#spin master a-1 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

7s3ven · 7 months ago

Text

FILE LOADING. TF 141 x hacker! Reader, pt 1

( full master list) (intro to this series)

IN WHICH… you needed a way to lessen your prison sentence and TF 141 needed an efficient hacker… as well as someone to spoil.

Notes: hacker! Reader, reader has a criminal background, reader has piercings, tattoos + tooth gems

A/N: first cod series finally lol… please like this post guys, I finished it right after I slipped while practising a taekwondo kick and body slammed into the tiled floor 😭.

—

The air inside your prison cell was muggy and overall unpleasant, causing beads of sweat to form on your forehead as you fanned your face.

The pathetic excuse for a window was not helping, letting only a small amount of oxygen enter the tiny room.

In all honesty, you weren’t treated as badly as other prisoners. A coworker of yours had pulled some strings the moment you were arrested, which meant you got better food and some perks.

But as always, life in jail still sucked.

You were too busy staring at the blank wall in front of you to notice the metal door keeping you locked up was now creaking open.

“Get up.” The warden harshly nudged your shoulder, barely giving you a moment to compose yourself. Your hands were yanked behind your back, the cool metal handcuffs digging painfully into your soft skin.

Your jaw clenched as you were dragged down the dimly lit hallway. You knew better than to ask questions as they would not be answered. All you could do was walk in the direction the warden shoved you in.

The breeze from the well-ventilated interrogation room was the first thing to hit you as you entered. You arched an eyebrow at the woman sitting at the table, her hands gracefully clasped together.

“And you are?” You didn’t recognise her as you slumped into the seat across from her, purposely sending the warden a biting glare.

“I’m Kate Laswell, a CIA operative.” She didn’t waste time before she spoke, leaning forward to catch your attention.

Your lip peeled back into a sneer, “The worst kind of people.”

She ignored your jab. “I’ve come here to give you an offer. You see, SAS is in need of a hacker and I’m told you’re the best fit for the job.” You watch as she opens a slim folder, spreading out the images for your careful gaze to study. They’re printouts of your exploits, files nobody was supposed to obtain. You had deleted your digital footprint after hacking databases, you were sure of it.

“You’re good. Too good to waste in a cell." You hear her softly sigh.

“I did what I did. The justice system isn’t so flattered by my ability to retrieve their sensitive information. Plus, I did murder someone… a few people, actually. So in all honesty, this isn’t an unfair punishment.” You leaned back in the uncomfortable chair, crossing one leg over the other.

“We are well aware of your long record.” Laswell sends you a pointed look. You merely grin, your canine teeth glinting in the light.

“Did you see my arson report?” Your lips spread into a grin, “Because that’s the best one. Set an ex-boyfriend’s car on fire and it just lit up. It was great. You should read it sometime.”

Laswell cleared her throat, reminding you of the situation at hand. “As I was saying, I can lift your jail sentence with a click of my fingers but only if you agree to work for me.”

“Thought I was working for SAS.” You interrupted.

“You’ll work for an elite team called Task Force 141… but you’ll answer to me. I give you the orders.”

“And the catch of this job?”

Laswell’s lips curve into a faint smile. “This is not a job offer, Miss L/N, it is a uniquely presented opportunity. You will get no pay for your services. The reward it reaps, however, is greater.”

You paused for a second. What could possibly be better than money?

“Freedom.” As if reading your mind, Laswell spoke again. “If you do this, you’ll be free before next year. This is possibly your only shot at freedom, do not throw it away. If you stay locked up here, you’ll only rot while the world keeps spinning.”

Now she had your attention. “You must be desperate if you wanna hire me.” A chuckle slipped past your lips but it was mainly to ease the awkward tension that had settled. “What would the job include?” You tilted your head, subtly shifting forward to hint your interest.

“You’ll be working alongside Task Force 141, giving them intel on possible threats and making their jobs easier by gaining access to classified information. I hear you don’t work well with other people but really, what choice do you have?”

Her words prodded at you and the teasing smile on her face aggravated you but she was right. You had no other choice.

The room was silent as you weighed out your choices. The walls seemed to close in on you, a stark difference to the freedom you were promised mere moments ago.

“So I risk my life for this so-called elite team… and in return I get some vague promises of freedom? Smells like bullshit. You lot will probably stab me in the back.” You scoffed.

“You’ve already painted a bright red target on your back. It’s only a matter of time before people realise you’re worth more dead than alive. With us, you’ll have protection. And a purpose.”

Laswell stood up, pushing her chair back with deliberate calmness. The legs scraped against the concrete floor as she did so. “Make no mistake, L/N, people like you don’t simply disappear. Someone will come for you… someone who wants your head on a stick.” Her words hung heavily in the air.

There was a flicker of fear in your eyes and like a feral predator, she ate it up.

“Okay.” You slowly murmured. She had convinced her with her carefully concealed threats. “I’ll do it.”

Laswell smirks. "Good. Pack your things. Your new team will be picking you up in an hour.”

—

The loud roar of the helicopter blades filled the air as you stepped onto the tarmac, shielding your eyes against the bright sun. You rubbed your aching wrists, clicking your tongue at the bruises the tight handcuffs had left.

A few soldiers are waiting for you into the chopper, their silhouettes barely visible through the dark tinted windows.

“Couldn’t just send a car?” You grumbled as you climbed into the helicopter. Laswell followed close behind, unbothered and seemingly used to such a commotion.

“Always for the theatrics, John.” She jokes with the man sitting across from her, eyes crinkling as she grins.

You glance at the man’s name tag, reading Captain John Price. He’s handsome… for a man his age. In a ruggish and rough sort of way. A cloud of smoke slips past his lips as he calmly puffs on a cigar, not at all caring how the chopper unsteadily tilts to the side.

“This the hacker? That pretty ‘lil lass over there?” A voice, thick with a Scottish accent, cuts through the silence. Your eyes dart to stare at the burly man with a Mohawk as he looks you up and down. “Thought the hacker was a bloke. Ain’t complainin’ though.”

You stiffen at the comment, running your tongue over your top row of teeth. It unintentionally gives him a view of your shiny tooth gems. “Thought you lot were an elite crew. Y’all don’t fact check?” You lean back into the cushioned seat. It’s surprisingly comfortable, much better than the stone-hard mattress back in your cell.

The Scot laughs, unbothered. “She’s got bite. I like ‘er. Name’s John McTavish but most call me Jonny. You can call me Soap if ya want.”

You sarcastically laugh. “Soap? What kind of muppet name is that? You had a reputation for eating soap as a kid?”

Soap’s eyes light up, not what you were expecting with your insult. “Ay! The cap’n said the same thing! Called me a muppet too!”

“You still are.” Someone chimes in from the front. You didn’t even realize there were two more people squeezed in to the seats in front of the controls.

The one in the passenger seat turns around, smiling. With his soft brown eyes and gentle features, you can’t help but find him pretty.

“Y/N L/N, right? Nice to meet you. I’m Kyle Garrick.” His voice has a slight British accent to it. “This is Ghost next to me.” He jabs a thumb at the man wearing a skull mask who’s doing a poor job at steering the helicopter.

“Ghost?” You question, “What sort of name is that?”

“Simon Riley.” Ghost grunts out. His British accent is somewhat aggressive, evident in every syllable he barks out.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. For some reason, he annoys you. It’s more like the way he’s looking at you through the eye-level mirror.

The chopper shakes again. You watch as Kyle grasps his seat, his grip so tight it almost cracks the delicate leather. “Sorry.” Simon gruffly replies.

You raise an eyebrow, leaning forward. “What’s up with him?” You nod your head in Kyle’s direction.

“Fell out the bloody helicopter when Ghost was last flying.” Kyle replies. You almost laugh. It’s not something that should be amusing but your lips quirk into a small grin.

“So… does this whole arrangement cover my food and accommodation?” You question, suddenly aware of how hungry you are. Laswell slips out a small folder, handing it to you.

“Your accomodation will be one of our safe houses twenty minutes away from base. We considered having you live on the base itself but socialising isn’t part of your job. You’ll be living with the Task Force to ensure you don’t run. And all your costs will be covered. You will be given an allowance for your own expenses such as impulsive purchases.”

“Thought you said I got no money.”

“Once you have completed what is necessary, you will no longer have access to the allowance.” Laswell clarifies.

“And I walk free.”

Laswell nods, “Then you are free to go. If needed, CIA will pay to transfer you to another country so you can start anew. Most do not get second chances, L/N, so be careful.”

You lick your cracked lips, aimlessly playing with the hem of your oversized shirt. Maybe you could go to Europe; it had been a little dream of yours as a kid.

“Should go to Scotland, lass.” Jonny pipes up above the loud helicopter blades.

“London’s better.” Simon retorts, “Can actually understand what they’re saying.”

“What about Korea?” Kyle butts in.

“You aren’t even Korean.” Jonny argues back, lightly scoffing.

“Yeah, but I wanna go. Is that a crime, Soap?”

Their pointless bickering was comforting in a way. You had spent the last few years of your life locked away, isolated most of the time and alone. It was nice listening to people talk again.

Simon landed the helicopter with surprising grace, being the first to unbuckle his seatbelt and jump out. Kyle was next. Laswell unlocked the sliding door, stepping aside to allow you to slip past first.

You merely stared at her before muttering a tense thanks.

“Watch your step.” Kyle warned you as he held out a hand to steady you.

“It’s literally three feet. I can manage.” You snap back, effortlessly stepping out of the chopper. Jonny lightly chuckled while Kyle slowly withdrew.

“Feisty.” Kyle muttered.

You stared up at the safe house, tilting your head. “It’s… cute.” You hummed. It was a cottage, not the first thing you expected as a safe house.

“Were the pink roses your idea, Riley?” You joked, pointing at the pretty flowers.

He grunts, a sound you’ve suddenly become familiar with. “I prefer Ghost.” He corrects you.

You shrug. “Used to call inmates by their last name. Helped me ignore them when they tried hitting on me in the early years of prison.” You stepped forward onto the stone cobble path, admiring it.

“A small cottage… bet this is a military dream, huh?” You kicked a pebble.

“It is, actually.” Jonny pipes up, “It’s every man’s dream to retire in a cute little house with a pretty lass.”

You lightly scoffed, “I ain’t here to play work wife, McTavish. Can’t even cook.”

“Thank goodness we have Gaz then.” Jonny retorts, “Bloke should be a chef if this career doesn’t work out.”

You take a moment to study the house and its surroundings while the others file through the door. There’s a small white Pickett fence wrapped around the land, bright green blades of grass wrapping around the neatly painted wood.

The cottage is clearly old but well renovated. Rows of vines adorn the side, a surprisingly aesthetic sight. There’s a garden filled with sweetly smelling flowers and the same pink roses sitting at your feet are also perched on top of the porch.

The windows are the favourite aspect of yours. They decorate the stone walls, a sharp gothic detail to them.

It’s almost too pretty for a criminal like you.

“You comin’ in?” It’s Kyle who notices your absence, peeking his head past the doorway. For a moment, he thought you had made a run for it but he was relieved to find you standing among the garden.

You clear your throat, pulling at the bottom of your shirt. “Yeah.” You step onto the rickety porch, the wood creaking under your weight.

The interior of the house is so different from your tiny cell. Walking past the door almost feels like walking into an entirely new life.

Jonny is scavenging through the fridge, pulling out a tall bottle of beer. “Want some?” He offers it to you.

“I can’t drink, warden’s orders.” The words slip past your lips before you can stop them.

“It’s just a beer, can’t hurt ya. ‘Sides, you ain’t in jail no more.” Jonny insists, shaking the bottle. It’s tempting but on instinct, you glance at Laswell.

She’s sitting beside Price, talking to him in a hushed tone and going over a file, presumably one containing details about you.

“I ain’t stopping you from drinking, kid.” Laswell says, feeling your stare on her face.

Hesitantly, you snatch the bottle from Jonny, popping the lid open with practised precision. You haven’t tasted beer, or any other alcohol for that matter, in a long time. You’ve never liked beer… but the first burning sip feels heavenly.

“You got any vodka?” You ask, glancing into the top cupboards.

“Do we look Russian? Nah, can barely drink that shit straight.” Jonny’s face scrunches up at the thought.

“Bourbon then.” Your words catch Simon’s attention.

Jonny grins as he reaches up, grasping a fancy-looking bottle. “Only other person here who likes bourbon is the LT. Guess he isn’t alone anymore.” He pours you a glass, handing it to you in exchange for your bottle of beer.

“Don’t understand how you lot can stand beer. Too bitter for my liking.” You mutter, pacing around the room.

You hear Simon quietly hum in agreement. “Finally someone smart.”

COD TAGLIST (comment to be added/removed): @jenepleurepasbaby @rm25711 @talia-the-gemini @margaaaa30 @mixplara @alex—awesome—22

@lunamoonbby @little-b33 @ghostswife-8 @tea-drinking-nerd @certainlygay @lucienofthelakes @supaturtl3 @pr3ttypupp4 @royalz658 @whoreforfictionalmen18 @ashy-akuma @1bucky-barnes-wife1 @chloepluto1306 @voguiing @eyeless-kun @joshwashingtonmybeloved @fuzzyducky3 @childishname @angel-bugz @kee-0-kee @undercover-smutlover @10honeybee01 @kat247 @munson24 @sweetlittleblackrose @babybimbo777 @wfinniegenx @galactict3a @hyperfixatedcatlover @creepumiku @yoontoons @moraxnomora @1ckyfairy @lunerbitch @tizylish

3K notes · View notes

whambambatfam · 6 months ago

Text

Webs of a Wing

Chapter 1

I am not well versed in DC knowledge. I've read a bunch of the older comics but, honestly, these timelines are too confusing to say I have a firm grasp on what the fuck is happening at any given point.

Anyways, this is my story, I made a tumbler for it. I'll definitely upload again..

When the fly on the wall starts to spin webs of their own, can the bats catch on? Or will they be left to dangle in the web they've tangled?

───── ⋆⋅ 🕸 ⋅⋆ ─────

You're hardly school aged when you wake in a strange place, vague memories of someone patting your head as you fall asleep. Then it was all blurry and you went from cold hard ground, suddenly, to a warm bed worth more than you've ever seen.

Laying still, staring up at the ceiling, you lay dazed until you hear the door starting to creak open. Quickly shutting your eyes you wait for the suspect to peak inside.

When his voice sounds, back on the other side of the door, you perk up, "Who's this? They're kinda cute." A boy, most likely a few years older than you.

When that deep, fear inducing voice reaches for you, you jump out of bed after it. "Apparently, my child." He couldn't possibly be talking about you, right?

You make your way silently to the creaked door. Peeping through to watch them. "Huh? What?? Like seriously???" Hands resting on his hips, a boy of black hair and lean physique gapes.

A tall man with a build as intimidating as his voice, "Yes, I've run a DNA test and everything." His large arms cross over his broad chest.

Mirroring the older man's stance, the boy questions, "So, who's the mom?"

"I'm still working on that.."

"Have you.. asked them?"

There's a heaviness lingering in the hall around them. "We don't know if they'll talk yet, not till they wake up." He doesn't like not having answers, clearly.

"Can they?"

Swinging the door open, you bark out at your own defense, "I knew how'd to talk!"

His shoulder shot up, face blossoming in embarrassment, "Oh, sorry." Sighing, he tries to appear nonchalant. "Well, heyyy.. kid.. My name's Dick.” Placing a hand on your shoulder, he smiles, “Guess I'll be like, your, uh, big brother?"

Eyes widening, you step away from his grasp. Being in a strange place with strange people claiming to be your family was concerning. Even in your young mind, alarm bells rang loud and clear.

Like a light shining through your darkest times, his voice cut through the tension. “This may be all too much for,” A man, much older than either, rests his hand on your back, “the newly young master Wayne.” He ushers you gently back into the room. All gentle pats and kind smiles as he insists on you resting.

You never spoke about who or where you came from. It hurts to try, to think of the cold, the dark, the pain, the fear. Push out all the bad. Make it just go away. You just wanted it to go away. Wanted to take every memory of before and lock it up, never to be found. So, that's what you did, burying every painful memory. After some time, your young mind turned repression into suppression. Now, left with only bits and pieces, you couldn't remember even if you wanted to.

So, you’ll need to fill in the emptiness with this fresh start.

Life in the Wayne house started off joyfully. You found serenity in the solitude of the manor, disconnected from the rest of Gotham. When Alfred wasn't pushing tedious homeschooling work, you explored the massive house you'd be calling home. The quietude of empty ballrooms, winding halls and stodgy gardens was your respite. While it wasn't a place made for children, you felt at peace for the first time. The perfect home for a ghost with plenty of walls for flies and flowers alike.

Coming from unknown origins with no paperwork to speak of left you in a peculiar predicament. As a child was low grasp on the passage of time, you couldn't exactly say how old you were. Let alone when your birth date was. No one has ever bothered to tell you and if they have you certainly weren't going to remember. Infact, at Alfreds insists on a celebration, he comes to find you've never truly experienced a birthday of any kind. He had to correct this at once, give you a proper one with cake, singing and presents. It makes him wonder what sort of childhood you've been plucked from.

“Well, young master.” Alfred takes your hands as you climb the step stool next to him, “It's been a year now since you've joined us at the manor.”

Your hands slap onto the counter when you finally reach it. “Yeah, I like it.” Smiling wide up at the old butler, you babble on, “everything is so big and warm and it smells nice and I like when you cook and I wanna cook too and-” Alfred hushes your ramblings with a hand on your head.

“Yes, that's lovely, my child.” The other hand opens a draw nearby. “And that's what we'll be doing today.”

You tilt your head as the hand on it brushes over it and falls away, “Cooking?” Craning your neck, you try to peek at the cards he flips through.

“Well, baking, but yes.” He confirms, offering you a smile that's warm and sweet like his cookies, “Today was the day you joined the family, it's as good a day as any for a party.”

Your eyes light up, “A party for what?”

“Your birthday, my dear.” He chuckles softly at your look of awe,“Today will be your birthday, and every year I shall make you a cake.”

“Woah, every year?” You gasp as he hafs you the small stack of cards, each a handwritten cake recipe. While you can't read them yet, there are pictures of each cake pasted alongside the words. “That's a lot of cakes.. Can I help?”

“Whichever you like most we'll bake.” You're quick to pick one, waving the card around frantically, “I would be honored to have your help as well, young master.”

Alfred got to work with measurements, letting you pour everything into the bowls. He shows you how to mix, guiding you hand over hand when you struggle. You can't help spilling half of you what you're given, covering the counters. Sliding the pan batter into the oven, Alfred has you assist by wiping away your mess.

As he begins readying ingredients for frosting you ask, “Are those guys gonna join us?”

You're too busy scrubbing batter from your stool to see the way he deflates. “Unfortunately, your father and brother are tied up in something.” He sighs, taking the rag and finishing your job. With a sullen smile he hands you a measuring cup of sugar, “Perhaps next year.”

The night is spent merrily celebrating. When it cools Alfred frosts and decorates your cake. He places a number of candles, It's the first of many birthdays spent with just you and Alfred.

The next years were your first time in true schooling, a prestigious boarding school to boot. You couldn't remember seeing so many other children before. The eyes you received from strangers when given your new last name made your skin crawl. Deciding to forgo it in most encounters. Yet, for some reason to a great number of your fellow classmates, that fact seemed to matter greatly. If you met someone who insisted or withheld their friendship without, then you'd simply roll your eyes, never speaking to them.

You decided friends weren't important, instead making it your goal to not just succeed but to exceed. If this was your shot of a real family, you wanted to show them you were something capable. Worthy. You were hopeful, determined in getting close.

Only to be pushed aside at every opportunity.

“I got’ perfect score!” The words burst from you with such excitement you're bouncing on the balls of your feet.

Bruce doesn't even bother to look at the paper you're frantically waving at him. Simply mumbling as he places his mug in the sink, “Very nice.” Before turning to Dick, “Come on, son. It's time to go.” You thought maybe this was how a father was supposed to be. Cold, distant and hardly ever around for someone so small.

Alfred steps up from behind your slumped form. Plucking the paper from your dejected gaze. He hums softly before you hear a rap on the fridge beside you. “Wonderful job young master.” You smile for him as he pats your head. Happy to have at least someone’s acknowledgement.

From what your classmates say, a big brother will either pick on you or support you. Soon you came to find that living with Dick Grayson didn't guarantee you any of his time. Good or bad.

So, despite the terror that being center stage fills you with, you entered your school's spelling bee. The thought that maybe you could possibly impress them gave you just enough nerve.

“Hey, um, Dickie...” When you catch his sleeve, your teeth skin into your cheeks. He peeks over his shoulder at you, “Here, it's a competition.”

