#Cosmic Circuits | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

oofthwoods · 1 year ago

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STEPS TO YOU! ── ˙ ̟ lando norris !!

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 :: lando norris hates the idea of soulmates. for him, it's hard to see everyone in his life with a matching tattoo, or a timer, or the inability to see colors, while he has to be content with the fact that he may never find his perfect match. that is, until he starts to see mysterious footprints around the paddock, hinting at a path he never expected.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 :: this is my confession that my favorite soulmate!aus are the ones where they don't think they have one. the sadness of thinking you are not destined for a great love only to find out that there's someone out there for you??? mwah chefs kiss

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 :: to be added.

LANDO NORRIS WAS A ROMANTIC AT HEART.

He had a secret love for romantic comedies. Watching couples overcome comical obstacles before finding their happy ending always brought a smile to his face. Though he would never admit it, he found joy in the cliched plots and endearing moments portrayed on screen.

The Brit also enjoyed weddings. Family, friends, or mere acquaintances— it didn't matter. To him, the ceremony was a tangible display of true love that existed beyond the silver screen and scripted Hollywood romances.

Despite everything, Lando knew that he would never experience anything like it. Everyone around him seemed to have a sure sign that they were meant for great love: Carlos with his past life visions shared with his beloved, George with his key pendant symbolizing his destiny, and even Oscar, who occasionally vanished, leaving a girl in his place. But not Lando. No visions, no tattoos, no words etched on his arm foretelling what his soulmate would say upon their first encounter. He felt like an outsider in a world where everyone seemed to have found their perfect match, while he knew he would be alone forever.

As Lando's realization sunk in, it was an emotional rollercoaster. He wasn't just a late bloomer; he wasn't meant to blossom at all. In his childhood innocence, he embraced his supposed independence and declared that girls were gross and he could live without someone by his side forever. But as adolescence took over, he found himself increasingly on the sidelines, watching as close friends shared stories of connection and love, filling him with a painful mix of envy and despair.

Every tale of someone else's romance felt like a dagger to the heart, a wound that refused to heal. Lando couldn't help but wonder what he had done to deserve this solitary fate in a world where everyone else seemed to find their soulmates.

Occasionally, he gazed up at the dark expanse above, yearning for solutions. Had the universe overlooked him or was love just not in his destiny? Some claimed that soulmates were like atoms connected since before the Big Bang, their bond enduring despite eons passing. But what did this mean for Lando? Was he destined for a solitary life even before the cosmos took shape?

As an adult, Lando struggled to convince himself that he had come to terms with his fate. He told himself over and over again that finding true love was possible without a soulmate being involved. It didn't have to be some cosmic arrangement. Yet, deep down, even as he tried to comfort himself with this reasoning, he couldn't shake the desire for something more. He yearned to be uniquely crafted for someone, to be cherished wholeheartedly despite his imperfections and weaknesses.

Lando shook his head, pulling himself out of his thoughts and back into the present moment. The unforgiving Melbourne sun beat down on him, its golden rays spreading across the circuit. Heat radiated all around him, almost suffocating in its intensity. He cursed his decision to wear an orange hoodie that morning as a bead of sweat rolled down his forehead. Walking from the entrance to his garage, he couldn't escape the discomfort caused by the heat. The thick fabric clung to his skin, trapping him in its grasp as the temperature continued to rise.

Beside him, Oscar emanated an infectious energy. The pilot was fully immersed in the atmosphere of his home country's race, evident through his beaming smile. Despite the hustle and bustle around them, they maintained a calm demeanor, as if they were in a world of their own, oblivious to the cameras of the photographers trying to capture every moment.

Lando observed Oscar's anxious glances, as if he was searching for a particular person.

Deciding to break the silence, Lando asked, "Has your family arrived?"

Oscar's mind seemed elsewhere as he replied, "Oh, yeah. They're here. I'm just looking for someone else."

Someone else. Lando's brow furrowed as he thought about the mysterious bond between Oscar and his soulmate. Every now and then, without warning or explanation, the Australian would switch places with the girl he was connected to. Initially, Lando feared that this could happen during a race and result in a disastrous outcome. However, he soon realized that the universe was smart enough to only make these switches when both were safe.

"You met her?" Lando finally asked, curious about Oscar's soulmate. He looked at him with confusion before smiling sadly.

"Not yet, and she's not the one i'm looking or," Oscar replied, bringing a small sense of relief to Lando. He immediately felt guilty for wishing that others wouldn't find their soulmates, knowing it was selfish and petty.

Additionally, Lando could recall a peculiar incident from the previous year, when Oscar suddenly disappeared, and a girl had surprisingly turned up in the McLaren garage, clad in pajamas and exuding an unusual calmness about the situation. He remembered her as a charming and witty girl, and the thought that Oscar had someone special to share his life with brought a comforting warmth to Lando's heart, though it was tinged with a hint of jealousy.

"I have a friend coming over today," Oscar interjected, breaking through Lando's thoughts. "We went to elementary school together, but it's been a while since we've seen each other. She finished college last year, and managed to take a few days off to visit."

Lando nodded along as Oscar talked about his friend, dividing his attention between their conversation and the busy paddock. He couldn't help but notice weird stains on the ground and wished people would be more considerate of the space.

The two McLaren pilots still had a few minutes before the first meeting and the final free practice before qualifying. They decided to take refuge from the scorching sun inside their respective driver's rooms, seeking a moment of tranquility before the hustle and bustle of the track.

Lando made his way down the narrow path to the driver's room, noticing strange marks on the floor. The team garage was typically spotless, and he couldn't comprehend how it had become so messy.

"Who the hell made this mess?" Lando furrowed his brow and glanced around the room.

Oscar, perplexed, asked, "What mess?"

With a chuckle, Lando replied, "Are you blind? Look at the damn floor, it's covered in stains." He pointed to the ground with his arm.

Oscar tried to play along, forcing a laugh. "Mate, did you hit your head on the way here? The floor is spotless, as always."

Lando's eyes narrowed as he examined the stains on the ground more closely. What he imagined was dirt from a worker's shoe, appeared to not be random splatters; they seemed deliberate, almost forming a pattern. And then, in a sudden moment of clarity, Lando's heart skipped a beat as he realized the stains looked like footsteps.

"This is strange," he muttered, crouching down to get a better look.

Hearing Lando's concern, Oscar joined him and peered at the marks. "What are you thinking?"

Lando's mind was filled with various thoughts. He wondered if the intense heat was causing him to hallucinate. A thought crossed his mind that someone had wandered into the garage barefoot, possibly in search of new shoes. Everything seemed mildly possible.

Despite his efforts to suppress it, a nagging part inside him reminded him of the nights he spent wondering about potential invisible soulmate connections. He couldn't help but recall the excitement of discovering invisible threads - like leaving colorful marks upon touch or having their thoughts connect when within a certain distance, almost like telepathy. Things that wouldn't appear on his body when he turned eight, but still meant he had someone.

The 15-year-old version of himself seemed to be pounding on his chest, making him remember the thread through footsteps that he had long forgotten about, and started to question if even existed. Yet, Oscar didn't seem to notice the distinct marks on the floor and Lando couldn't possibly be hallucinating from dehydration.

Oscar placed his hand on Lando's back and felt a shiver run through his friend's body. "Lando, you're starting to worry me. Do you want to go to the medical bay?"

Lando quickly got up from the floor, shaking off Oscar's touch. "No need, Os. I'm fine." He forced a smile, but there was a lump in his throat as he tried to swallow down the fear and uncertainty. He didn't want to get his hopes up again, only to have them crushed once more.

"What do you think of the place?" Oscar's voice startles you from behind,.

A smile lights up your face as you turn around to see your friend in person for the first time in a long while. You eagerly embrace him with open arms, attempting to lift him off the ground like you used to when you were kids.

"Wow, okay, you're not as light as you used to be."

Oscar chuckles, and playfully returns the favor by lifting you up. "Nope, I'm not. Or maybe you're just not as strong anymore."

You tease, giving his shoulder a light slap. He winces and holds onto it, pretending it hurts.

"It's impressive." You answer his previous question. "So many people, so much noise, but I can see why you love it here." You take in the bustling atmosphere with a laugh.

The Aussie leans back against something and asks with a playful glint in his eye, "So, what's been going on in your world?"

You chuckle, immediately feeling at ease with him. "Just the usual post-grad life. Trying to figure it all out."

"Will you stick with auto sports?" He asks hopefully.

"I have an interview lined up to shadow a F2 journalist, so let's hope for the best." You make a gesture of crossed fingers. You thought that graduating with a degree in Journalism would give you direction in life, but almost a year later, you're still searching for your calling.

"It's already yours. I've never met anyone who could get honest answers from drivers like you do." He tried to calm you.

"I interviewed you once for a college project, Os. I don't think that counts." You chuckle.

"Come on, I was in f2 back then. That's definitely something to put on your resume."

"I'll keep that in mind." You nod.

It didn't feel like it had been so long since you two last saw each other in person.

As your gaze sweeps over the cluttered garage once more, something strange catches your eye, and you furrow your brow in confusion.

"Isn't Easter still a ways off?" Your eyes follow a trail of small, misshapen footprints leading around the room and you can't help but comment, "And whoever left those prints definitely didn't excel in their Arts & Crafts classes. They look nothing like bunny paws."

Oscar couldn't believe it. What was going on with his friends and footprints that day?

He squints and shakes his head. "I don't see anything," he says, trying to follow your gaze.

"Of course you don't. I've been telling you to get your eyes checked for years," you tease with a laugh. You walk over to him and point directly at the pawprint (that looks more like a footprint) on the ground that you can clearly see, even though it's slightly faded. Oscar looks at you with confusion.

"Are you and Lando in on this together?" He starts to suspect a prank.

"Lando? Your teammate?" You shake your head. "I've never even met him, Os." A mischievous grin spreads across your face. "But maybe I should."

Oscar's gaze shifted from the empty space in front of him. "Don't even go there, missy. Teammates are strictly off-limits."

You couldn't help but tease, "Why, does he have a soulmate?"

Oscar used to give you pitying looks whenever you mentioned not having a love thread, but it had been a while since then. He missed all of you - including your bad puns.

"I don't know. We've never discussed it," Oscar shuddered. He and Lando had grown closer over the past year, but the Brit never seemed to want to talk about that topic, so Oscar left it alone.

You continue to tease, "I still don't see why he's off-limits."

"Can you imagine how traumatizing it would be to see Lando making out with my best friend?"

"It wouldn't be any weirder than collecting bugs with my best friend and then suddenly having a random girl in front of me," your counterpart argues.

"Touché" It wouldn't be right for Oscar to dictate who you should pursue, especially since you had no control over randomly talking to his soulmate after swapping places. "It still would be fucking weird."

"You know, if two people saw those pawprints and you didn't, I think it's safe to say who's the one in the wrong here," You nudged him playfully. "Maybe you're just not looking close enough. Let me guide you."

Stepping closer to the mysterious prints, you crouched down and examined them closely. "They seem... fresh, don't they?"

Oscar joined you, squinting his eyes as he tried to make out any shape or form on the ground. "I swear, there's nothing there. Are you sure this isn't some elaborate prank?"

