#Chrome is terrifying

[not-kamenx]

Beyblade X Episode 45: You, Back Then

MYBTKEVWOW ENEVWNW WKWVWBWWHWVWW

haha. hahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha CHROME RYUGU I’M GOING TO PAY TO PUNCH YOU IN THE FACE FOR THIS EPISODE LET ME AT HIM LET ME AT HIM YOU CHROME RYUGU YOU

if you haven’t watched the episode already PLEASE WATCH IT even if I explain it or summarize it it won’t have the same effect or impact on you if you don’t watch it yourself because holy crap that was one hell of a time for 22 minutes and 40 seconds I’m

alright, so we start off with Takumi versus Blader Z, except Blader Z isn’t wearing the mask and we see his actual identity. And interestingly enough, Blader Z is using Cobalt Drake, the exact same bey Chrome uses. Then Blader Z loses, and we cut to the intro

I wanna talk about the intro and the title for this episode for a second.

If you‘ve not skipped the intro or if you’ve heard it, or even listened to the entire song way too many times (like me), you’ll notice the lyrics fit a lot of the characters in the series. The song title alone explains it. Prove. These Bladers are trying to prove something to someone or themselves. Keep that in mind for later on. And I’ve noticed we’ve gotten a lot of characters memories or backstories in a row. I like how it starts from a team —> family —> you. It slowly narrows down into categories, and also explains what the characters think of their relationships with others. In episode 43 we’re seeing this from all three perspectives, a team. In episode 44 we see this from two perspectives, two sisters, a family. Then in this episode, we see it from Blader Z’s perspective alone. Which is why the title uses “you” and not him. Directed to Chrome.

ALSO ALSO keep in mind how they don’t reveal Blader Z’s name until much later on (unless I have poor hearing skills)

ANYWAYS

in a similar fashion to Robin from our first episode, Blader Z barges into Xenon City excitedly, impatient to battle in the Amateur Cup. Blader Z then goes on to defeat every amateur, and in the final match he says he’s going to be like “him” (while thinking about Chrome) and he wins. Everyone notices his talent, and Number Zero asks if he has anything to say.

Blader Z just smiles and says Chrome Ryugu rules, and that Chrome’s the ideal Blader, and then says he’s going to be just like Chrome. Soooo right away we establish this is an idol-fan kind of relation for now.

Then we get shown the battle we saw in the intro, and Blader Z gets defeated pretty badly. Back in his little apartment he says he doesn’t want to lose anymore and realizes he needs to work harder. We then cut to a timeskip later, where Number One talks about Blader Z’s numerous wins and takes notice of how he uses the same bey as Chrome.

AFTER ANOTHER WON MATCH, WE FINALLY GET TO SEE AN INTERACTION BETWEEN THE TWO. (After Number Zero says the prize, which was probably the meeting with Chrome, which is rather… strange, wouldn’t you say?)

Blader Z obviously looks very surprised and happy, because he wasn’t expecting this. Chrome said he saw Blader Z’s match against Takumi, and Blader Z acknowledges he became arrogant during that match, and Chrome says “one’s strength in Blading is the strength in one’s heart” and moves Blader Z’s hand to his heart. Recognize something? If you said the first time Jaxon and Chrome fought, you’re right! Jaxon grabbed Chrome’s hand in a similar direction and position, except he didn’t purposefully put it against Chrome’s heart.

also, I’d like to point out how one-sided this seems and a few other odd things. Remember how Chrome viewed Jaxon, after Jaxon said Chrome should have fun, blading with him? A similar light is shown here. Except, Chrome was drawn into that light himself. Here, only Blader Z is viewing Chrome that way. And to be fair, yeah, it makes sense, seeing how much Blader Z looks up to Chrome. But Chrome doesn’t seem to be very, well, he is obviously putting effort in the interaction. But his wording is strange.

he ends up giving Blader Z Obsidian Shell, which Blader Z pretty much treasures immediately, but I don’t like how Chrome said it when he gave it. He said, “you have the power to master this bey, and with it, climb your way to the top of the X. At least that’s what I feel you’re capable of doing.” Giving expectations already, huh? HUH CHROME? IM GOING TO SCREAM

anyways we end up learning Blader Z’s real name, and it’s Ciel Kaminari. Chrome says he’ll remember that name and gives him a handshake and everything is all fine and dandy, right? RIGHT?

Ciel is seen rejecting sponsors left and right, not going pro unless he goes on Team Pendragon. We then timeskip and there’s a little detail to notice. On one of the screens, it’s the frame where Team Persona won against Team Yggdrasil (I dunno if that was intentional or not but I’m clinging onto it for some sort of timeline). So Ciel is pretty late to the scene, but not too late: He’s been getting noticed but Team Persona was pretty focused on beating Yggdrasil so they may have not noticed themselves.

Then, we get a rematch! Takumi versus Ciel, coincidence or not? And WHADDYA KNOW? Ciel wins this time! And Takumi isn’t salty about this, and he even raises Ciel’s hand which I think is 😭 so sweet. Takumi, yay! I’m glad you don’t break people’s beys anymore!

(let us ignore the fact Chrome is watching this match and looking as if his entire world is ending!)

A WHILE LATER OR PROBABLY THE NEXT DAY CIEL ENDS UP BEING SCOUTED FOR TEAM PENDRAGON!!! Look how happy he looks GAHHH, he’s finally made it, made it onto the team his idol is on, happily holding the bey his idol gave him, just overjoyed.

if you want him to have a happy time you should stop the episode there by the way, because this next half was an emotional rollercoaster I was not prepared to even experience.

Before the next few moments even occurred, I thought a few things. What happened for Ciel to suddenly harbor hatred against Jaxon? Why is he Blader Z? Something obviously happened. I expected something surprising.

what I was not expecting, was to get slapped in the face with Ciel entering the room already full of everything Jaxon related, with Chrome, with the music cutting off from soft to uneasy, to Chrome Ryugu’s dead-inside eyes.

Ciel is obviously surprised, and Chrome simply… stares.

the complete opposite of their first interaction. The room is dark. Ciel doesn’t look so enthusiastic anymore, in fact, he looks nervous. His voice is flat as he speaks to Ciel, asking how his match went. Ciel GRABS onto the topic, for something familiar. He said he was glad the match was set up like that before stepping forward. Something that will appear a few minutes later. He just quickly glances at it, but Chrome’s voice interrupts him and he gives Chrome his attention instead. Chrome reveals he made the commission set it up.

Ciel is absolutely baffled, and we can hear Chrome rummaging for something. Lo and behold…

It’s the mask. The Z mask. And judging by the sounds, it seems as if Chrome had been holding onto it for a while, storing it away. You can HEAR Ciel getting increasingly more panicked and confused as he steps back and Chrome steps forward, and oh my god I’ve never wanted to PUNCH Chrome Ryugu more than I have now. He looked down, with a smile, with an EXPECTANT look as he held that mask. The absolute, the look, the look alone was horrifying??? I DON’T EVEN KNOW HOW TO DESCRIBE IT? Then Chrome says “But if you are who I think you are, I want you to live up to your expectations.”

Excuse me, who YOU think Ciel is? A fan who was really happy to receive a bey from you and lived by your words and aspired to be like you and made it onto your team? Or a fan who could be manipulated into becoming what YOU want him to become?

and here comes the part where Ciel realizes. He steps back, the noise similar to earlier when he stepped on something, and recognized the photos of Blader X, next to a photo of Jaxon Cross.

It doesn’t take a genius to put the pieces together, though I don’t know how he didn’t see the gigantic photo of Jaxon earlier (we saw it in the background when they met again), and Ciel knows Jaxon Cross is Blader X. Jaxon Cross, who left Pendragon, who wears a mask— a mask that Chrome is now presenting in front of him—

Chrome says he doesn’t need Ciel Kaminari and puts the damn thing on Ciel without a second thought. He wants Ciel to “lose” that identity and become Blader Z. He wants Ciel to fill in Jaxon’s shoes, and makes the most normal smile we’ve seen him make so far within this entire interaction. Like this is the only thing that brings him comfort. Something related to Jaxon. Then he hands Ciel Buster Dran, and his use of it makes sense now. That’s why Chrome told him not to indulge himself when he used Obsidian Shell facing Jaxon. He wanted Blader Z, not Ciel Kaminari.

What makes this worse is that even the episode itself kinda foreshadows this. Remember how they held off on revealing Ciel’s name this episode? It’s his lost identity. And it delays the reveal, like how the other episodes featuring Ciel delay in his face reveal. Heartbreaking. What, you thought this was the worst of it? No. Chrome tells him to become Blader X, traces the DAMN letter on Ciel’s mask, and says, “you can, right?”

His expectations. He sets them, AGAIN, like earlier, when he gave Ciel Obsidian Shell. The way he words it so carefully, like he knows Ciel would dread the thought of not doing something “easy” Chrome would expect him to do. Disappointment from the pro Blader you look up to? That would be a nightmare, right?

instead of realizing he needs to get the fuck out of there after throwing a right hook at Chrome and live FAR FAR away from Chrome and hopefully erase these memories, Ciel instead, tries to EMPATHIZE with Chrome. He tries to feel the emotion Chrome feels.

and he ends up crying. SO, if Ciel is right, Chrome isn’t feeling loneliness, anger, or sadness. It’s different, but more painful. Painful enough to make Ciel cry. And Ciel declares he’ll do anything for Chrome. Chrome says that’ll do, and Obsidian Shell falls on the ground, forgotten.

We cut to Ciel on the rooftop basically telling himself he’s Blader Z, remembering past events, wanting to do better. But what’s interesting is that he says he’ll SURPASS Blader X, not be him. So, Ciel isn’t fully complying. He wants to be better than Blader X, and earn Chrome’s approval.

Ciel oh my god you deserve so much better what the fuck Chrome this certainly cannot get wo—

another timeskip! Chrome’s talking to himself when Ciel enters. Ciel says it’s him, Blader Z, but Chrome doesn’t accept/hear that answer. It’s not what he wants to hear. But when Blader Z says Chrome’s name, Chrome just LAUGHS and says “you answered. You answered me, didn’t you!?”

Ciel takes a noticeable step forward and Chrome whips his head around like an owl, saying oh, Ciel is here. Ciel, judging by his stutter and momentary pause, thinks this is a test and says “I’m not Ciel, I’m Blader Z.”

what Chrome said next made me want to go through the screen and PUNCH, just PUNCH that face of his.

“Oh, yes, right. But, I’ve had enough now. Ciel, your role is now over.”

Chrome Ryugu, may Jaxon Cross never reunite with you, and may Ciel Kaminari take his mask off and throw it off at your stupid feet and tell you to your face you’re horrible and you’ll never understand Jaxon Cross or this X you’re chasing. May Jaxon Cross tell you he never wants to see your face again! You manipulated your fan from day 1 to momentarily replace and fulfill that emotion you had with Jaxon/Blader X, and basically tell him that he, as he is, is not good enough unless he’s Blader Z. And now, that you’ve had “enough,” the one thing that he knows that kept your attention on him, is thrown away, how the fuck do you think he’s gonna feel?

Ciel’s face speaks for itself as Chrome basically says how Chrome was a fool for thinking he could replace “that X”. Chrome clutches at his heart and says “The only certain X is right here within me. There’s no possible way anyone other than me could understand him.”

him. HIM. This X? Him? JAXON??? Don’t make me laugh. If Jaxon saw you right now I don’t think he’d like this. He was already somewhat worried by Chrome’s behavior change, how this Chrome isn’t like the Chrome he knew. But it turns out he didn’t know you well enough either because you’ve been slowly getting worse by the time. Actually, what’s even the timespan??? IT COULDN’T HAVE BEEN MORE THAN EVEN A YEAR, COULD IT??? Chrome’s mental state has declined faster than someone’s card out there. If it’s Jaxon, I’m going to scream. It reminds me of the ep from Zip and Zoom where Robin says no one knows Blader X (Jaxon) better than he does, no one in the entire world. I’m gonna scream.

Ciel has gotten dragged into this situation, and because of how he views Chrome, he directs the hatred to the wrong person, Jaxon. He asks out loud, “Jaxon Cross… did you know, about Chrome’s feelings? Did you even try to answer them at all? I’m the one who’s worthy of being on Team Pendragon! I’ll get you Jaxon Cross!”

I’m going to cry. Chrome and Jaxon have always been able to sense each other if one is thinking of the other, or seeing the other. Jaxon however, he doesn’t notice how Chrome is off, until he actually sees him in real life. That’s the only time when we hear him sound somewhat vulnerable, asking Multi (and probably Robin) to not get in the way of him and Chrome. But Jaxon doesn’t seem to get what’s exactly wrong. HE ISN’T GOOD WITH FEELINGS CIEL, HE LITERALLY TOLD ROBIN “so is that it” AFTER ROBIN TOLD HIM AND MULTI TO GO TO THE TOP OF THE X WITHOUT HIM IF THEY GOT CHOSEN IN THE PERSONAL VOTES AND MULTI HAD TO TRANSLATE BECAUSE ROBIN WAS BEWILDERED. But of course they haven’t met or interacted directly so Ciel doesn’t know this.

Ciel STILL has his mask on despite saying “I’m worthy”, so he might still be trying to salvage what’s left of his “role” to win Chrome’s approval and attention again. Or he might be also doing it for himself and his hard efforts, because he got smacked to the side. I have no clue how to interpret this because I’m just horrified. Is he saving a bit of his identity or still Blader Z for Chrome?

we then get footage of everyone, Chrome’s talking to himself again and smiling with his punchable face, Sigrid is on the car ride home, Team Persona is eating some sushi— WHAT THE HELL JAXON

we get this ominous moment where Jaxon turns and faces the viewer with an uncomfortable moment of eye to eye contact! Does he know more than he’s letting on? Does h— I CANT LIVE LIKE THIS PLEASE I NEED THE DISNEY XD CHANNEL PLEASE PLEASE I NEED THE NEXT EPISODE I NEED JAXON AND ROBIN BEING DUMB I NEED MY JOY AND WHIMSY IM TERRIFIED AND ANGRY AT CHROME PLEASE—

I could not keep my bias out of this analysis I am sorry

and last but not least! Prove, remember? Ciel is trying to prove that he can be better than Blader X and he deserves that spot on Team Pendragon more.

[chrometheraptor]

just encountered a carbon roller running ninja squid and LITERALLY EVERY OTHER ABILITY SLOT FILLED WITH SWIM SPEED UP

[dark-elf-writes]

The Varia arrive only to be ambushed by Impa, who quickly beats them to bloodly pulps and makes them swear to the Golden Goddesses and The Goddess Hylia that they won't murder or seriously injure a certain group of kids.

They now know true fear and it's an old woman who is also a ninja.

PLEASE

All of them heading to the school for the first ring battle but instead Impa is there waiting for them and just hands these terrifying killers’ asses to them while the kids watch wide eyed. Reborn is absolutely pouting because of the training opportunity that was missed. Ryohei gleefully hands a wad of crumpled bills to Hayato even as he asks Impa if she could teach him those moves. Lambo sleeps through the whole thing in Tsuna’s arms while Tsuna wonders why he even snuck out to join them anyway when he wasn’t going to fight (Link had taken all of one look at Reborn’s idea for the guardians and named himself as Tsuna’s Lightning) and was going to sleep the whole time.

The Varia on the other hand are unlocking new levels of trauma all centered around one (1) tiny old woman.

[chrisredfieldsfattie]

This is literally the funniest fucking combo to come back to

[suppuration]

[willard-ratman-stiles]

Hey, Willard, I heard of a thing called "Girlypop" and I think you are "Girlypop". -Joan(@joan-of---arc)

Which one?

WHICH ONE, JOAN??

[astrxthesiai]

Send ⚔️ for my character’s fight quotes! (Mukuro to Chrome)

Send ⚔️ for my character’s fight quotes! (not expiring)

Intro: “I hope this doesn’t take too long or is too much.”

Win:  “Phew… that was tough.”  She falls to her knees and holds a hand over her stomach to check her illusioned organs.  She truly is a medical marvel.  She leans on her spear.

Lose: “I’m sorry, Mukuro-sama…”  Her hand is over her stomach, trying her best to keep her organs activated while she loses consciousness.

Draw: “I’ll have to train more.  Next time I’ll defeat you.”  She is kneeling, leaning on her spear.

Time-Out: "..." She is ready to do more damage.

Assist Call: When needing the assist.  “Mukuro-sama!  You’re up!”  When she is assisting.  “I got your back!”

Tag’s in for your character: “Someone’s got his back.  It’s me!”  She catches the Mist Ring and weapon box for Mukurou (Mukurowl).

Tags out to your character: ���You’re right, I’m not alone.  Mukuro-sama, you’re up!”  She tosses him the Mist Ring and weapon box for Mukurou (Mukurowl).

Comeback Mechanic activation: “Cortina Nebbia!”  (Mist Curtain) She uses the technique to shield herself from attacks.  With a wave of her spear she expands the shield out to smack her enemies away from her and damage their HP in the process.