His nose wrinkles slightly before he smiles. “Spelling bee?” Not a real smile, you don't get those. It's a empty, meaningless thing that hardly lifts his lips.

“If you're not busy.” You clasp your fingers together, steeling your nerves.

“Uh, yeah. Maybe.” It’s thinly masked disgust if anything.

Time came to discuss bringing you into the public eye, an official declaration of your relationship with the Wayne's. Just the thought of it was unsettling, like placing a target on your back. The last place you want to be is the spot light.

“I don't wanna go. I won't go.” It was then in that moment, when the words left your lips, you could see it in his eyes.

A wave of relief Dick couldn't quite stifle, lip touching at the corner before turning to Bruce, “Maybe they're just scared of all those new people. With everyone looking at them, seeing them as your..” That uptick in his features falters slightly, “first child, technically.” Back then, you thought he cared. That this was actually for your protection. “It's a lot of pressure, maybe it would be better. For them, to stay safe.”

Bruce crosses his arms, examining his older child before looking back to the younger. “You have a point there, Dick.” You've twisted your fingers into Alfreds pant leg, half hidden behind him. “Fine. I won't force you to do anything you don't want to. It might even be for the better.” Neither of them wanted you there, thinly veiled behind words of care, never quit saying it.

Not once then did you realize. There was nothing you could do, nothing you could say, nothing you could show for. Nothing to make them see you, the real you. You couldn't provide them with anything, that made you useless.

“Very well, Master Bruce.” With a sigh, Alfred guides you away as the two leave. He was always the one in your corner. Before you even know this life would be a battle.

This give on the topic began your gradual slope into obscurity. In the hectic years of adolescence, you'd come to the conclusion that private schools are for snobs. You manage to convince the old butler, with baked goods, to allow a change of schools. Not wanting to slow your studies yet overwhelmed by your known family reputation. Public school seemed viable, no one had to know who you really were. There seemed to be no object, or real acknowledgment of this decision.

You used to believe, despite how they act, this was it, this would be your family and you could be happy. Surely, you thought, it's because you're new to them. It must be hard to connect, you found it quite difficult yourself.

So, you decided, you'll just need to put in more effort. Show them that there is something that you and they can do together. You took up everything you Alfred offered to teach you when he was around. You learned to cook, sew and clean the whole manor faster than the master butler himself.

Of course, he had other priorities, not just as your caretaker. Try as he might to keep you at the top of that list, he still has duties to attend. So, you would take your days, even weeks, alone with stride. A good time to build your skills on your own, finding new ways to utilize them. Hoping for something, anything, to bridge the gap with your new family.

“I'll be home late today, Al.” While you had gotten away from uptight private schooling, Alfred still set into a well funded school.

He gives a light chuckle of disbelief over the phone, “You have plans, young master?” Pinching the device between your shoulder and ear, you fumble through your first ever locker.

“It's just a club, I'll still need you to pick me up after.” With all your free time, you thought you'd use more of your growing skills.

“At your service my dear.”

You took time to catch on, years of peeling away from the background. Picking and pulling apart from the inside out, finding something that could peak their interest. Hoping to think twice, even once to turn their heads back to the lone manner.

That's how you found them, their secrets; and the life that pulled them as taunt in one direction as the other did. Digging for a way that you could connect from beyond the twice eye catching lives they live day and night. You were piled with reasoning when you found that special place in the library they all seemed to love. The idea of passing the security felt out of reach at the time.

Walking along the dark water line, looking out to the misty sky. You don't wish for misfortune, but you wait. When that light flickers on and that familiar symbol reflects on the dark Gotham clouds, your breath catches. Ducking alonge the rocky cliff wall by the large alcove, you listen to the rumble. You brace yourself as something in the shallow cave opens, the rumble growing.

Then you have your answer. The Batmobile comes billowing out of the cave, in its wake you hide. Long after its departure from the property, you emerge from your hiding spot. Slipping through the closing doors and wandering down into the bat cave.

Despite how they see through you most times, you're sure Alfred knows when you sneak in. So, appreciating this to be Alfred throwing his hand up and hiding his eyes for your sake.

It's awe inspiring to say the least, especially knowing you live above it every day. It felt like peeking through the lives of strangers and you couldn't look away. You don't know why he kept it from you but you didn't want to be shut out for knowing. Yet, you couldn't satiate your curiosity with just this visit.

You had told Alfred you had a meeting after a club and that you would be home late. For some strange reason he promised Dick would pick you up.

Water splashes up from a speeding tire as you walk along the misty Gotham streets, “Aw man, come on!” Of course Dick didn't show! Why would he? When has he ever?

Now, in this situation, Alfred would wish for you to call him for assistance.

“Over there! Look, look!” Across the intersection a pair gasps and squeals, fingers pointed up at the Boy Wonder. The last thing on his mind as he leapt through the night sky, was an unwanted sister.

If only Alfead could get everything he's ever wished for, but you're not a fairy.

Following gunshot and bangs you skirt around chaos, nearly avoiding an obvious outbreak of costumed thugs. You watch in ired fascination as they beat down each threat thoroughly. As the moon starts to sit lower again and the bad guys are carted away, you realize how long you've been gone.

You arrive at the gates in tune to be blown past by the Batmobile. Inside, Alfred gives you a look as if he knows every secret you've even kept. Thankfully he doesn't say a word, You're out of your damp clothes by the time the dynamic duo ascend to the manor.

For people of the shadows, they never could seem to see you creeping through them.

It's through this that you managed to learn about Barbra Gordon. The commissioner's daughter was someone you could only catch glimpses of from time to time. It was rare for you to catch her attention. Much too preoccupied with her work for the Bat, your father.

The batgirl's skill inspired your own delve into tech. Hacking, coding and even trying your hand at tinkering with new devices. Creations that you've jerry-rigged and hoped against hope that she would even glance at.

She's coming over today, you overheard dick say so. You've poked your head over the banister as you wait to spot the red head. Yet, once she's there, you freeze. Dick and Barbara push through the front doors together. Light rain chasing them inside from the sturing storm. Their foot falls followed by light laughter and easy chitchat. If only it was so easy for you.

You watch as your brother scurries off, promising to grab a towel. This is your shot. “Oh, um!” Words are coming from you before you even know what to say. Stumbling over yourself, you bumble over, haltung in front of her. “B-Barbra?”

“Huh, who?” At the ruckus you've made, she whips around. Head on a swivel 'till green eyes locking on you. “Oh! It's you.. uh..” looking you up and down she stumbles as well.

You have to give her your name, again.

“Right, right. Sorry.” Barbra looks off sheepishly, carting a hand through her hair. Hand flicking droplets from the ginger ringlets.

“It's okay..” that's alright, that's normal Even. You don't see each other all that often.. even though you remembered her name just fine. “I just want to ask you about some-” Unfortunately, yet unsurprisingly, she cuts you off before you can pull out what you want to share with her.

“I've actually got to-” Her mouth snaps shut before she thinks better of words, “Well, um, talk with Bruce.” She finishes with an awkward chuckle and mumbled “Y'know how it is. Always something with the Wayne's.”

No, “Yeah..” You didn't know.

You've never shared more than a last name with the Wayne's.

Patting your head she smiles, “Sorry again, hun. Maybe later?” turning away down the hall Dick had disappeared to. Even to the all seeing eye you were nothing but a mere fly on the wall.

Gothams streets were dark, dangerous, and the only place you could see them for more than a minute. You loved nights like this, when you could slip from the manor. Undetected by the inattentive gazes that should have kept a preteen like you home.

With this habit of bird watching, you found yourself looking more into your subpar self defense. Living in Gotham has given you a natural caution but all too often you've wound up in tight situations. All because you couldn't keep your eyes off them. Maybe if you show them you could do that, fight back, they might see you.

You put yourself out there over and over, “Uh, d-dad?” Alfred insisted you call him that, but it never felt right, “I've been doing, um, I have this..” taking a breath you force it out, “It's martial arts, could you come see me?”

Another paper half glance at before the typical, “I'll see what I can do.”

Apparently, there are some things even Batman can't do.

“H-hey.. I, uh, am doing..” You pull out the flier for your competition. inspecting it over before looking to see him. Half-heartedly glancing up from his comic, Dick gives you a once over before continuing to read, “Gymnastics.”

Finally his eyes hold yours when the word shoots from your mouth. For a second you think this is it. This is when you’ll finally have his attention. Finally make that long awaited connection with your big brother. “I'll see, why don't you ask Bruce?” Dick lays the paper on the living room table in front of him.

“I did... he said the same thing.”

The paper is still there when you come back later.

1K notes · View notes

thyme-in-a-bubble · 4 months ago

Text

beauty and the beast

a/n: ahhh here it is! february's poll fic! hope you all enjoy the twisted tale it became!

polls for this fic: 1 | 2 | 3

summary: sucking in a breath, he stared down at you before stating firmly, “…I want to be human again. No matter the cost…”

warnings: beast/werewolf!bucky barnes x reader, smut, dark content, noncon/dubcon, fairytale retelling, soulmate au, prisoner x captive, predator x prey, monsterfucking, magical castle (except it's alive in the sense that bucky can control it because of the curse), violence, references to murder, bondage, dirty talk, size difference, size kink, belly bulge, gaping, manhandling, knotting, overstimulation, oral, squirting, multiple orgasms, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie

word count: 3505

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist

Your lungs burned as you dashed through the cold castle, your cloak billowing behind you as you tried to navigate the dark halls.

But as you whipped your head around in your frantic search, your eyes caught sight of a dusty portrait on the wall that stunned you to your very core and momentarily caused you to forget about the vital matters at hand.

Though scratched up by angry streaks, you still recognised the face that the painting portrayed. Although you had never met him, it was still the visage of the very man who had haunted your dreams for as long as you could remember. You’d never previously known if the man of noble birth had been real or just a figment of your imagination, though his tormented life, and the terrors he’d had to endure every month when the moon above became the prince’s master, had flickered in your mind almost every night.

A distant scream then rang out high up in the eastern tower and echoed through the castle till it found your ears and ripped you away from your discovery.

Darting down the dim hall and up a winding stone staircase, you soon found the elderly man you’d left your little village to find, bolted and locked away in a freezing cell.

“Papa!” you cried out as you lunged forward and grasped the iron bars dividing you both.

Achingly pushing himself up to his feet, he scurried closer and gasped, “what are you doing here?” his eyes as big as saucers.

“Getting you home,” you felt a tear roll down your cheek before your fingers brushed over your father’s knobbly ones, “oh, papa, how did this happen?”

“No, darling, listen to me, you must leave here at once, it isn’t safe,” he urged in a hushed tone as his eyes darted to the shadows behind you, “go! Run away before he finds you!”

“Who?” you asked, but before your dad could be the one to fill you in, a low growl rumbled throughout the space. Spinning around, you glanced around the darkness, “who’s there?”

“Oh no…” your father whimpered, “he’s back…”

Keeping a hand clutched over your dad’s, you sucked in a deep breath and yelled, “let my father go!”

“The very least that thief deserves is to rot in a cell,” a deep voice chilled your bones, though your wild eyes still couldn’t find the source.

“Thief?” you panted, “no, he would never–, it has to be a misunderstanding–”

“He stole a rose,” a trickle ran down your spine as you recalled what flower you had requested for your father to bring back home for you, “it was this sentence or death.”

“You truly demand a life for a rose?” your eyes continued to dart through the darkness.

“Please, darling–,” your dad begged you to stop, though you swiftly cut his efforts short.

“Let me take his place,” you pleaded. Keeping your gaze twisted away, you flinched as your father’s protests seeped through the metal bars, “I was the one who asked for the flower, so I should be the one taking the penance.”

A low snarl rumbled in the night as the unseen figure thought it over, though as he did, he shifted just enough for you to make out the faint silhouette of him, huge and hulking, unlike any man you’d ever seen before.

But instead of offering you his verdict in words, he instead, by some mystical means beyond your comprehension, unlocked the cell door by his sheer will.

As it creaked open with a loud groan, you rushed in and threw your arms around your father.

“I can’t let you do this,” he stated, pulling back from the hug.

“It’s going to be alright,” you tried to assure him, though tears still streamed down your face, “I love you.”

“No, darling, no–,” he continued to protest, before a massive arm suddenly reached out of the shadows and snatched up your father by the scruff of his neck, “ah!” the old man screamed as his captor dragged him out of the cell.

“Don’t hurt him!” you tried to follow, but the iron door was slammed shut in your face, “please!”

Halting at your words for but a moment as the broad figure began to accent the stone steps, pulling your father after him like a burlap sack, he muttered in a low tone, “silly peasant girl…” the moonlight streaming in from one of the small windows caught and illuminated him just enough for you to discover that he wasn’t a human at all, “you should have just run away when you had the chance…”

Curled up in the corner of the cold cell, you shivered violently as you hugged your knees even closer to your chest, though swiftly jumped as you suddenly heard a pair of heavy footsteps stomping up the winding staircase.

As you scurried to crawl even further away from the dungeon door, the towering beast appeared once again on the other side.

“Eat,” he growled after he’d kicked a plate in through the sliver of space at the bottom of the door.

Your stare only flickered down at the stale bread and the tankard of water for a mere moment before it darted back up to the monster before you.

“Who are you?” you gathered the courage to ask, “what are you?” though the beast didn’t bother entertaining your questions, only grumbled quietly before he shifted back towards the steps, “please,” you called after him, “I’m already your prisoner, what harm could a few questions do?”

Stopping in his tracks, he let out a heavy sigh, “more than you’d think,” before he disappeared from your sight.

A painful gasp filled up your lungs as you snapped awake, swiftly shooting up to a sitting position.

It had seemed so real… the careful seduction honeyed enough to make your core throb even now, to the loss of control and blind rage that swiftly followed each disappointment…

Though you knew it just to be a figment of your imagination, you still trembled at the possibility of it being true. Princesses, more than you could recall, had all, one by one, been taken to this castle. The gentle side of the beast that he had granted them each the privilege of witnessing nearly scared you with how efficiently it had not only wooed them, but also had made your own heart confused for even but a moment.

Though after he had carried them off to bed and made love to them in a manner you could quite literally only dream about, something, unbeknownst to you, would cease to take a hold, a failure that each time would cause the monster to snap, and in the mindless frenzy, he would accidentally take the royal’s lives, each and every time.

Panting as you tried to calm your rapid pulse, your weary eyes finally noticed the shadow lurking on the other side of your cell.

“Are you gonna kill me like you did with all of those princesses?” you hesitantly asked in a hushed tone.

Shifting his weight, he slowly tilted closer and uttered darkly, “how do you know about that?”

“Are you?” you insisted, “because then you might as well just get it over with instead of drawing it out–”

“No!” he roared, “you’re no good use to me dead,” his beastly head then tilted, “but if that’s what you wish, then…”

Sucking in a breath, your stare stayed glued on him before you muttered, “depends on what you’re planning to do with me…”

“Well, since you don’t have any blue blood running through your veins, you aren’t what I need. But perhaps I can still find some use of you. Maybe, if one day you change,” or more like break, “forget about that meaningless life you had before and grow loyal to me, then you could live out the rest of your days as my servant, assist me with whatever I may require.”

“Like getting you more royals to murder? I won’t help you with that,” you dared to stand your ground, “is that also what happened to the man in the paintings downstairs, the ones that are all scratched up? Did you kill him too, just to have his castle?”

Your words caused the creature’s features to get muddled as he then blinked, “I didn’t–…” swallowing hard, his jaw clenched before he continued, “he’s not dead, not yet at least. Though I fear he doesn’t have much time left.”

“Can I see him?” you heard your own heartbeat thump in your ears, “I know it sounds crazy, but I think I might, some way, somehow, be able to help him.”

Staring back at you, the monster then uttered, “…you’re staring at him,” causing you to seize up in shock before you slowly heard him say, “prince James Barnes,” he introduced himself, though with a hesitancy as if the memory of his own name had begun to fade away, “though everyone always used to just call me Bucky.”

Scarcely breathing, you uttered, “what happened to you?”

Averting his gaze, he began to explain, “…I’ve always had this affliction, ever since I was but a child, each time the moon would stand full and proud in the night sky, I would change, lose control… I was young and dumb… hunted the wrong doe…” he uttered, though the way he phrased it made you think he wasn’t speaking of a deer at all, “so now, instead, I am cursed to live like this each day that doesn’t bear the same full moon I used to fear, slowly losing my myself with every month that passes, becoming less human and forgetting about those ways… if I do not break the curse before the next eclipse, then I will be stuck like this forever,” he shared before he added with a growl, “so, yes, I would greatly appreciate it if you helped me find some more royals since I am running out of time.”

“That’s what you need to break the curse? A princess?”

“Not just any princess,” his head slowly shook from side to side, “the day that spell was cast, it was prophesied that she would be the only one who could save me. So, she became linked to me. But, perhaps out of fear, or greed, or something else, her kingdom hid her away from even themselves,” he exhaled, “and I still haven’t been able to find her, no matter where I look–…” his sentence then melted away as you shifted slightly and the sleeve of your dress dropped down just a tad from where the hem had been resting on your shoulder. In the low light, the beast spotted just the very crescent of the birthmark that was now visible, poking out of your neckline “…what is that?” he whispered before willing the door, that kept you both separated, to swing open.

You stumbled back as he slowly strode in, “what is what?”

“That,” he then ripped down your sleeve, the seams slightly tearing from the force. Petrified, you didn’t move an inch as he stared at the moon-like shape on your skin, “…you’re–…” his breath sounded ragged as he pieced the mystery together, “you’re her…” his eyes then flickered up to find your own.

“I’m–,” your breath got caught in your throat, “sorry?”

“I can’t believe it’s really you,” he breathed, “you came to me,” the corners of his lips faintly twisted at his spellbound amazement, “you finally came to me.”

“I came here to free my father,” you swiftly corrected him.

“Your Highness, that thief wasn’t your kin. Did you truly not know?” he uttered, “don’t worry, I will never lie to you as they did, you have my word.”

“I thought I was your prisoner, and now you want to–, what, love me?”

Sucking in a breath, he stared down at you before stating firmly, “…I want to be human again. No matter the cost…”

Your eyes then flickered towards the cell door he’d left agape, and before you could even weigh out the odds, you seized the opportunity and darted out.

“What are you–, no, no!” he roared from behind you before you heard his thunderous steps nip at your heels.

Running down the stairs, you nearly slipped countless of times before you reached the bottom. As you stormed through the castle as fast as your freezing feet could take you, screeches cut through your panting as all manner of furniture, large and small, magically came soaring through the air in attempts at slowing you down or blocking your path.

“Stop!” you heard him behind you, though didn’t have the courage to glance back to discover how close he was as he chased you and continued to fling items towards you at his will, only narrowly missing your form, “you will not escape, not when I finally have you!”

But when you finally reached the bottom of the grand staircase that led down into the entrance hall, eyes glued to the exit, Bucky then lunged down the latter half of the steps and tackled you to the ground.

Wind knocked clean out of your lungs, your body ached from the collision. The stone floor was cold beneath you as his weight pinned you down against it.

“You really shouldn’t have done that…” he panted in your ear, his laboured breath causing your hair to rustle, “I was gonna be all nice and gentle with you, just as I was with the other princesses, but I can’t have you slipping away again.”

His hulking form then peeled away from you, though only to seize your hips swiftly enough for escape to never be an option. Yanking you up off the ground till your bottom was propped up high, yet your upper half stayed plastered to the floor, his wide hands raked over your frame before a claw caught onto the fabric of your dress.

Once your clothing was ripped to shreds and scattered across the castle’s entryway, his grasp encircled your hips as his thumbs stretched out to spread you open for him.

Your toes curled as he then began to lap at your core, tickling your clit till your cunt couldn’t help but leak for him. The beastly tongue was long and just as strong as the other muscles in Bucky’s body, making you quiver as it greedily explored your holes.

But when the cursed prince’s patience ran thin, he didn’t hesitate to let himself straighten up behind you and nudge his length against your core. Without even catching a glance of it, the sear weight of his girth as he briefly tapped it against your glossy folds sent a shiver down your spine. As he buried his monstrous cock inside of you, instantly bullying it much further than you thought plausible, your mind went blank as your body struggled to accommodate for his inhuman size.

Fear swiftly magnified within you at the thought that he might break you, since that was what it felt like as he split you open.

“O-oh shit, little one…” he groaned as he tried to draw back out, though when only the tip of him remained, your tightness clung around the bulbous head too fiercely to let it escape. A yelp bubbled out of you as he had to put his might into it, letting out a grunt as he forced himself out with an audible pop, watching as your poor pussy gaped for a second before achingly clenching around nothing.

When he sank back into you, the ruthless rhythm he then initiated caused your body to shake violently beneath him as his rough thrusts were too intense for what your form was used to.