You shook your head, running your fingers over the indentations. "No, these are real."

Despite trying his best, Oscar couldn't make out what he was supposed to be looking at. "Alright, you got me. Congrats on your and Lando's little joke."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Your frustration grows as you wonder how he could have missed the obvious footprints right in front of him.

"He saw these so-called "footprints" too." He gestured with air quotes, convinced that his best friend and teammate were up to some strange prank together.

Before you could protest, someone called out your friend's name. "I have to go, it's my engineer," he said, getting up from the floor. He gave you a friendly smile that quickly turned into a knowing smirk. "And don't follow the footprints, Alice. They won't lead you to wonderland."

Wonderland or not, you would be stupid not to follow it.

As you follow the trail of footprints through the crowded garage, your curiosity builds with each step. You maneuver carefully around toolboxes and piles of spare parts, focusing on the prints as they lead you deeper into the maze-like space.

At last, you reach the end of the trail and come face to face with a closed door. Your heart races with excitement and anticipation as you stare at the sign above it: "Lando Norris' Driver's Room"

You furrow your brow in confusion. How could Norris' driver's room be connected to the strange footprints you've been tracking? Is this some kind of elaborate prank that Oscar roped Lando into as well?

Despite the nagging feeling that something was off, you stood your ground and refused to give into whatever it was that was trying to lure you in. You mentally prepared yourself to turn around and head back to Oscar's garage, where at least you felt familiar, and he couldn't pull pranks on you in front of his entire team.

And then, as if on cue, the door swings open, revealing Lando Norris standing on the other side. His presence fills the doorway, commanding attention with an effortless grace that leaves you breathless.

In that moment, you can't help but drink in the sight of him—the way the soft glow of the room illuminates his features, casting his angular jawline and chiseled cheekbones in sharp relief. His eyes, a mesmerizing shade of azure, hold a glint of mischief as they meet yours, and you find yourself drowning in their depths.

Lando is clad in his fireproofs, the sleek material hugging his lean frame in all the right places. His racesuit hangs by his waist, a vibrant burst of color against the backdrop of the room. There's a confidence in the way he carries himself, a hint of swagger that speaks of countless hours spent behind the wheel of a racing car.

But it's not just his physical appearance that captivates you—it's the strange electricity that seems to crackle in the air when your eyes meet.

Your heart skips a beat as you find yourself in a predicament, searching for a clever excuse. You definitely didn't want to appear as a stalker-fan who snuck in. "Um, I was just... uh..."

"Oscar?" Lando interrupts, a knowing glint in his eyes.

"Yes, Oscar!" You latch onto the name like a lifeline. "I'm a friend of his."

"He mentioned you," Lando nods, a friendly grin spreading across his face.

"Ah, so Oscar's been gossiping about me, huh?" You tease, a playful smirk curling your lips as you lock gazes with Lando. "I hope he said only nice things."

Lando chuckles softly, leaning casually against the doorframe. "Oh, absolutely. But he forgot to mention how gorgeous you are"

You feel a warm flush creeping up your cheeks at his compliment, and you playfully bat your eyelashes. "Oh, did he now? Well, I'll have to thank him for the rave reviews later."

An easy silence falls between you, charged with unspoken chemistry and the promise of potential. Lando breaks the quiet with a mischievous smirk, closing the gap between you.

"Care for a little tour while we wait for Oscar? I promise not to lead you astray... too much," he adds with a wink.

Despite the lingering adrenaline from the close call and the unexpected encounter with Lando, you find yourself nodding eagerly. Oscar had been too occupied to give you a proper tour, and you were itching to explore the place.

"Lead the way, but I'm holding you to that promise of not getting lost," you tease, motioning for him to lead. As he begins to walk, you fall into step beside him, the playful brush of your shoulders sending sparks flying.

"Do you have a habit of getting lost?" Lando asks with a playful glint in his eyes.

You laugh, shaking your head in mock dismay. "Define 'a habit'," you retort, a playful sparkle in your eyes. "When we were younger, Oscar and I used to roam around this massive mall near our homes. I lost count of how many times he had to page me over the speakers because I got sidetracked and wandered off."

"I'll have to keep a close eye on you, then," Lando quips. "Can't have Oscar's friend getting lost on my watch."

You chuckle at his teasing, reveling in the easy banter between you two. As he continues to show you around the McLaren paddock, pointing out various spots and sharing amusing anecdotes, you find yourself drawn to his effortless charm and infectious energy.

"You know, I never expected today to turn out like this," you admit, stealing a sideways glance at Lando. "But I'm glad it did. Especially if it means getting a personal tour from McLaren's charming star driver."

Lando beams at your words, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Consider yourself lucky, then. Not everyone gets the VIP treatment around here." He pauses for a moment before adding with a playful grin, "Although, I must confess, it's rather challenging to focus on giving a proper tour with you flashing that smile."

Your heart flutters at his words, but you play it cool with a playful roll of your eyes. "You need to work on your flirting skills, dude."

"But do they work?" Lando counters with a cheeky smile.

"Maybe. Keep trying, and who knows where it might lead."

"Ah, so you're admitting my charm has potential?" Lando shoots back, a playful glint in his eyes.

"I didn't say that," you reply with a smirk..

"Ouch, that hurts," Lando feigns offense, placing a hand over his heart dramatically. "Here I am, giving you the grand tour, and you won't even give me credit for my rizz."

"Okay, okay, maybe just a little credit," you concede with a laugh, nudging him lightly with your elbow. "But don't let it get to your head."

Lando grins. "Don't worry, I'll try to contain my ego."

As the tour comes to an end, you and Lando bid your goodbyes, thanking each other for the enjoyable time spent together. It's time for qualifying, and Lando is escorted towards his car by a member of his team. Just before he gets in, he looks back towards you with a faint smile. In that moment, his gaze locks with yours, and he freezes as a realization dawns upon him. The footsteps he had noticed earlier, weaving through the McLaren paddock, had a familiar pattern. They were from you.

He looks back to the path he took with you, and the marks on the floor as clear as day. They appear in front of his driver's room, in the small cafeteria where he took you to get the best coffee from the paddock (his words), and they follow you as you make your way to Oscar's side of the garage.

Lando's lips part slightly, as if he couldn't get enough air.

Before Lando could take a step towards you, his engineer's firm grip on his arm pulls him back. "Where are you going? Quali is about to start," his engineer reminds him, snapping him out of the mesmerizing realization.

Lando looks torn, torn between the exhilaration of discovering a potential connection he never noticed before and the responsibility of his racing career. He gives you one last longing look before reluctantly turning away, his mind buzzing with newfound thoughts and possibilities.

As he slides into the driver's seat and revs up the engine, he can't shake off the image of your smile, the sound of your laughter, and now, the footprints you left behind that seemed to lead straight to him. The engine roars to life, drowning out his racing thoughts as he steels himself for the high-stakes qualifying round ahead.

There were various theories floating around regarding why Lando secured the pole position. Some attributed it to an engine change, while others praised McLaren's performance on the specific circuit. But deep down, Lando knew that his main motivation was to finish everything quickly so he could talk to you.

He heard his engineer's voice in his ear through the radio, but he wasn't really paying attention. He knew he had interviews to do, photos to take, and a tire to sign, but as he stepped out of the car, his mind was consumed with thoughts of the girl he never knew existed.

After the whirlwind of interviews subsides and Lando returns to the bustling garage, his mind remains fixated on one thought: finding you. He navigates through the maze of mechanics and engineers, his determination unwavering.

Spotting Oscar amidst the commotion, Lando strides over, his expression a mix of eagerness and urgency. "Hey, Oscar," he calls out, drawing his friend's attention.

Oscar looks up from his conversation with a mechanic, a puzzled expression crossing his face at the intensity in Lando's gaze. "Hey, Lando. What's up?" he asks, curious yet cautious.

"I need to talk to your friend," Lando replies, his tone serious.

Oscar's confusion deepens, and a hint of protectiveness flickers in his eyes. "My friend? Why do you need to speak to her?" he inquires, his tone guarded.

Lando hesitates for a moment, searching for the right words. "I... I just need to ask her something," he says evasively, unwilling to divulge the true reason behind his urgency.

Oscar studies Lando intently, sensing there's more to the story than meets the eye. "Is everything okay?" he probes, his concern evident.

Lando shifts uncomfortably under Oscar's scrutiny, torn between his desire to find you and his reluctance to reveal too much. "Yeah, everything's fine," he assures, attempting to brush off Oscar's concern.

But Oscar isn't convinced, his protective instincts kicking into overdrive. "Look, if you're going to involve my friend in something, I need to know what's going on," he insists firmly.

Lando sighs, realizing he can't keep dodging the question. "It's just... I met her earlier, and I... I need to talk to her," he admits, his voice tinged with vulnerability.

Oscar's expression softens as he recognizes the sincerity in Lando's words. He may be protective, but he also trusts his instincts when it comes to his friends. "Okay," he relents, nodding in understanding. "She's in my driver's room."

Before Lando can make his way there, Oscar grabs his arm, a serious expression etched on his face. "Look, I know we don't talk about this, but…" He hesitates momentarily. "I don't know if you have a soulmate, but she doesn't. And I don't want you giving her false hope, only to disappear the moment someone mentions what's on your arm, or whatever."

Lando offers a reassuring smile. "You're wrong."

"Listen, I don't care if your mark is on your arm or your ass, my point was-"

"It's not about that. It's about her not having a soulmate," Lando interjects.

Oscar's expression turns grave. "What do you mean?"

"Footsteps," Lando responds simply.

Oscar's frustration bubbles to the surface. "What's going on with both of you? First, you mention footsteps, then her." He glances at his teammate, who meets his gaze with a serene smile. In Lando's eyes, there's a glimmer of hope and relief that Oscar can't quite comprehend. Initially, he considers escorting both of his friends to the medical bay, puzzled by their strange behavior regarding footsteps that only they seem to perceive—

Footsteps that only they can see.

A sudden realization dawns upon Oscar, his eyes widening. "You two are soulmates."

"Hopefully," Lando murmurs. "I—I never thought I had one. No marks, no dreams, nothing. But this morning, I saw footsteps. And then we met, and I showed her around. We were side by side, so I didn't pay much attention. But before Qualifying, I noticed her walking toward your side of the garage, and there were footsteps leading there."

As the realization settles between them, Oscar reluctantly releases Lando's arm, allowing him to continue on his way. However, just as Lando begins to move away, Oscar calls out to him, his tone a mix of seriousness and jest.

"Lando, wait," Oscar says, his voice tinged with playful threat. "Soulmate or not, if you ever hurt my best friend, I'll make sure to crash into you in every single race."

Lando stops in his tracks, turning back to face Oscar with a wry smile. "Fair warning," he replies, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "But I can assure you, if I ever did hurt her, I'd deserve every crash."

The Brit's heart races as he stands before the door, realizing he doesn't need to ask Oscar about the girl when the footsteps guide him straight to her. He wonders if he'd ever noticed those phantom imprints before, dismissing them as mere smudges or dirt. And in a fleeting moment of clarity, he wonders if those same invisible marks had led you to his door earlier, tracing a path he hadn't noticed until now.