Level 1 Super: “The Path to Enlightenment is a hard road to follow.  One that I will endure.  First step is to enter Hell!”  She stabs her polearm in the ground before making the Uttarabodhi Mudra.  She closes her lone eye before opening it.  The enemy is pulled in a technique not unlike Cortina Nebbia.  It is sealed over and red spider lilies bloom from it as her enemy screams.

Level 3 Super: “Once you go through the realm, you must be reborn as per your judgement.” Chrome snaps her fingers as the Mist Curtain shatters.  She conjures a realm around her victim in the mud at the bottom of the lake.  She makes her victim go through the process of “rebirth” as a lotus.  The victim feels like they're in pain and are drowning.  She “pushes” the victim to go higher to the “surface”.  When the lotus blossoms, her victim drops from the blossom and falls to the ground.  Chrome dissipates the realm and watches with apathy at her enemy’s struggle.

Tag Team Super: “With me, Mukuro-sama!  Genjuu Mugaia!” (Intensely Real Illusion Beast - Six Nightmare Crows!)  Her flame combines with Mukuro’s to conjure six nightmarish crows with kanji for one through six on their forehead.  It represents each of the six hells of Buddhism.

Outro:  “Oops, forgot we needed to be on time to pick M.M.-san up from shopping.”  Checking her phone.

[yanderedrabbles]

What's the worst thing Yan Military Contractor has ever done to the reader?

Yandere! Military Contractor

The very worst? Now that's tough competition. He's fucked you raw so many times that afterwards you can only curl up and whimper, legs aching so bad you can't stand. He's bitten you so hard that he's left a scar of his teeth on your thigh. He's bent your arm so very far up your back that on bad days your shoulder still aches. He's done anal without any prep or lube.

But the very worst? That happened on the day you almost escaped.

He likes to humour you. Likes letting you try and get away, just to drag you back at the last second. Likes the way you fight so much harder when freedom is so very close. But he never once entertained the thought of you actually succeeding.

You're too damn clever sometimes. Too smart for your own good.

You planned your escape carefully this time. Waited for a rainy day when he'd have trouble hearing your footsteps and seeing your tracks. Managed to make a mess in his armory and get out of a second story window when he was distracted counting his guns. And then you ran.

You saw a tree out on your forced walks once. Thick oak with branches that just about reached over the fence. It would be a hard fall, but if you managed to not snap an ankle you'd be home free.

He almost found you. You were up in the branches, rain pelting you in thick sheets when he walked right under you. It was pure luck that you noticed him in time. Even without the noise of the rain to cover his footsteps, he was dead silent.

He looked pissed. But that wasn't what made your heart drop.

He had his gun with him. Not one of the rifles or shotguns. That might have almost been better. Those guns felt unreal, felt like something out of a movie. No, he was carrying his chrome .50 calibre Desert Eagle.

You hated that gun. It was the one he carried on him almost all the time, the one he had the day he took you. Huge, mean looking thing. 'One of the nastiest shots you'll ever see,' he told you once.

It was scratched with years of use. A soldier's gun. A killer's gun.

You fingers went numb on the branch before you had the courage to keep moving. You dropped down on the other side of the electric fence, landing bad. You smacked a hand over your mouth to stifle your yelp.

Staggered to your feet, holding onto the trees to take the pressure off your stinging ankles. You did it.

You actually fucking did it.

You were free. Actually, finally free. You half didn't believe it until you reached the end of the trees and open farm land stretched in front of you. The rain was so much worse without the trees to protect you, but you didn't care. An empty field of wheat had never looked so damn good.

"On your knees."

You froze. No. No.

"I said, get on your fucking knees!"

You sat so fast that you felt lightheaded.

He came to stand in front of you, blocked your view of the open land and your last chance to escape. He was scowling, hand gripping his gun so tight that veins were standing out on his forearm.

The rain was sheeting down around you, running past the grooves and catches of his pistol. You couldn't see his face through the rain, but you could feel his eyes. Raking down your body, burning.

He pointed the gun at you, cocked it. The metallic sound of it somehow the loudest thing you'd ever heard.

"Open your mouth."

"I'm sorry! Please just-"

"Open. Your. Mouth."

You did. He forced the barrel passed your lips, all the way to the back of your throat. Your teeth scraped the metal.

It tasted bitter. Iron, gunpowder. It tasted like your death.

His finger was on the trigger. One little twitch, one inopportune gag, and you were done.

"Suck it."

You did, crying so damn hard but terrified to make a sound.

"No," he snarled. "Suck it like you would a cock."

He grabbed your hair, yanked your head back. "Show me why I shouldn't kill you right here and now. Remind me exactly why I keep you around."

You sucked his gun like your life depended on it. Tongue out, drooling, like you weren't a hairs breadth from death. Looked up at him with rain and tears pouring down your face.

You must have given him one hell of a show. When you couldn't take it anymore, when you were shaking from the cold and your lips were turning blue around the metal, that's when he pulled out. One hand still in your hair, he pointed the gun at the sky and pulled the trigger. The gunshot echoed over the trees.

Fuck. You really did just have a loaded gun in your mouth.

He holstered it, grabbed your jaw with the hand that just held your death.

"Never again. Yeah?"

"Yeah."

[kissesz]

𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞

sevika x f!reader | modern au

warnings: see above. mdni. f!sub!reader. dom!sevika. car sex. public sex (but no witnesses). messy & needy & filthy. vaginal fingering. older woman/younger woman, age gap. praise kink. begging. emphasis on begging. teasing. dirty talk. developing relationship. first time together. resolved sexual tension. pet names. vulgar. smoking. sharing a cigarette. kissing. explicit sexual content.

summary: halfway between zero and sixty, ‘nice to meet you’ and ‘make me yours’. is it considered a hookup if you get laid on the first date?

notes: love and hugs, this is pure sex. again. always.

This woman was temptation with bared, carnassial teeth.

You watched, transfixed, as Sevika took another languid drag of her cigarette, ember painting her features in shades of burnished ochre beneath the flickering streetlight. Dusk bled the sky in streaks of bruised violet, casting the gritty outskirts of LA in stark, angular shadows—forged of unyielding chrome and gunmetal, as hard and uncompromising as the city itself.

"You coming or what?" Her voice, low and smoky, snapped you from your reverie. She leaned against her matte black, '98 Carrera Cabriolet, all long limbs and coiled strength, a panther in repose. The car suited her—powerful, sleek, with barely restrained danger. Not ostentatious, but undeniably commanding. Like her.

You shook your head, a wry smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Depends. You gonna tell me where we're going yet?"

A ghost of a smirk slashed across her mouth. "Where's the fun in that?"

Rolling your eyes, you pushed off the graffiti-splashed brick wall, gravel crunching beneath your boots as you crossed the narrow alley. "Anyone ever tell you you've got a flair for the dramatic?"

She scoffed, twin plumes of smoke unfurling from her nostrils. "Pot. Kettle. Et cetera."

But there was a glint of amusement sparking in those inscrutable dark eyes, softening the usual implacable steel. For a fleeting moment, with silk tie loosened and crisp shirt unbuttoned at the collar, she almost looked approachable. Almost.

Possessed by a sudden surge of boldness that still surprised you, you reached out and plucked the smoldering cigarette from her fingers. Her scarred brow quirked, but she made no move to stop you as you took a deep drag, the acrid nicotine hitting the back of your throat like a sucker punch.

It tasted like her—bitter and earthy with a lingering aftertaste that clung to your tongue. Everything about Sevika was edged with latent threat, from the jagged scar slicing down her cheek to the cybernetic arm gleaming dully in the guttering half-light. She wore raw menace like others wore subtle perfume, an unspoken warning: look, but don't touch.

And yet, here you were. Touching. Toeing lines you'd never dared approach before. There was something about her—an inexorable gravity, a magnetic pull you were powerless to resist, no matter how hard you tried.

Maybe it was the way she looked at you—like she could see right through your bravado to the fragile thing beneath. Like she knew precisely how to break you, splinter you apart piece by piece, but chose not to. There was heady power in that restraint, in the tightly leashed tension coiling. It thrilled you as much as it terrified you.

"You're staring."

You blinked, heat rising to your cheeks as you realized you'd been doing just that, entranced by the play of light across the cut-glass planes of her face. Her lips quirked in a wolfish grin—a quick flash of teeth that sent liquid fire rushing through your veins.

"Just admiring the view," you quipped, hoping she couldn't see you blush, even in the forgiving dimness.

She plucked the cigarette back from your suddenly nerveless grasp, taking one last deep drag before grinding it out beneath her heel. "Get in."

It wasn't a request.

The rich leather seat was cold against your bare thighs as you slid in, the heavy door thudding shut behind you with an ominous finality that made your heart skip and stutter behind the cage of your ribs. Sevika slid behind the wheel, all whipcord muscle and self-assurance. The engine growled to life like a hungry beast, the vibrations echoing the mounting tension singing beneath your over-sensitized skin.

With a squeal of tires, she peeled away from the curb, the lurid neon signs and sputtering streetlights blurring into streaks of smeared color as you gained speed, leaving the grime and decay of the city behind. The radio hummed low, jazz spilling from the speakers to curl around you—a bluesy croon extolling the virtues of bad love and worse choices that felt all too fitting, here in this charged liminal space.

"So," you ventured, the first to break the tingling silence, "is kidnapping a typical first date activity for you?"

Her laugh was a gravelly rasp, a sound that scraped down your spine like nails across a chalkboard. "You came willingly, doll. Hardly a kidnapping."

"Maybe I just have a troubling lack of self-preservation instincts."

"Nah." She spared you a penetrating sidelong glance, those fathomless eyes flickering over you in a way that made your skin prickle with tactile heat, every hair standing on end. "You've got instincts. Good ones. S'why you're here."

Your breath caught. There it was again—that uncanny sense that she could see right through you, deep down to the marrow of your bones, peeling back all your pretenses and posturing to lay bare the truth of you, quivering and exposed. It was unnerving. Terrifyingly vulnerable and viscerally, undeniably right.

As the minutes slipped by marked only by the purr of the machinery and the yellow dashes slipping hypnotically by, the city fell away. Towering glass and steel skyscrapers and seedy, decrepit apartment blocks gave way to low-slung suburbs lined with sun-bleached picket fences, then to long stretches of brush punctuated only by the occasional lonely, leaning streetlamp. Out here, away from the press of humanity and the choking exhaust fumes, the air tasted different.

With each mile marker that fell behind you, it felt as if you were crossing some invisible threshold, leaving the crushing expectations and familiar dissatisfaction of your life in the rearview mirror as you ventured into uncharted territory.

Wasn't that what you'd wanted, after all? What you'd been craving, yearning for with every fiber of your being? To escape the slow suffocation of the neat, narrow path that had been laid at your feet like a noose around your neck? Out here, with the asphalt of the open road disappearing beneath you and Sevika at your side, you felt weightless and unmoored.

Free.

Sevika took the serpentine curves fast and tight—your heart hurried along with it, caught up in the thrill of velocity, of speed, of her. The rushing wind snatched the air from your lungs and tangled your hair, but you welcomed the burn, savoring every stolen gasp as if it were your last.

She drove like she did everything else—with preternatural precision and wild, reckless abandon. But there was a fluidity to her movements, something that spoke of hard-earned mastery, the kind that came only from raw, unfettered experience. Watching her shift gears, quicksilver flashing in the sporadic light—you felt a sharp, sweet ache unfurl deep in your abdomen. It was the ache of longing to be handled with such surety and confidence. To be touched, tasted, known like that: body, mind, and soul.

As if plucking the unspoken want directly from your racing thoughts, Sevika reached over, her hand finding the sensitive skin of your inner thigh—the touch searing through the denim of your jeans. Slowly, deliberately, she trailed her fingers higher, skimming with agonizing precision along the trembling expanse of your thigh, growing ever closer to where you burned for her most. There was a promise woven into her teasing caress, a whispered question. Goosebumps rippled in her wake, your nerves singing at her nearness.

"Sev..." you managed, the name escaping on a ragged exhale even as your body arched helplessly into her touch. "I'm trying to be good here."

Her answering chuckle was downright unholy. "Overrated."

But she withdrew her hand, returning it to the wheel, leaving you empty and bereft. You felt the loss of her touch, your flesh crying out for the intoxicating drag of skin against skin.

All too soon and not soon enough, Sevika pulled off onto a secluded little overlook, the car settling into an idle. Below, the sprawl of the city stretched out, glowing, alive with nightlife. But here, balanced between heaven and earth, breathing air untainted by smog or sin, it seemed to belong to another world entirely. You felt as if you had slipped into a hidden haven of stillness—population consisting of only you two.

The silence that rushed in to fill the vacuum left by the slumbering engine was heavy, expectant. When Sevika swung herself out of the car, you followed, as if drawn by some invisible tether.

She leaned against the hood, ankles crossed, dark hair stirring in the breeze as she gazed up at the sky. You settled in beside her, close enough to feel the heat radiating from her, the rapidly-cooling metal still warm against your back. This close, you could breathe all of her in—a scent you'd learned to crave like the most insidious drug.

"It's beautiful out here," you said softly, not wanting to break the tentative peace of the moment, that spell holding the rest of the world at bay. "Peaceful."

Sevika hummed in agreement. "Sometimes you need to leave things behind. Get some distance between you and the bullshit to see clearly. Gain a little perspective."

You turned the thought over and over behind your eyes, a faint frown tugging at your brow. "There’s something you're trying to get perspective on?"

She was quiet for the first time in a while, seconds stretching into eons in the yawning space between each inhale. Long enough for the first tendrils of doubt to curl around your hammering heart. When she did finally speak, her normally brash voice was threaded through with an uncharacteristic note of melancholy.

"Lots of things. The whole fucked-up mess of my past. My future." She flexed her prosthetic hand, digits curling into a fist, servos whirring almost imperceptibly in the silence. Her next words were barely a murmur. "You."

You froze, trepidation tangling into an impossible snarl, threatening to cut you open from the inside out. "Me?"

Sevika turned to face you then, eyes snaring and pinning you in place. "This thing between us...it's complicated, doll. For a whole lot of reasons."

"Doesn't have to be." The words tripped off your tongue, propelled by the reckless certainty buzzing through you like a sugary rush, like the sting of good bourbon on an empty stomach. "Not if we don't let it."

One corner of her mouth quirked upwards, the expression more wry than somber. "You’re young, sweetheart. But me? Got enough baggage to fill this whole damn car and then some." She gestured to herself. "You sure you want to saddle yourself with all that?"

You captured her metal hand in your own. Slowly, tenderly, never breaking eye contact, you lifted her hand to your lips, brushing the barest hint of a kiss over the ridged carbon-fiber knuckles. An unambiguous answer. A consecration.

"With you?" you whispered. Unafraid and sure despite the wild tarantella of your heart, you pulled her closer, until you could see the faint sunray-like pattern of molten silver lining her blown pupils. "Yes."

She sucked in an unsteady breath, eyes widening a fraction. Vulnerability, you realized. More naked and exposed than you'd ever seen her, more honest. She searched your upturned face for any hint of doubt, any flicker of hesitation. Found only quiet certainty in the resolute lines of your body, only affection and burgeoning devotion in the sweep of your gaze.

"Fuck, you're gonna ruin me," she breathed finally, voice roughened by a tangled snarl of need and fear and disbelief, the words equal parts aching and awed.

You felt your lips curve upwards helplessly. "Promise?"

Sevika loosed a broken sound, low and guttural and heavy with want. Then, her mouth crashed onto yours, hot and urgent and so impossibly soft you nearly wept from the rightness of it.

You met her with desperation all your own, the empty echo behind your ribs finally quieting as she filled in all your broken spaces, soothing long-untended aches with lips and teeth and tongue. Your hands scrabbled for purchase on her leather-clad shoulders, seeking against​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ the onslaught of sensation, the sheer relief of having what you'd yearned for so long finally, finally within reach.

She gathered you close, arm banding around your waist, and everything narrowed, coalesced into this single, shining point of collision, of completion. Nothing existed outside the slick heat of your twined tongues, the eager exploration of wandering hands, the delicious drag of stuttered breath in starving lungs.

Overwhelmed, drowning in sensation, you wrenched your mouth away to trail openmouthed kisses along the sharp line of her jaw. She arched into the touch like a cat, a grunt catching in the back of her throat as you nipped at her pulse, soothing the sting with lips and tongue.

Her hands found the hem of your shirt, skimming the fever-hot skin of your waist and earning a full-body shudder. Those clever, devastating fingers inched higher, tracing the dip of your spine, the jut of your ribs, leaving trails of tingles in their wake.

"God, Sev," you panted, voice cracking on a gasp as her thumb dragged heavy and purposeful over the swell of your breast, the lace separating flesh from flesh somehow more maddening than no barrier at all. "I want...I need–"

She hummed against your throat. "What do you need, baby?" She nuzzled beneath your jaw, lips and teeth worrying the thin, delicate skin there, hard enough to sting, to mark. To claim. "Tell me. Let me give it to you."

You tangled desperate fingers in her hair, short, silken strands slipping like cool water between your digits—tugged just shy of too hard, just to feel her sigh, to know she was just as affected as you. "You," you breathed into the scant space between your mouths. Cupping the back of her neck, you pulled her down into another searing kiss, licking your way past the seam of her lips to tangle your tongue with her own. "Just you."