“Quit fucking squirming, princess,” each word was punctuated by a buck as he mercilessly drove his fat cock into you, “fucking take it or I’ll just eat you instead.”

On the next thrust that rocked your body, your wobbly knees finally gave out, though the drop barely affected the monster’s pace as he only followed and blanketed you with his form.

Weakly, your fingers shakily snaked up above your head before they began to claw at the ground in a hopeless attempt at crawling away.

“Where do you think you’re going, huh?” one of his massive palms came down over the back of your head to shove you back down against the floor, holding you there as his glance then flickered to the curtains close by. Jaggedly, the fabric then fluttered alive and came flying through the air to obey his wish. Slithering over, they first tangled themselves around both your wrists, yanking them up high till your arms were completely stretched out against the floor, before another curtain then slipped around your torso, just beneath the swell of your tits, to keep you that much further trapped.

Slamming his dick even further inside of you, he tried to ram the bulbous knot at the base of his cock inside of your warmth, but no matter how hard he thrust, it just wouldn’t pop in. Though as he kept up his efforts, it kept on hitting your puffy pearl at every failed attempt, soon rendering you to gush around his fat girth as he continued to rut into you till you were crying out at the overstimulation.

Pinned down and mind melted, your blurry vision found the painting on the wall of Bucky’s true form, the very prince you had dreamt about your whole life and put up on some pedestal as someone to yearn for. Though as you stared at the portrait, it was then that you noticed his eyes, and you finally began to lose yourself. They were the only thing that hadn’t changed about the beast that still buried himself inside of you. Eyes that you had previously fallen in love with… eyes that you perhaps still were in love with…

Suddenly, the curtains around you tightened before you were flipped all the way around. Head spinning, you blinked up at Bucky as he pushed himself back till he was kneeling between your trembling legs. Your chest rose and fell rapidly as he grasped your hips and lifted them up off the ground, rubbing your drooling pussy messily against his leaking tip before his hardness caught your entrance and he slipped back in.

Sinking you down onto him, a low groan of elation rumbled in his throat as his big knot finally popped inside. His thick fingers dented your hips as his efforts paused for a moment as he let himself revel in the sensation of your cunt clenching around all of him.

As his movements picked back up again, lewd and sloppy pops sounded each time he fucked his knot in and out of you, repeatedly making you take it and stretch your tiny hole out for him.

As your eyes drifted down, they caught sight of just how intimidating his size truly was, for if you had seen it before, there would have been no way in hell you would have thought your body was capable of taking it.

Your messy cream stained his knot as he continued to bring you down against him, fucking you as if you were just a toy in his grasp. It was then that you spotted the bulge that appeared in your belly, though it still took you a moment to realise that it was the thrusting imprint of his jarring size, visible for all to witness. It was so staggeringly pronounced that it caused you to unravel once more for him, your squirt that leaked around his cock only caused the beast to grow more feral and snap his hips up to meet your own each time he drove your body down against him.

His heavy balls slapped against your slick skin as he repeatedly bumped against your sore cervix, nearly piecing his way through it as he brought you down one last time before he finally tumbled over the edge himself, pumping you full of so much cum that it began to leak out of your stuffed hole before he was even finished.

And then, while he was panting above you and still plugging up your poor pussy, a bright light appeared and set his body aflame in an ethereal glow.

You had to narrow your eyes to a squint as the beast’s visage began to melt away before you, till he wasn’t a beast no more, and only the man of your dreams remained hovering above you.

Staring down at his hands with wide eyes, Bucky turned his palms a couple of times before he gasped, “it worked! I can’t believe it actually–, I’m human again!” before his teary vision found you below him, “and all because of you! You–, oh…” he then melted down against you, a bright smile shining on his face as he uttered, “thank you,” and worshipingly pressed his lips to your skin.

#lea’s writing #february 2025 poll fic #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x you #werewolf!bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x y/n #werewolf!bucky #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes fanfic #winter soldier smut #bucky barnes au #dark!bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes x reader #dark!bucky barnes smut #dark!bucky smut #princess!reader ᰔ

1K notes · View notes

helvegen-s · 3 months ago

Text

a calculated risk

an Oscar Piastri one-shot

Summary: Oscar Piastri's disciplined world spins off-axis when he meets Elena Sainz. The catch? She's Carlos Sainz's sister. Their intense connection sparks a forbidden romance, pushing them into a reckless game of secrecy and desire. When the truth explodes, will their love survive the fallout?

Word count: 12k (i tried, i really tried to make it shorter...)

Warnings: explicit sexual content, strong language, alcohol

A/N: what. the fuck. was. today's race. do not talk to me about it, do not mention it. this year's season starts the 23rd of march in china. australia never happened.

masterlist

Oscar Piastri had learned to tune out the noise.

The Formula 1 paddock was controlled chaos, a symphony of roaring engines, overlapping conversations, and orders shouted through radios. But none of it fazed him. He moved through the garages and meetings with the same methodical calm he carried into every corner on track. His world was simple: improve, win, move forward.

And then she arrived.

Elena Sainz stepped into the paddock at the start of the 2024 season as if she had always belonged there—walking with quiet confidence, wearing a look he knew all too well. Because it was the same one Carlos gave him just before a race. He had seen her before, of course. There were photos of her on Sainz’s social media, Instagram stories of them cycling, on a yacht, at the family estate. But until that moment, he had never really paid attention.

The problem was, now he couldn’t stop.

The first time he saw her in her new role was at the pre-season press conference in Bahrain. She stood beside Carlos, wearing a striking red Ferrari dress, arms crossed, expression neutral as she listened to reporters fire off their questions. She didn’t force a smile, didn’t try to seem approachable. She was just there—assessing, calculating. Watching them all. Watching him.

Oscar kept his composure, as always. But when their eyes met, a sharp jolt of electricity ran down his spine.

Later, he made the comment without thinking too much about it.

"Since when do you have a personal assistant?"

Carlos, scrolling through something on his phone, didn’t even look up.

"She’s not my assistant."

"Oh, right, my bad." Oscar rolled his eyes with exaggerated dramatics. "What’s the correct term now? Trusted advisor?"

"Manager."

The voice wasn’t Carlos’.

Oscar turned just in time to see her approaching at a measured pace. Elena Sainz stopped beside them, offering him a half-smile that was anything but friendly.

"Elena Sainz, by the way." She extended her hand effortlessly. "But if you need to call me something else, I can give you a few suggestions."

It took Oscar a second to react before he shook her hand. Her skin was cold from the water bottle she held in the other, but her grip was firm. Confident. Irritatingly confident.

"How generous."

"They say it’s one of my best qualities." Elena tilted her head slightly, her expression composed but with a glint of amusement in her eyes. "That, and my ability to stay one step ahead."

Carlos clicked his tongue, clearly entertained.

"Give it a month, Piastri. Once you see how she works, you’ll be terrified."

"Oh, I already know." Oscar let go of Elena’s hand with practiced ease, as if he had felt absolutely nothing. As if his brain wasn’t still processing the intensity of her gaze. "I’m just surprised she didn’t put ‘master strategist’ on her business card."

Elena leaned against the table and shrugged.

"I figured ‘Carlos Sainz’s manager’ was enough to make it clear what I’m made of."

Oscar held her gaze a second longer than he should have.

Carlos cleared his throat.

"Alright, children. I’d rather not have my own manager fired on her first day."

Elena let out a quiet laugh before straightening up.

"Don’t worry, Carlos. I can handle it."

She met Oscar’s eyes once more before turning away, walking off with the same confidence she had arrived with.

Oscar exhaled through his nose and looked back at Carlos.

"I don’t like her."

Carlos smirked over the rim of his water bottle.

"Sure you don’t."

Oscar took a slow sip of his own drink, watching Elena’s figure on the other side of the room.

The problem was, he also couldn’t stop looking at her.

Oscar thought it would pass.

That the irritation Elena Sainz stirred in him would fade with time, like the foam on a beer after a toast. That her presence in the paddock would blend into the background, just another familiar face in a sea of them.

He was wrong.

Elena wasn’t like the other newcomers to Formula 1—the ones who arrived tentatively, trying to fit into the finely tuned machinery of a team. No. She was already fitted in. She already belonged.

The worst part was, she knew it.

Oscar saw it in the way she moved through the Ferrari garage, in how effortlessly she spoke to engineers, mechanics, and executives. In how Carlos barely had to glance at her for her to know exactly what he needed.

But most of all, he saw it in the way she looked at him.

It was a game. And he wasn’t sure when, exactly, it had started.

Maybe it was in Jeddah, when they crossed paths in a narrow hallway and she slipped past him with a barely audible whisper:

"Do you always walk that stiffly, or is it just when I’m around?"

Or in Melbourne, when he passed by the hospitality area and saw her leaning against a railing, sipping coffee with infuriating ease. When their eyes met, she raised an eyebrow and mused, just loud enough over the ambient noise:

"You don’t seem like a coffee person. I’d say hot chocolate. With marshmallows, maybe?"

Oscar frowned, not understanding why that threw him off so much.

Or perhaps it was in Japan, at one of those post-race parties where the noise and lights made everything feel a little more unreal. She was on the other side of the room, laughing at something someone had said, and then—without warning—she looked right at him. Champagne glass in hand, wearing that enigmatic half-smile that made him want to cut through the crowd just to see if, up close, she would smile at him the same way.

It was subtle. Insidious.

And Oscar was losing.

Because for every comment she made, he had a response ready on the tip of his tongue. Because every time she looked at him with that glint of mischief, he found himself searching for her in a room, waiting to see how long it would take for her to provoke him again.

Because, no matter how much he denied it, he loved the damn game.

Then came China.

It was no secret that Ferrari and McLaren were locked in a tight battle in the championship. Carlos, Leclerc, and Lando were fighting for points race after race, and Oscar, of course, was right in the middle of it all.

The weekend had been tense. During the press conference, Oscar tossed a casual remark at Carlos as they settled into their seats.

"Careful tomorrow, Sainz. I’d hate to see you in a wall just for the sake of tradition."

Carlos rolled his eyes, but it was the quiet laugh to his right that really caught his attention.

Elena stood with her arms crossed, expression neutral but with that glint in her eyes. As Oscar walked past her after the interviews, she glanced sideways at him.

Elena tilted her head, somewhere between amused and analytical.

"Interesting. I wonder if your confidence is real, or if you’re just used to faking it."

Oscar didn’t blink.

"I wonder the same about you."

Elena smiled, making no effort to deny anything.

"I suppose we’ll both find out."

Oscar held her gaze a moment longer before letting out a quiet laugh.

"I hope you won’t be disappointed by mine."

"I hope the same." She shrugged before turning on her heel. "Though, if I am… I’ll be sure to let you know."

And with that, she walked away.

Oscar exhaled, realizing too late that he had been holding his breath.

He was definitely losing.

This year, Miami had a different kind of energy.

Maybe it was the atmosphere—the sticky heat creeping under clothes, the constant mix of music and engines in the air. Maybe it was the tension in the championship, the ever-tightening battle, the sense that every race mattered more than the last.

Or maybe, just maybe, it was her.

Elena had been at every Grand Prix since the season started. But this weekend, for some reason, her presence felt heavier.

And then came Saturday night.

And the elevator.

The entire hotel was asleep.

Miami was a city of excess, of bright lights and incessant noise, but at that moment, inside the luxury skyscraper, everything was calm.

The only signs of life were a couple of employees walking silently down the hallways, and the two of them, waiting for the elevator in the lobby.

Oscar couldn't sleep. He had spent the last hour wandering around the hotel, without any particular destination, hoping that fatigue would hit him suddenly and send him to bed. It didn't work.

Elena, on the other hand, had just closed her laptop after losing track of time at the bar, going over a couple of public relations matters for Carlos. The glass of wine she’d been sipping on was still evident in the slight flush on her cheeks and the languid way she held her purse.

Neither of them said anything when they saw each other.

The tension from the past few weeks still hung in the air, like a storm that never quite broke. Oscar gave her a brief nod, and she did the same, but the silence between them felt heavier than usual.

The elevator was taking too long.

Oscar couldn’t help but glance sideways at Elena, noticing the subtle movement of her fingers on the strap of her purse. Impatient.

“Working late?” he finally asked, his voice low, just to fill the void.

She turned her head slightly, sizing him up before responding.

“Not everyone has the luxury of walking around the hotel when they can’t sleep.”

Oscar gave a wry smile.

“Yeah, well. Not everyone has the need to manage their brother’s public image every weekend.”

Elena squinted at him.

“It’s an easier job than you think.”

“Of course. Carlos never says anything out of line, never stirs controversy, never gets into trouble.”

“Exactly.”

Oscar let out a brief laugh through his nose, but the sound quickly died when the elevator finally arrived, its doors opening with a soft “ding.”

They stepped inside together.

The doors closed. The elevator shut with a soft click and began to move as normal.

Oscar leaned his back against the padded wall and let his head fall back, exhaling slowly. Elena did the same in front of him, though with more grace. She held her purse with both hands in front of her, as if she needed something to hold onto.

The silence was so thick that the faint hum of the elevator’s motor seemed deafening.

Oscar felt the weight of the day accumulating on his shoulders, in his breathing. He wasn’t sure why insomnia was worse tonight, why his body refused to rest. Or rather, he knew why, but he wasn’t in the mood to admit it. Not when the reason was standing right in front of him.

Suddenly, the elevator stopped abruptly.

There was no jolt, no harsh shake, just a sharp stop, accompanied by a momentary blackout in the control buttons.

Elena straightened immediately.

“What the hell...?”

Oscar looked at the panel, hoping the light for the floor they were heading to would turn back on. It didn’t.

He didn’t feel the elevator moving again either.

Elena pressed a button. Then another. Then several, more insistently.

Nothing.

She turned her head toward Oscar, and he could see the exact moment she realized the situation.

“No.” She shook her head, almost as if she could reverse it. “No way.”

Oscar blinked slowly.

“I think we’re stuck.”

Elena closed her eyes and exhaled through her nose.

“No shit, Sherlock. How did you deduce that?”

He smiled because it came naturally, because there was something almost amusing about seeing her flustered.

“Calm down. It won’t be for long.”

Elena didn’t respond. She just pressed her lips together in a tense line and went back to pressing the buttons, as if the elevator would give in to her persistence.

The panel didn’t even beep.

She sighed and pressed the emergency button.

The speaker crackled with static before a sleepy voice responded:

“Yes?”

Elena leaned toward the microphone urgently.

“We’re stuck in the elevator.”

There was a pause. Then, a yawn.

“Oh. Okay.”

Elena frowned.

“Okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry. It’s probably a temporary glitch. These things happen when the system resets in the early hours.”

Oscar and Elena exchanged a look.

“How long until it works again?” Oscar asked.

“Mmm… a few minutes. Half an hour at most.”

Elena threw her head back and closed her eyes, as if she needed all the patience in the world not to explode.

“Great.”

The intercom voice came through again.

“If it still doesn’t respond in a while, we’ll call maintenance. Don’t worry.”

There was a click, and then, just silence.

Oscar watched Elena cautiously, waiting for her reaction.

She looked back at him.

Then, she exhaled a long sigh before slowly sliding down the wall of the elevator until she was sitting on the floor, her legs crossed and her head resting against the padded panel.

Oscar raised an eyebrow.

“Giving up that easily?”

“No. I’m just adapting.”

Oscar watched her for a second longer, then shrugged and did the same.

It didn’t make sense to stay standing, after all.

The elevator was dim, lit only by the faint emergency light. It was late. Almost no one was awake in the hotel. There was no sound beyond the static hum of the machinery and their own breathing. The air was thick, charged with something neither of them knew how to handle.

Elena pulled out her phone, checking it out of habit, though she didn’t expect to find anything.

"No signal." Her voice was low, almost as if she didn’t want to break the silence between them.

"Perfect. Now you have no excuse to be watching nonsense on TikTok."

Elena narrowed her eyes, smiling faintly, but the mockery in his tone didn’t go unnoticed.

"And what are you going to do? Philosophize about life in the dark?"

Oscar looked at her, clearly amused. The sarcasm in her voice had vanished, replaced by something... closer. Something more intense.

"Maybe." He replied, still holding onto his attitude. But that spark of playfulness was there, a touch of complicity that was growing stronger, more palpable.

Elena didn’t say anything else. She remained silent for a few seconds, fiddling with her phone in her hands while the elevator stayed still.

Oscar watched how the soft light reflected on her face. Every small movement she made was a reminder of how close she was to him, of how their bodies seemed to be drawing closer without either of them planning it. It was hard not to notice how the proximity between them was increasing, how the electricity between their skins seemed to grow more intense with every passing second.

Finally, she broke the silence.

"You’ve never been very subtle, have you, Piastri?"

He smiled, but the smile wasn’t mocking. It was different, like he was recognizing her in some way.

"I don’t like wasting time."

Elena looked at him with something more than amusement in her eyes, as though she was evaluating every word, every reaction. Her legs shifted slowly, and without thinking, she let her knee brush against his. A soft touch, almost imperceptible, but close enough for both of them to feel it.

Oscar swallowed, his chest tightening with that rapid heartbeat he couldn’t ignore. The tension between them was almost tangible, a weight neither of them could shake off.

She leaned slightly towards him, not breaking eye contact, and their voices softened further, becoming more intimate, more personal.

"You know," she said quietly. "I wonder how much longer you’re going to keep denying it."

Oscar didn’t answer.

Because he knew exactly what she was talking about.

Because he couldn’t pretend he didn’t feel the raw energy between them, that insistent attraction that grew with every held glance, every accidental touch, every provocation disguised as indifference.

Because he knew she knew it too.

Elena raised an eyebrow, waiting. Challenging.

Oscar closed his eyes for a second.

He took a deep breath.

But when he opened them again, Elena was even closer.

He could see every detail of her face. He could count the centimeters between them. Every freckle that adorned her tan skin. He could hear her breath, feel her warm breath grazing his skin, the hint of wine lingering from the glass she must’ve had earlier at the hotel bar.

It was a trap. And he knew it.

But he didn’t move.

Because, damn it, he didn’t want to move.

Elena’s fingers grazed his forearm, just a touch, an experiment.

Oscar felt his skin light up instantly.

"This is a fucking terrible idea," he muttered.

"Yeah?" Elena tilted her head slightly, letting the tension pull them together like an invisible thread. "Then tell me you don’t want it."

Oscar didn’t answer.

Because he did want it.

He wanted it with an absurd intensity, with an urgency that had been consuming him from the moment he saw her in the paddock at the start of the season.

But he shouldn’t.

The elevator beeped and came to life with a jolt.

Oscar reacted immediately, like a spring releasing. He stood up quickly, not thinking. The muscles in his legs tensed, and his torso straightened abruptly. A rushed, almost desperate movement, as if escaping the situation was the only way out.

Elena stayed on the floor of the elevator, watching him with that half-mocking, half-challenging smile, not moving. The position she was in, her knees bent, her eyes fixed on him, gave her a sense of power and control that bordered on indecent. Every inch of her body seemed to dare him to give in.

Oscar tried to look away, but his eyes inevitably returned to her. He knew he should leave, that he shouldn’t give in to what he wanted, to what his body was asking for, but... Elena was there, so close, so willing, and he was about to lose it all.

With a sharp movement, he tried to step towards the exit, distancing himself from her, avoiding any contact. He shouldn’t look at her anymore, shouldn’t think about it anymore.

But the damage was done. His mind was filled with images of her, from the most innocent to the most lewd thing he could have ever imagined.

Oscar quickly turned, as if the mere act of looking at her one more second would lead him to ruin. He walked towards the elevator’s exit, his pace quickening, and once he crossed the threshold, he breathed deeply, as if trying to expel all the accumulated tension from his body.

Elena didn’t say anything. She made no move. She stayed there, on the floor of the elevator, watching him walk away with a barely visible smile on her lips.

Oscar took a few steps, stopping at the end of the hallway before turning back, looking at her again, feeling the magnetism drawing him toward her. His body was begging to return, begging for more. But he stood firm.

In the end, he didn’t turn back.

But deep down, he knew it was only a matter of time.

By the time Oscar reached his room, he felt like he was about to throw up everything he had eaten in the last twenty-four hours. What had just happened? Had he just dreamed all that?

He collapsed onto the bed, his mind spinning while the darkness of the room enveloped him. Tomorrow he had a race, but in that moment, all he could think about was Elena. That damn kiss. What had just happened, and what he still didn’t understand.

The clock read three in the morning. His eyes were heavy, but he couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned in the bed, uncomfortable. The heat was still there, weighing on his chest, and the memory of her lewd smile wouldn’t leave him alone.

Suddenly, the sound of a knock on the door made him jump. Oscar frowned. Who the hell was knocking at this hour?

He sprang up and approached the door still drowsy, scratching his head, and opened it almost without thinking.