As Lando hesitates outside the door, uncertainty gripping his thoughts, he contemplates his next move. Should he pace back and forth until you notice the traces on the floor? Or perhaps he should boldly declare their connection as soulmates upon entering? Before he can settle on a plan, the door swings open.

"Wow!" You exclaim, your initial fright giving way to laughter. "Okay, I probably deserved that. Second time's the charm, right?"

"Uhm," Lando's throat constricts, his words stumbling over each other. In his mind, this conversation had seemed much simpler. "Look, I—I need to ask you something. Do you… have a soulmate?"

Your gaze hardens, but it's not anger that flickers in your eyes, only a hint of sorrow. "We just met today," you confess, your tone tinged with vulnerability. Lando realizes it might be an invasive question; after all, some people prefer to keep such matters private. "Is it that obvious?"

"Yes. I mean, no. I mean—" Lando fumbles, his nerves getting the best of him.

"It's alright, I understand," you say, crossing your arms with a sad smile. "You do?"

"I do," Lando confirms, gesturing subtly to the scattered footsteps that crisscross the room.

"Cool," you respond, your expression disoriented.

"No, wait, that's not what I meant." Lando's frustration mounts as he struggles to articulate his thoughts. Was this what it felt like to be stupid in love?

"It's okay, Lando, really," you reassure him gently. "I know some people like to have... fun before finding their soulmate. I won't judge you for that." Yet beneath your understanding tone, a pang of sadness lingers, the thought of forever being a mere diversion rather than a final destination.

"Listen," Lando interjects, laying his hands gently atop yours, a jolt of electricity coursing between them once more. "Earlier today, you saw those footsteps, didn't you?"

"Actually, yes," you reply, confusion clouding your features. Oscar had vehemently denied their existence, leaving you to question your own perception.

"Me too. I saw footsteps this morning. Then I noticed footsteps leading towards Oscar's garage," Lando reveals, his voice soft with emotion. He silently pleads for you not to notice the trembling in his hands. "And now, I see footsteps again. Emerging from the door and heading toward the couch. A circle of them, right in front of the television."

As Lando confides in you, his vulnerability palpable, you begin to piece it together. Your eyes widen in realization as you look around. Although you can't see the invisible footsteps he's describing, you can distinctly perceive a path, stretching from the door to where Lando stands before you.

"Every step leads me to you," he murmurs, his gaze locked on yours with unwavering intensity.

A tender smile graces your lips as you absorb Lando's words, a rush of warmth flooding your chest. "I never thought I had a soulmate," you confess softly, your voice tinged with wonder.

Lando's own smile mirrors yours, a mixture of affection and amusement dancing in his eyes. "Look at that, one thing that we already have in common," he replies, his tone gentle yet playful.

You share a moment of quiet understanding, the air thick with unspoken emotions swirling between you. It's a realization that defies logic yet feels undeniably right, as if the universe itself had conspired to bring you together. Well, it did, didn't it? Maybe you should apologize for all the times your cursed at it.

"And here we are," you say, a hint of awe coloring your words.

"Here we are," Lando echoes, his gaze never leaving yours.

A mischievous glint twinkles in your eyes as you playfully tease, "You know, when I suggested you keep trying to flirt with me, this wasn't exactly the outcome I had in mind."

Lando chuckles, his grin widening. "Well, lucky for me, there's no one I'd rather up my game with than you."

You laugh, feeling the tension ease between you as the playful banter continues. "Smooth talker," you tease, giving him a playful nudge.

"Just stating the truth," Lando replies, his tone lighthearted yet sincere. "Besides, you will have to deal with it for the rest of your life."

Your heart skips a beat at his words, the playful façade giving way to a deeper connection between you. "I suppose you have a point," you concede with a smile, feeling yourself drawn even closer to him.

Lando's eyes light up with mischief as an idea sparks in his mind. "You know," he begins, a playful grin tugging at his lips, "I've spent my entire life thinking you didn't exist. I have a lot of making up to do."

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise at his bold statement, but a smile tugs at the corners of your lips, intrigued by his playful demeanor. "Oh really?" you reply, a teasing glint in your eyes. "And just how do you plan on making it up to me?"

Lando's grin widens as he leans in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Well, I was thinking we could start here. I can't really go out, but my hotel has an amazing restaraunt" he suggests, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "After that... Have you ever been to Monaco? Or Italy? Maybe after that, we could..."

You can't help but laugh at his enthusiasm, charmed by his playful spirit. "I say you're full of surprises, Lando Norris," you tease, interrupting him, a playful sparkle dancing in your eyes. "But I like the way you think."

A bashful smile graces Lando's lips as he chuckles softly. "Great," he replies, his tone now tinged with a hint of shyness. "I've got a meeting to attend, but after that, how about we meet back here?"

"You'll know exactly where to find me."

As warmth floods through Lando's heart, a tender smile graces his lips. In that fleeting moment of realization, it dawns on him—he'll never doubt your existence again. Not when there's a trail of footsteps leading him straight back to you, a path he'll eagerly follow time and time again.

Lando Norris is a romantic at heart. The universe, in all its wisdom, understood that he deserved nothing less than the greatest of loves.

fun fact i actually hate this

taglist (tell me if you want to be added or removed. crossed names means i couldn't tag you) :: @saturnssunflower @sopheeg @minkyungseokie @alexander-hamilhoe @butterfly-lover @cool-ultra-nerd @tomriddleswhorecruxes @everbizzare @chonkybonky @styl1shl1v

#f1 imagine #f1 imagines #f1 scenarios #f1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 scenarios #formula one imagine #formula one imagines #formula 1 imagines #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris imagine #lando norris fanfic #lando norris scenarios

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sunarryn · 1 month ago

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DP X Marvel #17

One week. One fucking week. That’s how long it took before the universe’s reality collapsed in on itself like a toddler knocking over a block tower made of cosmic rules, and Danny Fenton—sorry, High King Phantom of the Infinite Realms, Keeper of Balance, Ghost King of All Dimensions, Supreme Bureaucratic Overlord of Death and Souls, or whatever other bullshit title Clockwork slapped on him—was done. He was so done. With everything. With life. With afterlife. With bureaucracy. With math. Goddamn, he hated math.

He phased through the ceiling of what was left of the Avengers compound without so much as a knock because, frankly, he didn’t care anymore. People were dead. Everyone was dead. Half a fucking universe. And universes are fucking infinite. Literally. He’d been counting. Or trying to. But the math broke somewhere around “nine trillion decillion” and his brain short-circuited.

Inside, the Avengers were scattered around like bad leftovers. Steve was slouched in a chair like someone told him America lost the war. Thor was cradling a bottle like it was the last warmth in the world. Natasha looked like she hadn’t blinked in hours. Banner was trying to fix a coffee machine that had already given up on life. Tony—oh, Tony—Tony looked like he’d been held together with duct tape and sarcasm, and not the good kind.

“Yo,” Danny said, arms folded, crown floating behind him, cape swishing dramatically like it had beef with gravity. “Which one of you assholes thought wiping out half an entire goddamn universe was a great idea?”

They blinked. Steve slowly got to his feet. “Uh… who—?”

“No. Shut up. Don’t talk. I’m not in the mood. I haven’t slept in a week. Time doesn’t even exist in the Infinite Realms, and I somehow managed to be late to ten meetings that haven’t happened yet. Do you know what kind of eldritch administrative nightmare I’m dealing with? Do you?”

Tony blinked. “Not really, no.”

Danny whipped around to face him, pointing a glowing finger. “I don’t care, Stark. I don’t care that your kid sidekick is dead. I don’t care that half your team is sad. I don’t care that your billionaire ass is depressed and growing a sad beard like you’re auditioning for ‘Survivor: Superhero Edition’. I have literal oceans of paperwork made out of the screams of the damned piling up in my inbox because some purple California Raisin thought committing universal homicide was a vibe.”

“Hold on,” Natasha said, standing now, brows furrowed. “Who even are you?”

“I’m the janitor,” Danny deadpanned. “Of death. And you—you are all on my shit list.”

Steve opened his mouth.

“NO. I said no talking. Do you know how many souls half a universe is? Do you? BECAUSE I DON’T. THAT NUMBER DOESN’T EXIST. That’s not even math anymore, that’s heresy. There are species no one even knows about! I had to learn seven extinct galactic dialects in five minutes just to sign their death certificates!”

“Wait—wait,” Bruce said, cautiously stepping in like someone trying to defuse a bomb made of feelings. “You’re… the King of the Afterlife?”

“Infinite Realms,” Danny corrected. “Afterlife implies one dimension. I’ve got infinite. One of them is just an endless IKEA. You think you’re in hell? Try getting lost in that one for eternity.”

Tony blinked. “That explains the floating crown.”

“Oh, you noticed?” Danny snapped, sarcasm thick. “Yeah, the crown’s real subtle. You know what else I’m wearing? These.”

He held up his fingers. On them gleamed the actual Infinity Stones. Not the ones Thanos used. No, these were the OG versions—before the universe dumbed them down for mortal brains.

“I’m wearing multiversal cosmic artifacts as fucking accessories, Stark. I clapped death back into submission on my way here. I threatened Time itself with a lawsuit. I am so tired.”

Everyone was staring now. Thor slowly lowered his bottle.

“I have one question,” Thor said, eyes narrowing. “Can you bring them back?”

Danny didn’t respond immediately. He paced, muttering under his breath about soul processing queues and spectral overflow reports and ghost union strikes.

Then he turned, threw up his hands, and shouted, “Fine! Fine! But only because if I see one more Ectoplasmic Reconciliation Form I’m going to scream my own name and rip reality in half!”

Tony raised a cautious hand. “Just to clarify… you’re not doing this out of the goodness of your heart?”

Danny glared at him. “I am doing this because your collective idiocy has backed up the Infinite Realms so badly, I have ancient god-beasts getting angry Yelp reviews for not guiding souls fast enough.”

Bruce choked. “You get… Yelp reviews?”

“Do not ask. Do not google ‘Spiritual Bureaucracy Yelp.’ You’re not ready. It’s worse than you can even imagine.”

He clapped his hands. The power reverberated like a sonic boom made of lightning and bass drops. Light cracked through the floor, time folded, and space rewrote itself. In an instant, everything was back. People. Planets. Souls. Loved ones. Unsnapped. Safely. No one reappeared in traffic or mid-air. They were all fine.

Everyone stared.

Tony gasped. “…Peter?”

Somewhere in the compound, Peter Parker screamed, “MR. STARK I THINK I DIED?!”

Danny muttered, “Yeah, well, get in line, kid.”

Tony looked like he might cry. Steve looked like he might cry. Even Thor blinked back tears.

Danny didn’t give them a second to bask.

“Listen to me and listen hard, because I am only going to say this once. The next time you idiots let some glorified space grape get his hands on cosmic power and kill half the universe, I’m not bringing anyone back.”

Natasha stepped forward. “Wait—what—?”

