the floor. "I didn't know," he said finally. "I genuinely didn't know you felt... I mean, I hoped sometimes, but I convinced myself I was seeing things that weren't there."

You laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Right. So this has nothing to do with losing your friend and everything to do with some great revelation about your feelings."

"No, that's not—" Joe's voice got sharper, frustrated. "God, you're not making this easy."

"Why should I make this easy?" You stood up, suddenly too restless to sit. "You want to know what's not easy? Watching you with a different girl every few weeks. Heather was just the last one I could handle watching. Watching you give her your nice jacket while I got some old hoodie."

Joe's expression shifted. "You think that's what that was?"

"Wasn't it?"

"No." He stepped closer, something intense in his voice. "That hoodie was my favorite. I gave it to you because..." He trailed off, shaking his head.

"Because what?"

"Because I wanted you to have something of mine. Something that was important to me."

You stared at him, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. But you'd spent too many weeks protecting yourself to let your guard down that easily.

"That's convenient," you said. "Real convenient that you're remembering all these meaningful moments now that I'm not around anymore."

Joe's eyes flashed. "You want to know when I knew?

You crossed your arms, waiting.

"When you didn't text me before the Auburn game. Since I got here, you never missed that text. I kept checking my phone right up until kickoff, and when it didn't come..." He shook his head. "I played like shit that first quarter because I kept looking for you in the stands."

"Joe—"

"I'm not done." His voice was steady now, more sure of himself. "When Justin asked me when you stopped coming around, I knew exactly when. December fifteenth. Because that was the first time I went out and didn't look for you when I walked into the room. And I hated it."

You felt something crack in your chest, but you held onto your anger like a lifeline.

"So what? You miss having me around as your friend?

"It's not about missing a friend." Joe stepped closer again, and this time you didn't back away. "I don't want you as just my friend. I should have figured that out sooner."

"Prove it," you said, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Joe looked at you for a long moment, something shifting in his expression. "How?"

* * *

Joe was quiet for a moment, looking at you like he was trying to figure out where to start.

"You remember that night in October when you fell asleep on my couch watching film?" he said finally.

You frowned, not sure where this was going. "Yeah."

"I carried you to my bed and slept on the couch. But before I did, I just... sat there for like twenty minutes watching you sleep." He ran a hand through his hair, looking uncomfortable with the admission. "I kept thinking about how right you looked there. In my space, in my bed."

You felt your heart skip a beat, but you kept your mouth shut.

"And that time you came to the library at like 2 AM when I was stressed about the Alabama game. You didn't even say anything, just brought me coffee and sat there while I watched film for three hours."

"I was being a good friend—"

"No." Joe shook his head. "That's what I told myself, too. But good friends don't make your heart race when they walk into a room. They don't make you wish you were brave enough to kiss them when they fall asleep on your shoulder."

You felt your resolve starting to crack.

"You want to know why I gave you that hoodie?" Joe stepped closer. "Because I liked seeing you in my clothes. I liked that you smelled like my detergent the next day. I liked that everyone could see you wearing something that was mine."

"Joe..."

"And when you stopped coming around, it wasn't just that I missed my friend. I missed you specifically. The way you laugh at my stupid jokes. How you always steal food off my plate, even when you have your own. The way you get that little crease between your eyebrows when you're concentrating."

He was close enough now that you had to tilt your head up to look at him.

"I missed wanting to kiss you and being too much of a coward to do it," he said quietly. "So yeah, maybe it took you pulling away for me to realize what I was losing. But what I was losing wasn't just a friend."

You stared at him, heart hammering against your ribs. "Why should I believe you?"

"Because I ended things with Heather before I even talked to you," Joe said. "Because I'm standing here telling you things I've never said out loud to anyone. Because I'm willing to risk whatever friendship we have left for the chance that you might feel the same way."

The last of your walls crumbled.

"I do," you whispered. "Feel the same way. I have for so long, Joe."

Something shifted in his expression—relief, want, something that made your breath catch.

"Yeah?"

You nodded, not trusting your voice.

"Can I kiss you?" he asked, his voice rough.

You answered by reaching up and pulling him down to you.

* * *

The kiss was soft at first, tentative, like you were both still testing the waters of this new territory. Joe's hands came up to frame your face, his thumbs brushing across your cheekbones as he kissed you with a gentleness that made your heart ache.

When you finally broke apart, you were both breathing hard, foreheads pressed together.

"This is weird, right?" you said, voicing what you were both thinking.

Joe's mouth quirked up in a small smile. "The kind of weird we can work with?"

"Yeah," you said, reaching up to touch his face. "Definitely that kind."

"We just made out in my apartment," Joe said, like he was testing the words. "That's... new."

You burst out laughing at the absurdity of it all, and Joe joined in, the tension breaking into something lighter. When the laughter faded, he was looking at you with an expression you'd never seen before—soft, open, completely unguarded.

"I can't believe we waited this long to do that," he said.

"I can't believe you were too scared to make a move for months," you teased, some of your usual dynamic sliding back into place.

"Hey, you could have made a move too," Joe protested, but he was smiling.

"I was protecting my heart, thank you very much. You were the one dating half of LSU."

Joe winced slightly. "Yeah, about that... I'm sorry. I really didn't know."

You studied his face, seeing the genuine regret there. "I know you didn't. That's what made it worse, honestly. You weren't trying to hurt me."

"I never want to hurt you," Joe said seriously. "Not ever again."

The weight of that promise settled between you, and you realized that despite the weirdness, despite the months of friendship you were potentially risking, this felt right. More right than anything had in a long time.

"So what now?" you asked.

Joe shrugged, but he was still smiling. "I guess we figure it out."

"Our friends are never going to let us live this down," you said, already dreading the smug looks from their friend group.

Joe groaned. "I forgot about them."

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