And there she was.

Elena.

Her slender, defined figure stood in the doorway, the hallway light partially illuminating her face, which held a serious expression but with that playful spark in her eyes.

"Am I interrupting?" she said, her tone both cheeky and innocent at the same time.

Oscar stood frozen for a moment, speechless. He couldn’t believe it.

"What are you doing here? How the hell do you know what room I’m in?" he asked, the exhaustion in his voice mixed with a clear sense of bewilderment.

"I speak five languages and I have charisma," she replied, leaning against the door.

Oscar should make a sarcastic comment, something sharp to break the tension, but he can't. Not when he still feels the ghost of her breath trapped between them in that elevator, the images he has tried to push deep into his mind now resurfacing at the worst possible moment.

Elena doesn't say anything. She just looks at him.

Oscar feels the weight of her gaze on every nerve ending.

"Tell me this isn't a bad idea," she whispers, though her tone says she already knows the answer.

Oscar could say many things.

He could remind her who she is. He could tell her that they hate each other, that they don't get along, that they're incompatible. He could remind her who her brother is.

But she steps closer.

And Oscar feels like he's drowning.

It's slow. It's unbearably slow. The ground seems to tilt beneath him as Elena moves a little closer, with the same determination she uses to negotiate contracts and manipulate press conferences. And Oscar, for the first time, has nothing to say.

Because he wants this.

He wants it so much it hurts.

"Tell me to stop," she whispers, but they're already too close, and the air between them is suffocating, electric, sharp like a summer storm.

Oscar says nothing.

And then, finally, he kisses her.

It's soft at first, as if they're still testing the boundaries of something too big to contain. But Elena responds with the same repressed intensity, her nails sliding down his neck, a small gasp smothered against his lips, and then everything crashes, like a snowball tumbling down a cliff.

No more doubts.

No more lines.

Just them.

The room is too small for everything they're feeling.

Oscar pulls her against him with more force than he should. It's not sweet. It's not gentle. It's nothing like it should be. But Elena doesn't want that either. Her hands search for him with the same silent desperation, the same urgency of someone who's been holding back for too long.

Her jacket falls to the floor in one swift motion.

Oscar's hands trace her back, outline the curve of her waist, and when their lips part for just a second, just enough to take a breath, they look at each other like they've just jumped into the void.

No one says anything.

Because there's nothing to say.

Elena grabs his shirt tightly, as if holding onto something. As if she can pretend this isn't tearing everything apart.

And Oscar... Oscar feels like he can finally breathe.

Because this isn't a mistake.

It can't be. It can’t feel this good.

When he kisses her again, Elena moans against his mouth and he feels something inside him break.

And there's no going back.

Clothes disappear somewhere between their broken kisses and the clumsy steps toward the bed. There are no pauses, no space for thought. Only the sound of their ragged breaths and the weight of the inevitable.

Elena is fire in his hands, in his mouth, in the way she touches him like she's discovering something that's always been there, something she's denied for too long. And Oscar... Oscar surrenders.

There's no rivalry, no fear, no one else in the world but her.

When their bodies finally meet, it's a perfect mess. A mix of need and awkwardness, muffled moans and nails marking skin. There are no doubts, no barriers. Just them, consuming each other in the darkness of a hotel room in Miami, not thinking about tomorrow.

Because right now, nothing else matters.

Dawn finds them tangled in the sheets, breaths still ragged, skin warm from what they've just done. Neither of them speaks. There is no room for words in the aftermath they've just unleashed.

Oscar feels the weight of the silence between them, but it's not uncomfortable. Not yet. Elena lies next to him, her face turned toward the ceiling, her hair messy on the pillow. She seems lost in her thoughts, but when Oscar moves his hand, barely grazing her arm, she doesn't pull away.

They shouldn't be here.

They shouldn't have crossed that line.

But they have. And the worst part is that instead of regretting it, Oscar only thinks about doing it again.

"Let's not talk about this, okay?" Elena says, finally breaking the silence.

Her voice is soft, measured, as if she’s testing the waters.

Oscar glances at her out of the corner of his eye. He doesn’t want to say anything that will shatter this moment, make it more real than it already is.

"I don’t see what there is to say," he replies, because it’s the truth.

Elena lets out a low, almost ironic laugh and turns toward him, resting her head on her hand. Her eyes scan him with that intensity that drives him crazy, the kind that turns him into a damn fool every time he runs into her in the paddock.

"This doesn’t change anything," she says, with a certainty Oscar doesn’t know whether to envy or fear.

And maybe he should agree. Maybe he should nod, pretend that this was just a bad idea, a momentary mistake they can laugh off later.

But when Elena leans in and gently bites his lower lip before pulling away with a smile that’s pure poison, Oscar knows he’s screwed.

Because this changes everything.

The next morning, Oscar wakes up with the feeling that it was all a dream.

But the lingering warmth on his skin and the slight pressure of the mattress beside him tell him otherwise.

He blinks, trying to clear the fog of sleep, and the first thing he sees is Elena’s profile, sitting on the edge of the bed, adjusting the cuff of her blouse. Her hair is still tangled, her neck bearing traces of his mouth, and the sunlight of Miami filters its golden light through the curtains, making her look almost unreal.

She’s fucking beautiful.

And she’s also Carlos Sainz’ sister.

Oscar closes his eyes and curses under his breath.

He feels like he should say something, but his mind is still caught in the image of the night before. How Elena had surrendered to him with the same ferocity with which she looks at him in the paddock. How the tension that had been choking them both for months finally erupted into something neither of them could control.

And now, she’s there. Getting dressed. Preparing to leave.

As if nothing had happened.

As if they hadn’t spent the night devouring each other.

"So, not even a 'good morning' after everything we did last night?" he says, his voice still a little rough from sleep.

Elena doesn't even bother to turn around, though he notices the brief pause in her movements before she slips on her heels.

"Why drag out the inevitable?" she replies, shrugging.

Oscar lets out a low, incredulous laugh.

"The inevitable?"

"That we'll go on with our lives as if this never happened." She finally turns, resting a hand on her hip with that air of superiority that drives him crazy. "I know you can do it, Piastri. If you can keep a poker face after Lando closes you out on track, this shouldn't be a problem."

Oscar watches her closely, looking for any hint of doubt in her expression. He doesn't find any.

"Wow, what an elegant way to say it was a mistake."

Elena gives him a half-smile, as sharp as ever.

"I didn't say it was a mistake. I just said it’s not going to happen again."

Oscar narrows his eyes.

"So this is how we're going to play it?"

"This is how we're going to play it," she replies, with a certainty he knows is just a façade.

Oscar exhales and falls back onto the pillow, running a hand over his face.

"Well, I guess it was a pleasure doing business with you, Sainz."

Elena laughs softly, and that frustrates him more because it sounds genuinely amused, like this is just a simple game she has full control over.

"Take care, Piastri," she says finally, before turning and walking out of the room.

Oscar stares at the ceiling, feeling the echo of her perfume in the air.

Of course. Because this is perfectly normal.

Because he's definitely not about to lose his mind.

And because, evidently, this isn't over. Not by a long shot.

Oscar should have known that "it’s not going to happen again" was the biggest lie of the century.

Because it happens again.

And again.

In hidden rooms in the paddock, in hotels around the world, in deserted elevators and offices with the door slightly ajar. In any corner where there’s enough shadow for no one to see them, and just enough risk to make their hearts pound in their chests.

The first time he breaks his supposed resolution is at the next Grand Prix, in Ferrari’s hospitality entrance.

Elena is standing with her arms crossed, arguing with Carlos about something related to his race strategy. She’s wearing a fitted black dress with a blazer on top, and Oscar is trying to concentrate on his coffee when she gives him a fleeting glance, barely a second of eye contact that shouldn’t mean anything.

But his spine stiffens instantly.

And when she disappears down the back hall, he knows he’s going to follow her before he even thinks about it.

"I don’t even know why I bother pretending to be strong with you," he murmurs, closing the door behind him just a second before Elena pushes him against the wall and kisses him with a ferocity that leaves him breathless.

"Because you’re proud, Piastri." Her smile is lethal against his lips.

"And you’re a liar," he replies, sliding his hands under her blazer and pressing her against him.

"Yeah?"

"'It’s not going to happen again,'" he mocks, exaggerating her tone.

Elena laughs against his skin, right on the line of his jaw, before whispering in his ear:

"Well, sometimes I say things I don’t mean."

And Oscar, of course, is completely screwed.

After that, things escalate as fast as a Formula 1 car on a straight.

The hotel elevator in Monaco, where they barely manage to pull apart in time when the door opens into the lobby.

The engineers’ room in Canada, where he almost kisses her right next to the menu mural, and she laughs in his face when he stops at the last second.

The back corridor of the paddock in Spain, where he slides his hand across her backside when no one’s looking, and she spends the rest of the day with her skin burning.

"This is a really bad idea," Oscar says that same afternoon, just before he pushes her against the wall of his hotel room and kisses her like his life depends on it.

"A horrible idea," Elena agrees, between gasps.

"We can’t keep doing this."

"Never again."

"Last time."

"Last time," she repeats, her fingers tangled in his hair.

Obviously, they’re doomed.

The problem with saying "last time" is that they never follow through.

Oscar should be worried. Not just because this is getting out of control, but because it’s becoming more reckless with each time. At least in the beginning, they tried to keep it professional during the day and only let themselves go in the privacy of a hotel room at midnight. But now...

Now Elena holds his gaze a little too long in meetings. Now they cross paths in the paddock, and she brushes her fingers against his arm as she passes. Now he sees her sitting next to Carlos in Ferrari’s hospitality, and all he can think about is the way she moaned his name the night before.

It’s a miracle no one has discovered them.

"You’re playing with fire," Lando tells him in Silverstone, after catching Oscar looking toward Elena for the fifth time in half an hour.

Oscar feigns ignorance.

"Sorry?"

"I don’t know what’s going on there, but whatever it is, Carlos is going to kill you."

Oscar scoffs, but something inside him tightens.

Because that’s the other thing: the risk. Not just for his career, not just because if anyone at McLaren finds out, it could be a scandal, but because Carlos Sainz still sees him as a rival, and if he finds out that Oscar is tangled up with his sister, he’ll probably strangle him with his bare hands.

But it’s hard to care about that when she keeps sneaking into his hotel room at midnight.

When she keeps leaving marks on his skin that he has to hide before he puts on his racing suit.

When she smiles at him from across the paddock with that damn expression of "I know exactly what you’re thinking," and Oscar has to bite his tongue to keep from dragging her somewhere private.

It’s not just attraction. It’s something worse.

And the bomb finally explodes in Hungary.

The Hungarian GP should be the best day of his life.

He should be celebrating his first Formula 1 victory, savoring the champagne on the podium, feeling the adrenaline still coursing through his veins.

But it’s all overshadowed by the controversy, by McLaren’s terrible strategy.

Oscar shouldn’t feel guilty for winning, but he does.

People are hugging him, patting him on the back, congratulating him like nothing happened. Lando is professional in front of the cameras, but in the garage, his expression is tense. He wanted that win. He deserved it. But the strategy benefited Oscar, and now it’s impossible to enjoy it.

He hasn’t seen Elena since he stepped off the podium.

Maybe he should be glad about that. After all, this is what they had agreed on: a game with no feelings, no strings attached, no complications.

When he arrives at the hotel, his room is completely dark.

Oscar closes the door behind him and stands in the middle of the room, not turning on the light, not moving.

He doesn't know what to do with himself.

He should be happy. Euphoric. Victorious. But all that’s in his chest is an indescribable weight, something that suffocates him, that tangles his thoughts until he doesn't know what to feel.

He clenches his fists. The adrenaline of the day still pulses in his veins, mixed with exhaustion and frustration. He shouldn't feel this way. Not after winning.

The door opens again.

He doesn’t even need to turn around to know it’s her.

Elena enters silently, not turning on the light, saying nothing. She just closes the door and walks over to the bed, sitting on the edge with the same ease with which she’s been invading his life from the start.

Oscar exhales a trembling sigh.

He doesn’t know what pushes him to move, but suddenly his legs give away and he falls to his knees in front of her, his head bowed, his arms powerless at his sides.

And then, he’s resting his forehead on her lap.

Elena doesn’t say anything.

She just runs a hand through his hair with a softness that disarms him.

Oscar squeezes his eyes shut. And he doesn’t know why, but he's crying.

Tears fall without permission, without control, without him being able to stop them.

He doesn’t sob, he doesn’t shake, he doesn’t make any noise. He just feels the heat on his cheeks, the pressure in his chest, his breath ragged.

Elena’s fingers continue in his hair, tracing slow lines, calming him without haste.

“You deserve this,” she whispers, so quietly it almost feels like a secret. “Don’t doubt for a second that this victory is yours. And no one else’s.”

Oscar closes his eyes.

He clings to those words.

To her.

Elena leans over him, her hand tangling in his hair with the same delicacy someone would use to pet a wounded animal.

Oscar feels her breath above his head, warm and steady.

“Look at me,” she says, but he can’t.

Not yet.

He stays there, with his forehead resting on her lap, his hands clenched on her pants, trying to contain something he doesn’t even understand.

“Oscar,” Elena repeats, softer this time, and runs her fingers down his neck. “You deserve this. No matter what anyone else says. No matter what anyone else thinks.”

Oscar squeezes his eyes shut tightly.

“They handed it to me,” he murmurs, his voice broken. “It’s not a real victory.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” she cuts him off without hesitation, but her tone remains sweet, still Elena. “Of course it’s real. You were faster than everyone out there. You didn’t stop fighting. You didn’t stop proving you deserve every second of that podium.”

Oscar swallows hard.

“But Lando…”

“But Lando nothing,” she interrupts him. “You don’t owe anyone an apology. You don’t have to feel guilty for winning.”

He doesn’t answer.

“Oscar,” she insists, and this time she takes his face in her hands, forcing him to lift his head.

Their eyes meet in the dim light of the room.

“Don’t let anyone make you doubt what you are,” she says, and her voice is an anchor, it’s fire, it’s a reminder that she’s here, with him, holding him when he feels like everything else is falling apart. “Today, you won. And you did it.”

Oscar looks at her.

Something inside him breaks, but not in the way he’s felt broken all day.

It’s something else.

Something deeper. Something that scares him.

Because until now, it had been easy to convince himself that what he had with Elena was just physical. A game. Something neither of them would take too seriously.

But here she is, holding him, seeing him, telling him what he needs to hear at the exact moment he needs to hear it.

And Oscar knows he’s fucked.

Elena keeps holding his face, her touch firm and sure, as if with just her contact she could return the stability he feels crumbling inside him.

Oscar wants to speak. He wants to say something that will lighten the weight in his chest. But all he does is inhale, deeply and brokenly, clinging to the feeling of her hands on his skin.

“Breathe,” Elena tells him, with a sweetness that’s almost his undoing.

So, he does.

He forces himself to fill his lungs with air and let it out slowly, as if with every exhale, he could release the knot in his throat, the doubt, the resentment towards himself.

Elena slides her thumbs over his cheeks, with a tenderness that’s almost unfamiliar to him.

“That’s it,” she murmurs. “That’s better.”

Oscar closes his eyes for a second. When he opens them again, she’s still there, watching him with that intensity that always disarms him.

And it’s in that moment when he realizes.

How fucking easy it would be to fall in love with her.

Because if Elena can see him like this, completely undone, and still look at him like he’s the same confident and determined driver everyone thinks he is… what else is she seeing in him that he himself can’t even recognize?

The thought terrifies him. Terrifies him a lot.

So he does the only thing he knows how to do: he straightens up, pulls away, rebuilds the distance he’s been ignoring between them since this started.

Elena lets him do it, but her eyes follow him with a look of understanding that unsettles him.

The silence between them is thick, heavy with something Oscar can no longer ignore. He has pulled away, tried to regain his composure, but it’s useless. He can still feel her touch on his skin, still hear her voice in his head, still see those eyes piercing through him as if they had always known the exact point to strike to bring him down.

"This isn’t just physical, is it?" His own voice sounds foreign, low, and almost trembling. As if, by saying it out loud, he’s admitting to something far greater.

Elena doesn’t seem surprised. She doesn’t lower her gaze, doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t back away. There’s no fear or uncertainty in her expression, only the same certainty that has driven him insane from the very start.

"It never was."

Oscar swallows hard, his chest rising and falling with something he can’t tell if it’s relief or terror. Or both at the same time.

"From the moment I saw you in the paddock," she continues, her voice calm, steady, "I knew I was going to fall for you. It was inevitable. And when you looked at me for the first time, I knew you were going to fall, too."

Oscar blinks, surprised by how easily she says it. As if it’s a simple truth, an undeniable fact. And maybe it was. Maybe this was never in his control.

Somehow, that makes him laugh. He drops his head, a rough, resigned chuckle escaping his lips, because of course Elena knew before he did. Of course she had already figured it out while he was busy pretending it wasn’t happening.

When he looks at her again, it’s with different eyes. With the eyes of someone who knows he’s lost, that there’s no turning back.

"You’re unbearable," he mutters, but there’s a smile on his face.

Elena smiles too. And Oscar knows, with terrifying certainty, that he’s screwed. Completely, irreversibly screwed.

Oscar still stands before her, in the dim light of the room. His hands, still clenched into fists, gradually relax. Elena remains seated at the edge of the bed, her posture at ease but her gaze intense, fixed on him, as if she already knows what he’s going to do before he does.

"So, what do we do now?" he asks, his voice low, as if speaking in a space that belongs only to the two of them.

Elena leans forward slightly, resting her elbows on her knees. The soft light of the room traces the curve of her face, her collarbone, the golden sheen of her skin still warm from the Hungarian summer. Oscar swallows.

"We could keep pretending nothing’s happening," she suggests, with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

Oscar scoffs, glancing down at his own hands before refocusing on her. "Great idea. That’s worked brilliantly so far."

Elena lets out a soft laugh, a low sound that skims over his skin. Then, with the same tranquility as always, she straightens up and rests her hands on the mattress, tilting her head in thought.

"We keep it a secret a little longer," she finally says. "We explore… this."

Oscar frowns, his pulse still erratic from everything they’ve just admitted.

"This?"

"Whatever is happening between us," she explains, her hand making a subtle gesture between them. "No pressure, no expectations. Just… letting it grow."

Oscar feels his breathing deepen slightly, as if his body is trying to absorb the calm in Elena’s voice. He doesn’t know what he expected her to say, but now that he hears it, he realizes this is the only thing that makes sense.

"Improvising?" he asks, his tone lighter, though something still lingers in his chest.

Elena nods slowly. "Improvising."

Oscar sinks back onto his knees, closer this time, his hands resting on the edge of the mattress, just inches from hers. The room seems to shrink, narrowing down to the proximity of their bodies, to the warm, settled tension between them.

He looks at her and, instead of doubt, all he sees in her is certainty. As if she has known from the start that this was the only possible outcome.

"We’re screwed, aren’t we?" he murmurs, almost smiling.

Elena tilts her head, her fingers barely brushing against Oscar’s on the bed. A small, fleeting contact, but one that electrifies the space between them.

"Up to our necks."

Oscar exhales slowly and tilts his head back, staring at the ceiling as if he might find some kind of answer there. But there are no answers—only the undeniable reality that, for the first time, they are acknowledging what’s between them without pretending it doesn’t exist.

Elena shifts on the bed and pats the mattress beside her, a silent invitation. There’s no ulterior motive in the gesture, no expectation, and maybe that’s what makes Oscar surrender so easily. He lies down beside her, his head resting on the pillow, leaving a small space between them.

And for the first time since this began, there’s no urgency, no hands exploring skin, no breath-stealing kisses. They’re just there, sharing the same air, seeing each other without the barrier of immediate desire.

They talk.

At first, about absurd things. Silly habits, likes they’ve never admitted to each other. Elena sleeps with socks on, even in the summer, and Oscar looks at her in horror when she says it. He has a specific routine for putting on his gloves before getting in the car, and she laughs because her brother does the same.

Then come childhood stories, dreams they once had and those they still chase. Elena tells him she wanted to be an astronaut as a child but got too dizzy in space simulators. Oscar confesses he’s still not entirely used to fame, that sometimes he misses being anonymous.

As the night stretches on and the conversation slows, words tangling with sleepiness, Oscar turns on his side and watches her.

"Did you know this was going to happen?" he asks quietly.

Elena blinks slowly and smiles, with that air of confidence that undoes him.

"I knew the moment you saw me in the paddock."

Oscar scoffs, half amused, half resigned. "How convenient."

"Not my fault you’re so predictable."

Oscar laughs and covers his face with his hand for a moment before rolling onto his back again.

"I’m going to hate myself for saying this, but… I think I like that about you."