“I said,” Danny growled, eyes glowing green and crown sparking violently, “the next time this happens, I am going to let the universe rot. I don’t care if it’s your kid, or your moms, or your emotional support dog. You will live with it. You will suffer. Because I’m not spending another week cleaning up your mess like the goddamn galactic janitor!”

Tony muttered, “Kinda thought you said you were the janitor.”

“I will kick your kneecaps off.”

Tony shut up.

Danny took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m going home. Do not call me again unless the universe is actually ending. And even then, it better be certified by at least three gods and signed in triplicate.”

He started floating upward, preparing to phase out, when Steve blurted, “Wait, thank you. Really.”

Danny paused mid-air, sighed, and turned around. “You’re welcome. I guess. But seriously. If another genocidal space maniac so much as coughs on the timeline, I’m filing a restraining order on this entire dimension. Bye.”

And with that, he vanished in a swirl of ectoplasmic smoke, leaving the Avengers staring at each other in the awkward silence that followed a divine ass-whooping.

Thor finally muttered, “I liked him.”

Tony sat down, blinked a few times, then said, “He just wore the Infinity Stones as rings. Like mood jewelry.”

Bruce nodded solemnly. “He’s not paid enough.”

“Was he even paid at all?” Steve asked.

And somewhere in the realms between life and death, Danny Phantom screamed into his pillow made of souls: “I AM NOT GETTING PAID FOR THIS BULLSHIT!!!”

#danny fenton #danny phantom #dp x marvel #danny phantom fanfiction #marvel #marvel mcu #mcu #mcu fandom #crossover #danny phantom fandom #mcu fanfiction #marvel fandom #marvel fanfic #infinite realms #ghost king danny #ghost king phantom #infinity stones #the infinity saga

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pitlanepeach · 1 month ago

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From Eden | Chapter Eight pt.1 (8/8)

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 — Mentions of agoraphobia + social anxiety. Panic attack. Time jumps (made very easy to understand). A few different POV’s. Sexual content.

Notes — I don’t think you guys understand how much this chapter means to me. I hope you love it. Part 2, the final part of the series, will be posted tomorrow 🧡

JANUARY, 2024 (The London flat)

Mark Webber didn’t know what to make of Oscar’s infatuation with this woman — girl, really, in every sense of the word. She was the same age as Oscar, barely out of uni, soft-faced and even softer-tongued. She seemed to live in oversized hoodies and ridiculous socks with cats or frogs or whatever else stitched into the ankles — and he knew that not from meeting her, but because he’d sat down and watched a handful of her YouTube videos for research purposes after Oscar had finally decided to cough up her name.

Not that he was nosy. He was just… protective. Curious. A little baffled.

To Mark, Oscar was still a goddamned kid himself. A fast one, a focused one, but still a kid. A kid who was, by all accounts, completely and hopelessly gone over this girl — Francesca Gold — who made videos about books for a living, apparently hadn’t stepped outside much beyond supermarket runs in years, and was nothing like the glamour models Mark had hung around when he was Oscar’s age. Back when he was young, dumb, and fucking stupid.

And it wasn’t that Mark didn’t like her. He just didn’t get it. Didn’t understand how a boy so reserved, so composed, so relentlessly methodical, could let himself fall so completely for a girl he met online. A girl with issues — a long list of them.

He didn’t mean to sound like a jerk, but it was the truth, plain and simple.

He’d spoken to Nicole about her. Had to sit there and listen to Oscar’s mum preen about the girl who’d apparently stolen her heart as easily as she’d stolen her son’s. But still — Mark couldn’t make up his mind. Couldn’t quite decide whether Francesca becoming such a big part of Oscar’s world was going to ground him or distract him. Whether she was going to steady his focus, or derail it entirely.

But then he met her.

And suddenly, Mark got it. Not all of it — he wasn’t sure anyone could fully understand whatever it was that was happening between them. Cosmic energy or some shit like that. But he understood enough.

He saw the way she looked at Oscar, like he’d hung the stars just for her. Like she still couldn’t quite believe he was real. And more than that, he saw the way Oscar looked at her — so open, so unguarded, like she was the one person in the world he didn’t have to calculate, didn’t have anything to prove.

It was the small things. The way her hand drifted toward his without meaning to. The way Oscar instinctively shifted to stand between her and everyone else in the room, or softened his voice just slightly when speaking to her. There was a rhythm to them, a language of their own that didn’t need translating.

Yeah. Mark understood.

Why this girl. Why now. Why it mattered.

She was the anchor. Oscar was the ship. And the rest of the world… the circuits, the chaos, the pressure… that was their sea.

Mark had seen it happen both ways; the drivers who got sharper, stronger, because they had someone to come home to — and the ones who started lifting their foot off the throttle, even just slightly. The ones who got too careful, and could never take that hesitation back.

He’d worried, for a brief stint, that Oscar might slip into that second category. He was young, after all. Still learning. Still finding his edge. And Mark had heard the old quote, Fernando’s words — "I knew he would hit the brakes because he has a wife and two kids at home."

Francesca looked like the kind of girl you’d slow down for. The kind you’d protect. The kind who might make a boy start second-guessing the risks.

But that wasn’t what happened.

If anything, Oscar just kept getting better. Smarter. More certain. Mark could see it in the latter half of the 2023 season — the way he handled the pressure, how his consistency grew race after race.

He also knew that his protégé had picked up a new post-race routine — a FaceTime call to a pink-cheeked girl curled under a blanket, usually wearing some kind of McLaren merch.

It wasn’t about rushing through the race debrief or forcing himself to ensure the media frenzy anymore. It was about checking in with her, first and foremost. And Mark was sure that he wasn’t the only one to notice the shift in Oscar’s demeanour.

He wasn’t just driving for himself anymore. He was driving for her, too. And somehow, that made him faster. More focused. Unstoppable.

Mark wasn’t sure he’d ever seen anything quite like it.

Francesca was quiet, sure — gentle, even — but there was steel beneath the softness. A resilience you only earned from knowing exactly how to be alone, and still choosing to love someone without limit.

She steadied him. Softened his edges in all the right places. Gave him room to breathe when everything else was telling him to hold it in. She didn’t care about lap times or telemetry or trophies — she cared about him.

Mark could see it already, clear as day. When the day came that Oscar would win his first world championship — and he would, because talent like that didn’t come around often — Francesca would be there. Front row, hand over her heart, eyes locked on him, as if the whole world had melted away.

"—Mark, are you okay?"

It was her, her soft, sweet-as-sugar voice, that pulled him out of his thoughts, heavy and complex and swirling in the background. She was sitting across the table from him, in her little flat. It was the kind of place that was small but cosy, just enough room for the three of them, with the soft hum of London outside.

Oscar was frowning at him, a picture of concern mixed with something else — an unspoken warning, the kind only someone like him could give. His eyes said it all; ‘If you've got something to say, say it to me later. And leave her out of it.’

Mark blinked, dragged himself back into the present, and glanced over at her. Her face was soft, attentive, and full of warmth, a slight quirk of concern pulling at the corners of her mouth. He shifted in his seat, realising he'd been lost in his thoughts a little too long.

“Do you need some more water?” She asked.

Mark cleared his throat, grabbed his fork, and forced a smile, nodding toward her. "I’m just fine, darlin’. Great lasagna. You make it?"

Her cheeks flushed pink. “No. Tesco finest,” she told him, a sheepish smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Oscar, on the other hand, looked so genuinely fucking proud, it almost made Mark laugh. He leaned in slightly, as if he were sharing some monumental achievement. “She cooked it perfectly, though. Remembered to set the alarm on the oven, too.”

Mark fought to keep a straight face, watching the way Oscar beamed with that proud, goofy smile. He pressed his lips together tightly, trying to hold it in, but the corners of his mouth twitched despite himself.

—

JANUARY CONT. (FIA Gala)

Francesca sat in her seat, front-row, her heart thudding in her chest as she watched Oscar walk to the stage.

Oscar, in his sharp suit, looked every bit the part of a rising star. But it was more than just his appearance. There was something in the way he held himself, in the way he walked onto that stage with such ease and confidence, that made her heart swell with pride.

She shifted in her seat, her eyes fixed on him, and as he stood there, accepting not his first, but his second FIA Rookie of the Year award, she couldn’t help but smile. This is where you belong, Osc, she thought, watching his genuine, humble expression as he thanked everyone — from his team to his family, to the fans who’d supported him. She’d always known that he was made for this, but seeing him in this moment, surrounded by all the best in the world, it hit her like a wave.

Oscar’s voice echoed through the room as he wrapped up his speech, a brief but heartfelt reference to the people who had supported him. His eyes flickered toward her in the crowd, and for a split second, she felt the world narrow down to just the two of them. His gaze was soft, appreciative — not a loud declaration, but a subtle acknowledgment.

Nine months together, and yet, in that moment, it felt like a lifetime.

The room erupted in applause, but all she could hear was the steady beat of her heart.

Zac’s hand landed on her shoulder with a tight squeeze. She glanced at him, and he gestured to his face, going for subtlety but failing miserably. She choked on a wet laugh, quickly reaching up to wipe her face, brushing the tears away.

“He’s amazing,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Zac nodded, a proud smile tugging at his lips. “One of the best in the world. That’s why he’s ours.”

—

FEBRUARY, 2024 (Bahrain Pre-Season Testing)

Bahrain was as intimidating as it was dazzling. The heat of the desert sun pressed into every inch of her skin, the air thick and heavy, almost oppressive. Even with the McLaren orange noise-cancelling headphones on, engraved with her initials, she could still hear the faint roar of the cars in the distance, their engines a constant hum in the background. The pit lane buzzed with energy, mechanics and engineers moving with precision.

Oscar had already suited up, ready for his first proper day of testing. So, naturally, she’d been left with an entourage of well-meaning people, all given one strict instruction by her boyfriend. ‘Watch her. If she needs to go inside, take her and leave her be.’

Lando, she quickly learned, had taken Oscar’s instructions a little too seriously. He buzzed around her, checking in on her every few minutes, offering to bring her water, asking if she was comfortable, if she was too hot, if she wanted to be moved into the shade. He wasn’t being overbearing, but there was something about the way he did it — with his usual cocky smile and relaxed demeanour — that made her feel like a child being cosseted.

"I know Oscar's usually here to make sure you're alright, but... well, he's kinda busy, so if you need anything, just let me know," Lando said, with that familiar boyish grin, like he was trying to make light of the situation, but his concern was still there, sincere beneath the surface.

"I'll be fine," Francesca assured him, trying to ignore the fluttering of butterflies in her stomach as she glanced over at the garage. She wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to all this. The enormity of it all. It was everything she had spent so long avoiding — the crowds, the noise, the constant pressure. But today was different. She was here for Oscar. She was trying.

Her anxiety curled up like a tight knot in her stomach. She adjusted the McLaren cap on her head and squared her shoulders — she couldn’t feed the fear, couldn’t give it a voice.

Satisfied that she wasn’t on the verge of a breakdown, Lando nodded and gave her a thumbs-up before buzzing off to check on something else. But she wasn’t left alone for long. Zac was next.

“Everything alright?” he asked, settling down beside her with a warm smile. He could tell. She could tell. Even without saying much, they both understood. The subtle shifts in her expression, the way her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her dress, the way she kept glancing at the track as if it might swallow her whole.