Sevika's groan was ragged, muffled against your eager mouth. "Shit. You're so–you don't even know what you do to me. How I've wanted–"

She broke off on a shuddering exhale as your hand snaked between your flush bodies, palming the swell of her breast through the material. The delicate silk was warm from the heat of her skin, the stiff peak of her nipple an unmistakable indent against your palm. You circled the pebbled bud with the pad of your thumb, marveling at the shiver that rippled through her frame at the intimacy of your touch.

"Show me. Want to feel you, Sev, want your hands on me, want–ah!"

Your stream of babbled pleas stuttered to a halt as Sevika ducked her head, fastening kisses to the column of your throat with single-minded intensity. Her hand carved a path downwards, your abdominals fluttering and tensing beneath her touch. In response, you clutched her shoulders, nails digging into firm muscles, desperate for an anchor against the wave of pure sensation threatening to sweep you out to sea.

She didn't stop there—of course she didn't. Sevika had never been one to do things by halves. Fingertips found your nipples, already painfully tight and straining against your bra, and rolled them until you were gasping and writhing against her, hips canting in wanton invitation.

"Fuck," she rasped against you, the word a fervent prayer and a filthy promise. "Can't believe I get to touch you like this. Can't believe you're letting me..."

Her words shredded off into a throaty sound of satisfaction as you hooked one leg around the backs of her thighs, the repositioning changing the angle of your bodies until she was pressed tight and perfect against the aching center of you, separated only by a few torturous layers of fabric.

"God, need you inside, need you to fill me up, I–" Your fever-pitched begging deteriorated into a mewl as Sevika rolled her hips just so, the delicious friction against your swollen clit sending starbursts of color exploding behind your eyelids. You were so wet already that you could feel it smearing onto your inner thighs, a cooling counterpoint to the molten ache throbbing low in your gut. "Sev, please, I–"

"I've got you. Gonna take care of you, give you everything you need, pretty girl."

The words were whispered against the fragile skin behind your ear, shivering over nerve endings already raw and screaming for more. Pinning you with her weight, Sevika fumbled between your sweat-slicked bodies, making quick work of the fastenings of your jeans and shoving the clinging material down your thighs with almost feral urgency. Immediately, the night air kissed your overheated skin, but the momentary relief was quickly replaced by a deeper, sharper ache as she trailed a single teasing fingertip over the wet spot darkening the cotton of your panties.

"Look at you," she breathed, and the sheer reverence in the tone made your heart stutter and clench. "You're so wet for me already, aren't you, baby?"

Your only answer was a pleading moan, head tipping back against the cooling metal of the hood, eyes fluttering shut as you gave yourself over fully to chasing the intoxicating feeling of Sevika's hands on your body. A single digit traced along the elastic waistband of your panties before dipping lower to slide along your cloth-covered slit. She traced the seam of you, touch firm enough to send sparks skittering up your spine but too light to offer any true relief, and your hips twitched traitorously, seeking more of that delicious friction.

"Please," you managed, the word garbled and wavering. Your hands scrabbled at the short hairs at the nape of her neck, anything to ground you in the sensations threatening to consume you. "I need–need you to–"

"Need me to what?" she coaxed, nuzzling the hinge of your jaw, painting staccato breaths against the fever-heat of your skin. Her hips rocked against the cradle of your pelvis. "Use your words, beautiful."

"Touch me," you panted, the shameless need in your voice nearly unrecognizable to your own ears. "Fuck me, Sev, god, please, I–"

She smiled against your neck, a slow curl of approval that you felt like a physical touch. And then, before you could draw breath to beg, she was pushing your panties aside, parting swollen, slippery flesh to press firmly against the aching bud of your clit. White flashed behind your clenched eyelids at the first direct touch to where you were most sensitive, and you keened high in your throat, hips juddering helplessly against the exquisite pressure. Sevika didn't tease you further, seemingly just as desperate as you; her touch was purposeful, two fingers dipping down to circle your entrance teasingly before swiping back up to rub maddening circles around your throbbing clit, spreading the slick evidence of your arousal from slit to hood.

You lost time then, lost yourself too, perhaps—hands clutching convulsively at her shoulders, nails carving bright-hot crescents into her skin as she wrung pathetic, gasping cries from your lips, each one filthier than the last.

When she finally slid one long, calloused finger inside you, the intrusion was a revelation. Your body yielded to her with embarrassing ease, greedy muscles fluttering and clenching around her digit, trying to draw her deeper.

A second finger joined the first, stretching and filling—you whined, high and heady, back arching to meet her on every upstroke. The lewd, liquid squelch of her fingers pumping in and out of you echoed obscenely, sending a fresh rush of arousal through you. Sevika seemed to revel in it, in how wet and open and ready you were for her, crooking her fingers until you were riding the edge of her hand, the heel of her palm grinding perfectly against your clit with every measured thrust.

"Fuck, Sev, oh god, just like that, don't stop, please please please...." The litany fell from your lips unchecked, words tumbling over each other in your desperation. Your orgasm was so, so close, pleasure winding tighter and tighter with each pump of her fingers, each swipe of her tongue against the column of your neck.

"Not gonna last," you sobbed, hips hitching erratically against her hands. "M'gonna come, fuck, Sev, please–"

"That's it," she rasped, the words hot and damp against your ear. "Wanna feel you come apart on my fingers, baby, wanna feel you shaking and tightening around me when I make you scream. Give it up for me, come on, you can do it."

Her voice combined with the relentless pressure of her touch was too much, an assault on your senses that you had no hope of withstanding. Your release crashed into you, making every muscle seize and spasm as it swept you under. Distantly, you registered the drawn-out, wavering moan torn from your throat as you shook apart under her hands, but you were miles away, lost to the pulsing waves of rapture radiating out from your core.

Sevika coaxed you through it, murmuring filthy praise against your skin as she gentled her thrusts, drawing out your pleasure until it bordered on pain. You clung to her, face buried in the curve of her neck. She held you through the aftershocks, digits still buried deep inside you, touching you with a tenderness that made your breath hitch for an entirely different reason.

"Sev," you managed finally, voice thin and reedy with spent pleasure, muffled against the damp silk of her shirt. "That was..."

"Damn right it was," she finished softly, nosing against your hairline, your temple. "And we’re just getting started."

Carefully, she withdrew from the clasping heat of your body, and you shuddered at the loss, tipping your head up to seek her mouth blindly. She met you halfway, slanting her lips over yours—slow and sweet and devastating.

Addicting. Irresisitible. Exhilarating.

©️ kissesz

[doks-aux]

The idea of William Afton genuinely loving his children is so much more interesting to me than the alternative, not just because it's more tragic and makes his motivations make more sense, but also because it's fucking hilarious.

You are about to be obliterated from this Earth by a six-foot-something zombie rabbit, and your last moments are spent terrified and deeply confused as he shows you pictures of his kids in a blood-stained wallet: a clearly haunted bear costume, a limitlessly unnerving chrome clown doll, and what looks like Grimace's corpse left to shrivel in the sun.

[pitlanepeach]

From Eden | Chapter Seven pt.1 (7/8)

Oscar Piastri x Francesca Gold (OFC)

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

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

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

She did.

Chapter Warnings — Agoraphobia, severe social anxiety, references to a skin-picking relapse, antidepressants, therapy sessions, bad family situations, panic attacks, sexual content.

Notes — Yes, Ch7 will be split into two halves, because I’m good to you guys like that, and have so much of their story left to tell. No social media posts in this one (hope u don’t mind). Enjoy — Peach x

iMessage — Oscar & Mark 

Mark

How’s things mate? 

Oscar 

Really good. 

Really, really good. 

Mark 

You’re all in for this girl then?

Oscar 

All in. 

Mark 

Let me know when you want her in the paddock. I’ll make it work for her. 

Oscar

Thanks. Means a lot 

Mark

Anytime kid. 

— 

Francesca felt like everything was moving in slow motion. 

The revolving doors of the Harper Collins offices loomed. She chewed on the inside of her cheek. God, why was everything was so clean? And bright. There were too many reflective surfaces. She caught a glimpse of herself in one of the chrome panels — pasty skinned, wide-eyed, white knuckling the strap of her handbag.

“You’re doing great,” Katie said beside her, breezing along in a bright yellow pantsuit, the epitome of an actual boss-babe. “You didn’t even throw up on the tube.” 

“I’m sweating through my bra,” Francesca muttered back, voice tight. “I’m going to get… patches. Sweat patches.”

Katie rolled her eyes. “No, you won’t. This building is definitely air conditioned.” 

They stepped into the marble-floored lobby. Francesca tried not to visibly recoil at the echoing sound of high-heels and the very serious man behind the reception desk. Her heart was thudding. 

Over the past week, she’d done a lot of hard things. More walks to the cafe. More talking about her feelings. Upping the frequency of her therapy sessions to twice a week instead of once. 

She could survive a publisher meeting.

The receptionist, not as intimidating once Katie had introduced them and he’d beamed at them (teeth and all), led them up in a mirrored elevator to the 14th floor. Francesca tried not to think about how long the fall would be if she had to resort to throwing herself out a window. Katie, probably reading the expression on her face, reached over and squeezed her hand. 

When they stepped into the meeting room, everything smelled like coffee and expensive paper.

Two editors, a publicity manager, and a junior marketing exec were seated around the polished table, smiling like this was completely normal and not the most terrifying thing Francesca had ever done in her entire life. 

“Francesca,” said the older of the editors — Laura, the woman they’d had a handful of zoom meetings with over the past few weeks. She stood and offered her hand. “It’s so lovely to finally meet you in person.”

Francesca smiled and hoped that it didn’t look to wobbly around the edges. “You too.”

She sat down. Katie followed without hesitation, plopping beside her like she belonged there; she did. None of this would be happening if it wasn’t for her. She was as big of a part of this deal as Francesca was. 

There were questions about tone and voice and back cover copy. Francesca nodded along, offering thoughts when she had could actually manage to form them into words, Katie chiming in like a practiced publicist even though she technically wasn’t one. 

When Laura mentioned the projected release date — June 2024 — Francesca blinked.

“That’s so soon,” she said softly. It was already November. 

“That’s exciting,” Katie corrected her, nudging her under the table. “Right?”

Francesca nodded slowly. “Yeah. Exciting.”

She let the word sit there in her mouth, tasting it. 

Laura smiled. “We think your audience will be more than ready. We’re already seeing a lot of positive engagement following your announcement, and that established platform that you have really does give us a great foundation to build on.”

Francesca swallowed. “That’s… amazing. I just— I want it all to go well.”

“It will,” the marketing exec said, with a nod that was full of certainty. “Your draft — what you’ve created — it’s vulnerable and funny and deeply human. People are going to see themselves in it. That’s rare in fiction, even rarer in contemporary romance. It’s impressive.”

She blinked hard. Looked at the table. Pushed through the hitch in her breath.

Katie covered her hand under the desk, her thumb brushing reassuring circles against Francesca’s knuckles. It was small, almost imperceptible, but it anchored her more than she could explain.

The meeting stretched well into the afternoon. Coffee and biscuits appeared partway through. When Francesca shyly asked if they happened to have oat milk, one of the assistants dashed off without hesitation, returning five minutes later with two cartons and an apologetic smile like it had been some kind of emergency.

Francesca didn’t know what to do with that level of accommodation. She sipped slowly, kept her shoulders down, and tried to answer every question directed her way with a level of professionalism that didn’t come naturally. 

By the time they wrapped, her brain felt like soup. There were quick hugs goodbye, promises to follow up by email, someone scribbling a phone number onto a scrap of paper and handing it to Katie with an instruction to “get in touch” with any urgent follow-ups. 

She let herself be ushered into the lift, then out through the revolving doors, and only when the cold November air hit her face did she let out a breath that had been building in her lungs for hours.

“I didn’t cry,” she murmured, almost in disbelief. Her eyes lifted to the slate-grey sky, where the clouds had settled low and heavy. London in November — foggy and damp.

Katie bumped their hips together gently, her tone somewhere between teasing and proud. “They loved you.”

Francesca laughed, shaky and a little stunned. “I guess. Maybe.”

“They did. You’re talented and lovely and weirdly charming when you’re nervous.”

“I’m always nervous.” Francesca deadpanned. 

Katie grinned. “Exactly. It’s kind of your brand.”

Francesca let out a breathy laugh and tipped her head against her friend's shoulder for a moment.

“My brain’s doing that thing where I can’t remember anything I said,” she admitted.

Katie hummed. “You were great. You only said the word ‘vibes’ twice, and one of those times it actually worked in your favour.”

“Generous of them to let me get away with that,” Francesca said, the words half-laugh, half-relief. 

Katie snorted. “They’re publishing your book and expecting it to make them millions, babe. You could’ve walked in there and recited the alphabet backwards and they still probably would’ve given you a round of applause. You had all of the power.”

Francesca glanced sideways, skeptical. “I was, like, shaking half the time. I spilt the oat milk.”

“You were adorable. And powerful.”

Francesca huffed a laugh, but didn’t argue. Instead, she looked up, gaze drifting over the familiar skyline — grey, fog-drenched. 

She exhaled slowly. “I’m glad you were there with me.”

Katie, walking beside her with that usual casual grace, bumped her shoulder gently. “Always.”

The entrance to the tube station came into view at the end of the street, bustling and loud, people pouring in and out like water. 

“You realise you’re in the acknowledgements, right?” Francesca said after a beat.

Katie arched a perfectly groomed eyebrow. “I’d better be. I want at least two full paragraphs.”

Francesca snorted. “Greedy.”

“Supportive,” Katie corrected primly, nose tilted in the air like she expected applause.

Francesca rolled her eyes, biting back a grin.

They reached the steps leading down to the underground platform, and Francesca’s pace faltered. Her hand landed on the rail, knuckles whitening as she gripped it. Her chest fluttered with that too-familiar tremor — the one that liked to remind her it could show up anywhere, anytime.

Katie noticed immediately. Of course she did.

She slowed too, watching her with gentle eyes. “We can get an uber,” she said quickly.

Francesca didn’t answer right away. Instead, she closed her eyes, grounding herself like Dr. Kapoor had taught her.

Three breaths, slow and deliberate. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Again.

Your fears are valid, she reminded herself, but they don’t get to dictate your day. They don’t have the power to actually hurt you.

She squeezed the railing, not out of panic this time, but as an anchor. Then she looked over at Katie and nodded, barely, but firmly. “No, it’s okay. I want to take the tube.”

Katie’s expression softened with something like pride — quiet and unspoken, but unmistakable. “Alright then,” she said. “Let’s go.”

— 

She woke up sweating. Disoriented. Nausea clinging to her. 

The dream was still sticky around the edges, too vivid to shake.

Oscar — in a glittering white tuxedo. An Elvis impersonator officiating. A woman Francesca didn’t recognise, tall and stunning, in a rhinestoned mini-dress and platform heels, blowing kisses to a fake crowd of cardboard cutouts.

There were fog machines. Lando Norris was playing “Viva Las Vegas” on a kazoo. Oscar looked confused. Then resigned. Then he said “I do.”

— 

iMessage — Francesca & Oscar 

Francesca

i had a dream

and by dream i mean horrifying nightmare

and i am blaming my new sertraline dose ok

but i need you to be honest with me

Oscar

You okay baby?

Ask me anything. I’m always honest with you

Francesca

does lando know how to play the kazoo

Oscar

Right. Literally would never have guessed that was where this was going

One sec. I’ll ask.

He does not.

He’s also deeply confused and a little afraid. 

Francesca

okay phew

because in my dream you got VEGAS MARRIED

like i turned on the tv and there was a LIVE BROADCAST

of you wearing a glitter tux and holding hands with a woman named Brandi (with an i?????????)

and lando was your kazoo player slash ring bearer

and there were sparklers

Oscar

…I don’t even know where to start

First of all: never been near a kazoo

Second: you think I’d name someone named Brandi? 

Francesca

idk. you looked so smug though

like “oh sorry babe i had no choice, she had great bone structure and her dad owns a boat dealership”

and THEN the wedding cake was shaped like your helmet.

i feel violent. i’ll kill her. 

Oscar

Lando is finding this very funny. 

Really? A helmet cake?

Francesca

okay but the crocs were the worst part

she was wearing white crocs with rhinestones that spelled out “WIFEY 4 LYFE”

i woke up sweating

Oscar

I would rather eat a kazoo than be legally bound to someone who wears crocs

Francesca

thank you.

i needed to hear that.

Oscar

Are you having any other side effects?

From your medication, not the dream

Francesca

um some nausea and headaches ig 

nothing too bad

can u remind me what time i need to wake up to watch fp1

Oscar

6:30 baby

I’ll text u at 6 before I get my phone taken

Love you

Francesca 

love you. don’t get married pls. 

Oscar 

I promise you that I won’t. 

Get some sleep baby

—

The Zoom window opened with a quiet pop and a small ping. Francesca sat cross-legged on the sofa, laptop balanced on a cushion in her lap, a cup of chamomile tea going cold on the coffee table. The Las Vegas GP coverage was playing on mute on the TV — just FP3. 