Elena glances at him out of the corner of her eye, her smile needing no words to be understood.

And just like that, without realizing it, they fall asleep.

The break doesn’t last long.

During the Belgian Grand Prix, everything appears to be the same: the same fleeting touches when no one is looking, the same encounters in empty hallways, the same tension whenever they’re too close. But now, there’s something more. Something in the way Oscar looks for her before getting into the car, in the way Elena lingers a second too long when fixing the collar of the shirt she so boldly ripped off his body just ten minutes ago. Something in the way their fingers brush when she hands him a bottle of water right after, in the way they look at each other when they think no one is watching.

And when Oscar crosses the finish line, knowing he’ll be on the podium again, his first instinct isn’t to celebrate—it’s to find her. Standing on the podium, adrenaline still rushing through his body and the trophy in his hand, his eyes scan the crowd until they lock onto Elena’s. And when she smiles at him, he feels like he could live in that moment forever.

That night at the hotel feels different again. Instead of immediately losing themselves in each other, they collapse onto the bed to watch the race replay. And when the camera shows Oscar on the podium, smiling with pure happiness, eyes bright and expression open, Elena can’t hold back. She lets out a laugh so loud it echoes through the room.

Oscar, confused, turns to her with a frown. “What’s so funny?”

Elena, trying to hold back her laughter, points at the screen. “Your lovesick puppy face.”

Oscar follows the direction of her finger, and then he sees it. Sees himself. And he can’t do anything but laugh, because it’s true. The camera caught the exact moment he found Elena in the crowd, and the expression on his face leaves no room for doubt.

“I do not have a lovesick puppy face,” he protests, but his own laughter betrays any attempt at indignation.

Elena turns to him, raising an eyebrow. “Oscar, darling. Let’s just pray no one else notices, because it would be hard to deny the accusations.”

And with that, they laugh until tears stream down their faces, until they’re breathless, until Oscar, with his head resting on Elena’s stomach, feels something dangerously close to the simplest, purest kind of happiness.

Because for the second time, they don’t need to hide in passion, in desire. For the second time, they enjoy each other’s company without sex getting in the way.

Just them.

Elena wakes up to the weight of an arm draped over her waist and the muffled sounds of the city filtering through the hotel window. She blinks, still caught between sleep and wakefulness, acutely aware of the warmth pressed against her back, of the slow, steady breath against her neck.

Oscar.

Recognition comes at the same time as reality—the grayish dawn light in Belgium, the distant hum of traffic, the calendar marking the end of a weekend that has changed everything.

And the certainty that in less than two hours, she’ll be on a plane back to Madrid.

She sighs, shifting slightly under Oscar’s arm. He grumbles in protest, tightening his hold on her, as if his subconscious understands what’s about to happen before he does.

“I have to go,” she whispers, though she doesn’t move.

Oscar doesn’t respond immediately. His breath is heavy against her shoulder, still half-asleep, and when he finally mumbles something, his voice is rough.

“Five more minutes.”

Elena smiles softly, but she knows she can’t give in.

“Carlos is waiting for me downstairs. If I take too long, he’s coming up to get me.”

Oscar sighs and, at last, loosens his arm. When she turns to face him, she finds his face buried in the pillow, brows furrowed, hair a complete mess. He looks like a grumpy little kid refusing to start the day.

“Don’t make that face,” she teases, sitting on the edge of the bed to put on her shoes.

Oscar lifts his head just enough to squint at her.

“What face?”

“That one. The ‘I’m going to be a martyr because the girl I like is leaving me in a hotel’ face.”

He clicks his tongue and flops back onto the pillow with dramatic flair.

“Slander.”

Elena lets out a quiet laugh as she ties her laces. Then, unhurriedly, she leans toward him, pressing a hand into the mattress as her lips brush his cheek.

“I’ll see you soon.”

Oscar doesn’t reply right away. He just looks at her. But there’s something in his expression—in the way he watches her, in how his hand grips the edge of the sheet like he’s about to say something else—that makes her hesitate.

Because for the first time since this started, they realize they’ve never gone this long without seeing each other.

And they don’t know what that will feel like.

Elena should stand up and leave. But she doesn’t.

Instead, she lets her gaze trace over his face, memorizing every detail. Oscar looks back at her just as intently, and then, without thinking too much, she leans in and kisses him.

It’s brief, but not rushed. There’s no desperation, no urgency—just the certainty that she wants him. That even if they go in opposite directions, even if weeks pass without seeing each other, what they have won’t fade with distance.

When they pull apart, Oscar watches her with a mix of surprise and something else—something she doesn’t want to analyze too closely right now.

“That was unfair,” he murmurs, his voice still thick with sleep.

Elena smiles.

“You’ll survive.”

And before he can argue, she gets to her feet, grabs her bag, and walks out the door.

It clicks shut.

And Oscar is alone.

For a few seconds, he just lies there, staring at the ceiling, the warmth of Elena’s kiss still lingering on his lips.

It’s not the first time he’s watched her leave. They’ve had plenty of quiet goodbyes—in hotel hallways, in elevators, in hidden corners of the paddock where no one was looking. But this one feels different. Heavier.

He sighs, running a hand over his face before forcing himself to get up.

The room still smells like her. It’s a ridiculous thing to notice, but he does—when he moves, when he picks up his clothes from the floor, when he starts stuffing them into the open suitcase beside the bed. There’s something mechanical about the act of folding t-shirts and layering them over piles of laundry, of zipping up the suitcase with a sharp click, of mentally checking if he’s forgotten anything.

For some reason, it annoys him.

He’s supposed to be looking forward to the summer break. Four weeks with no races, no flights every other day, no endless motorhome meetings. It’s what he’s been waiting for.

But now that it’s here—now that the door has closed and Elena is gone—it doesn’t feel as good as he thought it would.

His phone buzzes on the nightstand.

Oscar picks it up without thinking, expecting a message from his mother or the team. But no.

Elena: I hope you’ve at least gotten out of bed. Don’t blame me when you realize you’re running late for the airport.

He exhales a small laugh, leaning against the desk. Of course Elena is the first to text. She always seems one step ahead of him.

Oscar: Don’t you have anything better to do than harass me first thing in the morning?

It takes less than ten seconds for a reply.

Elena: I have an hour-long drive ahead of me. Consider this an act of charity.

Oscar shakes his head, barely noticing the way a smile tugs at his lips.

After a moment, his fingers slide over the screen again.

Oscar: Do you miss me already?

This time, the reply takes a little longer. As if Elena is actually thinking about it.

Finally, his screen lights up.

Elena: Keep dreaming.

Oscar sets the phone back down on the nightstand, still smiling faintly, but the feeling in his chest doesn’t fade.

Because, deep down, he already misses her.

He has barely stepped into the terminal when he spots his mother.

She’s standing there, arms crossed, a knowing little smirk on her face—like she knows something he doesn’t. Or worse: like she knows something he thinks he’s hidden well.

And then he sees it.

The phone in her hand. The screen lit up.

And a crystal-clear image of his own face on the Belgian Grand Prix podium, wearing the most obvious, irrefutable, damning expression he’s ever had in his life.

That damn photo.

Oscar stops dead in his tracks, the exhaustion from the flight hitting him all at once, mixed with pure, knee-jerk denial.

“No.”

His mother doesn’t even blink.

“Yes.”

“I don’t make that face.”

“Oh, darling…” she sighs, holding the screen closer to him, as if that was necessary. “You have exactly that face.”

Oscar grimaces, shifting his gaze to anything else—the people walking by, the luggage carts, the absurdly patterned airport carpet.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His mother raises an eyebrow.

“Oh, really?” She swipes across the screen and shows him another image, this time a video capturing the exact moment his face changes when he spots Elena in the crowd. “And what’s this, then?”

Oscar clenches his jaw, cursing internally at the cameraman who managed to capture that moment so precisely.

“I was…” He trails off, desperately searching for an excuse. But there isn’t one. Because he knows exactly why he had that expression. He knows exactly who he was looking at. And he knows that his mother knows, too.

She waits, patient, with that look that has been disarming him since childhood.

Oscar exhales, defeated.

“Can I at least get a coffee before the interrogation?”

His mother smirks, turning toward the exit.

“Oh, of course. But don’t think you’re getting away with this, darling. We have a lot to talk about.”

For Elena, summers at home have always had their own rhythm, a routine shaped by the heat, sports, and family. And she enjoys it. She needs it, even. After months of airports, race tracks, and frantic schedules, there’s something comforting about returning to familiar sounds—the echo of footsteps on stone floors, the rustling leaves stirred by the wind, the laughter of her sisters in the garden.

But this summer is different.

Because, for the first time, there’s something—someone—outside of this world occupying her mind more than it should.

She tells herself it’s absurd, that it’s not like they’re going years without seeing each other. It’s just a month. Four weeks. Thirty days.

And yet, every night, as the rest of the house sleeps, she feels the buzz of her phone under her pillow, and her heart skips a beat.

Oscar.

Oscar: What is Carlos Sainz’s favorite sister doing on a random Tuesday?

Elena: Trying not to get caught texting you. And you?

Oscar: Counting the days until I can see you roll your eyes at me in person again.

Elena bites her lip, hiding a smile in the darkness.

Elena: I’d love to say I don’t miss you at all.

Oscar: But you can’t.

No. She can’t.

And it’s ridiculous because she keeps herself busy. She wakes up early to go hiking with her father and Carlos. She plays football with her cousins in the garden. She joins Carlos and his friends on their cycling routes, challenging each other to climb the mountain passes faster, both acting more like kids than fully grown adults.

And in the middle of it all, she always finds a moment.

A stolen minute under the shade of a secluded tree to call him. A quick text while changing shoes. A picture of Carlos falling off his bike, his foot still clipped to the pedal, captioned: I miss you, but this makes up for it a little.

Oscar’s reply comes instantly.

Oscar: You’re lucky I like you this much.

Elena chuckles softly, leaning her head back against the tree trunk.

She knows this is dangerous. The more they get used to this, the harder it will be to go back to their respective lives, each on opposite ends of the globe.

But right now, she doesn’t care.

It’s the middle of the night, and she’s been asleep for a couple of hours when the vibration of her phone pulls her from sleep.

Elena blinks into the darkness of her room, disoriented, her heart beating slow and heavy in her chest. She reaches blindly toward her nightstand, fumbling until her fingers find the device.

The screen lights up the dim room.

Oscar.

It’s four in the morning in Madrid. Two in the afternoon in Melbourne.

She presses her lips together before swiping to accept the call, bringing the phone to her ear as she sinks into her pillow.

“Do you know what time it is?” Her voice is a hoarse whisper from sleep.

On the other end, Oscar lets out a quiet laugh.

“I knew you were awake.”

Elena closes her eyes and exhales slowly.

“I wasn’t. Until you decided to call me.”

“Well, if you answered, that means you don’t hate me that much,” he teases.

Elena doesn’t respond right away. She turns onto her side, hugging her pillow as she focuses on the sound of his voice.

“How are you?” she finally asks, calmer now.

“Tired,” Oscar admits. “It’s weird being back here.”

She understands. They’ve both returned to the normalcy of their own lives, but nothing feels normal. Miami, Silverstone, Budapest, Spa… all those weekends together feel like a world apart. And now, here they are, separated by thousands of miles, pretending everything is the same.

“What about you?” he asks.

Elena burrows a little deeper under the blankets, a small smile on her lips.

“I did a brutal cycling route with Carlos today. Nearly died by the time we reached the mountain pass, and Carlos laughed at me.”

Oscar chuckles.

“I find that hard to believe.”

"That I almost died or that I made it to the summit?"

"That you almost died," he replies casually. "You're stronger than Carlos, and you know it."

Elena feels the warmth spreading in her chest but ignores it.

"Tell him that. He called me a 'rookie.'"

"That’s just his wounded pride talking."

She smiles, letting herself get carried away by the familiarity of the conversation. They talk about everything and nothing. He tells her about his mother’s cooking and how his dog has decided to ignore him for being away so long. She tells him how her father spent the afternoon teaching Rebecca to drive on dirt roads, with Carlos and her yelling from the back seat.

The conversation flows easily, without awkward pauses. Every time silence threatens to settle in, one of them finds something else to say. But at some point, the conversation shifts. It becomes quieter.

"I miss you," Oscar says suddenly, with a sincerity that disarms her.

Elena doesn’t answer right away. Not because she doesn’t feel the same, but because she feels too much.

"I miss you too," she murmurs at last, her voice barely a whisper in the darkness.

"It’s strange, isn’t it?" he continues. "Not seeing you every day."

Elena exhales.

"Yeah."

Another silence. This time, neither of them fills it.

Until Oscar breaks it with an idea that shouldn’t sound as crazy as it does.

"What if we meet up?"

Elena blinks, suddenly wide awake.

"What?"

"Let’s run away. Just for a few days. Just us."

She stays still, her heart pounding faster.

"That’s insane."

"A little insanity wouldn’t hurt us," he reasons. His voice is calm, but there’s something in his tone that makes her picture him with that lopsided grin, eyes squinting slightly under the Melbourne afternoon sun. "Tell me you don’t want to."

Elena bites her lip. She can’t.

She doesn’t want to.

"I can give you five days. That’s all the time Carlos will let me go without hiring a private investigator," she finally says.

Oscar smiles on the other end of the line.

"Five days."

And the next morning, Elena drops the bomb at the breakfast table. If she wants to get away with it, she has to act naturally—with the confidence of someone who has nothing to hide.

So, as she sets her plate in the sink after breakfast, she announces casually, "I’m leaving for a few days."

She knows she has everyone’s attention in less than a second.

Carlos, sitting across the table, frowns with his mouth full of toast. Their mother, standing by the coffee machine, turns with interest.

"Where to?" Carlos asks, still chewing.

Elena leans against the counter, phone in hand.

"A friend’s house on the coast."

Carlos gives her a skeptical look.

"What friend?"

"Clara."

She’s the first name that comes to mind. Their mother nods, as if that makes it all perfectly logical, but Carlos keeps staring at her with the same doubtful expression.

"Since when are you and Clara such good friends?"

Elena rolls her eyes.

"Carlos, we went to school together for ten years."

"And you haven’t seen her in four."

"Exactly. We caught up recently, and she invited me to stay for a few days."

Carlos doesn’t look convinced.

"And you’re just leaving, out of nowhere."

"Why not? It’s the summer break, I don’t have to stay here the whole time."

Carlos crosses his arms.

"Hmm."

Their mother, on the other hand, just smiles.

"Well, darling, if you want to go, go."

Carlos looks at her like he can’t believe she’s accepting the explanation so easily.

"Doesn’t that sound suspicious to you?"

"Carlos, please," their mother says, shaking her head in amusement. "It’s summer. Can’t your sister go to the beach for a few days without you interrogating her like she’s planning a heist?"

Elena smirks at Carlos before taking a sip of her coffee.

"Exactly. Thanks, Mom."

Carlos huffs but seems to give in.

"When are you leaving?"

"Early tomorrow morning."

"Uh-huh."

Carlos keeps watching her, narrowing his eyes like he’s trying to read between the lines. Elena ignores him, picking up her cup and heading for the door.

Her phone vibrates in her hand.

A message from Oscar.

"Mission accomplished?"

Elena smiles before replying.

"Obviously. Who do you think I am?"

Elena doesn’t know exactly when she realizes that this—whatever it is they’re doing—is a disaster waiting to happen.

Maybe it’s when she opens her eyes that first morning in Croatia and finds Oscar already awake, his head resting in his palm, just watching her.

Or when, after spending the afternoon exploring the town, they step into a small market to buy groceries for dinner and end up arguing—far too seriously—about which kind of pasta is better.

Or maybe it’s when, without thinking too much about it, she tosses a towel at his face after her shower, and instead of complaining, he pulls it away slowly and grins like an idiot. Like this is normal. Like this isn’t something they’ll regret sooner or later.

But they don’t think about that. Or rather, they pretend not to.

The town is perfect. A hidden corner on the Croatian coast, with whitewashed stone houses, cobbled streets, and the sea glistening under the August sun. No one knows them here. No one watches them. Here, they can walk without looking over their shoulders, without worrying about cameras or curious eyes.

And so they do.

They walk along the shore, sandals in hand, letting the foam of the waves soak their ankles. They eat at a small restaurant where the owner treats them like locals. They spend the afternoon at a secluded cove, where Oscar splashes her unexpectedly, and Elena lunges at him without a second thought, sending them both crashing into the water, laughing.

They don’t talk much about what this means.

They don’t say out loud that they’re playing with fire.

They just exist.

For the first time since this all began, they are together without the pressure of the paddock, without the weight of the forbidden. They wake up tangled in white sheets, have slow breakfasts on the terrace, Oscar cooks while Elena sits on the counter, stealing bites of whatever he’s making.

It’s ridiculously domestic.

Ridiculously easy.

And that’s why, somewhere in the back of her mind, Elena knows it can’t last.

It’s their last evening together, and the sun is starting to set over the sea, painting the sky in shades of gold and orange. The heat of the day still lingers on the wooden terrace of the small house they’ve rented, where the sound of waves crashing against the rocks blends with the distant murmur of locals enjoying the evening.

Oscar absentmindedly turns the beer bottle in his hands, his gaze lost in the foam sliding down the glass. Across from him, Elena leans back in her chair, tracing the rim of her wine glass with a fingertip.

The silence between them is comfortable.

But Oscar knows he can’t leave it like this.

“I don’t want this to end when summer does.”

Elena lifts her gaze slowly, as if her thoughts were somewhere else. She blinks a couple of times before speaking.

“What do you mean?”

Oscar lets out a humorless chuckle, dropping his eyes to the table.

“I mean, I don’t want to go back to pretending this isn’t happening.”

Elena doesn’t answer right away. She leans forward, resting her elbows on the table, studying him with those eyes that always seem to know more than they say.

“I don’t know if we have a choice.”

Oscar looks up, holding her gaze.

“There’s always a choice.”

Elena sighs, running a hand through her hair before pushing her glass aside.

“Oscar…”

He shakes his head before she can continue.

“Don’t tell me it won’t work. That it’s complicated. That we have to think about Carlos, the paddock, everything else. Because I know. I’ve thought about it a million times. But what scares me more than what happens if we keep going… is what happens if we stop.”

Elena stays quiet.

For a moment, Oscar fears she won’t respond—that she’ll get up from the table, deflect with a sharp remark like she’s done so many times before.

But then, she speaks.

“If I’m being honest… I’m scared of that too.”

Oscar blinks. He wasn’t expecting her to admit it so easily.

“Yeah?”

Elena nods slowly.

“Since the season started, everything has been so intense. At first, it was just this ridiculous tension, this game. I loved getting under your skin.” She smiles a little, but there’s more nostalgia than teasing in it. “But then it became something else. Something I couldn’t control anymore.”

Oscar leans in slightly, never taking his eyes off her.

“When did you realize?”

Elena holds his gaze, and for the first time in a long time, she hesitates.

“I think… since the beginning.”

Something tightens in Oscar’s chest.

“Then why have we been avoiding it for so long?”

Elena lets out a quiet laugh, like the answer is too obvious.

“Because it was easier that way. If we ignored it, we didn’t have to face what it meant.”

Oscar watches her for a long moment. Then, with a tired smile, he says,

“Falling for you was too easy.”

Elena drops her gaze for a second before looking up again, her expression knocking the air out of his lungs.

“Falling for you was too easy, too.”

The world seems to stop.

Oscar feels a tingling in his skin, like his body is trying to process what he just heard.

“Elena…”

But she keeps going.

"I didn’t want to accept it," she says quietly. "Because I was scared. Because if this ends, I don’t know how we go back to being the same. I don’t know how I’ll look at you without it hurting."

Oscar takes her hand across the table. Their fingers fit together like they were made for it.

"I don’t want this to end."

Elena tightens her grip, not letting go.

"Me neither."

They stay like that for a moment, in silence, with the sun setting behind them and the sound of the ocean filling the empty spaces.

Until Elena breaks the calm.

"So… what do we do now?"

Oscar exhales slowly.

"We can’t keep hiding forever."

Elena nods.

"Carlos won’t accept it."

"Not right away, no."

"I don’t want him to find out from someone else."

Oscar lets out a dry laugh.

"Well, it’s not like we’ve been very subtle."

Elena rolls her eyes.

"That’s your fault."

Oscar raises an eyebrow.

"Excuse me?"

"You’re the one who looks at me like—" She stops herself, and Oscar grins.

"Like what?"

She meets his gaze, unyielding.

"Like you physically can’t not look at me."

Oscar leans in slightly, closing the space between them. His voice is a murmur.

"Like you matter too much."

Elena narrows her eyes.

"Too much?"

He shakes his head, a smile on his face.

"Meh, not enough."

And then, without thinking, without hesitating for a second longer, he kisses her.