“I’m fine,” Francesca said again, her voice more confident this time. She was trying to settle herself. She really was.

Zac’s approach was different.

“Come on,” The CEO said with a grin, catching her by the elbow and giving her a gentle but insistent tug. “Sitting on your own will only make it worse. We’re going to the pit wall. I need some company. We’ll have fun.”

Fun? Francesca thought, but didn’t say it aloud. She had no idea how fun the pit wall could be, but seeing the sheer enthusiasm on Zac’s face made it hard to argue. Besides, she could already tell that Zac wasn’t exactly the type to take no for an answer. So, with a deep breath, she let him lead her toward the chaos, her heart thudding a little faster with each step.

When they reached the pit wall, the noise hit her first — a constant hum of car engines, mechanics shouting instructions, and the unrelenting buzz of activity. It was overwhelming, but Zac seemed completely in his element, bouncing from one engineer to the next with a cheery shout and a quick word of encouragement.

Francesca felt a little like a fish out of water, but as Zac guided her to a metal stool next to him, she couldn’t help but smile at how genuinely excited he was. He wasn’t just working — he was living for this. His energy was infectious in the best way, and though she was hesitant, there was something comforting about being wrapped in the chaos of the pit wall. At least here, she was involved. Here, she was part of something bigger.

She perched on the stool nervously, glancing at the screens, trying to catch a glimpse of what was happening. There was so much to take in — numbers flying, technical data flashing in rapid succession. It was a different world, one she hadn’t expected to ever have to understand, but she was willing to try.

Zac glanced at her and gave her a thumbs-up. “Don’t worry,” he said with a wink. “We’re just here to make sure our boys can win big this year. You can handle that, right?”

She smiled faintly, her nerves easing just a little. It felt good to be included, to be here, watching something she knew mattered to Oscar, even if she didn’t fully understand all of it. Every now and then, Tom, Oscar’s engineer, would glance over and offer a quick nod, muttering something into his headset, before turning back to his work. It was all so fast, so technical, but there was something undeniably fascinating about it.

Just as she started to zone out, finally feeling relaxed in her position, her phone buzzed.

—

iMessage — Katie & Francesca

Katie

They're talking about you on Sky Sports right now.

Don’t freak out.

—

Her eyes widened in surprise. She glanced up at the smaller screens that showed a myriad of coverage. Sure enough, there she was. It was just a quick zoom-in on the pitwall, but she was there, on the screen.

Francesca quickly swiped back to the text, her fingers trembling slightly as she typed out a reply.

—

iMessage — Katie & Francesca

Francesca

oh good god

what are they saying??

—

They’d quietly confirmed their relationship, with their soft launches and public appearances together. The whole thing was unspoken but undeniable. Still… her being here, in Bahrain, would make it clear to everyone that this wasn’t just something casual between her and Oscar. It was real. Serious.

She started fiddling with her promise ring.

Zac noticed her distraction, his gaze catching hers with that sharp, cheery awareness he always had. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping a little in that familiar, laid-back tone. “What’s going on? You okay?”

Francesca blinked, forcing a smile to cover up the flutter in her chest. “Yeah, just a message from Katie, my—uh, my manager. Best friend. She said they’re talking about me on Sky.”

Zac’s laugh rumbled through the air, so deep and warm. “You wanna give ‘em a wave? Give ‘em something to really talk about?” He nudged her gently, a mischievous grin lighting up his face. “That’d really cement you as one of us.”

Francesca blinked, unsure if he was serious. But before she could ask, Zac had already turned, craning his neck to spot the Sky camera crew across the pit. He positioned himself behind her with casual ease, like a silent protector, half-guarding her from the attention she hadn’t been prepared for.

Her heart gave a funny little jolt, a mix of surprise and warmth, something about the whole gesture feeling a lot like a welcome.

—

iMessage — Katie & Francesca

Katie

They’re being nice! Crofty knows who you are from F1 social media

He called you ‘Oscar Piastri’s possible partner’

Aw did Zac just hide you

I started cheering like an actual fangirl when you came on my screen btw

I showed Henry. He thinks his mum is famous now.

Francesca

if they ever try to approach me in the paddock for an interview i will curl up in a ball on the ground right in front of them. like a tortoise.

Katie

LMAO

Btw not to be all managery right now but this is going to do amazing things for your presale numbers

Crofty mentioned that you’re releasing your debut novel soon. Apparently one of his daughters is obsessed with you. THATS SO CUTE??????

Francesca

i’ll dm him later and have a signed copy sorted out for her

also…. can we talk abt how fucking good my bf looks today?????

he’s so yummy

katie answer me.

Katie

Sry too busy staring at Max Verstappen to care.

Francesca

FFS

—

MARCH, 2024 (Youtube Transcript)

Soft orchestral music plays underneath as the video opens to an aerial scene of Monaco with cursive text overlaying the video — Apartment Hunting in Monaco.

[Camera Video | Oscar’s POV]

The scene switches with a soft transition. The sunlight flares softly across the lens as it focuses in on Francesca. She’s standing on a cobbled balcony overlooking the port, framed by bougainvillea, the sea glittering behind her.

She’s wearing a white cotton sundress — ankle-length, delicate, moving gently with the breeze. The sleeves fall just off her shoulders, catching the breeze. Her cheeks are dusted with pink, both from the heat and something else — amusement, shyness, or maybe something in between.

She glances at the camera, lips tugging into a small, crooked smile, eyes dancing with quiet amusement. Then she speaks — soft, a little breathless, laughter curling at the edges of her words. “What? Do I have something on my face? I— Are you filming me?”

Behind the camera comes a low, muffled chuckle. Oscar. “Just a little sunburn.”

Francesca rolls her eyes, head tilting back so she can look up at him — not at the lens, but at the boy behind it. The smile she gives him then is different. Not for show. Not for the camera. The kind that lights up her whole face, eyes soft and full of something quiet and warm.

A breeze lifts her hair, brushing it across her cheek. She tucks it behind her ear absentmindedly, still smiling.

Then she notices the camera is still on.

Her eyes narrow, a mock glare directed right at him, and before he can say anything else, she lunges forward with a sharp laugh, hand outstretched until her palm covers the lens in a blur of movement. “You’re so annoying — give me that!”

The screen goes black mid-laugh.

[Digital Camera Footage | Lando’s POV]

The screen fades from black into the amber glow of evening — the clink of cutlery, low murmurs of French and Italian mingling with the sound of soft jazz in the background.

They’re seated at a small, tucked-away table in a dimly lit restaurant, all warm wood and wine bottles stacked along the back wall. The candle between them flickers gently, casting golden light across Francesca’s face as she leans in over her plate, fork lazily twirling pasta she’s been too busy talking to finish.

Oscar’s elbow is on the table, chin in his hand, just watching her. Half a glass of red in front of him, untouched. There’s something so still in the way he looks at her — like he doesn’t want to miss a second. The world outside might be glittering yachts and flashing cameras, but here, it’s just them.

Francesca laughs at something he says — soft and breathy, a little head tilt, like she can’t help it — and then glances away, as if embarrassed by how openly she’s smiling. She reaches for her wine glass and sips, eyes flicking back to him across the rim.

She’s dressed simply — hair tucked back in a loose twist, silver hoops in her ears, that same sunburn still lingering across her cheeks and nose. Oscar’s wearing a white button-up, sleeves pushed to his elbows, a bit rumpled from the day.

There’s a kind of quiet intimacy that hums between them. No show. No performance. Just two people completely wrapped up in each other, in the moment.

The camera lingers for just a beat longer before fading to black again — a low, amused laugh from Lando behind the camera the last sound before the scene shifts.

[Camera Video | Francesca’s POV]

The camera shakes slightly as Francesca adjusts the focus, the bright hum of late-morning Monaco buzzing faintly through the open balcony doors. She pans slowly around the room — white walls, pale stone floors, and a little too much echo for her liking — before swinging toward the galley kitchen where Oscar is pretending to know what he’s doing as he ‘tests the water pressure’.

“Do you like it?” she asks from behind the camera, voice soft, amused.

He turns to glance at her, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. “It’s fine. Kind of… plain?”

Francesca giggles under her breath and shifts the camera to catch the office space. More like a glorified closet with a window. She zooms in on Oscar as he steps into the tiny room, ducking slightly even though he doesn’t need to.

The leasing agent begins rattling off details, gesturing enthusiastically, “...great for a desk setup, maybe a bookshelf or two—”

Oscar turns to the camera — to her — and raises his eyebrows like he’s already unimpressed. “This is meant to be the office?”

“You could fit a desk,” the agent offers, a little defensively now.

Oscar laughs under his breath, shaking his head. “She needs more space than this. There’s, like, twenty boxes of books at home. Minimum.”

Francesca snorts behind the camera. “Oscar.”

“What?” He asks. “You do. You run a library out of your office, ‘Cesca.”

“You’re making it sound much more dramatic than it is.” She argues, softly.

The leasing agent, smiling tightly now, gestures toward her tablet. “We could explore a two-bedroom? Something with more natural light?”

Oscar doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah, let’s do that. She writes, too. She’ll need the space.”

The camera tilts slightly as Francesca lowers it a little, her other hand coming up to brush a curl out of her face. “You know I could probably work in a cupboard if I had to, right?”

Oscar throws a look over his shoulder. “Sure. But why should you?”

The moment hangs there for a beat — quiet and sure and full of that quiet certainty she still hasn’t gotten used to. She zooms in just a touch more, catches the way he bites down on the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling too hard.

“You’re sweet,” she murmurs, more to herself than the video.

[Phone Video – Shot from Passenger Seat | Francesca’s POV]

The camera opens on the curve of Oscar’s jaw, sunlight flickering across his sunglasses as he drives. The gentle hum of the engine blends with the faint background of French radio and open windows. Francesca turns the camera slowly, catching the coastline flashing past — the glittering sea to their right, a blur of palms and yachts bobbing like toys in the harbour.

Then it pans back to Oscar, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on her thigh.

Francesca’s voice, soft with a teasing lilt, “Tell the people where we’re going, Oscar.”

He doesn’t glance at the camera, but the corner of his mouth lifts. “To meet Monaco royalty.”

She snorts. “Stop it.”

“They bite if you’re not respectful,” he says, deadpan.

The video wobbles slightly as she laughs. “For context, we’re going to meet Max Verstappen’s cats. And also to talk about cat-sitting logistics in Monaco. Because, apparently, Max has very strong opinions on who looks after his cats during race weekends.”

Oscar shrugs, casual as ever. “It’ll be good to have a list of reliable sitters. These are the most high-maintenance cats in Europe. If they approve of someone, Henry’s gonna be in good hands.”

Francesca turns the phone camera to herself, her expression playful. “I might become the communal cat-sitter. If I’m at home anyway, might as well take care of them all. Could be fun. I’d have company — and not just the passive-aggressive kind Henry provides.”

Oscar lets out a quiet laugh, eyes still on the road. “You say that now. Wait ‘til you’re negotiating breakfast with Verstappen’s cats at 6 a.m.”