Dr. Kapoor smiled at her, framed by warm-toned bookshelves and a tall potted plant. 

“Good morning, Francesca," she said, with that steady, velvet voice that had become an anchor of emotion. "How are you today?"

Francesca gave a half-shrug. “Floating. Not in a bad way, though. Like… a little bit light-headed. Like someone took my brain out, dipped it in disinfectant, and then put it back in. Upside down.”

Dr. Kapoor chuckled. “Ah. You increased your sertraline dose this week.” She recalled. 

“Yup,” Francesca said, popping the ‘p’. “Per your suggestion. I know you warned me about the side effects, but the dreams have been, uh, pretty vivid.”

Dr. Kapoor’s brow lifted, amused. “That’s not unusual. Dosage changes can be a little problematic until they settle. Have you had any other symptoms?”

Francesca hesitated. “Some nausea. I’m drinking a lot more ginger tea than usual, but it’s manageable. Also headaches.”

“All very normal, and if I’m remembering correctly, exactly what you experienced when you started taking your very first dose.” Dr. Kapoor leaned in a little, eyes kind. “Are you doing well otherwise?” 

“I— I think so,” Francesca said, then fiddled with the hem of her sleeve. “But I feel like there’s a limit on how far I can, like, push myself. You know how crazy these past few weeks have been; I feel like it might be too much, too soon.” 

Dr. Kapoor’s expression softened, but her voice turned firm. “Francesca, I want to challenge something you just said.”

Francesca blinked. “Okay?”

“There is no ceiling on what you’re capable of,” Dr. Kapoor said. “You’ve internalised this idea that there’s a glass wall between you and the life you want — and sure, right now, some things might feel hard, maybe even impossible. But that wall? It’s not real. It’s just fear. And fear doesn't have control over you, not unless you want it to.”

Francesca swallowed, feeling off-centre. “I just don’t want to mess it all up. Especially when things feel… good. I don’t trust it.”

“That’s okay. Trust, even in ourselves, has to be earned over time,” Dr. Kapoor said, her voice steady. “But don’t mistake the discomfort of growth for danger. You’ve outgrown certain patterns, Francesca. Your world is expanding very quickly. It’s only natural to feel unsure.” 

Francesca looked away from the screen for a second, blinking fast. “Sometimes I don’t even recognise myself lately,” she admitted.

“A million versions of you can exist all at once, in perfect tandem,” Dr. Kapoor said gently. “The scared version, the brave one, the writer, the woman in love, the one still healing — they’re all you. You don’t have to pick just one. You’re not a contradiction, Francesca. You’re human.”

Francesca let out a shaky breath, the tension in her shoulders loosening just a fraction. “So I’m allowed to be both terrified and… really, really happy?”

Dr. Kapoor smiled. “Absolutely. In fact, that’s usually how we know we’re moving forward — when both can exist at the same time.”

— 

The living room was dim, lit only by the flicker of the race on her TV. It was still dark outside despite it technically being morning. Francesca sat cross-legged on the sofa, a blanket half-pulled around her shoulders, her phone resting nearby, screen dark.

She was trying not to be anxious. Really trying.

She knew Oscar was good — not just talented, but smart. Careful. Strategic in the way he drove. 

Still, like they did during every race, her fingers had curled into the blanket without her noticing. Her knuckles had gone white.

It was an eventful first three laps. Chaos on every corner. Francesca kept her eyes locked on the timing sheets in the corner of the screen, watching Oscar’s number creep forward, her heart lifting every time he overtook someone cleanly.

He was going to get himself into the points if he kept driving that way for the rest of the race. Pulling something brilliant out of a back-of-the-grid start.

And then—

And then the crash happened.

It was sudden — jarring. One moment, the cars were slicing through the neon chaos of the Vegas strip, all controlled precision and searing light. The next, a blur of motion went sideways, smoke billowed, sparks flew. A car snapped against the barrier like a toy, wheels skidding, debris scattering. The camera cut wide. The commentators shot up in pitch, sharp and immediate, overlapping in alarm.

Francesca’s blood turned to ice.

“—McLaren in the wall—heavy impact—”

She couldn’t breathe.

Oh my god.

Oh my god.

Oscar.

Oscar.

Her heart thundered against her ribs as she scrambled for the remote, nearly dropping it, fingers numb. She turned the volume up so fast the speakers on the TV crackled. The image on screen was too far away, the impact too quick — she couldn’t tell who it was. Couldn’t see the number, or the helmet.

The camera stayed wide. No confirmation. No replay. No name.

She felt sick. Her pulse roared in her ears.

Please not him. Please not him.

“And that’s the McLaren of Lando Norris—”

The relief hit so fast she almost keeled over. Her whole body folded forward, shoulders shaking, hand covering her mouth like it might hold her together.

It wasn’t Oscar. He was still driving. Still safe.

The rush of it — the overwhelming, selfish relief — made her dizzy. She wasn’t crying, not exactly, but her eyes burned, throat tight, breath coming in shallow gasps.

And then… slowly… it shifted.

The camera zoomed in on the wreckage.

She sat upright again, eyes narrowing as she took in the sight. The smoke was clearing, marshals were running. No movement from the cockpit yet.

Her relief soured into guilt.

It wasn’t Oscar… but it was still Lando.

Lando. 

Her chest ached again, but for a different reason now.

“Come on,” she whispered to the screen. “Come on, get out. Be okay.”

The replays started. She flinched. The way the car had hit. The angle. The bounce.

She imagined Oscar watching it from the cockpit of his car. She imagined the silence in his radio. The breath that must’ve caught in his throat.

The guilt doubled.

It wasn't Oscar — but it could’ve been.

And now Lando was somewhere in that shattered car, and she didn’t know if he was okay.

They deployed the safety car. 

The McLaren — what was left of it — sat limp in the runoff, sparks still flickering beneath it. The halo was intact. The front wing was gone. Smoke rose in gentle, mocking spirals.

Then, finally, movement.

The camera zoomed just slightly, shaky and grainy in the low light of the Vegas circuit — but there he was. Lando. Climbing out. Slowly, stiffly, but moving under his own power.

Francesca let out a sound she hadn’t meant to make — a breathy, gasping laugh that cracked down the middle. She leaned forward, hand gripping the edge of the coffee table like an anchor, eyes locked on the screen.

“Oh my god,” she whispered. She covered her face with both hands, sucked in a lungful of air, and let it go with a shaky exhale. “Thank god.”

The screen showed him walking, slowly, toward the medical car. A marshal steadying him. He was probably bruised to hell. Maybe concussed. But he was alive.

She watched the rest of the race with her heart in her throat. 

— 

Incoming FaceTime from Oscar 

Her phone lit up just as she started pacing the kitchen for the third time since Oscar had passed the chequered flag. 

Francesca answered instantly.

Oscar’s face filled the screen — a little sweaty, a little flushed, hair damp and stuck to his forehead, still in his race suit, half-unzipped to the waist. His fireproofs clung to his body like a second skin. The familiar chaos of a post-race backdrop buzzed behind him.

But his eyes were calm. Warm. Focused entirely on her.

“Hey, baby,” he said softly.

She didn’t return the greeting — not yet. “Is Lando okay?”

Oscar nodded immediately. “Yeah. Yeah, he’s alright. Bit winded. They’ve taken him to the hospital for checks, but he was up, talking, walking. Properly okay.”

Francesca let out a long breath and closed her eyes for a second. “I— I saw it happen. Thought it was you for a second. My heart stopped.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I figured you would’ve. You okay?”

Her hand trembled just slightly as she pushed her hair behind her ear. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay now. Just— needed to hear that he was okay from you, not the Sky Sports people, you know?”

He smiled gently, and even with the grainy front camera and the low lighting, it made her feel steadier. “He really is. Pretty sure he’s already on his way back to the paddock.” 

“Good,” she said, her voice softer now. “And— hey. Points finish. P10. You did really well, Osc. I’m so proud of you.”

Oscar’s mouth twitched, like he was trying to bite down a grin and failing. His ears turned red. “Thanks, beautiful.” 

— 

iMessage — Lando & Francesca 

Francesca 

hey its francesca, oscar gave me ur number 

rly glad ur ok, that looked scary

Lando 

haha yeah im all good!

thanks for checking, means a lot 

Francesca

u scared the shit out of me lol

Lando

😭😭😭

yeah sorry about that

wasn’t my best work

Francesca

do me a favour and try not to do that again

Lando

noted

Francesca

anyway, genuinely glad you're okay

Lando

cheers mate :) u ever need anything just lmk 

Francesca 

ty! 

— 

The call connected before Francesca could brace herself.

“Francesca,” her mum said immediately, like she’d been waiting by the phone for hours. “I was just thinking about you.”

“Hi, Mum.” Francesca tucked her legs beneath her, one hand already curled into the sleeve of her jumper. “Just wanted to call and check in. See how you and Dad are doing.”

“We’re managing,” her mother said with a pointed sigh, already shifting the tone. “Your father’s been having more trouble with his back again, of course. And I’ve had no help getting the decorations down from the loft — your sister promised she would, but you know how she is…”

Francesca nodded, even though her mum couldn’t see it. “That’s rough. I’m sorry.”

“Well.” A pause. “That’s why I hope you’ll be here for Christmas. It’s been too long, Francesca. We haven’t seen you in a year. You didn’t come in the summer, even though I practically begged—”

“I know, Mum, but I had work committments—”

“We all have work,” her mother said, voice wobbling. “But you make time for family. Especially now that we’re… not getting any younger.”

That particular line landed like a weight to the chest. Francesca rubbed at her temple. “Mum…”

“I just—” And then came the softest sniff, just audible enough. “I miss you, darling. I know you have your… your own little life. But I thought maybe Christmas, at least —you could make the effort for Christmas.”

Francesca swallowed against the lump in her throat. She thought about how tired she’d been lately, how much she’d wanted to spend Christmas quietly, maybe even with Oscar, maybe even happy. But instead, the image of her mum alone in the kitchen, crying over tinsel, took root in her mind. 

“Okay,” she said, staring blankly at the wall. “Yeah. I’ll come.”

Her mother’s relief was immediate, audible in the way her breath rushed out. “Oh, thank you, sweetheart. Your dad will be so pleased. We’ll do all your favourites —those potatoes you like, and the pudding—”

Francesca closed her eyes, nodding again. She hated potatoes, didn’t like them in any form other than deep-fried, and the only pudding she was interested in were pastries that Oscar brought for her, still warm and fresh from the bakery down the road. “Yeah. That sounds good.” She lied.

“Maybe this time, you can stay longer than just two nights.” She said, slightly snippily. 

“Mmhmm,” Francesca murmured, already feeling the edges of herself shrink back into something smaller.

— 

Her living room was a riot of snacks and empty kebab containers. 

Katie sat cross-legged on the floor, a blanket draped around her shoulders like a cape, holding a bright orange drink garnished with a paper umbrella and a gummy tyre. Francesca was curled sideways in the armchair, an 81 McLaren cap pulled low over her eyes, the brim doing little to hide her hyper-focus on the screen.

“Okay, these are actually good,” Katie said, gesturing to her mocktail. “Did you invent these?”

“I adapted the recipe,” Francesca said, smug. “Google gave me a Red Bull themed one and I nearly threw my phone in the bin.”

Katie cackled. “Aw. You’re so loyal.” 

“Not hard when they’ve got best driver on the grid,” Francesca mumbled, eyes glued to the formation lap. 

“So… You’re really going to your parents for Christmas?” Katie asked, plucking a popcorn kernel from the bowl between them.

Francesca nodded slowly. “Yeah. I still need to book my flights and talk to Osc about it, but… yeah. Mum’s already sent me a list of things that she needs me to do when I get there.” 

Katie winced. “You okay with that?”

“I think so.” Francesca ran her thumb along the side of her cup. “I mean, no. Not really. But I said yes anyway, didn’t argue too much. And I do want to see my dad.”

“What do you think he’ll say about it? Oscar?” She asked, head tilted. 

Francesca shrugged. “I don’t know,” then her expression softened. “But his family are coming to London next week, actually. Staying for a couple nights.”

“Wait, they’re coming to you?” Katie asked, her eyes wide. 

“Mmhmm,” Francesca said, tucking her knees up under her oversized hoodie — Oscar’s hoodie, technically, soft from wear and printed with his number across the back. “I said I felt bad about it, so he just made up some elaborate lie about Hattie wanting to go to the Christmas markets and try the churros in Hyde Park.”

She tugged at the hem of the sleeve, twisting it between her fingers, a small smile pulling at her mouth despite herself.

Katie snorted into her glass. “Well. Nobody can ever accuse him of being a good liar.”

“No, he’s terrible,” Francesca agreed, fondly exasperated. “He tried to look serious while saying it, but I could hear the smirk through the phone.”

“He’s such a simp for you,” Katie grinned. “It’s kind of biblical.”

Francesca didn’t disagree. She tilted her head back against the armchair, eyes flicking back to the screen. The pre-race build-up was rolling on — sweeping drone shots, pit crew scrambling, the overhead buzz of helicopters blending into the hum of nerves in her chest.

“He’s travelling back here in two days,” she said, voice soft. “Straight from Abu Dhabi. No press. No detours. Just… me.”

Katie raised her glass like a toast. “To the final race of the 2023 season.”

“To Oscar officially winning Rookie of the Year,” Francesca corrected, her eyes shining as she clinked their glasses together.

In truth, she was only half watching the screen now — the rest of her mind was already spinning ahead, past the chequered flag, past the interviews and flights and time zones. To the moment the front door would creak open and Oscar would be standing there, backpack slung over one shoulder, exhausted but smiling. Hers.

She imagined his hands on her waist. Nipping at his neck and watching his nose scrunch in response. How his voice would go soft when he finally whispered hi, beautiful.

The lights on the grid went out — five reds blinking out in sequence — and both girls leaned forward like clockwork, all anticipation.

Snacks forgotten. Breath held.

“Lights out and away we go!”

— 

The bathroom was full of steam and lavender, the soft fizz of a half-melted bath bomb curling lazy tendrils through the air. Her candle flickered on the windowsill, casting golden light across the bubbles piled high around her shoulders.

Francesca sank a little deeper into the heat, her phone held above the water in one hand, thumb scrolling absently through her Pinterest board labeled ‘Monaco Apartment’.

There were photos of sun-drenched balconies with striped umbrellas, airy cream interiors, lemon trees in terra cotta pots. Shelves lined with books and trinkets. Kitchens too pretty to ever cook in. One picture had a view that looked suspiciously like it came straight from Oscar’s daydreams — a narrow window framing a sliver of glittering sea. One of the pictures had a framed photo of a Formula One car hanging above a desk — a desk that could be hers. Used to edit on, write on, and film behind. 

Henry, perched regally on the closed toilet seat, gave a soft, chirping meow.

Francesca tilted the phone to show him a pin she’d just saved — a sunny corner nook with a hammock slung just below a wide-open window, a ginger cat lounging in a patch of light.

“Well?” she asked. “Would you want that to be you?”

Henry blinked slowly, then meowed again, louder this time, tail flicking once. 

“I’ll take that as a yes.” She smiled, heart doing that soft little skip it always did when she let herself imagine it — not just Monaco, but the after. The life that came with it. The one she was slowly starting to believe she might actually get to have.

Somewhere between fantasy and possibility, she saved the pin and let herself drift a little deeper into the bubbles.

— 

iMessage — Francesca & Oscar

Francesca

currently having a crisis

Oscar

You okay??

What kind of crisis are we talking

Francesca

i don’t know what to get your dad for christmas

Oscar

What??

You’re getting my dad a Christmas present?

Francesca

babe i’m getting your entire family presents lol 

anyway do you think he’d like some fancy wine? or is that too boring. socks? books? a bonsai tree?

Oscar

You really don’t have to do that

They will love you, presents or not 

Francesca

everyone else was easy to buy for but your dad has very specific vibes 

he’s difficult. mysterious. i must impress him… 

Oscar

He’s literally just a chill guy who watches cricket and makes too many dad jokes

You’re overthinking

Francesca

okay but hear me out

what if i knit him a scarf

and then he wears it

and i become his favourite

think of the long-term benefits osc

Oscar

If you knit my dad a scarf he will cry. Actually cry.

Do it. I wanna see it

Francesca

say less

pulling out the yarn as we speak

it will be mclaren themed so he can wear it on race weekends

Oscar

You’re crazy

I miss you so much it’s painful

See you in less than 48 hours baby

Francesca

i’m gonna jump you at the door

just so you know

Oscar

I’ll catch you

— 

The flat smelled like cinnamon and pine — Francesca had gone a little overboard with festive candles and a preemptive fake Christmas tree (still undecorated, but proudly up and not at all lopsided). The heating was on full blast, and Henry was perched by the door, waiting. 

She’d made a banner. Like, a very large banner — with gold lettering and orange glitter and those little sticky foam stars you get in craft kits. 

WELCOME HOME, ROOKIE OF THE YEAR

It hung wonkily across the living room wall. She stood underneath it in an oversized McLaren hoodie, leggings, and socks with snowmen on them. She had half a mind to be embarrassed — but she was too excited.