The morning sun bathes the town in that golden warmth that only exists on vacation. The breeze smells of salt and freshly baked bread, and the cobblestones beneath their feet radiate the accumulated heat of previous days. Oscar and Elena walk aimlessly, slipping between market stalls, weaving through café terraces, blending into the crowd of people who live here without knowing that, for them, this is their last day of reprieve.

Tomorrow, everything goes back to normal. Tomorrow, they return to their lives. Tomorrow, the distance.

But today, today is still theirs.

Elena stops in front of a small flower stall, leaning over the tin buckets filled with sunflowers and lavender. The vendor, an elderly man with a white mustache, smiles when he sees her interest.

“For you, take one as a gift.” He plucks a sprig of lavender and offers it to her.

Elena smiles and accepts it with a small nod. Oscar watches her, saying nothing, caught in that quiet awe that sometimes overtakes him when he looks at her for too long.

He still doesn’t understand how he got here—how he ended up in a small Croatian coastal town, watching Elena pick flowers under the sun, holding her hand like the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

She turns to him and tucks the lavender behind his ear with a teasing smile.

“There. Now you smell nice.”

Oscar rolls his eyes but doesn’t take it off.

They keep walking, unrushed, savoring the morning. They pass an ice cream shop, and Elena suddenly craves pistachio gelato. Oscar buys one for her, and as always, she offers him the first bite. It’s a simple, silly gesture, but it leaves a warmth in his chest.

They stroll to the town square, where a fountain with crystal-clear water sparkles, and children run around, laughing. They sit on the edge, sharing the ice cream, carrying the easy carelessness of people who believe the day will stretch on forever.

Oscar doesn’t know how long they’ve been there, only that, at some point, Elena rests her head on his shoulder, and he closes his eyes, letting himself drift.

And then, the peace shatters.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!”

Oscar feels his entire body go rigid.

No.

No way.

But yes.

Carlos Sainz stands at the other end of the square, frozen in place, his jaw slack, his eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets. Beside him, his girlfriend Rebecca has a hand over her mouth, but from the way her shoulders shake, it’s clear she’s holding back laughter.

Oscar doesn’t dare move.

He knows Carlos has already connected the dots.

The pistachio ice cream drips slowly between his fingers, melting.

Elena, still resting her head on his shoulder, exhales deeply before murmuring,

“Well… the odds of this happening were pretty low.”

Oscar swallows hard.

Carlos blinks several times, as if trying to reboot his brain. Then he looks at Oscar. Then at Elena. Then at their intertwined hands. Then back at Oscar.

Oscar sees the exact moment reality slams into him.

Carlos blinks. Takes a deep breath. And explodes.

“ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!”

Elena, calm as ever, straightens her posture and stretches as if this is the most normal thing in the world.

“Carlos.”

“CARLOS?! JUST ‘CARLOS’?! HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND?!”

“Don’t shout.”

“I’M NOT SHOUTING!”

“Yes, you are.”

“I AM ABSOLUTELY SHOUTING!”

Oscar is too paralyzed to intervene. He feels like a deer caught in headlights.

Elena gets to her feet with an exasperated sigh, like she’s dealing with a tantrum-throwing child.

“What are you doing here, Carlos?”

“I SHOULD BE ASKING YOU THAT! WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE? AND WHY THE HELL ARE YOU WITH HIM?” Carlos gestures wildly toward Oscar, like he’s some inanimate object instead of a person with a name.

Oscar opens his mouth to say something—anything—but no words come out.

“I’m on vacation. Just like you,” Elena replies, completely unfazed.

Carlos looks about ready to combust.

“With him?”

“Yes.”

Oscar wants to disappear.

Carlos points an accusing finger at him.

“YOU!”

Oscar instinctively straightens.

“Me?”

“YES, YOU! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING WITH MY SISTER?!”

Oscar opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again.

“Uh…”

“‘UH’ WHAT?!”

Elena sighs.

“Carlos, seriously, can you drop the dramatics?”

“IT’S NOT DRAMATICS! IT’S A VERY SERIOUS QUESTION!”

Rebecca finally decides to step in, placing a gentle hand on Carlos’s arm.

“Babe, breathe.”

“I DON’T WANT TO BREATHE!”

“Well, you should.”

Carlos lets out an angry huff but at least shuts his mouth.

Elena crosses her arms, raising an eyebrow.

“Are you done?”

Carlos scowls.

“No.”

“Let me know when you are.”

“WHAT THE FUCK?!”

@smoooothoperator @freyathehuntress @gold66loveblog @hadesnumber1daughter

if you want to get added to my permanent taglist, just let me know! likes, comments and reblogs are really appreciated. your support means the world to me and it keeps me motivated! thank you all <3

501 notes · View notes

winkofcharm · 25 days ago

Text

Spinning, Spinning, Spun - Chapter 1

Please help me, this is far longer than I expected it to be lmao.

Batfam x Reader {platonic} [Previous] [next]

Barbara Gordon is simultaneously the first to notice, and the sort-of last to know.

It begins as most nights do for her, preparing for her shift as Oracle, waiting for you to send over the photos of the day. Scanning through the reports, planning out the routes each Bat would take, keeping an eye on any sort of forum, social media, police report, etc - that might drop a hint for what criminal activities may be planned for the night. It was a familiar pattern, one she had held to for years, even before she joined The Family.

She’d known for as long as she could remember that she wanted to be in law enforcement, and since she was strictly forbidden from joining the GCPD by her Dad, what better way than this?

First as Batgirl, fighting along Batman and Robin - being brought into the fold, into the family. She even remembers the first time she was brought into the batcave, and became aware of the men behind the masks; The Bruce Wayne, The Dick Grayson. She was going to work with the legends she modelled herself after. The ones who inspired her to take up a mask, to hit the streets of Gotham, and fulfil her dream. But it wasn’t just the two of them, was it? There was their butler, Alfred Pennyworth, former military, hyper-competent, and a master of what he did. And then…there was you.

Barely a toddler, not able to comprehend what was going on, even if you wanted to. You were a cute kid, for sure, but she didn’t really know much about kids, and wasn’t interested in learning either. She had more important things to do, and yeah, she felt kind of bad brushing you off whenever she stopped in during the day, but that’s what Bruce told her to do - and at the end of the day, he was your dad, and had the final say. If she ever was curious about who exactly was watching over this child while She, Bruce, Dick, and Alfred were all preoccupied, then it was only a fleeting thought before refocusing on the job at hand.

She watched you grow in glimpses and glances. Sighing a breath of relief when Bruce told her you were in on the secret, and letting another when he mentioned you wouldn’t be involved. By the time you were told, she was already Oracle, and balancing another vigilante would be stretching herself a little too thin. You learning the secret, also led to her seeing you less and less. And if she were completely honest with herself, it was a solace, a weight off her shoulders - one less person she needed to lie to.

It became so much easier once you started leaving The Manor, she didn’t need to worry about running into you, and the awkward greetings that would follow. Barbara could get right to work, without needing to censor any discussions or plans. Anytime you were home, you seemed to get the hint quickly and make yourself scarce. The contact was minimal, until Bruce came to her with a request.

You were getting popular on social media, and with that popularity came risk. Risk of people getting too curious, of not just your safety, but the others safety being compromised as well. So a plan was put into motion.

Every day, at 5pm Gotham time, you would send over any pre-planned posts and pictures, and Barbara would scrub them clean of meta-data. She would cross-reference any details regarding the rest of the family, making sure the timelines of events stayed consistent (though, she admits, you were pretty good at that already - and getting better at covering your own digital tracks. It seemed almost redundant to have her backtrack over everything, but who was Batman without redundancies?). Then, once satisfied, she’d send them back, and you would post at predetermined times.

For the last five or six years, this system worked. You were always punctual, provided the few times you were late due to scheduling conflicts with the regular time, but even then, you always let her know ahead of time. Until this time, that is.

5 pm, 18:00, 5 in the evening - came and went, and not a text, or dm, or email in sight. Maybe you were busy, maybe you were sleeping? You were in Hong Kong, possibly on your way elsewhere at the moment, and time zones could be tricky at best - but you never missed the 5pm cutoff.

And honestly, she may have been the first to discover your disappearance, if she hadn’t been immediately distracted by a new thread on the Gotham subreddit. An unconfirmed source, one she needed to follow up on asap, claiming a grumbling in the underground - a rumour, unsubstantiated, but all rumours regarding any of the rogues needed to be followed up on.

Thus, your lack of contact went unappreciated, and unheeded.

The second to notice, and the first to inquire, was one Stephanie Brown.

Steph - as she insisted to be called - was probably just as active in the realm of social media as you were, even if she wasn’t quite as popular. She never really got the invites to collaborate and create as much branded content as you did, but she didn’t really want that. She was okay with being “Gotham famous”, where people who were chronically online may recognize her out and about, but she wasn’t being hounded. Not like you were, and that was perfectly fine.

She didn’t want to be as famous as you, hell, from the few times you actually made conversation, you didn’t want to be as famous as you are. The first time Wayne Enterprises pushed for a collab between you and her, you had been so... so…something.

You had been sat beside her in a boardroom, the company PR team presenting why it would be so great for You, at the time the only known biological Wayne heir, and Steph, at the time girlfriend to their youngest ever CEO, to run a series of posts together online to promote brand engagement and blah-blah-blaaaaaaaaaah. Meanwhile, Bruce and Tim sat opposite her and you, nodding and agreeing with whatever business talk came out of the team's mouth.

She also remembers nodding along, even if she didn’t understand what they were saying. It wasn’t like either of you were going to turn down the proposal, especially since it was coming directly from Bruce. She “uhuhed” and “okay’d” at all the right times, and you…you just sat there.

You never even really looked at her, and Steph recalls how angry that made her. How you glanced over her once before looking away (before looking down) and never really looked back at her (never looked back up). She thought you to be stuck up and rude, some bratty kid living rich off their daddy’s money. It wasn’t until later, when you actually were working together for a supposedly “candid” photo opportunity, that she realized you were just quiet and a little awkward.

In person, you were a complete 180 from how you presented yourself online. Online, you were confident, bold, clever and witty. In person, you shrunk into yourself. Shoulders hunched, eyes looking anywhere but forward - until the camera started rolling and then, then you transformed. Shoulders back, eyes forward, smirk playing on your lips. You went from random nobody, to someone who couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than the child of Bruce Wayne.

It made her curious, and for Stephanie Brown, curiosity was dangerous.

She started by asking Tim about you, but he couldn’t give any more information than she already had, and even then, some of it seemed to just be about the online you - not the real one. When pushed, he got frustrated, and ended up starting a small argument.

“Does it matter? All you have to do with them is pose for some pictures - it’s not like they do anything else.”

And didn’t that set Stephanie off. You were a person, more than an online presence - so she and Tim didn’t speak for a week, until you had left town again, and the reason behind the argument semi-forgotten.

Then she made the mistake of asking Bruce - and fuck, wasn’t that one of the most terrifying conversations (could it even be called that?) of her life. She tried to play off her questioning as small talk -

“Man, they’re completely different in person y’know. I expected them to be just a rich kid, but -”

Bruce cut her off. He hadn’t even been looking at her at first, but the moment he realized she was talking about You, his head had whipped around at her. His eyes hardened, his face twisted into one she’d only seen before aimed at lowlife thugs. Stephanie could feel the fear creeping in, her palms starting to sweat. She had made eye contact for just a moment, before casting her eyes elsewhere. Why had he reacted like this? She just wanted to know more about his kid. She didn’t think that was wrong - how could it be?

“All you were to do was a job. They’re to be left alone outside of that.” She tried to defend herself, mostly out of surprise, but Bruce wasn’t having it. Anything she spoke was met with a cold and stern:

“Drop it.”

So she did. For a bit. The next time you were in town, and you were asked to work together again, she tried to bring it up again - and Bruce got even angrier. She ended up benched, and if she had to choose between you and Spoiler?

Well, she didn’t know you that well. And Spoiler, Spoiler was always going to be more important.

Even after she and Tim broke up, you played the part of her digital bestie - and she would catch glimpses of the real you, the you no one else had seen, whenever she could. At one point she realized she knew more about you then the ones purported to be your siblings, and it sent her into a spiral. At best, you were coworkers, and she knew more than the people who were supposed to know everything.

It helped that you posted several times a day, everyday. And sure, a lot of it was the fake influencer bullshit, but sometimes you’d sneak in the truth. Those were the posts she went out of her way to like and repost. She learned your favourite colour and favourite hot beverage in the same post, and made sure the next time you went out together for content, that it was prepared correctly, in a mug of your favourite colour.

The small smile that lit up your face was perhaps the first real smile she had seen you make. And if it made her heart flutter, well, she kept that secret close.

So it became a habit of hers. To scroll through your posts everyday, except today -

You hadn’t posted anything. Not a thing. Nothing on twitter, on instagram, on snapchat, on tiktok - nothing. She refreshed each one multiple times, just in case, and kept switching between platforms, just in case.

It set her on edge. Made her stand a little straighter - and then - the panic set in as she recalled -

You queued everything.

You queued your posts for up to a week out at a time - meaning while there was nothing made public today, you hadn’t posted anything for the last week.

So Stephanie did the only thing she could think to do, and went to the only person who might know more and be willing to share.

Alfred.

Thus Alfred became the third to notice, and the first to know.

He remembers when you came to the manor. How little you were, the power of your lungs as you cried out into the world. A cry that would, if he were honest, barely ever be answered.

Barely two weeks old, and already being forced to learn how cold the world is - he tried to apologize for it, but how could he? Nothing could replace what had been lost, nothing could replace what would never be given.

Your mother had died in childbirth, or shortly after. The timeline wasn’t quite clear, but she had enough time to list one Bruce Wayne as the father on your birth certificate. Something neither he or Bruce had expected - let alone the call that came from the hospital, requesting someone come pick you up, lest CPS get involved. Bruce eventually relented under that threat, wanting to avoid any sort of government digging, but only if a DNA test proved you to be his child.

The Hospital agreed, and two days later, the results came back positive. You were his, and he was all you had. They refused to allow Alfred to collect you, no matter how hard Bruce pushed - he had to be the one to pick you up. So Bruce brought Alfred with him, and the moment he laid his eyes on you, he was yours. You were, in Alfred’s opinion, the most valuable thing in the world.

Bruce, his ward, his son in every way but blood, to Alfred’s disappointment, did not agree. There was no time for an infant, not in his crusade. Despite trying his best to care for you and Bruce at the same time, Batman’s schedule made it impossible.

An infant needed around the clock care, and if he was in the Batcave watching over Bruce and Dick (who hadn’t even been told about you - didn’t even know you were there in the manor, having been put in the nursery wing at the far end, where your cries were only to be heard by a nanny no one had bothered to hire), then there was no way for him to watch over you - there was more than one morning you woke covered in your own mess.

Alfred at least got Bruce to agree to hire a Nanny after the second week. He refused to have the Nanny in the main house, however. And how was that supposed to work anyway? Another person, poking around Wayne Manor with all its secrets? Bruce would never stand it.

The solution broke Alfred’s heart, even if he agreed it was for the best.

A country house, unused since the days of Thomas and Martha Wayne, and a Nanny, paid an ungodly sum and handpicked by Alfred himself for her silence and skill. Off you went, nearly two hours away, out of the grasp of Gotham and its shadows. The Nanny they had hired was instructed to send reports every week - written and verbal. The written reports went to Bruce’s desk, with any requests for new furniture, clothing, toys and other expenses were signed off on and sent back. The verbal reports? Those were Alfreds.

He was kept up to date with every milestone, from learning to turn yourself over, to your first words and steps. The Nanny mentioned more than once she was worried about how quiet you were, how hesitant to ask for anything, from physical needs to emotional ones - and it hurt him to hear. You were a Wayne, the world would be at your fingertips, nothing should be out of reach - except, perhaps, your own family's affection.

He assured the poor woman that the quiet was normal, that Bruce himself had been a quiet baby before exploding into a vibrant child (until reverting back after the alley). He did insist, as you grew older, that you would be brought into the phone calls. How delightful it was to hear you, even if it was just a few scattered words.

Years passed like this, until suddenly you were at the cusp of puberty. And Bruce had no choice but to bring you back into the main house. The Nanny who had raised you, who you clung to for all your needs, was ready to retire. Alfred was the one to convince him to let you back, Dick was leaving, and he couldn’t imagine the Manor without some sort of childish light. Perhaps you could even get to know your father, grow close to him, and never be sent away again.

How futile a wish.

You never stood a chance.

Alfred went himself, to collect you. Your sparse belongings had been sent ahead, having arrived in the Manor two days before you had - and had been placed once again in the nursery (though the crib had been removed, and replaced with a large four poster bed - curtains in your current favourite colour, and ready to be replaced when you changed it).

You were polite and proper in your greetings, exactly as you were raised and taught to be. A firm handshake, your tiny hand in his - something you should have learned from your father, but was taught by a stranger. You remained silent the entire way home, looking out the window as the countryside changed. And Alfred couldn’t help but look back in the mirrors, and try his hardest to memorize everything about you.

He should have known better. He spoke to you, as you approached the grounds, how your father was waiting to meet you (and held back on speaking about Dick, if only to ease the blow on how your father would rather raise a child that wasn’t you). He had thought Bruce would do the right thing and be waiting to greet you, as he had been raised to do whenever family arrived, so when he finally pulled up to the front doors and Bruce wasn’t there, he felt ashamed. He apologized for your fathers faux pas, and you just brushed it off - claiming you understood how busy he was.

He would later find Bruce in the Batcave, with Jason Todd in tow. He would scold Bruce privately later, for doing all the things he had expected him to do with you, with Jason instead. A tour of the manor, showing you your room, introducing you to the history of your great family - all things Alfred had done instead.

It was Alfred who helped you adjust, who prepared you for your new role as a Wayne heir. It was Alfred who introduced you to Jason, upon escorting you to the library and catching him there as well. And it was Alfred who went and yelled at Bruce for allowing you to assume you were like the others, an orphan taken in by a wealthy patron.

It was an innocent question on Jason’s behalf, one he apologized for immediately after -

“Did Bruce take you in too?”

And you turned to Alfred, unsure how to answer - he could see the words of affirmation forming in your mouth, the questioning furrow of your brow, before he cut you off -

“Young Master is Master Bruce’s child by birth, sir.”

“Oh! Sorry! I’m really sorry, he just didn’t mention anything and I just assumed, and I’m rambling, I’m sorry.” The embarrassed blush that bled onto Jason’s cheeks was probably the only thing that saved him from a scolding for asking such a question, along with your own response:

“It’s okay, you didn’t know - “ and thus your introduction was awkward and stilted, but at least you might finally have someone else by your side.

He should have known better.

He told Bruce of your meeting Jason, of the conversation you’d had, and how for a moment (perhaps much longer) you had thought yourself another ward, hadn’t been assured that the Wayne family was, in fact, your family. And While Bruce never addressed your feeling of lack of belonging - he did stress that you and Jason were to be kept separate, as much as could possibly be done.

Alfred verbally agreed, and mentally decided to make sure you and Jason spent as much time together as possible without Bruce noticing. Which proceeded to blow up in his face when Jason, in the midst of a visit from Dick, inadvertently blew the whole secret sky high.

You never told him of what happened that night. Never looked at him again with trust in your eyes. Never reached out to Jason, or Dick, or even Tim when he arrived. You locked yourself further away, kept to your room outside of meals and school. And Alfred, if he ever heard you crying to yourself, pulled back; never acknowledged the damage done. How could he? In supporting the others, he had failed you.

You lived as a ghost, and when you started leaving the manor more and more, he hoped you would move on. That you would grow into a person all your own, without the shadow of your family. But you never completely broke away - how could you? When they started finally pulling you in, in a grotesque semblance of a relationship that was never really real. It made him sick to his stomach, seeing you on the cover of Teen Vogue , purporting an interview about how great your siblings were. Siblings you hadn’t spoken to in months, hadn’t seen in even longer.

Then Stephanie Brown took an interest, and Alfred, remembering how badly things had gone before when Jason had taken an interest, kept it to himself. Passed on what he could recall of your likes and dislikes, of your habits and rituals. So it wasn’t necessarily surprising when she called to ask about you. He paid no mind to Stephanie pushing for him to call you, gave the excuse of wondering when you’d next be in town, and that she’d tried to text you but had gotten no response. So he did. No answer, straight to voicemail - your phone was apparently turned off.

“Please leave a message after the beep - “

Generic, he was hoping you had changed it by now, but clearly, he’d have to remind you again. But before the beep could go off, his blood chilled.

A laugh.

Not a laugh, a cackle.

Familiar, and cruel - on your voicemail message, on your private phone, and one all too recognizable.