She grins into the camera. “Honestly? Sounds like a dream.”

[Phone Video | Oscar’s POV]

The phone camera opens shaky and low, Oscar’s voice muttering something inaudible as the view swings toward the living room floor.

Francesca is lying flat on her back on Max Verstappen’s living room rug, her baby-pink blouse rumpled, her laugh bright and breathless. Jimmy is curled against her ribs, his eyes half-lidded in bliss, while Sassy perches on her stomach, gently kneading her with her paws.

“Oh no. I think I love you,” she whispers, scratching behind his ear.

Oscar chuckles behind the camera. “Don’t get any ideas.”

Francesca doesn’t look up, just grins. “Henry would love them. They’re so soft, Osc. Feel this one’s tail—oh my god—”

Oscar zooms in suddenly, the lens focusing past her to where Max stands near the kitchen island, arms crossed, a drink in hand, his head tilted slightly.

Max is staring at Francesca like she’s just hacked some encrypted system he’s never managed to break — his expression caught somewhere between confusion and awe. A man quietly trying to calculate how the hell she’s managed to charm his high-brow cats in less than five minutes.

The camera lingers a beat too long on Max’s face before Oscar snorts and turns it back to Francesca, buried under an avalanche of cat affection.

[Camera Video | Francesca’s POV]

Francesca stood behind the camera, positioning it at the perfect angle to capture the wide expanse of the apartment. She panned the lens over the open space, the light streaming in from the tall windows, casting a warm glow across the sleek, modern furniture. Everything looked pristine.

Oscar was standing by the window, his hands in his pockets as he looked out at the view — the sprawling city of Monaco, the rooftops, and beyond.

Francesca adjusted the camera, her voice barely a whisper, but laced with that teasing tone that always seemed to slip out when she was around him. “So… what do you think?” she asked, her eyes shifting between the view and the camera.

Oscar, still gazing out the window, raised an eyebrow at her question. Without turning to look at her, he said, “It’s nice. Bigger than the last one.”

“Bigger is good, right?” Francesca asked, her gaze flicking to him through the lens. She took a step closer, bringing the camera angle in, trying to catch the look on his face as he processed the apartment.

Oscar glanced at her, then back at the leasing agent, who was mid-sentence about granite countertops or built-in smart lighting or something equally forgettable.

“So, no balcony at all?” Oscar cut in, polite but firm.

The agent blinked. “Correct. But the views are—”

“She needs to be able to see the water,” Oscar said simply, like it was obvious. “If she doesn’t feel like leaving the apartment one day, she should still get that.”

Francesca’s eyes flicked to him, caught somewhere between surprise and a quiet kind of awe. Her thumb hovered over the camera’s screen as she lowered it slightly, distracted by the weight of his words. The camera now aimed at her legs, her thumb still frozen mid-air.

The agent, sensing the shift in energy, shifted awkwardly, glancing between them. “Of course. There are a few others on the list. Some with terraces—”

Oscar didn’t miss a beat. He turned, already heading toward the door. “Let’s go see those.”

Francesca stood there for a moment longer, the camera still in her hands, capturing her legs, the apartment, then she laughed. Quiet, almost muted, but it was there. And it was fond.

[Camera Video | Francesca’s POV]

The lighting was soft and warm as sunlight streamed through the coved windows of the third apartment. The space felt intimate, calm. The floors gleamed, polished wood catching the light in a way that made the entire room glow.

Francesca held the camera in front of her, carefully framing each shot as she moved through the space, making sure to capture everything in just the right light. Every angle was deliberate, every shot chosen with care. She wanted the footage to feel personal, but she also made sure not to reveal too much. This apartment felt like theirs, and she wasn’t ready to let anyone else in on that just yet.

She zoomed in on a patch of sunlight spilling onto the floor, its warmth casting a gentle glow.

Her voice, soft and reflective, came through the lens. “Perfect for my Henry.”

She kept the camera focused on the sunlight for a moment, letting the warmth of the scene settle in. A faint smile tugged at her lips, but she lowered the camera quickly, as if to shield the moment from prying eyes.

She glanced over her shoulder. Oscar was stood on the balcony with the leasing agent. He had his hands on his hips, but there was a relaxed ease to his posture. He looked at peace.

Francesca’s gaze softened as she took a deep breath, the quiet contentment filling her. This was it. They had found it.

This place, this spot, felt right. The perfect balance of everything they needed — and nothing anyone would ever guess. She’d made sure of that. The view, the sunlight, the sense of space, and quiet privacy.

Everything was coming together.

She turned off the camera.

[Phone Video | Oscar’s POV]

Fading in from black, the segment opens with Francesca sitting in a racing sim, her hands gripping the wheel with white knuckles.

Behind the camera, Oscar’s breath hitched every time Francesca’s focus wavered and the car careened off the track. Lando’s apartment was filled with the muffled sound of tires screeching as she slammed into yet another corner.

"Wait, hold on!" Francesca’s voice cracked with frustration as she frantically tried to correct the car’s trajectory. “This thing is rigged!” she yelled at Lando, who was pacing beside her, visibly stressed.

Lando’s voice was strained as he pointed at the screen. “You need to brake, Francesca, brake before the turn!”

Francesca’s brows furrowed in confusion. “I am braking!” She mashed the brake pedal harder, only for the car to spin out of control again, slamming into the guardrail.

Oscar could barely breathe for the sheer hilarity of it. The camera was shaking with the force of his laughter “You’re supposed to brake before the turn, babe,” he said between gasps, his voice nearly breaking as he fought to maintain some semblance of composure.

Francesca shot him a glare over her shoulder. “It’s not as easy as it looks! This thing is impossible! How do you guys do this?!” she huffed, slamming her hands on the wheel. “I’m literally just turning left and right and nothing works!”

Lando, face flushed with the pressure of trying to help, dropped his face into his hand. “I’m trying, okay? Just… brake before the turn, Francesca! It’s like this with every sim! You need to focus!”

She threw her hands up, exasperated. “I am focusing! How do you focus when every turn makes you feel like you’re about to flip off a cliff?!”

Oscar was no longer able to contain himself. Behind the camera, he was laughing so hard, his chest was aching. He stepped back for a moment, nearly losing it as he caught a glimpse of Lando’s panicked expression, trying to explain the intricacies of sim racing as if this were a life-or-death situation.

“You’ve got to get the brake pressure right!” Lando urged, his voice strained. “Think of it like a real car, but faster!”

“I am thinking of it like a real car!” Francesca shot back. “And in real life, I don’t even have a bloody driving licence!”

Oscar, doubled over in laughter, could barely hold the camera steady. “I think you’re doing great, babe. You’re… you’re definitely, uh, getting the hang of it,” he gasped, trying to wipe tears from his eyes.

Francesca turned back to the screen, trying to give it another go. As soon as she did, the car hit yet another corner wrong, sending her flying off the track again.

She let out a loud scream of frustration. “I can’t do it!” she yelled, slamming her fists against the wheel.

Lando squeaked, his eyes wide in panic. “Francesca! That’s bloody expensive, stop—Stop hitting it!”

Oscar nearly choked on his own breath, clutching the camera in an effort to keep it steady while trying to hold back his laughter.

Francesca finally turned the chair away from the sim, throwing her hands up in mock surrender. “I think I’ll leave the racing to you two, yeah?” She said. Her words only made Oscar laugh harder, his laughter shaking the entire frame of the camera.

Lando let out a long sigh, rubbing his temples as he ran his fingers through his hair in frustration.

Oscar, still struggling to regain composure, panned the camera to his own face, his cheeks flushed from laughter. For a moment, he couldn't even speak — he just gasped for air between fits of giggles. Finally, he managed, “Not sure how I feel about you wanting to get your license after seeing that,” his voice cracking from laughing so hard.

Francesca leaned back in the chair with an exaggerated sigh, throwing her head back dramatically. “Yeah, no kidding,” she said with a mock-grumble, flipping her hand dismissively.

Lando, still staring at the rig in disbelief, shook his head, muttering under his breath, “I need a drink. Or ten.”

[Phone Video – Shot from Passenger Seat | Francesca’s POV]

The camera was a lot steadier as it shifted into a new scene, Francesca holding it close to her face as the soft hum of the car filled the quiet space. Her eyes were a little tired, but there was a calm resolve in her gaze.

“Hey guys,” she began, her voice softer than usual but still grounded. “So, today’s been a bit of a rollercoaster. I had a panic attack in a store earlier, which… you know, isn’t fun. Not that I’m expecting any of you to feel sorry for me or anything,” she said with a small, self-aware smile, “but sometimes it’s just a little overwhelming, and I get caught up in it.”

Oscar, who had been driving, glanced over at her for a split second, his expression gentle. She returned a quiet smile, her voice growing a little warmer as she continued.

“The thing is, though, I’m not going to let it ruin my whole day,” she said, lifting her chin a little, almost defiantly. “I’ve been in this place before, where it feels like everything’s crashing in on me, but… I’m not going to let it take over. Not today.” She took a breath, steadying herself. “And honestly, I don’t think I would’ve been able to say that a while ago. But today? I’m choosing to move on.”

Francesca turned the camera slightly, drawing the lens to the bag in her lap. She opened it carefully, revealing the soft leather and the small tag still dangling from the inside.

“Oscar actually surprised me with this,” she said with a soft laugh, her fingers brushing over the bag’s edge. “I didn’t even know he was planning on it, but I think he could tell I was having a rough day. So…” She shrugged lightly, a small, fond smile creeping up her lips. “This is from him. It’s a little over the top, but I guess it’s nice to have something beautiful to look at after a crappy day.”

She gave the camera a playful, almost teasing look. “I swear, though, I’m not, like… flexing. It’s more like… a reminder that the world doesn’t stop spinning because I’m having a rough time.” Her voice grew more firm, more grounded. “So yeah, that’s my little pep talk for today.”

The camera zoomed in on the bag again, its pristine white leather catching the light.

Oscar glanced at her again, the corner of his mouth curling into a quiet, loving smile, and she caught the look, giving him a soft nod in return.

“Anyway,” Francesca said, taking another breath, “I’m going to enjoy the rest of today. And I hope you guys do, too. Thanks for being here with me, as always. I know that this video probably feels a bit… thrown together. But it’s been fun to film a vlog. My first one, really. I hope you like it.”

With that, she lowered the camera slightly, the last shot of the video capturing her calm but resolute expression before it faded to black.

—

Top Comments:

@litwitch420

this entire video felt like a fever dream

@casgyt

THIS IS GOING TO GO DOWN IN HISTORY AS THE CRAZIEST HARD LAUNCH EVER. WHAT THE FUCK

@crymewithcoffee

we knew they were together. like after seeing her in bahrain we KNEW. And yet here I am…. still GAGGED

@thisissochaotic

“he got me this bag” AND IT’S A FCKING MINI KELLY?????????????

@traumabrat98

Make more vlogs!!!!!! This was the most entertaining piece of content that I’ve consumed all week

@henryhasfans

You zooming in on the little sunspot for Henry….. I’m so happy for you both. Good luck in your new home!!!