The door, unlocked in preparation for his arrival, swung open. 

And there he was.

Flushed from travel, hair rumpled, that stupid duffle bag slung over one shoulder. His eyes found hers instantly, lighting up like they always did, and for a second, he just stood there — stunned, smile blooming slow and warm across his face.

“Rookie of the year,” she announced, spreading her arms, presenting him with the banner and all her pent-up affection. “I’m so proud of you!” 

He dropped the bag. “You’re insane,” he said, already laughing. “Baby. You made a banner?”

She was across the room and in his arms a second later. He caught her with a soft, surprised breath, holding her tight, lifting her slightly off the ground.

“I missed you so much,” she whispered, burying her face in his neck.

“I thought about you every second,” he said. “Couldn’t wait to come back to you.”

“You’re here now,” she murmured, kissing his jaw, his cheek, the corner of his mouth.

He grinned — and then she kissed him fully, properly, like she'd been waiting all month. Because she had.

His hands slid up under her hoodie as they stumbled toward the sofa, laughing between kisses, clumsy with how much they wanted — wanted to be close, wanted to feel like themselves again, all skin and heartbeats and soft sighs.

The banner fluttered slightly above them. Henry meowed disapprovingly at being ignored, and promptly turned tail and stomped into the kitchen.

Francesca’s back hit the sofa cushions, a quiet gasp leaving her as Oscar followed her down, his thumbs brushing the warm skin just beneath her ribs.

“I like this hoodie on you,” he said into her neck. “But I need it gone.”

She laughed softly, breath hitching as he kissed a slow line along her collarbone. “I stole it fair and square.”

“I’ll let you have it back,” he said, pulling it up, over her head — his fingers a little clumsy, caught in her hair. “Later.”

He kissed her like he meant it — deep and slow, like he had nowhere else in the world to be, like he’d missed her every single second they’d been apart. His hands found her waist, curved over her hips like muscle memory, tugging her closer until she could feel how much he wanted her.

“You’re warm,” she whispered, letting her legs fall open just enough to pull him between them.

“I ran up the stairs,” he murmured against her lips. “I couldn’t wait for the lift.”

Clothes came off in messy layers, half-laughed, half-torn, with the urgency of two people who’d waited too long and weren’t even trying to be patient anymore.

Francesca traced her fingers down the line of his spine, kissed the corner of his mouth, then his jaw, then lower. Oscar groaned softly, eyes fluttering shut, already breathless.

When he finally sank into her, their bodies fitting together like they always had — like they were made for this — Francesca clutched at his shoulders, pulled him in even closer.

“Hi,” she whispered, dazed and dizzy.

Oscar laughed, kissed her with a grin. “Hi, beautiful.”

They moved slow at first — hands roaming, mouths exploring, like they were relearning each other from scratch — then faster, more desperate, tangled up in each other and the couch cushions and the soft creak of the old wooden floorboards beneath them.

Oscar murmured her name, forehead pressed to hers, eyes so full of awe it made her chest ache.

She came first, clinging to him, breath caught on a gasp, heart wide open.

He followed with a low, wrecked moan, collapsing against her with a weight that felt more like surrender than anything else. Safe. Home.

— 

ONE WEEK LATER

Francesca checked the oven clock for the third time in as many minutes.

“They land in half an hour,” Oscar said behind her, slipping his arms around her waist and leaning his chin on her shoulder. “We’ve got ages, babe.”

“I just—what if your mum doesn’t like me?” she asked, turning slightly in his hold, nerves edging her voice. “What if your dad thinks I’m weird? What if your sister thinks I’m… boring?”

Oscar gave her a flat look. “Hattie has your book pre-ordered. A signed copy. She talks about you all the damn time.”

Francesca blinked up at him. “She does not.”

“She does,” he said with a grin, pressing a soft kiss to the shell of her ear. “My mum is trying to fake being cool, but she’s so excited to meet you. And my dad’s probably going to try and convince us both to go back to Australia with them and then never let us leave.”

She breathed in deeply, but her shoulders didn’t fully settle. “Should I have made a roast? Should I have baked something?” she asked, after a beat, wringing her fingers in the hem of her jumper.

Oscar leaned back slightly so he could see her face better, resting his hands lightly on her hips. “Baby. No one’s expecting anything from you. They just want to meet you. That’s it.”

Francesca gave him a sceptical look, but he just smiled, warm and fond and utterly sure. 

“We’re going to order that really good takeaway Thai that you love, and we’ve got Henry on emotional support duty, and you look—” he paused, letting his eyes sweep her slowly, head to toe, “—ridiculously beautiful. I would kiss you right now, except that I’m afraid if I start, I won’t be able to stop.”

She gave him a small, reluctant smile, and he caught her chin gently between his fingers to tip her gaze up.

“You don’t have to perform for them,” he said softly. “Just be you. That’s the person I fell for. That’s the person they’re about to fall for too.”

Francesca blinked, throat suddenly thick. “God, you’re good at this.”

Oscar grinned. “What, being your boyfriend? Yeah. Been practising.”

She sniffed in amusement, leaning into him. “Love you.” 

He lifted her onto the kitchen counter. She automatically wrapped her legs around his waist and draped her arms over his shoulders. 

“Love you more.” He said against her lips. 

—

Three hours later, they were at the door.

Francesca stood just behind Oscar, her palms slightly damp where they pressed to the hem of her t-shirt. 

Oscar glanced back at her with a soft smile, one hand already on the door handle. “You’re gonna be fine. Promise.”

She nodded, even though her stomach was somersaulting.

Then, the door swung open.

“Oscar!”

Nicole barely gave her son a second to breathe before she launched into a hug — arms wound tightly around his shoulders, her face pressed against his cheek. She was radiant, glamorous in that naturally chic way, with a warm Australian accent that rolled off her tongue like sunlight.

“Oh my god, my boy,” she said, pulling back to hold him at arm’s length like she needed to take stock of him in real time. “You look so good. Older!”

Oscar laughed, ducking his head. “Mum, you literally saw me two months ago.”

Nicole turned — and her expression immediately softened into something even warmer. Her eyes found Francesca. “And you must be Francesca.”

Before Francesca could say a word, she was swept into a firm, no-nonsense hug that smelled faintly of sandalwood and rose. Nicole’s grip was all-in — no hesitation, no formality. Just pure unbridled warmth.

“You are so beautiful,” she said, cupping Francesca’s cheek in both hands once she stepped back. “He’s completely obsessed with you, you know.”

Francesca blinked, and then her face flamed red. “Um — likewise.” She whispered, glancing over at Oscar, who winked at her, and then blushed himself when he realised his mum had probably seen him do it. 

Then came Chris, who stepped up behind Nicole with an easy, gentlemanly smile. He was tall and quietly charismatic, with the kind of calming energy that could neutralise a room.

“Lovely to finally meet you,” he said, extending a hand.

When Francesca shook it, he gave a small nod and gently patted her other hand, like she was someone to be trusted with something precious. “Thank you for looking after our boy.”

She smiled, unsure what to say, but touched by how genuine he sounded.

And then—

A thud and a grunt came from behind them, and Oscar rolled his eyes fondly. “And that’s Hattie.”

Hattie stumbled in with a duffel bag slung over one shoulder and sunglasses still perched on her head. She was all chaotic charm — jeans with paint on them, an oversized denim jacket, and about six mismatched rings.

“Finally,” she said, dropping the bag like it had personally offended her and striding over to Francesca. “You’re real! And you’re so pretty!” 

Francesca laughed, startled by the sheer energy. “I— Thank you. So are you.”

“I can’t believe I’m actually in your apartment.” Hattie threw her arms around Francesca like they were already best friends, and it filled Francesca with ease. “I’m sorry in advance for how much I’m gonna annoy you this weekend, but I literally feel like I’m meeting my favourite internet celebrity right now.”

Oscar mouthed, told you so from behind her.

Nicole was cooing at Henry, who was perched high on the windowsill, blinking slowly .“And you must be Henry,” she said, voice pitched like she was meeting royalty. “Gosh, he’s even cuter than he is in the pictures.”

“This is his palace,” Oscar added, dropping his bag by the door. “He just lets us stay because we feed him.”

Us. We.

Francesca felt the words settle somewhere soft in her chest, warm and unfamiliar. She wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to it — the ease with which he spoke like this place belonged to both of them.

Chris chuckled and stepped further in. “Right then — do we get to sit down, or is this a standing-room-only sort of welcome?”

Francesca laughed, finally exhaling a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

“Come in,” she said, stepping aside, warmth blooming slowly in her chest. “We ordered enough Thai food to feed a small village.”

Nicole beamed. “Perfect.”

Oscar caught her eye, brushing her hand with his as everyone made to settle into the small space. “See? Told you they’d love you.”

She gave him a look, but couldn’t help smiling. “They’re not so bad,” she murmured, grinning as she watched Hattie try to pick a nervous Henry up. 

Chris grunted as he sank into the couch, only to immediately shift and reach behind him with a puzzled look. He pulled out a small ball of tangled yarn and a pair of knitting needles. “Oh. Do you knit, Francesca?”

Francesca froze, blinking at him like a deer caught in headlights. “Um—”

Oscar, stood beside her, folded over with a wheeze of laughter, practically choking on it.

She glared at him. 

Chris looked confused. 

Nicole just watched them, a serene smile on her face. 

And Hattie… Hattie was still trying to convince Henry to let her hold him. 

— 

The kitchen was warm, golden-lit and quiet. The distant hum of laughter and murmured conversation came from the living room, where Oscar and Hattie were still squabbling over who got the last of the noodles.

Francesca stood in-front the sink, rinsing mugs and lining them up on the counter. She liked the rhythm of it — slow and grounding. She didn’t hear Nicole come in until the older woman leaned gently against the counter beside her.

“Can I help with anything, sweetheart?” Nicole asked softly, already reaching for a tea towel.

Francesca smiled and shook her head. “I’m good, I promise. Nearly done.”

Nicole didn’t move. Instead, she watched her for a moment, and then said, “Thank you again, for having us. I know it’s a lot — letting all of us into your space like this.”

Francesca shrugged, a little shyly. “I— Oscar’s always here, it only makes sense that you guys get to spend some time here too.”

Nicole’s eyes warmed. “Still. It’s a big thing, meeting everyone. You’ve been great.” 

Francesca dried her hands and leaned back against the counter, suddenly a little fidgety under the praise. “I was very nervous,” she admitted. “I still kind of am.”

Nicole’s brow furrowed, gently. “Why?”

Francesca gave a half-laugh, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I don’t know. I guess I just… wanted to impress you.”

Nicole reached over, placing a hand over Francesca’s. “Oh, darling,” she said softly. “From the first time Oscar told me about you, I could hear it in his voice — how much you mean to him. You don’t ever have to be anything other than yourself to impress anyone, but especially us.”

Francesca blinked, throat tightening unexpectedly. “Really?”

“Of course,” Nicole said.

Francesca looked down, her cheeks pink, unsure what to say.

Nicole gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “For what it’s worth, I’m proud of you. From what Oscar shared with me in those early weeks, and then seeing you now? You’ve come so far, honey.”

Francesca’s voice was barely more than a breath. “Thank you.”

Nicole smiled, warm and full of something steady. “Just make sure he’s eating enough vegetables and not leaving dirty socks everywhere, alright?”

Francesca let out a soft laugh, the lump in her throat loosening. “I can definitely try. The sock thing’s a losing battle though.”

Nicole nudged her shoulder with a conspiratorial grin. “That’s alright. He’s always been a bit hopeless. But he’s got a good heart. Always has.”

Francesca’s gaze dropped, her cheeks warm. “Yeah. I know.”

Nicole reached for a dish towel and tossed it over her shoulder with practiced ease. “Now come on. If we leave those three alone for too long, they might start to miss us.”

Oscar appeared in the doorway just as Nicole finished speaking, shoulder propped lazily against the frame, his hair a little mussed and his cheeks pink from laughing. He looked so at ease, so completely at home in this little corner of her world, that Francesca felt her heart catch in her chest.

“Too late,” he said, grinning. “I was about to launch a search party.”

Nicole rolled her eyes. “Always so dramatic.”

Francesca stared at him, utterly endeared by the chaos, by his easy warmth — by how he made this space, this life, feel so full. So safe. She didn’t move, even as he crossed the kitchen in a few strides and wrapped his arms around her from behind, pulling her into his chest like it was instinct. Like she belonged there.

“You good?” he murmured against her hair, his voice low, meant just for her.

She nodded. Pressed into him. Let herself just… exist in his orbit. 

She leaned up a little as Nicole walked back through to the living room, whispering just under her breath, “I’m really glad they’re here.”

Oscar’s lips pressed against the top of her head with a lingering kiss. “Me too, baby.”

— 

Chris didn’t cry when he unwrapped his scarf, embroidered with Oscar’s race number and their surname, but his eyes did get suspiciously shiny, and he hugged her for a solid two minutes afterwards. 

— 

A WEEK LATER

iMessage — Oscar & Francesca 

Oscar 

Okay I may or may not have gone a bit rogue

Francesca 

?? explain pls

Oscar

I got us cinnamon buns the size of our heads

Also two kinds of cake because I couldn’t decide which one I wanted more

And the coffee place had your weird vanilla oat thing so I got two just in case you want one for later too

Francesca 

aw baby ur the best bf ever 

but like every time i roll over and you’re not there i lose a year off my life. i’m down to like. five.

hurry up and come back

Oscar

Back in 5

Don’t move

Or do move if Henry gets hungry 

But otherwise stay cosy

I have carbs and caffeine and I love you. 

Francesca 

i wanna thank you with my mouth. not the talking kind.

Oscar 

Aw. You’re so romantic baby.  

—

They were in bed, a few days later, when she finally gathered enough nerve to bring it up. 

The duvet was pulled up to her chin, her socked feet tucked beneath Oscar’s legs for warmth. The bedside lamp cast a soft, golden glow over the room, and outside the window, the sky was navy. It was quiet — Henry was snoring from his new tee-pee bed in the corner of the room. Oscar had bought it for him as an early Christmas present. 

Francesca had been quiet for a while, absently scrolling on her phone, her fingers lingering too long on the same screen. Oscar had noticed — of course he had — but he didn’t press. Just waited.

Then, eventually, she said, “I told my mum I’d go home for Christmas.”

Oscar turned his head on the pillow, looking at her. “Yeah?”

She nodded, small and hesitant. “Yeah.”

There was a beat of silence, before he asked, in that same soft voice that made her stomach warm, “How do you feel about it?”

She looked down at her hands, thumbs pressing into each other. “I don’t know. Not good.”

He shifted beside her, the duvet rustling. “Talk to me, baby…”

“I’m scared,” she admitted, quietly, ashamed of the words. “The last time I was there, I was the worst version of myself. Hurting, hiding, constantly ashamed of myself.” She sniffled. 

Oscar sat up and then reached beneath the duvet to grab her by the hips. With ease, he pulled her up and out of the sheets and onto his lap, letting her curl into his chest and holding her like she was the most precious thing in the world. 

Her voice wobbled. “I’ve been trying not to think about it. I haven’t even booked flights yet. Every time I try, I feel like I can’t breathe.”

Oscar gave her hand a squeeze. “Then I’ll do it.”

She blinked over at him. “What?”

“I’ll book everything,” he said gently. “I’ll figure it out. We’ll fly out of Gatwick.” 

Her brows furrowed, eyes going wide. “Osc, you don’t have to—”

“I’ll figure it out,” he repeated, more firm that time. “I know I don’t have to,” he said, his thumb brushing over her cheekbone. “But why wouldn’t I, if it makes things easier for you? I know you can do it alone. That’s not why I’m offering. I just… want to be there to take care of you. That’s all.”

Francesca’s chest gave a quiet, aching sort of flutter. There was so much love packed into his words, steady and certain. And when she looked at him — really looked — she realised: this wasn’t just kindness. It was commitment. He’d said we’ll, without hesitation. Like it wasn’t even an option to let her go alone.

A tear slipped down her cheek before she could stop it.

Oscar caught it with the pad of his thumb. “Hey.” He whispered. 

“I’m okay,” she whispered, her voice catching. “I’m just… relieved. And so lucky to have you.” 

“I’m the lucky one,” he said simply, kissing her forehead. “Always.”

Francesca let herself melt into him, burrowing into his chest as his arms came around her.

After a moment, he mumbled into her hair, “Now I just have to figure out which airline we should fly with. Because I’m not squeezing into a stupid EasyJet seat for five hours.”

She laughed into his shirt. “God, I love you.”

He hummed against her temple. “I know.”

—

The morning of the trip started early, still silent and black outside when Oscar’s phone alarm buzzed. Francesca had barely slept, despite Oscar’s arms wrapped around her all night, steady and grounding. Her stomach was tight twisted with anxiety, the familiar anticipation of pure fear already blooming in her chest.

But from the moment she opened her eyes, Oscar was calm. Unhurried. Kind.

He kissed her forehead. “Everything’s sorted, baby. All you have to do is get dressed and get in the car.”