The Joker

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

taglist: @holybatflapexpert @electricgg @xoyumiqls @holderoflostmemories @sleeptimes @galaxypurplerose @sassam

(apologies if the tag didn't work, i'm new to this ;3; )

#batfam #neglected reader #batfam x reader #batfamily #reader insert #writing fanfiction #fanfiction #spinning spinning spun #batman #barbara gordon #stephanie brown #alfred pennyworth

338 notes · View notes

cutvdo · 7 months ago

Text

Shadowpeach Bio Parent AU - summary

When I read a long fanfic I like I do a little summary on what happens each chapter so I can easily reread the parts I want.

So I did one for @kyri45 Shadowpeach Bio Parent AU comic.

Link to comic Master post (from part 1 to 8) Link to Second Master post (with FAQs Q&As) (has the rest of part 8 and part 9) Link to Spin-off Master post

THIS IS SPOILERS, GO READ THE COMIC BEFORE READING THIS!!!!

The way it goes is "summary (characters that show up, by emojis the first time a character shows up it will also have a name, INDEX at the end of the post) extra".

The extra is like if someone is blushing or no-glamour, easier for compilations. and Sun = Sun Wukong.

P.1: First Arc 1) master post 2) we will co-mentor MK (🐒MK ☀️Sun 🌑Mac) 3) MK has shadow powers, Mama!Macaque (🐒☀️🌑) 4) MK has 4 ears, he is perfect (🐒☀️🌑) 5) Don't you know powers are genetic (🔥Redson 🐒) 6) Pigsy phone call (☀️🌑,🐷Pigsy-phone📞) 7) too much noise (🐒☀️🌑) 8) we are related talk (🐒☀️🌑) 9) Pigsy shovel talk (☀️🌑🐷)

P.2: Week 1 and 2 1) MK corner (🐒☀️🌑) 2) new clothes (🐒) bonus) 🪭PIF finds out (🔥🪭PIF 🌑) 🚪Door 3) afraid to apologies (☀️🌑,🐒-sleeping) 4) train Kaiju form with Mac (🐒☀️🌑) Mac-kaiju 5) Mac apologies to MK (🐒☀️🌑) Mac-MK-kaiju 6) MK planed this (🐒☀️) reddit-ing 🔗Fan made a fake MK reddit story 7) Redson and Mei find out (🐒🔥🐉Mei 🪭) 8) Redson gives MK support (🐒🔥)+(☀️🐃DBK)🚪Door 9) Bull gives advice to Sun (☀️🐃)

P.3: Training montage 1) Sun stepping down from an argument (🐒☀️🌑) 2) never gives up (🐒☀️🌑) Sun blush🔴 3) Grooming train (🐒☀️🌑Monkeys) Sun🔴 4) more for MK (☀️🌑👓Tang) bonus) Family dinner (🐒☀️🌑) 5) soft ears (🐒☀️🌑🔥🐉) Mac🔴 6) MK's room (🐒☀️🌑)

P:4: Un-divorce arc 1) APOLOGY (☀️🌑) glamour-less Sun 2) Mac nightmare (☀️🌑 Monkeys) 3) Sun nightmare (☀️🌑 Monkeys) 4) made bed bigger (☀️🌑 Monkeys) 5) 🍼MK is baby now (🐒☀️🌑) 6) Mama Mamacaque (🐒☀️🌑) 7) Mamacaque shadow play (🐒🌑,☀️-watch) 8) Want parenthood talk (☀️🌑) 9) family cuddle (🐒☀️🌑) 10) MK wakes-up to family cuddle (🐒, ☀️-🌑-sleep) bonus) Spicynoodle (🐒🔥🐉)🏳️‍🌈🔴

P.5: More than a successor 1) 2am waiting for Mac (☀️🌑) 2) MK sees past (☀️🌑,🐷-phone📞) 3) giving Pigsy and Tang advice (🐒🐷👓, ☀️-🌑-phone📞) 4) Sun freakout (☀️🌑) 5) not a nightmare (🐒☀️🌑) glamour-less Mac 6) it was the only way (🐒☀️🌑) 7) family hug (🐒☀️🌑) talk 8) Sandy therapy (🐒 🐱Sandy) 9) not a successor anymore (🐒☀️🌑🐱) 10) continue part 9 (🐒☀️🌑) 11) Xiaotian , new weapon (🐒☀️🌑)

P.6: Training Arc 2, Electric Boogaloo 1) ask ⚔️Chiyou [god of war] (🐒☀️🌑 ⚔️Chiyou) 2) making weapon (🐒☀️🌑⚔️) Mac🔴 3) weapon reveal (🐒☀️🌑⚔️) 4) human Sun and Mac (🐒☀️🌑) 5) Lilo and stitch (🐷🐒 ,☀️-phone📞) 6) Sun nightmare: cuddle prison (🐒☀️🌑) 7) Sun nightmare: family cuddle (🐒☀️🌑) 8) 3 monkies clinging (🐒☀️🌑) 9) Red and MK sparring (🐒🔥🐉) MK!🔴🔴🔴 10) puberty talk (🐒☀️🌑) Mac🔴🔴 11) puberty talk + tickle attack (🐒🌑) Mac-MK🔴 12) trans (🐒☀️🌑)

P.7: Full Moon Eclipse 1) Mac's cold, Sun takes to hot springs (☀️🌑) Sun-blush🔴 2) why Mac was cold (☀️🌑) 3) MK goes to Red to clear misunderstanding (🐒🔥 Bob) 4) MK and Red talking, demon etiquette, white hair (🐒🔥) 5) not a freak (🐒🔥🐃☀️) everyone-blush LMAO🔴🔴🔴🔴 6) Mac explaining to MK about white hair (🐒🌑🔥☀️) Sun🔴 🔗What cover text says: link *deleted sorry 7) parents reactions (☀️🐃🌑🪭) 8) 🌑eclipse (🐒🌑☀️ ,🐉-phone📞) glamour-less Mac & MK + white fur 9) fully charged, MK makes a quick call (🐒🌑☀️) glamour-less Mac & MK + white fur 10) MK calls Mei (🐒,🐉-phone📞) 11) Mac, I forgive you (🌑☀️) glamour-less Sun 12) Baba Mama (🐒☀️🌑) Sun-cry bonus) joke comic 4th wall: 🔗LINK reblog 13) Sun's and Mac's reactions, Heaven! (🌑☀️, 🐒-sleep) Mac-Sun-cry Sun🔴

P.8: A Dark, Long Night 1) Nezha you are joking? (🐒 🛞Nezha 👺li-jing) 2) Mac stops Wukong from being impulsive (🌑☀️) 3) MK gets a circlet and a contract (🐒🛞👺 🌿Guanyin) 😭HURT ANGST 4) Family meeting (☀️🌑🐷👓🐉🐱🔥) at FFM 🚪Door 5) Bonding over daddy issues (🐒🛞) Sunset Lotus Duo 6) Tied name contract (🐒🛞🌿🔥) 7) Nezha gives Red and MK space (🐒🛞🔥) 8) Red is upset (🐒🔥) 🔴 + color🎨 🚀History from when the comic was posted: We got a challenge from kyri54 to make the comic tag trending, and this is the result, reblog. Stars, the day of was wild, so many posts. 9) MK self sacrifice did damage to his loved ones part 2, electric bogaloo (🐒🔥) 🔴 🔗What cover text says: link , reblog 10) 🎉KISS!!!!!!!! (🐒🔥) 🔴 color🎨

11) Kissing for 20 panels (🐒🔥) 🔴 12) Nezha walk in on them (🐒🔥🛞) 🔴 13) MK asks for Mac's help (🔥🌑☀️🐷🐒) Red🔴 14) A distraction and a challenge (🔥🌑☀️🐉🐷👓🐒) Red🔴 15) Wukong took the news about MK's circlet very well /j (☀️🌑🐷👓🐉🐱🔥) animation! Sun-kaiju 16) Girl fight! (🌑☀️🐉) kaiju 17) See yourself the way I see you (🌑☀️) 🔗links to the flashbacks from the show: link reblog, link reblog, link reblog 18) you're beautiful (☀️🌑🐷👓🐉🐱) Mac-kaiju🔴 Sun-kaiju 19) Show Them The Real Sun Wukong! (☀️🌑🐷👓🐉🔥) Sun-kaiju🔴 Red🔴 20) Dads to the rescue (🐒🌑🐷👓) hugs 21) Dad council vote: should MK change his name? (🐒🌑🐷👓) 22) The baby is FED! (🐒🌑🐷👓)

23) 𝄞🎤 HIT IT! IT'S SHOWTIME (🐒🌑☀️🐉🛞👺) Sun-kaiju SONG 24) ♪ LET THE DESTRUCTION BEGIN!! (☀️🛞🔥🐉) ☀️-kaiju 25) 🎵 THEY ARE GOING DOWN, BABY! (🐒🌑🐉) SOYSAUCE 26) ♬ BABY CHAOS BEING CHAOTIC (🐒🌑☀️🔥👺) ☀️-kaiju 27) 🎶 NOT THE GUMDROP BUTTON (🐒🌑☀️👺🛞) ☀️-kaiju 28) ♫ END SONG (🐒🌑🌿☀️👺🔥🐉) ☀️-kaiju 🔗fan edit of the whole song in sink with the panels🎸 reblog 🔗fan edit that I can't help but include , reblog 🔗they made a longer version , reblog

29) Napping while scroll hunting (👺☀️🐒🌿) ☀️-kaiju 30) My name is what? (👺☀️🐒🐷 👓🐱🪭🌿) 31) Wake up (👺☀️🐒) 32) Sibling PIF Macaque IRON SHADOW (🌑🪭) * on stream we found out they don't have a pair name so we made one, IRON SHADOW! 33) Nezha MK sibling bonding time (🐒🛞) Sunset Lotus Duo + 🟥▶YouTube video * I realized that there isn't a ship name (platonic) for MK and NeZha, any suggestions? @sypher-moon05 gave the idea for Sunset Lotus Duo, since it's an actual orange lotus. (full name 'Amazon Sunset Lotus'). 34) Did you hear that? (🌑☀️🪭🐷👓🐱) ☀️-kaiju 35) 🐉MEI EXPRESS! (🌑☀️🪭🐷👓🐉🔥🐱) ☀️-kaiju 🤣 36) Wukong, I forgive you for everything (🌑☀️) ☀️-kaiju 37) 🎉KISS!!!! + 🟥▶YouTube video (🌑☀️) glamour-less 🍑🎨 38) What’s your answer? (🐒🌑☀️🛞👺🐷👓🐉🔥🐱) 🔴 39) MK The Monkie Kid (🐒🌑☀️🛞👺) 🔗Who is in the audience: link, link 40) How did that work? HUG (🐒🌑☀️🐷👓🛞👺🌿) 41) Why did that happen? NAP (🐒🌿🌑☀️🐉🔥🐷👓🐱) NAME, Red🔴 🔗All the Spirited Away references in Part 8: A Dark Long Night , reblog 🔗About MK’s name

Part 9: A new Dawn (Epilogue) 1) Poor Red Son ❤️�� (🐒🔥🐃🪭🐷👓)🔴 2) Mildly spicy, noodles❤️💛, which aren't free (🐒🔥🐷👓)🔴 🔗Oh my heaven stars 3) 🙈🙉🙊 Moderate spicy shadowpeach, did it change? (🌑☀️)🔴 4) Immortal, Hey new jacket (🐒🐉)😭😭 5) 🍜cry over a bowl of noodles (🌑☀️🐷👓)😭 🔗 Playlist music from kyri45 🎶 reblog 6) Combine power (🐒🌑☀️?) 7) 🍼baby MK (🐒🌑☀️🌿) 8) The rest of your story (🐒🌑☀️🌿)😭 🔗 explanation on how chaos magic work by @passiveaggressivebisexualchaos reblog ( how they reached to me adding them LMAO) 9) Mac know about chaos (🌑☀️) 🔴😘 10) You are invited (🔵Bai He 🌑🐒🔥☀️⚔️🐉🐷🌕) 11) Coronation Time!👑 (🐒🌑☀️) outfit 🚀We got a Challenge!!!! reblog on March 8th, make #Shadowpeach Bio Parents AU and #Lego Monkie Kid trending. mention of challenge(Feb 6) 🚀 🔗 Road map to the end 12) You look good (🐒🔥🐉🐃🪭☀️🌑⚔️)🔴 Red’s dress color 🔗 Art content winner reblog 13) MK is collecting parental figures like pokemons (🐒👓🐷🌕⚔️🌿🔥🐉🔵🛞) 🔗Kyri45 story about making this AU reblog with my own ramblings 14) FINALE 🟥▶YouTube video 🔗 Parallels to part 1 reblog 🔗 Elemental movie reblog

The End Credits: 15,16) party🎨 17) courtnap (🐒🔥)🎨 18) Pijama party time! (🐒🐉🌑☀️)🎨 19) Father-son bonding experience (🐒🌑☀️)🎨 20) Pride parade! (🐒🐉🔥🌑☀️)🎨 21) Photo Booth (🐒🔥)🎨 22) Shadowpeach Wedding! (🌑☀️🐒🐉🐱👓🐷🔥🪭🐃🔵) 🎨🔴🚪Door 23) Secret Post-Credit Scene (🌑☀️🐒🐉🔥)🎨

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

SPIN-OFF 1 Second Star 1) master post (🌑☀️🐒🔵) kaiju hug 2) baby talk (🌑☀️) 3) We are planning a baby (🌑☀️🐒👓🐷) 4) 🥚 the 5 elements (🌑☀️👓⚔️🔵🐱🔥🐒🌿) 5) no egg for you (🌑☀️👓🐷) 😭 🔗 The end. 😎 6) Chinese Mythological shenanigans off-screen (🌑☀️) 7) baby preparation (🌑☀️👓🐷🐒🪭🔥🛞🐱) 8) 🍼baby pictures 📸 (🌑🐒☀️👓🐷🐉) 9) 😭 sleep time (☀️🐒🌑👓🐷🪭) 10) LONG HAIR!MK!! (🐒☀️🌑) 11) 🐣 (☀️🌑⭐baby) 🔗 birthmark 12) ALL THE REVEALS (🐒☀️🌑⭐) ⭐color 🚀BABY SHOWER/TAKEOVER TIME!✨ On June 5th (the finale of the Spin-Off)! 13) baby meets family (⭐☀️🌑🐷🐒🔥🪭🐉🛞🐱👓) 🔗 RedSon's new haircut 14) It's like we don't even exist anymore! (⭐☀️🌑🐒) 🔗What cover text says 15) Non-verbal (⭐☀️🌑🐷🐒) 16) 🦄MLP (⭐☀️🌑🔵🛞🐒) 17) Name party part 1 (⭐☀️and everyone else) 18) Name party part 2 💫 (⭐☀️and everyone else) NAME DROP

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

What are the "Reblogs"? So Kyri45 sometimes cleans their blog from posts, so I make sure to reblog and add a link to the reblog, so if they ended up deleting the og post there will be my reblog for record keeping.

THE COMIC ENDED😭😭😭, @kyri45 will continue to draw LMK but it would be much more lightly, without a precise schedule, so go follow them (if you somehow aren't yet). I might add links to those posts but who knows what the future hold.

💛🧡💜

🛒MERCH🛍️

If you liked this kind of summary then here is my AO3 bookmarks, where you can see my other summarys for other fanfics

Extra things: Door compilation, Door ask joke Kai from Ninjago

Fics born from this AU: # right after P.9 part 3 shadowpeach fluff # How does Red Son take MK being immortal # Bad ending What if fic # Sun Wukong gets pregnant instead of the egg # The Desire to Move # Ao3 gift fics for Kyri45 (in ao3 you can gift fanfic, like writing a fic for someone else. so the link goes to all the gift fics)

#shadowpeach bio parents au #kyri45 #lmk #lego monkie kid #fanfiction #fanfic summary #lmk shadowpeach #shadowpeach #lmk spicynoodles

758 notes · View notes

frflyavenue · 3 months ago

Text

Under Your Touch - Chapter 1

Pairing: poly!Ateez x makeup artist!Reader (Fem!Reader)

Warnings: Implied childhood trauma/parental issues

Summary: Down on your luck, you pack up your things and move to Korea on an impulse. With no job and no money, you have no clue what your future could hold—until you’re scouted by two employees from a company you’ve never heard of, KQ Entertainment, looking for a new makeup artist. With the opportunity of a lifetime and the offer to work with a group named Ateez, maybe there’s hope for you after all. But what your future holds may be even more exciting than you expect.

Author’s Note: Hello everybody, and welcome to my new series, Under Your Touch! This is my first fic EVER, so please tell me what you think! I already have so much in store for you guys ;) —Planning to update with a new chapter every Sunday! Leave a note if you want to be added to the taglist for UYT~

Join me on ao3 @frflyavenue <3

WC: 5.1k

Without further ado~

Chapter 1: The Beginning

The chill of the Seoul winter air hits you immediately as you step out of your apartment, sending a chill down your spine as you turn to lock the door. It’s your first winter in Korea, and while you’ve loved the moderate weather of the summer and fall, the winter chill alone is making you reconsider your choice to pack up and live here. Or maybe it would, if you hadn’t finally scored a job.

You smile lightly to yourself at the thought. You moved here 8 months ago, just toward the end of spring, wanting to get far away from your home country to start afresh. On an impulse, you packed up two suitcases, the most you could carry on your own, and booked a flight to Korea. You found a reasonably priced studio apartment during your first night at a hotel in Seoul, and with the small amount of money you had, you signed the lease the next day. It really all happened too fast for your own good. You were panicked—you didn’t really think ahead. For a month you stayed in your apartment with basically no money and no job, desperately studying Korean and looking for jobs. And for a while, your only source of comfort was your art.

You’ve always loved art. You grew up with nothing much to do except go to school, come home, and draw, not the type to stay around your parents too long. You always stayed away from them, in fact. That’s the reason you’re here in the first place. But regardless, drawing got you through it all. It was your first love, the first time you felt that you could forget about everything else and immerse yourself in a different world entirely. And even when your parents and teachers scolded you for doodling on your papers instead of doing your schoolwork, you continued. It was everything to you, why care about school? Not that you were a bad kid—you did everything you possibly could to make your parents and teachers happy. But you drew the line at abandoning your art, no pun intended.

As you got older, that passion carried into makeup. Considering your artistic background, it came as no surprise to you that you had a knack for makeup, and in that month trying your best to survive in Korea, that’s all you did. Makeup, different styles and different techniques, over and over, just to pass the time.

Mastering the Korean idol makeup style was easy. As was mastering pretty much any style, all around the world, you name it. But particularly, maybe because you now live in Korea, you loved the modern Korean idol makeup styles. Truthfully, you knew nothing about Kpop aside from the music you had heard in passing through the streets of Seoul. Your knowledge ended there. But that didn’t stop you from practicing and mastering the makeup, putting your own spin on it based on techniques you had learned from practicing other styles.

Regardless, you weren’t any less surprised when two women approached you during your weekly trip to the grocery store, speaking in rapid Korean and smiling excitedly, pointing to your face. With your limited knowledge of Korean, you managed to pick up a few things: “Your makeup—I like it!” Unsure of what to do, you smiled politely and thanked them, turning to leave. But they quickly shook their heads, stopping you and typing something into a translating app.

‘Are you a makeup artist?’

You shook your head and smiled awkwardly. “No, sorry.” You responded in what you hoped was an understandable Korean accent. They continued typing, seeming more excited now.

‘We work for a K-pop entertainment company called KQ Entertainment. We would like you to train with us and show the company your skills so we could hire you as a makeup artist.’

It seemed too good to be true. You accepted their business cards, typed back to them in whatever app they had that you would give them a call, and went home. It took you a while to confirm that the whole thing wasn’t a scam, but when you did, you were ecstatic. You had just received the opportunity of a lifetime.

The next few months went by fast. You were given what you compared to a scholarship—a free pass to attend a small class on makeup techniques. All for free under their eyes, you learned how to adjust different styles to different face shapes, how to do hair, learned what products to use on different skin types, how to utilize colors to make features pop. You studied Korean and were immersed enough in the language to be able to communicate effectively, which was a plus. You studied color theory, something you knew from experience but were interested to learn technically. And you had fun. So much fun. You didn’t think it could get any better, even if you weren’t getting paid.

But six months later, during an observation from one of the higher ups in the stylist and makeup department, it did get better. They complimented you on your hard work and your abilities, saying that your work was some of the best they had ever seen. And on the spot, they gave you a job offer to work at KQ Entertainment as a personal makeup artist for one of their boy groups, Ateez. It seemed too good to be true. You? Really? You accepted the offer without hesitation, thanking them profusely for their opportunity, and you were sent home. That was two weeks ago. In the meantime, you researched as much as you could about this group, Ateez.