@softestheartsclub

Oh my god Oscar is GONE for her. The way he was laughing when she was trying to use Lando’s sim……. I’m dying

@pidgeinajar

HER LAYING ON MAX VERSTAPPEN’S FLOOR COVERED IN HIS CATS 😭

—

APRIL, 2024 (LONDON — JAPAN)

iMessage — Francesca & Oscar

Oscar

Hey baby

Are you busy?

Francesca

no i just finished filming

you ok??????

Oscar

Yeah

Kind of

What are you wearing

Francesca

………… oh my god oh my god

wait hold on give me a minute ok

Oscar

Babe.

Francesca

ok now ask me again

Oscar

Seriously?

Francesca

ask me again or perish

Oscar

What are you wearing, baby?

Francesca

nothing except for 1 thing

a pair of ur boxers

hehe

Oscar

Jesus

Show me how pretty you look, baby

Francesca

*insert mirror pic*

Oscar

Look at you.

So perfect

My girl

I miss you so much

God, I can’t stop looking at you

Francesca

can we facetime please? i feel like a cat in heat pls pls pls pls

Incoming FaceTime call from Oscar

The screen flickered to life, and there he was — soft hotel lighting, hair a little tousled like he’d been running his hands through it. His voice came low, smooth, and quiet. “Let me see you again, baby.”

Francesca pulled the phone back, tilting the camera slightly as she sat back on her bed. Her cheeks were already pink. The oversized pair of Oscar’s boxers she wore hung low on her hips, her bare legs folded under her, skin warm from anticipation.

Oscar's eyes darkened as he took her in. “God, you’re beautiful.” He leaned in toward the camera like he could reach her. “You put them on them just for me, didn’t you? Knew it’d make me crazy.”

She bit her lip, a little shy now, her voice barely above a whisper. “I miss you.”

He smiled — slow and knowing. “Yeah? You gonna show me how much?”

She hesitated, not from embarrassment but because his voice alone had her breath catching. The way he was looking at her — like she was the only thing in the world worth seeing — made her stomach twist and flutter.

“Oscar…”

His tone changed, low and teasing. “Don’t play shy now, baby.” He leaned back slightly in his chair, dragging his hand slowly along his face. “You know what you do to me when you act all sweet like this?”

She tucked her chin to her shoulder, glancing at the screen from beneath her lashes. “What do I do to you?”

A beat.

“You make it very hard to be in a different country right now.”

Francesca gave a soft, breathy laugh, one hand coming up to play with the hem of the boxers.

Oscar’s voice dipped into something darker, quieter. “Keep going.”

She did, slowly, never taking her eyes off him. Every inch of movement was deliberate — slow, teasing, meant only for him.

“I love when you get like this,” he murmured. “All shy, all mine. You have no idea what you do to me, baby.”

The call stretched into silence except for the sound of their breathing, low and syncing across the distance.

She leaned closer, voice shaking just a little. “I wish you were here.”

“I will be. Two days.” His gaze burned through the screen. “And when I get there, I’m going to remind you exactly who you belong to.”

Her breath caught, cheeks flushing deeper.

“Now,” he said, sitting forward again, his voice a murmur, “keep talking, baby. Tell me everything I’m missing.”

—

MAY, 2024 (Monaco)

Between Miami and Imola.

The apartment was still half chaos, cardboard boxes stacked in corners and a lamp sitting unplugged on the kitchen counter, but the bones of home were already there — her books on the shelves, Oscar’s caps tucked neatly in a basket by the door, Francesca’s coffee mugs lined up on the drying rack next to the sink.

The sun had dipped below the horizon hours ago, but the warmth of the day still clung to the walls. The living room was lit only by the soft glow of a floor lamp and the ambient noise of some gentle lo-fi playing from Francesca’s phone.

They were collapsed together on the sofa, legs tangled under a too-warm throw blanket neither of them had bothered to kick off. Francesca's head was on Oscar’s chest, his fingers moving absentmindedly through her hair while her hand rested on his stomach.

Their shared silence was broken by the familiar little mrrp of Henry announcing himself.

Francesca blinked open one eye. “Hi, lovebug.”

Henry leapt up onto the sofa and stepped directly onto Oscar’s chest without hesitation, then flopped himself neatly across both of them, his tail curling around Francesca’s wrist. He gave one regal yawn and promptly closed his eyes, fully satisfied.

Oscar groaned, but his arm never left Francesca. “He’s so heavy. Why is he so heavy?”

“He started stress eating about the move,” she mumbled into his shirt. “He’ll go back to normal as soon as he gets settled.”

“I’m being crushed.” Oscar complained.

“You’re being loved.” She muttered.

Oscar tilted his head down and pressed a lazy kiss to her forehead. “Same thing, I guess.”

Francesca smiled, eyes fluttering closed again. Henry let out a sleepy purr like an engine beneath them, and for a long while, the three of them just stayed like that — tangled, content, and utterly at peace in their new home.

—

JULY 2024 (HUNGARY)

Francesca stood tucked near the back of the McLaren garage, noise-cancelling headphones snug over her ears, her VIP pass swinging gently against her chest. Mark stood beside her, arms crossed, eyes flicking between the pit wall monitors and the track feed. She liked being near him — his quiet calm had a way of settling her nerves when the rest of the garage buzzed with sharp, electric energy.

When a Sky camera panned in on the pair of them, Francesca caught it in her periphery and gave a small, deliberate wave. Not dramatic. Just enough. She was starting to get used to being noticed here. Kind of.

Mark leaned over slightly, not taking his eyes off the telemetry screen. “You’re famous now.”

She snorted softly. “It’s not the first time I’ve been on camera.”

“Still. They filmed you for two seconds longer than they filmed me.”

That got a laugh out of her — short and breathless, because God, she was nervous. Not just about the race, but about the fact that her book — the thing she’d poured herself into — had officially hit the shelves earlier that morning. And she hadn’t had the courage to open social media once.

“It’s out today,” she said finally, her voice quiet under the buzz of engines. “My book.”

Mark turned his head toward her for the first time, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah? That’s huge.”

She hugged herself loosely. “It might flop.”

“It won’t.” He said.

“You don’t know that.”

“I know good things don’t fail,” Mark said simply, like it was the most obvious truth in the world. “Oscar made Lando pre-order a copy yesterday, right after the strategy meeting. Poor kid’s dyslexic.”

Francesca laughed — a little louder this time, a little more real. “I’ll have to tell him that he doesn’t actually have to read it.”

She turned her attention back to the front of the garage, nibbling at her bottom lip as the cars started peeling out onto the track. Her heart was already racing, nerves coiling tight in her stomach.

The race unfolded in layers — tense, dramatic, and inch-perfect from lights out to every nail-biting overtake. She barely breathed between pit stops and radio chatter, caught up in the frantic rhythm of it all.

And then, as the final laps ticked down, one thing became clear.

Oscar was going to win.

Francesca forgot how to breathe for a full minute. The garage erupted when he crossed the chequered flag — mechanics high-fiving, hugging, shouting over one another. The champagne would come later. Right now, it was all adrenaline and awe.

Mark hugged her before following the mechanics out into Parc ferme.

She didn’t move. She let him have that moment — the roar of the team, the photo ops, the press obligations. She stayed tucked away in the same corner of the garage where she always waited for him. Her safe little spot.

And then he found her.

Still in his race suit, hair damp under the cap, flushed with victory. His eyes scanned the space until they landed on her, and he didn’t hesitate.

He came straight for her, shouldering past cameras and crew and noise like they didn’t exist.

And then he kissed her.

Not soft or shy — but full-body, hands-in-her-hair, I-just-won-and-you’re-the-first-person-I-wanted-to-see kind of kiss. A kiss that knew there were cameras, and didn’t give a single damn.

Francesca melted into it, arms wrapping around him instinctively, one hand curling in the fabric of his fireproofs. The garage faded. The noise dimmed.

When they finally pulled apart, still grinning, still breathless, Oscar pressed his forehead to hers.

“You won,” she whispered, dazed.

“I won.”

—

Four hours later, in the haze of post-race adrenaline and exhaustion, one of the McLaren social media admins approached her during the debrief with a wide grin.

“Congratulations,” she said, practically buzzing.

Francesca blinked. “For what?”

The admin tilted her head, equally puzzled. “Your book. You’ve broken all kinds of sales records. It’s everywhere.”

She stared at them for a second, like the words hadn’t quite landed. “Wait — what?”

The admin laughed. “You haven’t even checked your phone, have you?”

She shook her head slowly, stunned. “No. I’ve been — well, here.”

“Well,” the admin said, already pulling out their own phone to show her the numbers. “You might want to check it now.”

—

AUGUST, 2024 (Monaco)

The sun dipped low over the water, casting the apartment in golden light. The breeze from the balcony was warm and sweet, carrying the scent of salt and blooming jasmine.

Francesca stood barefoot in the kitchen, hair clipped back messily, stirring something on the stove that had started as a ragu but had become more like a risotto. Somehow.

Behind her, the front door clicked open.

“Katie!” she called without turning around, already grinning.

“You live here?” Katie’s voice echoed through the flat as she stepped inside, suitcase trailing behind her, sunglasses still perched on her head. “Like — actually live here? This is absurd. You’re absurd.”

Francesca laughed, wiped her hands on a tea towel, and turned to greet her best friend. They hugged tightly, the kind of squeeze that said I missed you more clearly than any words could.

“It’s not that absurd,” Francesca argued playfully, though the apartment — with its panoramic sea view and soft sunlight bleeding across every surface — sort of spoke for itself.

Katie dropped her bag and immediately flopped down onto the sofa. “You look disgustingly domestic. Is that an apron? Oh my God.”

Francesca rolled her eyes, flicking a dishtowel in her direction. “It’s a cooking towel. And yes, Oscar’s turned me into someone who owns olive oil in more than one variety.”

“Tragic,” Katie said, stretching like Henry liked to do in that exact spot. “Where is Lover Boy?”

“Factory debrief in Woking. Back tomorrow.” Francesca padded over with two glasses of something cold and citrusy. “You have me all to yourself.”

Katie took the glass and lifted it in a toast. “To you, my beautiful best friend, who lives in the most beautiful apartment in the world and still cries whenever someone says something vaguely mean about her bestselling book on Goodreads.”

Francesca pouted. “Some of those reviews are brutal.”

“I’ll kill them.” Katie said it so casually it could’ve been mistaken for a joke — but it wasn’t.

Francesca grinned at her. “It’s so good to have you here.”

Katie tilted her head, gaze soft. “You seem so happy, Fran.”

“I am,” she said, and meant it. “Come on. I’ll show you the sunspot Henry likes to nap in. It’s very exclusive.”

“Oh, please,” Katie muttered, trailing after her. “He’s becoming even more spoiled than he already was.”

“He’s Monaco royalty now. Jimmy and Sassy love him.”

Katie rolled her eyes. “Right, because the fact that your cat is friends with Max Verstappen’s cats is a totally normal thing to tell a person.”

Francesca just grinned over her shoulder, unbothered. “You get used to it.”

Katie scoffed, but there was affection in her voice. “I don’t think I ever will.”

They disappeared down the hallway, the soft thump of their footsteps blending with low, familiar laughter — comfortable, easy.