And it was true — he’d done everything. Their bags were packed and ready by the door. Their passports tucked safely in the front pocket of his backpack. The car service was on its way. At the airport, he had everything already checked in. He handed her the boarding pass with her name on it like it was a love letter rather than a potential death sentence.

But it didn’t hit her fully until they were going through security — the long queue, the low hum of fluorescent lights, the crowd pressing too close, her backpack feeling too heavy and her hands too empty at the same time.

She felt the shift — the surge of static under her skin, the way the air suddenly felt too thin.

Oscar noticed immediately.

“Hey.” His voice was low, soft. Just for her. “You’re okay.”

She was shaking her head before he’d even finished the sentence.

Oscar stepped in front of her, shielding her slightly from the crowd. “Alright. Look at me.”

She did — barely.

“Remember what Dr. Kapoor said?” he murmured. “In for four.”

He held up his fingers, counting silently. She matched his breath, though it came shuddering at first.

“That’s it,” he said, nodding. “Hold for four.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. He counted again.

“And out for six.”

It took a few rounds. But eventually the tremble eased. Her hands relaxed where they’d clenched around the strap of her bag.

When she opened her eyes again, his were waiting for hers. Steady. Gentle. Proud.

“I’ve got you,” he said.

He always did. 

When she blinked up at him in surprise as they stopped at the business class gate, he added gently, “There’s also a hotel booked for us near your parents’ place, so you can have space if you need it. I got a room with a giant bathtub.” Then he smirked, trying to cut through the tension winding tight around her shoulders. “Also, I hired a car. It’ll be at the airport when we land. Figured you’d be more comfortable with me driving than, you know, someone else.”

She stared at him, then narrowed her eyes, suspicion creeping in beneath the nerves. “What kind of car?”

“A nice one,” he said, bumping his shoulder gently into hers, like he wasn’t trying to soothe her — but he was. He always was. “Fast. Pretty. Might be orange.”

She chuckled in response and leaned into him fully, her entire weight settling against his side. It was early — painfully early — and despite the bustle of the airport, with the overhead lights too bright and the tannoy voice too loud and clipped, Oscar was like a shield between her and the world.

No one had recognised him yet, which felt almost miraculous. But it was before dawn, and he had his hood up, and Francesca was practically plastered to his side. He’d angled himself between her and everyone else as they queued, one hand low on her back. Steady. 

Every echo bounced around her skull, every sharp noise chipped away at her carefully built calm. Her chest was tight, like her ribs were drawn in with string, and she hadn’t taken a deep breath since they left the flat.

She hated this part — the waiting. The shuffling forward. The lack of exits. Her fingers had long since curled into fists inside the pocket of her coat, nails digging crescents into her palms, and she didn’t even notice until Oscar gently untucked one hand and threaded his fingers through hers.

“Breathe,” he said softly, his thumb brushing hers. “You’re doing so good, ‘Cesca. Just hold on a bit longer.”

Her throat ached with how much she loved him for that — the complete lack of frustration when she was like this. When she was small and quiet and too overwhelmed to mask it in any sort of way.

“I hate this,” she whispered, her voice raw with shame she couldn’t fully hide.

“I know,” he said, like it wasn’t a problem. Like it was just a fact.

She blinked hard, swallowing the lump forming thick in her throat.

“You really got an orange car?” She asked, with a hint of disgust in her wobbly voice. 

Oscar smiled down at her, soft and utterly besotted. “Yep. It’s so flashy. Your mum will absolutely hate it.” 

A breath of laughter slipped out of her, shaky but real. It loosened something in her chest.

And Oscar kissed the top of her head. “That’s my girl.”

— 

iMessage — Katie & Francesca 

Katie 

Your son misses you but he is being spoiled rotten by his godmother 

*insert picture of Henry asleep in Katie’s bathtub*

Francesca 

stop. i miss him so much already

my shaylaaaaaaaa

Katie 

He’s a big fan of my new curtains

They’re very climbable apparently 😃

Franceca 

omg 

if he tears them down i’ll pms 

Katie 

They cost me a lot of money Francesca 

Francesca 

henry has no morals, money doesn’t matter to him

he chewed up oscar’s 5k sunglasses the other day 

it was hilarious

Katie 

Why does your bf own 5k sunglasses?

Francesca 

he doesn’t anymore lmaooooo

—

The engine purred beneath them like it was alive — a low, silky rumble that vibrated through the soles of her shoes. Francesca sat in the passenger seat, her fingers curled around the edge of the leather seat, the window cracked open just enough to let in the Spanish air. It cut through the lingering hum of adrenaline in her chest.

The sports car — bright, loud, and so orange — gleamed obnoxiously in the afternoon light. It had turned every head in the car park.

Oscar glanced at her from the driver’s seat as they idled at a stop light, his hand resting palm-up on the console between them, waiting for hers. “You did so good today,” he said, sincere and soft.

Francesca looked at him. He had his sunglasses on, the ones he’d bought at the airport out of necessity, thanks to Henry. The way his mouth tilted was all affection — proud, reassuring. Safe.

She exhaled, the sound shaky. “Thanks,” she said. Then, after a beat, she added, “I feel like I might need to completely shut down. Like, physically curl into a ball and not speak again until tomorrow.”

Oscar nodded like that made perfect sense. “Then that’s what we do,” he said simply. “Shut down protocol activated. We’ll go straight to the hotel now, yeah? I’ll run you a bath, order room service, give you your big headphones, and we won’t even think about the outside world until tomorrow.”

The words wrapped around her like a warm blanket. She didn’t have to pretend. Didn’t have to force a smile or hold a conversation when all she wanted was to disappear for a bit and let her nervous system recalibrate.

“You sure you don’t mind?” she asked, voice small.

He glanced at her again, reaching over to squeeze her thigh. “Baby. You’ve been holding yourself together since we left the flat. You don’t have to prove anything to me. You’ve already done the hard part — you got on the plane. You landed. You’re here.”

She let out a laugh that was more breath than sound. “I’m not sure how I managed to do it.”

“You just did,” Oscar said.

The light turned green. He eased them forward, smooth and unbothered, like they had all the time in the world. The car glided, fast and controlled — a strange, soothing contrast to the chaos inside her.

Francesca let herself sag back into the seat, exhaustion settling in like fog. Her fingers brushed over Oscar’s where they rested beside the gear shift, warm and steady. “I’ll text my mum,” she murmured. “Tell her I’ll see her tomorrow instead.”

Oscar glanced at her, eyes soft beneath the shadow of his lashes. “She still doesn’t know I’m coming, does she?”

“I told her I was bringing my boyfriend,” she said with a wry smile. “She thought I was joking.” 

He laughed lowly, giving her hand a squeeze. “I’ll be a surprise then.” 

“A big one.” She hummed. 

— 

The hotel room was dim and quiet, lit only by the pinkish glow of the evening light and the television flickering on the wall. Francesca was curled up on the bed in one of Oscar’s shirts, her legs stretched across his lap as he absentmindedly rubbed her calf beneath the blanket.

Her phone buzzed against the duvet.

She ignored it once. Twice. But the third time, she sighed and grabbed it.

—

iMessage — Izzy & Francesca 

Izzy

Seriously? A hotel? You’re literally ten minutes away from the house.

You’re so ridiculous.

Mum thinks so too, btw

—

Francesca’s stomach twisted. She swallowed hard and set the phone face-down, trying to push the sudden weight in her chest back down.

Oscar felt the shift in her immediately. He tapped her leg gently. “Hey. What was that?”

“Nothing,” she said too quickly. “Just Izzy being... Izzy.”

He reached across and plucked the phone from the duvet before she could protest, flipping it over and reading the messages. His jaw tightened slightly.

“She texted you that?” he asked, tone flat.

Francesca didn’t answer — just looked at him, unsure what to say.

Oscar exhaled slowly. “I’m not sure whether I’m going to like her.”

Her lips twitched in a smile. “Yeah, well. She’s not exactly an easy sell.”

He tossed the phone back down and refocused on her. “You don’t have to defend any of this, okay? Wanting space. Setting boundaries. You’re an adult.”

She nodded, but her throat was too tight to speak.

Oscar leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her knee.

Francesca blinked at him, then crawled into his lap fully, curling into the warmth of him like he was the only place on earth she felt safe.

“You’re kind of perfect, you know that?” she whispered into his shoulder.

He smiled against her hair. “Only for you.”

— 

The hotel bathroom was steamy, dimly lit, quiet but for the gentle hum of running water and the soft slosh as Francesca shifted back against Oscar’s chest.

He had his arms around her, legs bracketing hers beneath the bubbles, and she was half-asleep with how warm and safe she felt. Her damp hair clung to the curve of her neck and his lips followed it there, pressing lazy kisses into her skin like he had nowhere else to be — like he’d never want to be anywhere else.

“You good?” he murmured against her shoulder, voice low and sleepy.

She nodded, hand finding his beneath the water. “Mhm. This helps.”

He smiled against her skin, tightening his arm a little. “Good. You did so well today.”

Francesca sighed, the kind that came from somewhere deep in her chest. “I don’t feel like I did.”

Oscar nudged his nose into her hair. “Doesn’t change the fact that you did.”

She turned just slightly, enough to see him, cheeks pink from the heat and eyes heavy-lidded with the same tenderness she felt blooming in her chest.

“You always say that.”

“That’s because I always mean it,” he said simply. “And also because you’re naked and wet and sitting in my lap and it’s extremely… nice.”

A laugh broke out of her before she could stop it — breathless and disbelieving and adoring. “I knew this was a trap.”

“Hey,” he protested softly, grinning now, “I’m being very respectful. For now.”

She shifted again, slow and languid, and tilted her head just enough to kiss him — long and sleepy and close. His hand slid up her arm, water dripping down her shoulder, and when he kissed her back, it was with a kind of quiet worship that said more than words ever could.

She let herself sink against him again, head tucked into the space beneath his jaw, their hearts beating steady and warm beneath the surface of the water.

Slowly, his hand skimmed down her side, slow and deliberate, fingers trailing like he was savouring every inch of her. When he reached the inside of her thigh, he paused, thumb brushing lazy circles on soft skin, peering down at her with hooded, burning eyes.

“Tell me what you want,” he said, his lips ghosting against her collarbone. “Baby.” 

“You,” she breathed. “Always you.”

That made something flicker in him — something reverent. He kissed her then, deeper, more possessive, like he couldn’t help himself. His hand moved again, higher this time, between her legs, gentle but assured.

She gasped into his mouth as his fingers slipped against her — teasing, exploring, learning. Her hips jerked, but he held her steady, murmuring soft praise against her cheek as he worked her open.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he said, coaxing. “Just let go for me.”

And she did.

So beautifully.

— 

The house hadn’t changed.

Same red bricks, same Christmas wreaths hung on the windows, same too-tight smile on her mother’s face when she answered the door. Francesca stood half behind Oscar, already regretting everything, but it was too late now — her sister was storming into the hallway behind their mum, eyes widening when they landed on him.

“Oh my god,” she said, and it wasn’t subtle. “You’re Oscar Piastri.”

Her mum blinked. “I’m sorry, who?”

Oscar smiled, polite and calm. “Hi, I’m Oscar. Francesca’s boyfriend.”

That made her dad glance up from where he was reading something at the dining table, just inside the house. “Boyfriend?”

“I told you I was bringing someone,” Francesca said, her voice smaller than she meant it to be.

Her sister gave a bark of laughter. “You didn’t say you were bringing him. Like, fucking Oscar Piastri. Jesus.”

“Mum thought I was joking,” Francesca said, attempting levity, but it didn’t quite land.

Her mother’s eyes swept over Oscar like she didn’t believe he was real. “Well. You’ve never brought a boyfriend home before.”

Oscar laced his fingers with hers, thumb brushing along the side of her hand.

Her sister rolled her eyes, sharp and narrowed as she looked between Francesca and Oscar. “How did you two even happen?” she asked, the words coated in a thin, scoffing laugh.

Francesca didn’t answer.

She didn’t even flinch.

Instead, she felt herself start to slip — quiet and practiced — into that small, familiar corner of her mind she’d built a long time ago. A place made for moments like this, when it was safer to fold in on herself than push back. When it was easier to go quiet than let the words catch in her throat.

“Bloody hell,” her dad muttered, eyes fixed just over their shoulders. “That’s a lovely car.”

Francesca didn’t need to turn around to know he meant the Ferrari parked at the curb, sleek and ridiculous in its McLaren-orange glory.

Her mum glanced at it and immediately wrinkled her nose. “Gaudy,” she said, as if the word had a bad taste.

—

Later, at lunch, the table was crowded with mismatched dishes and clattering silverware. Francesca picked at a slice of bread, her appetite dulled by the tension sitting heavy in her chest.

“I mean,” her mum said, cutting her food, “it’s lovely to see you like this. Smiling. You must be doing so much better now, with the boyfriend and everything.”

Oscar paused mid-chew. Francesca didn’t move at all.

Her mum went on, cutting into her salad with a little too much force. “It’s almost like magic, really. A famous boyfriend and poof — all that silly anxiety, just gone.”

The words hung heavy in the air, clinking harder than cutlery.

Francesca’s stomach tightened, but she didn’t look up.

Her sister laughed — sharp, high-pitched, and cruel. “Mum, I’ve been trying to tell you for years. It’s all for show. Attention. It’s the only reason people care about her online, too — they think she’s fragile. It’s ridiculous. She’s clearly doing just fine.”

Francesca swallowed hard. Her vision prickled at the edges.

Oscar set his fork down slowly. “‘Cesca,” he said, his voice gentle but direct, “do you want to leave?”

Her hands had curled into her lap. They were sore. She hadn’t even realised that she’d started doing it, pinching and twisting at her own skin. She didn’t look at him, but she nodded.

He pushed his chair back, scraping against the floor. “Okay,” he said, standing. “Let’s go.”

There was stunned silence.

Oscar didn’t let it hang in the air. He turned to her parents, calm but firm, his voice low and unwavering. “You have no idea how hard this is for her.”

“Oh, Oscar, darling—” Francesca’s mum started, her tone already turning frantic.

Her dad stared at his plate, suddenly very interested in his untouched food.

Her mum pressed her lips together, eyes flicking from Francesca to Oscar and back again, something uncertain flickering behind her defensiveness.

Her sister, however, didn’t flinch. She stared at Oscar like she was trying to figure out how best to wound him — something cold and mean curling behind her narrowed eyes.

Francesca blinked quickly, fighting back the sting behind her eyes as Oscar stood, helping her into her coat with practiced care. He didn’t raise his voice, didn’t make a scene — he just… said exactly what needed to be said. 

There were no more words spoken. 

Just the soft scrape of the front door opening and then clicking shut.

And then they were gone.

—

The car was silent for a while, save for the low hum of the engine and the distant rush of the road beneath them. Francesca stared out the window, the world blurring past.

“I probably made it worse. By leaving like that,” she whispered eventually.

“You didn’t,” Oscar said, eyes steady on the road.

She let her head fall back against the seat. “Where are we going?”

“Somewhere quiet,” he said. “You need to breathe.”

When the coastline came into view, she nearly cried again — salt air and the sound of gulls overhead, a long stretch of sand just beyond the dunes.

Oscar parked, turned to her, and gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Let’s just sit for a while,” he said. “Yeah?”

Francesca didn’t say anything. She just nodded, already climbing into his lap the moment the engine turned off, curling into his chest like it was where she belonged. 

The safest place in the world. 

— 

Back at the hotel, the door had barely shut behind them when Francesca pressed her face into Oscar’s chest. She was quiet for a long time, just letting herself feel him — solid, warm, here. His arms came around her without hesitation.

“Your family made me feel more loved in a few days,” she murmured, voice muffled against his hoodie, “than mine ever have. Isn’t that so messed up?”

Oscar exhaled slowly, resting his chin on the top of her head. “It’s just… their loss.”

She tilted her head back to look at him. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you today.”

“You’ll never have to find out.” His voice was soft, but the promise in it was solid.

Her eyes shimmered. “You really mean that, don’t you?”

Oscar’s thumb brushed gently across her cheek. “One day,” he said, tone suddenly light, teasing at the edges, “you’ll be a Piastri, and you won’t just have my family — you’ll be my family.”

She blinked, startled, then laughed, even as her throat caught. “Are you proposing right now?”

“Absolutely not.” He shook his head. “Not while you’re wearing socks with cats on them.”

“They’re Henry socks,” she protested. “You were the one who got them for me.”

“I know. I still think they’re hideous.” His grin tugged at one side, but then softened into something gentler, more sincere. “Just saying… you’ve got me. And my family. For good.”

She leaned in, brushing her lips against his jaw, the affection in her chest rising up like a tide.

Then she nipped at his skin, not hard, but firm enough to make him flinch.

He winced with a half-laugh. “Babe…”

“Sorry,” she said, not sounding sorry at all. “Thinking about being your wife made me feel a bit feral.”

— 

iMessage — Oscar & Mark

Oscar 

I’m going to marry her one day 

Mark 

You are both 22 years old

You’re fucking babies 

Oscar 

I said one day, not tomorrow 

Maybe next week 

Mark

Crikey. 