You learned that there are eight members: Park Seonghwa, Kim Hongjoong, Kang Yeosang, Jeong Yunho, Song Mingi, Choi San, Jung Wooyoung, and Choi Jongho. And all eight of them are possibly the most stunning men you have ever laid our eyes on. The perfect canvases. You were giddy at the thought. Your job description noted that you would be the personal makeup artist for Jung Wooyoung and Choi Jongho, the two youngest members. Jung Wooyoung is an incredible dancer, apparently known to be more energetic and lighthearted in nature. He has the visuals of a black cat, incredibly elegant and colder in appearance, though his personality is anything but. Choi Jongho is the youngest member and the lead singer of the group, and his voice is the most beautiful thing you have ever heard. You silently wished to yourself that you would get to hear him sing in person. He’s visually like a teddy bear, an adorable face with the sweetest smile you’ve ever seen. But it seems that his style is cool and simple, which you kept in mind.

Over the two weeks waiting for your paperwork to go through and finishing up interviews with their managers, you spent your time practicing. You drew models of their face shapes, testing out different styles on your drawing tablet and getting to know the curves and geometry of their faces while keeping in mind personal style and their group concept. All things considered, you would think that now, as you walk down the street in the freezing cold toward their makeup studio, that you would feel at least a little bit prepared.

False.

You’ve never been more nervous in your life.

While maybe you didn’t fangirl over the members like much of their fan base, this was your first proper job ever. Your Korean is nothing better than understandable at best, and while you’ve practiced with drawings, you’ve never actually done makeup on these two before. So even though what you’re doing today is nothing more than just a consultation with the two, you can’t stop the shaking in your hands, glad that you will be able to blame it on the cold. You need to do well today. Whether or not you really get the job depends on it.

No pressure.

It’s still dark out when you make it to the address the company sent you, an obscure studio in Seoul supposedly nearby to the Ateez dorms but still hidden from the public’s prying eyes. You check your phone. 6:45am. Perfect, 15 minutes early. You go to your contacts, calling Bae Hyerin, the agent you had been working with during this whole process.

“Good morning Hyerin-unnie! I’ve just arrived at the studio.” You call out into the phone, hoping your usually cheery tone overrides the shakiness in your voice.

“Ah, you’re early! One moment, I’ll let you in!” She hangs up, and you smile to yourself. Hyerin has been a lifeline since this whole ordeal began, possibly one of the sweetest people you’ve ever met. She’s two years older than you, and even though you haven’t known her long, she’s helped you like an older sister, standing up for you when others undermined your abilities or made snarky comments about your Korean, and always praising you for your hard work. You can’t help but feel some of your nervousness dissipate when she greets you at the door with an excited smile.

“Y/N-ah! Welcome!” She says happily, gently pulling you inside. “It’s freezing out, please come in!”

You obey, familiarly holding her arm while she gives you a brief tour of the studio. There’s a large space inside past the entrance with two spaces—one with a couch, some seating, a small fridge, and a TV, presumably an area for the members to relax or sleep while they wait. But you’re more interested in the other side, a slightly smaller space with clean tile floors and four neat stations, three of which are clearly occupied with various products and tools. The fourth is completely empty, with nothing but the vanity, a chair, one staple hair tools, and a large lit mirror. You nearly drool at the sight. Assuming all goes well, this station would be all yours. Hyerin seems to notice, and she ruffles your hair lovingly with a laugh. She lets you set your large makeup bag on the empty vanity, getting a few things set up before they arrive for their consultation.

You blow hot air onto your freezing hands, relieved to finally have a bit of time to yourself to prepare. Unpacking a few things onto the vanity, you count once again to make sure you haven’t missed anything. Their respective foundations and concealers—check. Clean brushes for each of them—check. Palettes—check. Respective lip products—check. Everything is still unopened.

Phew.

Ater reassuring yourself that, yes, you brought all of their hair products too, you relax a bit, taking a seat on the couch in the other side of the studio. Now there’s nothing to do but wait.

——————

It’s still quiet in the Ateez dorms when Wooyoung begrudgingly wakes up to his alarm. 6:00am. Gross. He sighs and manages to get himself out of bed, cringing as the cold air hits his torso while he desperately searches for a hoodie. He struggles to get it on as he trudges over to find Jongho, knowing the younger member probably snoozed his alarm.

Entering his room, he smiles affectionately at the younger man still laying comfortable in bed, his squishy face pressed against the pillow and his blankets pulled all of way up to his chin. The serene moment is interrupted quickly, however, as Wooyoung climbs onto Jongho’s bed, effectively laying on top of him and wriggling around in an affectionate attempt to wake him up. Jongho groans and turns onto his back, sending Wooyoung rolling of to the other side of the bed. Puffing his lips out in a pout, Wooyoung shakes Jongho’s shoulders in another attempt to wake him up, making him grumble outa string of curses before opening his eyes. “What?” He asks, annoyed.

Wooyoung sighs. “We have to get ready to leave. Another makeup artist consultation.” Jongho reciprocates a sigh. Last month, the makeup artist responsible for taking care of the two men’s hair and makeup quit unexpectedly, leaving the company in a desperate search for somebody to fill the position. Over the last few weeks, Jongho and Wooyoung had to wake up early countless times in order to meet with potential candidates for consultations, the company wanting only the best for their prized members. Unfortunately for the two men, their company is picky. Jongho has lost count of how many artists they’ve consulted with over the last few weeks, and he’s tired of waking up earlier than everybody else everyday just to meet with another candidate that ultimately gets rejected. He has no doubt that today wont be any different.

Wooyoung seems to be thinking the same thing, because he nods sympathetically while he slides off of the younger members bed. “I know. But we have no other choice. Get up and get ready, we have to leave in 45 minutes. If we’re lucky, we’ll find a good candidate soon and we won’t have to do this shit anymore.”

Jongho sighs, but complies, forcing himself awake.

Now showered and clean shaven, the two men meet with their manager outside of the dorms, greeting him and climbing in the back of his car with less than eager expressions.

“Who’s the candidate this time?” Wooyoung asks, not doing much to hide the bitterness in his tone.

Manager-nim buckles up and starts the familiar drive to the makeup studio, looking at the tired men in his rear-view mirror with a sympathetic expression. “It’s somebody new, no experience. She’s foreign, moved here less than a year ago from what I gathered, so she speaks little Korean.”

The two men sigh, tired. Out of respect they say nothing, but their thoughts are clear. Why are we wasting our time doing this again? Manager-nim seems to take notice, and he adds quietly, “Hyerin-ssi recommended her.”

Jongho’s eyebrows raise slightly, though his face is still skeptical. Hyerin is known for being rather harsh when it comes to perfecting makeup—its part of what makes her such a good leader. So if she were to recommend somebody so unqualified to even consult with the members… she must see potential there. Still skeptical, the two opt for saying nothing.

Wooyoung nudges Jongho’s shoulder, waking the poor, tired boy as the car pulls into the lot of the studio. Wooyoung, deciding to be optimistic, smiles as he exits the car, hissing through his teeth at the cold but giggling regardless. No point in making yourself any more miserable, is there? Jongho couldn’t care less about looking towards the bright side of things. He’s tired, cold, and pissed off, and quite frankly he doesn’t want to be here. His face only prolongs Wooyoung’s fit of giggles.

Entering the studio, Bae Hyerin greets the three at the door, taking their coats.

“Good morning! Thank you two for coming in so early.”

Wooyoung nods, less grumpy now that he’s woken up a bit. “Of course! We’re excited~” It isn’t a complete lie, he justifies to himself. Jongho says nothing.

Hyerin isn’t blind to the air of annoyance eminating from the two youngest members, but she decides not to mention it. “I’m excited for you guys to meet her, too! She worked as a student under the studio for a few months, but honestly there wasn’t much we could teach her that she didn’t know already. She’s amazing.”

The two blink, a bit surprised. It’s the first time they’ve ever heard Hyerin speak so highly about anybody. Wooyoung smiles, looking forward to this visit a little more now. “What’s her name?”

Hyerin smiles fondly. “Y/N. She’s foreign, but I’ve had no difficulty communicating with her. She’s really cute, I hope you guys like her. I sincerely want her on our team.”

Wooyoung laughs softly, a bit entertained by how fondly their usually strict coworker is speaking about this new candidate. “Are you sure you don’t just have a crush on her?” He asks teasingly, making Hyerin roll her eyes and playfully smack his shoulder.

”Hush.”

Jongho opens his mouth to speak, but is suddenly interrupted by the sound of a new voice calling out from the doorway.

“Unnie, I’m sorry but is there any water I can- …uhm…” You blink with your wide doe eyes as you meet the gaze of two stunning men standing in the entrance speaking with Hyerin, confused. Hyerin turns around and smiles sweetly at you, walking over and gently pulling you toward the two men. Unable to do anything else, you let her.

“Good timing, Y/N, our members just got here! Wooyoung, Jongho, this is Y/N, the makeup artist you will be consulting with today.”

——————

A bit flustered to be meeting them so unexpectedly, you just blink for a second with your pretty, flustered eyes, before remembering yourself. You bow deeply.

“I’m sorry, you surprised me. My name’s Y/N, I’ll be taking care of you two today.”

Wooyoung giggles softly, finding the whole situation rather endearing, and Jongho can’t help himself as he, too, smiles at the scene. You’re nothing short of adorable, with deer-like features and a welcoming closed-lipped smile. Your hair falls short around your shoulders, fluffy as it frames your face, though it doesn’t appear to be particularly styled. Your face is adorned in a subtle, natural makeup, not appearing to be much more than a simply base, natural eye makeup, and some pretty pink lip gloss, but Jongho notes to himself that it suits your face perfectly. Your outfit is also simple, a cream colored, tight-fit turtleneck sweater tucked into light-wash baggy jeans topped off with a simple brown leather belt. Nothing about your appearance is necessarily astounding, but your girl-nextdoor vibe leaves the two finding themselves admiring how pretty you are.

Nervous as you feel their eyes on you, you instinctively reach to hold Hyerin’s hand, making Wooyoung press his lips tight together in an attempt to suppress his sudden cuteness aggression. Jongho smiles after only a few seconds since your introduction, bowing in return. “Good morning, Y/N, my name is Jongho Choi.” He responds in English. You blush from the cute gesture, giggling in slight surprise. Picking up on it, Wooyoung does the same. “I’m Jung Wooyung. Or… Wooyoung Jung. Nice to meet you!”

You laugh softly, giving the two the opportunity to admire your smile, which they find equally as endearing as the rest of you. “Nice to meet you too. Jongho, Wooyoung.” You nod in each of their directions, making them laugh. You feel Hyerin squeeze your hand happily, and you return the squeeze. “Which of you would like to work with me first? I can give you two some time to relax before we start while I get set up. I know it’s early.” You say politely, this time in Korean. You take your time with each sentence, wanting to pronounce everything correctly.

“Me first!” Wooyoung replies eagerly, interrupting Jongho snaps his head to look at Wooyoung in protest. Wooyoung shut him down quickly, stating simply, “I’m older.”

You laugh lightheartedly, enjoying the scene. “Alright then, Wooyoung-ssi first. I’ll give you a few minutes to eat something and get settled in while I set up, yeah? Just let me know whenever you’re ready.” Both men nod and thank you politely as you turn to leave, silent for a moment.

As soon as you’re out of sight, Wooyoung whispers excitedly, laughing in spite of himself. “She is cute!’

Hyerin laughs. “I know, right?”

——————

You hum to yourself as you get Wooyoung’s makeup ready on the vacant vanity, looking over your drawings one more time for good measure while Wooyoung and Jongho laugh over a small breakfast in the other room. Convincing yourself that you know his daily makeup by heart, you turn to rehearsing different hairstyles in your head, knowing it’s your weak spot. Wooyoung usually uses this mouse… or was it the other one? No, he likes the coconut one, right. And he recently got his hair bleached, so use an extra strength heat protectant for good measure. You jump as Wooyoung suddenly appears behind you, tapping your shoulder with a bottle of water. You wince as your jaw clamps down and you bite the inside of your cheek, but smile as you turn around.

“You okay?” Wooyoung laughs, sorry to have scared you. “Here, you were asking for water earlier.”

“Ah, thank you!” You feel a bit relieved, suddenly remembering how dry your mouth is. “Sorry, I was in my own world for a moment. Ready?”

Wooyoung nods, and you smile up at him, pulling the chair out for him and gesturing for him to take a seat. He obliges, sitting down and letting you drape a light cape over his front to protect his clothes. You pump the chair up a few inches, steeling yourself with a few breaths. God, I’m dramatic. You think, exhaling in slight annoyance at how nervous you are. It’s really not that serious.

“Any specific styles you want for today?” You ask, unable to bear staying alone with your thoughts any longer.

Wooyoung thinks, blinking. “Mmm… cool… sexy style.” He replies with a hint of bravado, making you smile. He lifts his hands, pushing one side of his hair back. ”Maybe half slicked back hair like vintage American TV actors, you know? And for makeup just… simple. Handsome..”

You nod, relieved to know exactly the style he’s referring to. You smile, and, unable to handle feeling awkward, you mock a salute. “Aye aye, captain.”

Wooyoung laughs, his eyes a bit surprised, but he quickly shakes his head through fits of giggles. “No, I’m not the captain! That title is only for Hongjoong-hyung.”

You blink, a bit confused for a moment. Hongjoong. As in Kim Hongjoong, the leader of Ateez? Probably. Thank goodness you did at least a little research. “Ah, your leader is the captain? Apologies.” You reply smoothly, your doe eyes sparkling with humor.

Wooyoung nods, clasping his hands in his lap and smiling with intrigue. “Do you know anything about Ateez?” He asks, watching as you squeeze some sun cream onto the back of your hand.

You laugh awkwardly. “Only what I researched when I found out I would be consulting with you two today.” You admit, gently applying some of the sun cream onto his face with the pad of your ring finger. “Eight handsome members with a pirate concept working hard to bring badass stages all around the world.” You say simply, summing up what you know.

Wooyoung laughs, endeared by your description. “You think we’re handsome?” He finds himself asking, wanting to tease you.

You nod, humming affirmatively without hesitation as you blend the cream on his face. You make brief eye contact and smile cheekily before refocusing on his makeup, making him blush.

Well, that backfired, he thinks, cursing himself internally for his failed attempt at flustering you. “How old are you?” He asks suddenly, almost without thinking.

You smile. “I was born 1999.”

He blinks, suddenly excited. “Oh, we’re the same age! Shall we drop the honorifics?”

You meet eyes with him, equally surprised, before nodding eagerly. “Ah, I would like that.”

Conversation comes easy with Wooyoung from that moment onward, as you introduce yourselves and get more comfortable with joking around. Jongho observes with slight surprise from the lounge portion of the large space, taking note of every laugh and blush from Wooyoung at your occasional remarks. He smirks, capturing a picture of the moment and sending it in the Ateez group chat, wanting to tease his hyung. But as he looks closer at the photo, he gasps slightly, catching a glimpse of his completed makeup while you finish up his hair. It’s nothing special, just what appears to Wooyoung’s normal, daily makeup. But something about the harmony of his features looked different… it was the closest thing to perfection he’d ever seen. He looks up from his phone, squinting to try and see him from across the room as if to confirm what he’s seeing. Unfortunately for him, you turn the chair around almost as soon as he does so, done with Wooyoung’s hair and eagerly showing him the finished look in the mirror.

Wooyoung’s reaction is equally as surprised.

He gasps as he sees the job you’ve done, taken aback as he leans forward to look closer at his makeup. The base is so flawless it may as well be his skin, and he reaches up to poke his cheek as if to make sure it isn’t a filter. His eye makeup is minimal, but the product is placed perfectly to accentuate the sharpness of his eyes rather than change the shape, something makeup artists have done commonly in the past. His lips are done in a perfect color for his skin tone, with gloss placed subtly in places where it can only be seen when the light hits it at certain angles, sculpting his plump lips beautifully. Even his nose, one of his proudest features, is perfectly carved out, again accentuating the feature just enough for it to harmonize with everything else. It’s shocking, frankly.

You knot your hands together, fidgeting nervously. Mistakenly taking his silence for dissatisfaction, you bite the inside of your cheek and shuffle on your feet.] “Ah.. is there anything you would like me to change…?” You ask tentatively, worried you might cry if he doesn’t say something soon. He seems to notice, because he pries his eyes away from the mirror and turns to face you, excitedly grasping your hands.

“No… this is amazing. How did you even do this?” He asks, no sign of his usual teasing smile on his face—only sincere shock.

You blush, suddenly looking away, feeling shy and…relieved. “Ah, really? I’m glad you like it.” You say quietly, hoping he can’t feel the nervous tremble of your hands. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything.

He lets go, turning back to look at the makeup in the mirror again. “Jongho-yah, come here. Look.”

Jongho stands up, also eager to get a closer look. He gasps in the same way as Wooyoung, gripping Wooyoung’s chin and tilting his head side to side in admiration. “Handsome…”

Wooyoung nods, meeting Jongho’s gaze with wide eyes as he communicates silently what he’s thinking. Jongho’s eyes say the same thing.

You clear your throat nervously, checking the time. “I’m sorry, if you don’t mind, can I get started with Jongho-ssi? We only have 45 minutes before you have to leave to get ready for your next schedule.”

“Ah, sorry.” Wooyoung says, removing his cape and handing it to Jongho while he swaps positions with the younger man. “Go ahead~”

You nod in thanks, and get to work with Jongho, starting the process all over again.

By the time you’ve finished up with his makeup, turning him around to style his hair, he’s already as energetic as Wooyoung, laughing at almost every silly remark you make and rebutting with ease. Wooyoung notices, noting to himself how easily you manage to adjust to different member’s humor. For reasons unbeknownst to him, that thought makes his cheeks feel warm. You speak comfortably as you style his hair, this styling a bit cuter than Wooyoung’s, per Jongho’s request. It doesn’t take long before you’re done with his hair as well, and you gently pat his shoulder before turning the chair around so he can see the final result.

The two men’s reactions are no different this time. Again, his features are balanced perfectly, with lips a perfect shade of pink, super soft nose contour, and puppy eyes accentuated with bits of subtle sparkles Jongho has never worn before, though he can’t help but like them. It’s perfect.

Wooyoung is quick to run over and admire the work as well, unable to close his jaw as he looks it over. “Jongho-yah, I don’t think you’ve ever looked so good.” He says, a hint of teasing in his tone.

You shake your head, laughing. “His bare face is my favorite. Both of you are perfect canvases to work on, seriously. So handsome. All I do is make that handsomeness pop for the cameras.” You explain, wiping excess makeup off your hands with a wet wipe. “But I’m glad you both like it.”

Both of them blush, unable to say anything in response as you excuse yourself to go wash your hands, struggling with just the wipes. Now along, the boys can finally speak in private.

“Hyung…” Jongho says softly, his voice carrying a tone Wooyoung’s maybe heard only once or twice before. “She’s perfect, seriously.”

Wooyoung nods, agreeing with a hushed, but still undeniably excited tone. “And also she’s so-“

“Cute, right?” Hyerin interjects, walking in the room. The two nods unashamedly. Hyerin steps closer, admiring your work on their faces. “Perfect, as usual. To think she was so nervous she would mess up today…” She shakes her head, smiling proudly as you return. You chirp happily at seeing her and rush over, quick to hug her arm.

“You did a good job, Y/N. You managed to make these two sleepy fools look like idols.” She praises sweetly, making Jongho scoff playfully.

You laugh nervously, shaking your head. “Thank you, Unnie. I’m glad you like it.” You turn as you hear the chime of the front door’s bell, presumably their manager re-enter the building to pick the two members up. You let Hyerin go so she can bring them in, and you’re surprised to see a few new faces instead of their manager. Hyerin clears her throat.

“Y/N, these are the people I was telling you about that would observe your work. No need to be nervous, they’re just going to talk with the members for a bit and make some final decisions.” She winks, but your shoulders still tense slightly at her unspoken words.

They’re going to determine whether or not you get the job.

You feel a sudden poke on your hip and look down to see Jongho smiling. You let out a breath at his sweet thumbs up, smiling slightly in return and bowing your head in silent thanks.

“Y/N, why don’t you go ahead and head out for the day? You did well.” Hyerin interjects, her face sympathetic. You nod, quickly moving to clean up the vanity and pack everything back into your compactable makeup bag. You give a quick bow to Wooyoung and Jongho, grinning sweetly before turning around, quick to leave the building.

Wooyoung and Jongho look at each other and smile, silently crossing their fingers while their hair and makeup is being observed.

They like you.

…

Yeah, they like you a lot.

This fic belongs to @frflyavenue and nobody else—please do not steal this work or any other works by this author <3

Chapter 2

292 notes · View notes