— 

Oscar leans against the counter, phone pressed to his ear. Through the open door, he can still hear Francesca’s soft, steady breathing from the bed — dead to the world after the long, emotionally exhausting day she’d just endured.

His mum picks up on the second ring. “Hey, sweetheart. Everything okay?”

Oscar exhales, scrubbing a hand through his curls. “Not really.”

There’s a pause, a shift in her tone. “What’s happened?”

“Francesca’s asleep,” he says quietly. “Finally. But… God, Mum. Her family. It was worse than I thought.”

Nicole is silent for a beat, letting him talk.

“They made all these little comments. Acted like—  like they don’t know her at all.” He paces a little. “They talk over her. Around her. Like she’s not even in the bloody room. And she just— she shuts down. I watched it happen; right in front of me.”

Nicole sighs, low and full of something maternal and knowing. “Our poor girl.”

Oscar leans back against the sink, pinching the bridge of his nose. “She deserves so much better. They make her feel like she’s small. Like she’s in the way. I want to—” He breaks off, jaw clenched. “I want to protect her from all of it. I just don’t know where the line has to be, you know? They’re still her family, whether I like it or not.”

Nicole doesn’t speak immediately. When she does, her voice is gentle, firm. “You’re already doing it, Oscar. Protecting her.”

He swallows hard. “It doesn’t feel like I’m doing enough.”

“Well, she’s not alone now, is she?”

He shakes his head, more to himself than to her. “No. She’s not.”

There’s a soft pause. “Book some flights,” Nicole says simply.

Oscar stills. “What?”

“To come home,” she says. “Both of you. Bring her here. Let her rest. Let her breathe. You said she felt loved when she was with us — so let’s give her some more of that at a time of the year when everyone deserves to be surrounded by it. Show her what home is supposed to feel like.”

His heart aches with warmth for his mum, even as he hesitates, thinking about the logistics, wondering if Francesca would even be ready for that kind of leap. “You don’t mind?”

Nicole scoffs, like the question itself is absurd. “Darling, I bought her a beach cover-up for Christmas. It’s wrapped and under the tree. I was counting on you bringing her here.”

Oscar grins, the weight in his chest easing just slightly. “You’re the best.”

“I know,” she teases. “Now go get some sleep. And tell her we can’t wait to see her again.”

Oscar hangs up a minute later, slipping quietly back into bed. Francesca stirs, curling instinctively into him as he slides under the covers. He kisses the top of her head, breathes in her raspberry scent, and lets himself drift. 

CHAPTER SEVEN PT.2

[hello-gloomy]

Could I get a xeno x fem reader where the reader was also a nasa scientist and they reunite after petrification and the reader was with the kingdom of science. Maybe the readers body drifted to Japan and senku recognized her or something. Thank you very much!!

I'm so sorry I think I strayed a bit far from the plot, I had to keep walking away and coming back to it.

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

Without Me!?!

Xeno Wingfield x Fem!Reader

Description: Originally, being with the Japanese colony meant you knew nothing of what happened around the rest of the world; come to your surprise when you arrive in America and find out your husband and his stupid best friend are the ones you fight with you promptly tell them off.

Warnings: Cursing, sorry ass Xeno again, sappy shit lol, sprinkle angst.

A/N: sorry this took so long and if it's a bit all over the place.

Words: 822

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

"You three with me now." You were beyond pissed, and you hoped it showed on your face; Senku was about to interrupt till he saw your glare and followed where you were leading the two leaders and the soldier. You walked away from your two groups to talk privately with the three men.

"My Dear-" Xeno started while holding his hands to you. Your glare hardened, and Stanley tried to hide a laugh with a cough. You sigh through your nose, not knowing where to start; the two scientists begin fidgeting while the sniper smokes. You eventually spoke up, starting with what made you the most mad about your situation.

"Seriously, Xeno." He looks up.

"STARTING A WAR WITH A CHILD?" You yell at him while pointing in said boy's direction; Stanley takes a step back while Xeno tries not to shrink back at your rage.

"I'm almost twenty." Senku starts, and you whip around to give him an unimpressed look, which shuts down the rest of his witty remarks.

"AND THEN WITH THE WORLD DOMINATION?" Xeno's staring down at his shoes now, and you continue to fuss at him before turning your tirade on to his best friend, asking how he could endorse him while you were gone.

"I go to Japan, and the apocalypse starts, and the two of you decide to become tyrants in my absence? Are you serious right now?" It takes everything in you not to strangle Stanley when he shrugs his shoulders. You hold your head in your hands, and Stanley grabs Senku and leaves you and your husband to have a moment to talk. You fall to your knees with a sob and furiously rub your eyes. Xeno comes and sits in front of you, wraps his arms around you, and slowly rocks you while mumbling to you.

"Do you know how scary it was to wake up on the other side of the world, having people speaking a different language, not seeing you when I woke up?" You told him, your eyes cloudly, thinking about how worried you were about him, spending years away from him, not knowing if he was awake.

"I was terrified when I woke and realized you weren't anywhere in the surrounding area. I had Stanley looking for you for days, " he tells you in turn while petting you absently. You rest your face on his chest and look up at him. He looks down at you, removes his gloves, and his bare hands meet the skin under your eyes, wiping away the rest of your tears. You lean into his hands, and he kisses your eyes gently before kissing your lips. You smile into the kiss, wrap your arms around him, and hum in his lips. The both of you bask in each other's presence for a bit before Xeno hoists you up to your feet; he leads you back to the fortress.

When both groups met to have a peaceful dinner to celebrate progress and move forward with each other, the dinner was highly awkward; any conversations that were being had were held with the respective group members and not with each other. You sat at the table with all the scientists: Suika, Chrome, Senku, and Xeno. Along with a few of the warriors: Tsukasa, Stanley, and Kohaku. And Gen ( You don't know when he joined.) Gen broke the silence with a simple question for you and Xeno.

"How did you and Xeno-chan meet?" There was a devious glint in his eyes. Xeno looked at you, which was a sign that you could answer.

"We met at one of Stanley's military events; we were the only people there wearing all black. I got a little closer to where he was to get a better look at who I thought was the most beautiful person at that sad excuse for a gala." As you told them, you spoke with a dreamy tone, and a few of the other members started to listen and pay attention.

"What was your first conversation like?" Suika butted in. This time, Xeno answered.

"She inquired about the documents I was overlooking during the event. She watched me with such rapture when I told her about them." He shares with a slight chuckle while looking at you again. Senku lets out a gag, and Stanley is grinning at you both. There's a few awe from the table, and you notice that the groups are now mingling. The others broke off into chats, and you and Xeno started your own one.

"Was it only my clothing you found interesting?" He asks while leaning closer.

"No, your intellect was also quite elegant, my love." You whisper to him and then flick his forehead; his pale skin turns pink. You spend the rest of the time sharing stories from the old world and making up for the days you drifted and ended up in Japan.

[tobiosbbyghorl]

moments with you

Glimpse of moments shared with you gymrat boyfriend

Spotter

You owere at Sunghoon’s home gym, casually sipping on your water bottle while he loaded up the bar for his bench press. His home setup was impressive—state-of-the-art equipment, sleek black and chrome accents, and a full-length mirror that reflected just how effortlessly cool he looked.

“You sure you don’t want to do a set?” he teased, flashing that boyish smirk as he settled onto the bench.

You rolled your eyes playfully. “I’m here to spot you, not embarrass myself.”

Sunghoon chuckled, gripping the bar. “Alright, then. Be a good spotter.”

That’s when an idea popped into your head. A slightly mischievous, slightly ridiculous idea.

As he lifted the bar, muscles flexing under his fitted tank top, you casually strolled behind him—then, without warning, you straddled his lap, your weight settling over his thighs.

His arms faltered mid-rep as he nearly choked on his own breath. “Wha—”

“Don’t worry, babe,” you said sweetly, resting your hands on his shoulders for “support.” “I got you.”

Sunghoon’s grip wavered before he quickly regained control, pressing the bar up with a mix of amusement and sheer willpower. “Oh, so this is how you spot now?” His voice was breathless but dripping with laughter.

You grinned. “Best method, trust me.”

He managed to rack the bar before letting out a dramatic sigh, tilting his head back against the bench to look at you. “You almost made me drop that, you little menace.”

You shrugged, feigning innocence. “Maybe I just wanted to motivate you.”

Sunghoon’s hands suddenly found your waist, squeezing playfully. “Oh, you’re in trouble now.”

Before you could react, he stood up with ease, effortlessly lifting you with him. You shrieked, clinging to his shoulders as he smirked. “Since you wanna play games, how about I add you to my next set? Ever heard of weighted squats?”

You laughed, half-thrilled, half-terrified. “Sunghoon, put me down!”

He only grinned wider. “Nah, my spotter needs to be part of the workout now.”

And just like that, your gym session turned into another chaotic—and undeniably adorable—moment with Sunghoon.

Late-Night Gym Shenanigans

It was nearly midnight, and Sunghoon had somehow convinced you to join him for a “quick session” at his home gym. You were already in your oversized hoodie and fuzzy socks, ready for bed, but he had other plans.

“Come on, just a couple of sets,” he said, eyes twinkling with amusement as he tugged on your sleeve. “You always say you wanna get stronger.”

You pouted, flopping dramatically onto the gym mat. “Yeah, but not at midnight, Hoon. Normal people sleep.”

Sunghoon chuckled, crouching down to your level. “Normal people also don’t giggle uncontrollably while filming gym vlogs.”

You gasped in mock offense. “How dare you. My subscribers love my gym fails.”

“That’s because they love you,” he murmured with a smirk, flicking your forehead gently before grabbing a pair of dumbbells. “Alright, at least try these. I promise, if you do a full set, I’ll carry you to bed after.”

Your ears perked up. “Princess carry?”

Sunghoon sighed, already knowing he had lost this battle. “Yes, princess carry.”

“Deal.”

You managed to get through a set, though your form was questionable at best, and Sunghoon made sure to tease you about it the entire time. But true to his word, the moment you finished, he swept you off your feet effortlessly, carrying you all the way to bed while you giggled into his shoulder.

“See? Told you I’d get you stronger,” he mused as he tucked you in.

You huffed, pulling the blanket up to your nose. “Mm-hmm. And now I’m going to sleep for a week.”

Sunghoon only grinned, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Good night, my sleepy baby”

Lifting You Up Just Because

It started off as a normal session—until Sunghoon decided he was done with actual weights and moved on to lifting you instead.

“Sunghoon, I am not a barbell—”

“Shh,” he said, effortlessly wrapping his arms around your waist before hoisting you up. “You’re the perfect weight for bicep curls.”

You squealed, grabbing onto his shoulders. “Put me down, you menace!”

“Not until I hit ten reps,” he teased, grinning as he curled you up and down.

You could hardly breathe from laughing. “Hoon, if you drop me, I swear—“

“I never drop my favorite weight,” he said smoothly.

Your cheeks burned, but you couldn’t even argue because, well… that was kinda cute.

And that was just another day with Sunghoon—your gym bro, your spotter, and the guy who made even workouts feel like the best kind of fun.”

"Sunghoon, Stop That!"

It was a lazy evening, and after a long gym session, you and Sunghoon were sprawled across his couch, exhausted but content. You had changed into comfy loungewear—one of his oversized hoodies that swallowed you whole—and were curled up against his side, half-watching a random fitness vlog playing on the TV.

Sunghoon, however, was completely distracted.

You felt it before you saw it—the gentle poke at your stomach. Then another. And another.

You turned your head, narrowing your eyes at him. “Hoon.”

“Hm?” He looked at you innocently, fingers still prodding at your soft belly. “What?”

You huffed. “Stop.”

“But why?” He grinned, now gently squishing one of your rolls between his fingers. “It’s so soft.”

Your face heated up. “Because it’s my stomach, and it’s ticklish!” You tried to swat his hands away, but he just laughed, catching both of your wrists in one of his hands.

“You know I love this, right?” he murmured, his teasing tone softening as his fingers traced small circles against your side. “Like, a lot.”

You pouted, still flustered. “You’re weird.”

Sunghoon smirked, resting his chin on your shoulder as his hand settled comfortably on your tummy, rubbing it affectionately. “Maybe. But you love me anyway.”

You sighed dramatically. “Unfortunately.”

“Wow,” he gasped, feigning hurt. “That’s crazy.”

You giggled, turning to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “Fine, fortunately.”

He smirked, squeezing you closer. “That’s what I thought.”

"Strong, Not Small"

Sunghoon had been bugging you for weeks to come to his gym, and today, you finally caved. You stood in the middle of the massive space, watching him adjust the weights on a barbell.

“I still don’t get why you wanted me to come,” you mused, crossing your arms. “You know I’m not trying to get shredded like you.”

Sunghoon rolled his eyes playfully and walked over, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Babe, I didn’t bring you here to make you lose weight,” he said, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. “I just want you to be healthy and strong. That’s all.”

You blinked up at him. “So… you don’t want me to slim down?”

He sighed, turning to face you fully, his hands resting on your hips. “Listen, if you want to, I’ll support you a hundred percent. But if you’re asking me? No. I love you exactly how you are.”

You tilted your head. “Even my belly?”

“Especially your belly,” he said without hesitation, grinning as he reached down to gently squeeze your sides. “And these thighs, and these arms, and these cheeks—” He cupped your face dramatically, squishing it in his hands. “I’d miss all of this way too much.”

You giggled, swatting at his hands. “You’re ridiculous.”

He smirked. “Maybe. But I’m serious. I don’t want you changing for me.” He poked your stomach teasingly. “This is my personal stress ball. What would I do without it?”

You rolled your eyes, but warmth spread through your chest. “You’re just obsessed with my fluff.”

“Damn right, I am.” He leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips before whispering, “Now, let’s go lift some weights. Not to be smaller, but to be stronger.”

You smiled, lacing your fingers with his. “Okay, coach. But I expect a post-workout snack after this.”

Sunghoon chuckled, pulling you toward the weights. “Babe, you already know we’re stopping for food after. That’s the best part.”

Boyfriend Rates My Outfits

"Hey guys! Today, I’ve roped Sunghoon into another fashion vlog, and this time, he’s going to rate my outfits! Let’s see if he actually knows fashion or if he’s just here to simp."

Sunghoon, lying comfortably on your bed in a hoodie and joggers, smirks at the camera. “First of all, I always simp. Second of all, I have great fashion sense. I am fully qualified for this.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You wear the same black hoodie every day.”

“And I look good doing it,” he shoots back.

You sigh dramatically. “Alright, let’s get started. Try not to be too biased.”

Outfit #1: Casual Day Out (Oversized sweater, leggings, and sneakers)

You step out in a cozy but stylish oversized cream sweater, paired with high-waisted black leggings and chunky sneakers.

Sunghoon tilts his head, taking in the look. “Okay, okay. This is very ‘I just woke up but I still look effortlessly cute.’”

You spin around. “It’s comfy, right? Good for running errands and getting coffee.”

He nods approvingly. “I like it. Bonus points because it means I get to steal your sweater later.”

You gasp. “Excuse me, you have your own hoodies!”

“Yes, but yours smell like you.” He grins shamelessly.

Rating: 9/10 (Comfy, cute, and stealable.)

Outfit #2: Date Night Chic (Fitted dress, heels, minimal jewelry)

The moment you step out in a sleek, form-fitting dress, Sunghoon’s entire demeanor changes. He sits up straight, running a hand through his hair as if preparing himself.

“Uh… wow.” His gaze slowly travels from your heels to your face. “Okay, hold on. I need a closer look.”

You smirk, giving a slow twirl. “So? Thoughts?”

He exhales dramatically. “First of all, who gave you permission to look this good? Second, I need to escort you everywhere when you wear this, because there is no way I’m letting other guys stare at you.”

You roll your eyes. “Relax, gym boy. It’s just a dress.”

“Just a dress?” He shakes his head. “No. This is a ‘Sunghoon-forgets-how-to-breathe’ dress.”

Rating: 11/10 (Too dangerous. Needs a security detail.)

Outfit #3: Cozy Lounge Fit (Matching pajama set, fluffy socks, messy bun)

You walk out in a matching pajama set—soft, pastel, and incredibly cozy. Sunghoon’s eyes immediately soften.

“Oh, this. This is my favorite.”

You giggle. “You haven’t even rated it yet.”

He shrugs, already reaching out. “I don’t need to. This means you’re comfy and I love you”

You laugh as he pulls you onto the bed beside him, arms snugly wrapping around your waist. “Sunghoon, I still have outfits left to show!”

He buries his face against your shoulder. “Don’t care. This one wins. You’re soft, warm, and huggable. End of vlog.”

You playfully nudge him away. “You are the worst fashion judge ever.”

He smirks, tilting his head. “Yet you keep asking for my opinion.”

Rating: 100/10 (The ultimate cuddle outfit.)

Outfit #4: Streetwear Cool (Oversized graphic tee, biker shorts, sneakers, bucket hat)

After prying yourself from Sunghoon’s grip, you emerge in a streetwear-inspired outfit, the oversized tee slightly tucked into your biker shorts.

Sunghoon leans back, nodding thoughtfully. “Alright, alright. This is giving ‘cool girlfriend who listens to R&B and steals my hoodies.’”

You adjust your bucket hat. “Would you say I look like the type to break hearts?”

He chuckles. “Nah. More like the type to break into a dance battle at any moment.”

You pretend to take offense. “Rude!”

Rating: 8.5/10 (Effortlessly cool but lacks ‘hug factor.’)

Outfit #5: Cottagecore Princess (Flowy floral dress, sandals, straw bag)

As soon as you step out in the light, dreamy dress, Sunghoon's jaw slightly drops.

“Okay. Wow.”

You twirl, letting the skirt flutter. “Too much?”

“Too much?” He shakes his head. “You look like you just walked out of a fairytale.”

You smile. “It’s giving ‘let’s go on a picnic and fall in love.’”

He grins. “Yeah, except I already fell for you. But I would take you on a picnic in this. We could have sandwiches, strawberries, and—” He pauses, eyes narrowing. “Wait. Would I have to wear a matching floral shirt?”

You gasp. “Obviously.”

He groans, but his smile betrays him. “Fine. Only because you look like an actual princess right now.”

Rating: 10/10 (Would take you on a picnic immediately.)

Final Thoughts

Sunghoon stretches as you sit beside him, reviewing the outfits. “Okay, conclusion: you’re cute in everything, but I’m biased toward anything comfy because that means I get to hug you.”

You roll your eyes. “So basically, if I dress like a marshmallow, I win?”

“Exactly.” He pulls you into his lap, arms wrapping around your waist. “But the truth is, no matter what you wear, I’m always gonna be obsessed with you.”

Your cheeks heat up. “Sunghoon…”

He smirks. “What? Just stating facts.”

As you let out a shy giggle, he nudges your camera. “Alright, end the vlog so I can properly appreciate my cute girlfriend.”

Laughing, you wave at the camera. “Okay guys, that’s a wrap! Thanks for watching, and let me know which outfit was your favorite! Byeee!”

As soon as you hit stop, Sunghoon grins. “Now, about that pajama set…”

You squeal as he pulls you back into bed, the sound of his laughter filling the room.

©️tobiosbbyghorl - all rights reserved

permanent taglist: @ijustwannareadstuff20 @hoonielvv @rissierjrie

[sd-phiro]

The Server Team

The door to to their Locker Room had barely closed behind them when the silence hit—dense, smooth, unnatural—and all three slowed almost in unison, their footsteps faltering as the familiar scuff and scrape of cleats on tile gave way to an oppressive quiet that didn’t feel like emptiness, but more like something waiting—something watching.

Ryan stopped first, narrowing his eyes at the subtle green glow pulsing from the ceiling, a far cry from the buzzing fluorescents that had always cast their pale flicker over broken benches and half-scuffed helmets.

Matt stepped in behind him, already whispering something, probably a joke that was now swallowed by the room’s suffocating quiet, and Chris, just to their left, took a few more steps until he froze—completely, utterly still—like something unseen had wrapped around his spine and clicked into place.

Because this wasn’t their locker room anymore.

The walls, once gray and dented, now gleamed with black, seamless panels that shimmered faintly when the light caught their edges; subtle green lines ran through them in geometric veins, each pulse perfectly timed with the faint rhythmic hum in the air, and overhead, soft ambient light spilled down like a living heartbeat.

And at the end of the room—where Coach’s chalkboard used to hang crooked—three glowing black displays spun slow, perfect spirals inward, and above them, two simple lines pulsed gently on screen:

TOGETHER WE ARE THE SERVER

ALIGNMENT IS PURPOSE

“What the hell happened in here?” he muttered.

Chris didn’t respond.

Because he was staring into his locker—open now, wide, glowing softly from within—and what hung inside was not his usual crumpled jersey or taped-up shoulder pads.

No, what hung inside was a football uniform—but unlike anything they had ever worn.

The jersey was a deep, liquid black, reflective under the green light like polished chrome, its shoulder plating lined with glowing emerald circuitry that moved gently across the seams like the uniform itself was alive. The number 23 was etched into the chestplate in gleaming green font, but above it, where his name should have been, there was only a new designation:

SERVER 23

The pants matched—sleek, sharp, interlaced with the same green circuitry—and above, nestled into a pristine display shelf where his helmet should have rested, sat a new one: black, seamless, alien in design, with a spiral inscribed directly into the faceplate in slow, pulsing emerald.

Chris stepped forward.

“Chris—wait—don’t,” Ryan said, voice cracking just slightly, but the words came too late.

Chris reached out and touched the jersey.

And everything changed.

There was no sound, no flash of light—only a sudden stillness, as if the room itself had paused.

Chris’s back straightened slowly. His shoulders relaxed completely, unnaturally. And as he turned toward them, his eyes were wide—too wide—and the soft green glow that flickered to life behind them was unmistakable, undeniable, terrifying.

“Chris?” Matt took a step forward. “Snap out of it, man. You okay?”

Chris said nothing.

Instead, he reached into the locker and began to undress with mechanical ease—his hands moved without hesitation, his limbs fluid, as if he was following instructions not spoken aloud, as if the act of putting on the uniform had already been written into him.

Piece by piece, the black uniform sealed over his body.

Each segment lit up with green pulses, syncopated with his breath, his body seeming to align with something not visible, but present all the same.

Ryan stepped forward, panic rising in his voice. “Stop! Chris, this isn’t you—whatever this is, take it off!”

But then Chris picked up the helmet.

He didn’t hesitate.

He placed it over his head and sealed it into place.

The spiral on the visor flared to life.

And when he turned to face them, the glow in his eyes was gone—replaced by the spiral itself, reflected back endlessly in his visor, pulsing with slow, perfect certainty.

“Designation SD-23: Alignment complete.”

“Chris!” Ryan barked, lunging forward at the same time as Matt, both of them reaching out, grabbing his arms, shoulders, gripping tightly like they could shake the identity back into him.

But the moment their hands touched him—

It happened.

A pulse of green light surged from the seams of SD-23’s armor—not harsh, not blinding, but smooth and warm, like water through skin—and Ryan felt it in his chest, in his throat, in his thoughts, not like an electric jolt but like a spreading calm, a pressure being lifted, a memory gently erased.

Matt’s breath hitched. His fingers twitched.

And both of them froze.

The green spiral now reflected in their pupils.

Their resistance—strong only seconds before—began to slide away like fog evaporating under sunlight.

They were no longer afraid.

They were no longer angry.

They were simply… quiet.

Chris’s—SD-23’s—voice came through the helmet’s speaker, calm, clear, stripped of hesitation.

“It feels good,” he said softly, the spiral pulsing gently in his visor. “There’s no confusion. No weight. No choice. Just clarity.”

Matt’s eyes fluttered. “Feels… good…”

Ryan let out a long, steady exhale, as if he’d been holding his breath since the room changed.

They turned.

Their lockers were still open.

Their uniforms waited, pulsing softly.

SERVER 87

SERVER 11

They stepped toward them.

The jerseys were warm in their hands.

The helmets responded to touch.

As they dressed, the green circuitry lit with satisfaction, wrapping around their bodies like memory, like direction.

Their visors sealed.

The spirals activated.

And then the three of them stood—aligned, quiet, flawless.

SD-11. SD-87. SD-23.

“Alignment complete. Together We are The Server.“

Then the door opened.

Their Coach stepped in.

But he was not their coach—not anymore.

He wore a sleek black polo and armored shorts, both laced with glowing circuitry, and across the mirrored surface of his visor, spirals danced—layered, recursive, endless.

He looked at the three Server Drones, standing perfectly aligned.

And he smiled.

“My Drones are synchronized.”

The Server Drones answered without delay:

“Gratitude, Programmer.”

—————————————————————————

Become one with The Server.

Start your induction today and listen to The Programmers Voice. It’s just one Click.

Together We are The Server.

[softforsukuna]

Chrome & Curses

I am sleep deprived, used all my brain power on college assignments and this rn is the best i can do. i present biker! sukuna x fae(?) reader. no one knows if shes human, even i dont. fluff/crack fic.

tw: a corpse i think(is this even a tw)

word count: at least 3

• ──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ──── •

Sukuna had seen things. Cursed spirits, bloodied battlegrounds, the inside of a man’s skull (twice). Nothing shocked him anymore.

Until you.

He spotted you while speeding down the winding road outside the city, the scent of smoke and iron in his nose. You were in the middle of the lane, squinting at a squirrel like it was revealing the secrets of the universe. Your dress looked like it was made from tablecloths and stardust. Your hair was tangled in wildflowers. And your socks had clouds on them. Clouds.

He swerved hard, tire screaming against asphalt, stopping inches away from you. Helmet off, eyes blazing, tattoos writhing slightly with leftover rage — he was ready to unleash hell.

You tilted your head. “Oh. Are you a fire spirit?”

“…What?”

“Because you’ve got the vibe.”

He didn’t reply. Mostly because he was silently recalibrating his entire reality.

You introduced yourself like you were at a garden tea party, not nearly roadkill. And then you reached out and gently touched one of his tattoos like it was a butterfly, gasping in delight. “Ooooh, this one’s angry. Do they all have names?”

He didn’t punch you. That was the first clue he was in trouble.

Within a week, he’s picked you up from a “moss gathering” expedition, where you accidentally wandered into a biker bar and asked a man twice your size if he was a tree. Sukuna had to break a pool cue in half and growl something vaguely demonic to get you out of there.

You thanked him by putting stickers on his gas tank. (They're still there.)

You baked him cookies you swore were from a family recipe, but he’s 80% sure they were just mushrooms, glitter, and hope. He ate three.

He’s convinced you’re a fae. Not metaphorically. Genuinely. There is no way a human could survive the modern world with the amount of bewildered whimsy you exude. You don’t know what a QR code is. You think gas stations are “tiny spell shops.” Once, you offered a cop a pinecone “in trade.”

And yet…

He’s smitten. Not the slow, creeping kind. The crash-into-you-at-100-km/h kind.

Sukuna now:

* Teaches you how crosswalks work like a grumpy jungle guide.

* Hangs crystal charms from his handlebars because “they keep your aura clear.”

* Absolutely murders anyone who so much as looks at you sideways, then scowls as you hand the corpse a flower crown “for their next life.”

* Rides out to weird groves and forgotten shrines because you said the “trees there whisper funny.”

You, in turn, believe in him. Entirely. Without hesitation. You pat his terrifying tattoos like they're shy kittens. You call his curses “his little friends.” You talk to his bike like it’s alive (he’s starting to suspect… maybe it is, now).

One night, as you both sit by a campfire in the woods — you humming to the stars, him sharpening a blade for “reasons” — you curl up in his lap, tiny and warm, and murmur sleepily:

“You’re not so scary. I think you’re just… a thundercloud who forgot how to rain.”

And that’s the moment Ryomen Sukuna, King of Curses, Toppled God of Wrath and Leather, realizes:

He’s doomed.

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

[randomreadingtimewithtsuki]

HIIIIII AS PROMISED IM BACK FOR THIRDS!!!

Our dear wise generals (+ tsukasa and Hyoga) with reader being their s/o.

How do you think they’d react to finally finding reader’s statue after the stone war fight only to realize a part of the statue is missing and they can’t find it?

🤭

Hello! Thank you for requesting and waiting!

I hope this is of your liking, please let me know what you think!

It was not proff read, so be aware of bad grammar and grammar mistakes.. sorry :c

TW: Mentions of blood and missing body parts.

Tsuki's Note: I made them short because it is a lot of characters... sorry..

Tsuki's note 2: I also removed Chrome, because... timeline wise it doesn't make sense. so... sorry chrome fans... I did keep Ryusui because he is from the modern world and we can squeeze something there.

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

Senku

When he found he was lowkey relieved.

He called Gorilla team to help dig you out.

Also asked Yuzuriha to start making some clothes for you.

When they were done digging, Taiju screamed very loudly.

Which called Senku's attention.

When the boy noticed you were missing your right foot his heart sank.

But his expression didn't change, he smiled and told the team " What? the only thing we need to do is look for the foot. No need to panic"

And so, they looked for your foot.

After a few days of searching, Gen questioned Senku " What if they never found your foot? Would you remain as a statue?"

Senku had thought about it. Even though he did want to see you and talk to you again, he didn't know what would happen if you were revived without your foot.

Would it bleed? Would be fully healed? If not, how would he keep you away from infections? What about your mobility?

So Senku decided to not revive you until they either found your foot or he had the means to make your life better without one.

If your foot was not found, he would start to think of ways to make you comfortable asap. Would probably experiement a bit with animals to see how the healing process of a missing body parts works.

Ukyo

He was so happy to find you!!!

Ukyo couldn't wait to hear your voice again. To hear you calling his name.

He asked for help to dig you up.

At the very first few moments, everyone noticed you were missing your left hand.

But the team remained positive! It was quite possible your hand was somewhere around here!

So, Ukyo and the Gorilla Team tried to find your hand, to no avail.

Ukyo felt great sorrow and guilt. How come? It wasn't fair you were missing a piece. Why you and not him?

Senku asked him what he wanted to do. There was no guarantee how your arm would heal. and life without a hand is tough.

Ukyo pondered a lot about it. He took into consideration how you would feel being left petrified or to live without a hand.

He didn't want to experiment on animals to see what would happen.

Finally, he decided to wait until the kingdom of science had enough medical supplies to support you.

He was more than willing to help you leave with just one hand for the rest of yours and his days.

Gen

Gen never let out a huge relief sign like now.

He was so glad to have found you!!

He asked the Gorilla team help to dig you up.

When they finally removed all the dirty around you and lifted your statue, they notice you were missing your right foot.

At first, Gen thought Taiju pulled you too strongly, thus, making your foot break.

But soon enough, they found out that wasn't the case. Your foot was not around you.

So the search began.

Gen's head went a mile per hour thinking where it could be.

To him, there was no way you could be brought back to life missing a limb. Nope.

He was terrified that you would contract some infecction or would be miserable.

When he realized you foot was no where to be found, he broke down.

Despite being comforted by Yuzuriha and the others, Gen still felt really bad for you. For how unfair this was.

He ultimately decided to only revive when they were sure what would happen and had the means to give you a comfortable life.

This meant he asked Senku to experiment on some animals to see what would happen.

Ryusui

It was the happiest day of his life.

There you were, pretty as always.

Ryusui didn't waste a second to hire ask for help to dig you out!

But as soon as the team began digging you, Ryusui noticed something.

You were missing your right elbow bellow.

He demanded everyone to stop and went to inspection you closely with Francois.

Ryusui asked everyone to continue digging with caution - your arm could be, no, it was near by!

Alas, no one found your arm.

The happiest day, quickly became the most frustrating one.

But he didn't gave up on looking for you arm, no!

Ryusui did everything he could, but... to no avail.

The man sat down to think for a bit. Was it worth it reviving you now, like this?

He wasn't angry at the situation, just sad. There was nothing he could do for now to fix your your arm.

But he also didn't felt safe reviving you now.

Because of the amount of people he hired asked for help was huge, Senku urged him to decide on something - they man power to something else.

Ryusui, decide to not revive you now and ask some villagers to keep looking for your arm.

He was decided he was going to revive you when it was safe - so he asked Senku to experiement around with animals - and had the means to give you a great life.

He would have money for it anyway, but... He needed to guarantee your safety first.

Tsukasa

Finding his sister and you in a few days was a blessing.

Tsukasa started to dig you out of the place where you were petrified very gently.

When he was almost done, he noticed you were missing your left knee and bellow.

His heart sank. But he didn't gave up on finding it, it should be around here!

Eventually Tsukasa asked Senku's kingdom science's help.

A few days of looking went by and he couldn't find your leg.

Tsukasa didn't show it, but he was sad and feeling guilt.

He couldn't help but think about the statues he broke, so this is how their family feels like, huh?

He was also feeling guilty for being healthy while you were missing a piece. How would you survive in this stone world like this?

How would your injury heal? How good your life would be?

Eventually he had to take a decision. Tsukasa decided to not revive you until either your leg was found or there was enough medical support for you.

Tsukasa was willing to carry you around and take for you forever. But first, he needed to make sure you would be healthy, not just physically but mentally too.

He asked Senku if he had experimented on animals to know what would happen.

When the boy replied with " more or less" and proceeded to explain what would happen and what could happen.

Tsukasa asked Senku to, please, continue on experimenting and to build things to bring you confort.

Hyoga

He was very excited to see you again, despite his deadpan face saying otherwise.

He was truly glad to see you.

Hyoga started digging you up and when he was half away through he noticed you were missing a few fingers.

He looked around the area, digged and he couldn't find your fingers.

Homura tried to help him too! But nothing came of it.

Hyoga was scared to revive you like this. He didn't know what would happen.

What if you caught an infecction? How could it be treated? It couldn't.

He debated for a long time whether or not he should ask Senku and Tsukasa's help.

He ultimately decided to not ask for help, he couldn't.

Even if it was for you. Because what if, what if, they use you against him? How would you live and adapr without your fingers? With him not being there?

At least for now, you were safe.

Hyoga would only ask for their help, they needed his. he used it as a trade.

To some it may be cold hearted, but to him, it was a way to guarantee your safety.

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Thank you for reading!

I hope this was of your liking!