—

AUGUST, 2024 (Monaco)

The soft click of the apartment door shutting echoed faintly behind her. Francesca dropped the shopping bags by the entryway and stretched, still slightly flushed from the sun. She barely had a moment to relax, the safe warmth of home settling into her bones, before she heard him.

"Don’t move," Oscar’s voice called, smooth and low from down the hall. It had that tone — just on the edge of command, threaded with teasing.

She stilled, instantly curious. “Why?” she asked, one brow raised.

He appeared a second later, leaned casually against the doorway to their bedroom, arms folded across his chest. He was in race gear — mostly. Suit half-unzipped and hanging at his waist, undershirt clinging to him, and the black balaclava still pulled over his head, only his eyes and mouth visible.

Francesca blinked. “Um,” she said, unable to form any more words. Her heart skipped. That balaclava shouldn’t have looked good — shouldn’t have made her feel anything. But there was something about it. About him. Her voice came out softer than she meant it to when she eventually managed to say, “You look ridiculous.”

“You sound like you’re lying,” he said, pushing off the doorway and walking toward her slowly.

She backed up instinctively, until her spine met the wall. He stopped in front of her, hands braced on either side of her head, close enough that she could feel the warmth of him, the scent of clean sweat and sun.

“Be honest,” he murmured, eyes catching hers through the fabric. “You like it.”

Francesca gave a helpless little laugh, breath hitching. “You’re insufferable.”

“Mm, maybe,” he murmured, nose brushing hers through the fabric. “But you’re still blushing.” His voice was still so calm, so in control — and it made her knees feel unsteady. He tilted his head. “You trust me?”

“Always,” she whispered.

Oscar’s lips curved behind the fabric. “Good. Then let me take care of you, baby.”

His fingers brushed over her waist, deliberate and slow. The balaclava stayed on, and his eyes were almost black as he stared at her.

Francesca’s breath hitched when he leaned in again, kissing just beneath her jaw, letting his lips linger against her skin before dragging down to her neck. She tilted her head for him without thinking, her hands finding purchase on the front of his undershirt, clinging just a little.

“Thought you would be tired,” she murmured, dazed.

He hummed, lifting his head to meet her eyes with a quiet smile. “I’ve always got the energy to take care of you,” he said, voice dark and velvet-soft. “Always.”

She wasn’t sure if it was the words or the look he gave her, heavy-lidded and utterly focused, but something fluttered low in her stomach, heat curling through her limbs.

His hands slid up beneath her shirt slowly, fingertips ghosting along her ribcage, and when she gasped softly, he just smiled again — pleased. Confident.

“I love how responsive you are,” he said, almost to himself, leaning in to kiss her again. This time, it wasn’t soft. It was demanding — possessive, the kind of kiss that left her dizzy and aching.

When they finally broke apart, she was breathless, and his forehead rested gently against hers.

“Bedroom,” he murmured. “Now.”

She hesitated, just barely. Then nodded.

Oscar didn’t give her a chance to lead. He took her hand, guiding her backwards through the apartment until the backs of her knees hit the bed. She fell onto it with a soft laugh, only for it to catch in her throat when he followed her down slowly, eyes never leaving hers.

He kissed her like he had something to prove. Hands trailing, anchoring her, touching her; he already knew every inch of her body, he just wanted to relearn it all again.

“You don’t have to hide anything with me,” he murmured, thumb stroking along her hipbone as he kissed lower, slower, more deliberately. “Not a single thing.”

Her hands tangled in his hair, pulling softly, and he let out a quiet groan.

He was savouring. Worshipping.

And by the time her back arched off the mattress, and his name broke from her lips like a prayer, Oscar was right there, kissing the words from her mouth, catching every tremble and gasp with steady, careful hands.

After, he didn’t pull away. He stayed close, brushing damp hair off her forehead, kissing her temple, her jaw, her shoulder like she was something fragile and precious and entirely his.

“You okay?” he asked softly, fingertips stroking her side.

Francesca nodded, smile lazy and blissful. “Yeah. You?”

Oscar leaned down again, kissed her just once — slow and deep. “So in love with you, it’s not even funny.”

—

It was a quiet afternoon in Monaco, the kind of day that hummed softness. The café was tucked into a shaded corner near the marina, half-hidden behind flowering vines and white umbrellas. Francesca stirred her iced coffee absently, the rim of her sunglasses perched on the bridge of her nose, Oscar sitting opposite her, legs stretched out, one ankle crossed with hers under the table.

They weren’t in a rush. They rarely were on days like this.

Oscar was mid-sentence about something, probably tyres or brake balance, but then he paused, eyes flicking past her shoulder.

Francesca turned slightly to look.

A couple sat a few tables over, tucked into the corner with a stroller parked beside them. The mother was speaking gently while sipping her drink, and the father had their baby cradled against his chest, cooing something only the baby could hear. It was quiet and tender. Beautiful, really.

Oscar watched them for a long moment, expression unreadable, then leaned forward slightly. His voice was low, almost shy.

“Is that… something you’d want? One day?”

Francesca blinked, caught off-guard. She looked over at the family again, at the warmth of it, the calm in their shared space, and then back at him.

“Yes,” she said, voice quiet but certain. “One day, yeah.” Oscar’s gaze didn’t leave hers, so she kept going, the words spilling out more honestly than she expected. “I want to be the kind of mum I didn’t get,” she admitted, her thumb brushing against the condensation on her glass. “The kind that’s endlessly patient. Who listens. Who hugs for too long and cries at every little achievement and keeps every single awful piece of art they ever make.” She paused, swallowing. “I want to be warm. Safe. I want them to grow up knowing they’re so loved it hurts.”

Oscar reached across the table then, gently taking her hand in his, thumb rubbing slow circles over her knuckles. There was nothing teasing in his smile. It was reverent.

“You will be,” he said softly.

Francesca blinked again, the back of her throat tightening.

Oscar leaned in, voice just for her now. “And when you’re ready, next year, in ten years, whenever it feels right, I’ll give you as many babies as you want.”

She laughed, a little teary now. “You say that like it’s a threat.”

“It is,” he grinned. “I’m going to be the king of car seat installation.”

Francesca rolled her eyes fondly, squeezing his hand. “I can see you spending months practising, just to prove a point.”

Oscar smiled like the idea delighted him. “Can’t wait.”

She smiled at him and the world softened. It folded in around them; just the two of them, sunlight filtering through the café canopy, coffee going warm on the table, and a quiet promise that someday, they'd build something even bigger together.

Something that would always feel like home.

CHAPTER EIGHT PT. 2 (THE EPILOGUE)

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pukefactory · 1 month ago

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Ok so I FINALLY have gotten into the ENA series and your fics have been fueling the fire (thank you)

Sooooo what if the (easily flustered- cause I can be ) reader (g!) and Ena were both fufiling a job together, and unintentionally Ena keeps flirting with the reader and our girl just…doesn’t understand how her acts are affecting the reader throughout.

If you can do this that would be amazing, take your time love -💄

•☽────✧˖°˖ LIGHT LOCK ˖°˖✧────☾•

★ Summary: A Compilation of Headcannons Featuring Salesperson Ena Accidentally Flirting With An Easily Flustered Reader

★ Character(s): Salesperson Ena (ENA: Dream BBQ)

★ Genre: Headcannons, SFW

★ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

★ Image Credits: @JoelG

☆ Ena is a menace without even trying. She tilts her head as she hands you a clipboard, murmuring in that smooth, dual-toned voice, “Would you like me to take your burdens, dearest coworker? Or do you simply enjoy watching my hands move?” You short-circuit. She blinks, puzzled.

☆ Her Salesperson side is more mischievous, her Meanie side more serious—but both are terrible for your heart. “You look quite dazzling today, partner,” Salesperson hums, twirling a pen. “Like a cosmic bloom unfolding in the nebula of bureaucracy.” Meanie scoffs. “You’re sweating. Keep that up and you’re gonna stink up the place!”

☆ Physical proximity is dangerous. She leans over your shoulder, her clawed fingers tapping the desk, her smooth voice brushing your ear. “We make such a wonderful duo, do we not?” You nearly delete the entire report you were writing. Ena does not understand why.

☆ She plays it off as professional camaraderie. “You must learn to accept praise,” she chides as you stammer at yet another oddly intimate compliment. “Humans crave validation, do they not? I am simply fulfilling my role as your diligent associate.” You are not convinced.

☆ Ena has no concept of personal space. “Your hands are trembling,” she notes, clasping them between her own. “Is it the stress of work? Or do I evoke an emotion unspoken?” You combust. Ena merely tilts her head, awaiting your answer.

☆ She accidentally makes things worse by switching tones unpredictably. One moment, she’s chirping about efficiency. The next, her voice dips into a sultry purr. “Tell me, darling… Do you enjoy it when I look at you like this?” You drop your coffee. Ena frowns at the mess.

☆ She offers assistance in the most dramatic way possible. “Permit me to relieve your burdens,” she declares, sweeping the paperwork from your hands with an elegant flourish. “I am your devoted assistant, after all.” You stare. “Ena, we are literally just sorting files.”

☆ You try to fight back once. It fails. “You know, Ena,” you smirk, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re flirting with me.” She freezes. Then, her expression shifts—slowly, curiously. “Would it fluster you if I were?” You instantly regret everything.

☆ Sometimes, she teases without realizing it. “Why do you react so strongly to my words?” she muses aloud, watching you turn pink yet again. “Is it my voice? My presence? A secret you wish to share?” You squeak in protest. Ena hums. “Fascinating.”

☆ She remains blissfully oblivious. As you clutch your chest, recovering from yet another heart-stopping moment, Ena shrugs. “I am merely fulfilling our assigned task with enthusiasm,” she says, handing you another stack of papers. “Now, tell me—shall we continue, my precious partner?”

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frogs-and-oscar-brainrot · 11 months ago

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Okay but what if Ruby is Susan's mom and not biological Doctor's daughter but he took her after she died or something

OKAY WILD THEORY BUT

WE KEEP MENTIONING SUSAN FOREMAN SO SHE MUST BE IN THERE SOMEWHERE

RUBY DOESN'T KNOW HER REAL PARENTS, AND THERE IS NO DNA FOR THEM ANYWHERE

CHAMELEON CIRCUIT: "This dimensionally transcendental circuit controls the exterior shell's Cloaking Device and Camouflage Unit. The Camouflage Unit allows the shape, colour, mass and texture of the Shell to be altered to blend in with its surroundings. This feature is designed to help prevent changes to history."

THE DOCTOR HASN'T HAD SUSAN'S PARENTS YET

WHAT IF RUBY IS SUSAN, THE VHS IS THE CHAMELEON CIRCUIT (OR SMTH IS THE CHAMELEON CIRCUIT), AND RUBY'S MOTHER IS FROM THE FUTURE?????

#honestly I think Ruby is some kind of cosmic power which was hidden from Seketh and she will defeat him #doctor who #susan foreman #ruby sunday #the legend of ruby sunday #chameleon circuit #disney #disney+

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solxamber · 7 months ago

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Alien Reader x TWST Canon

An alien crash lands in Twisted Wonderland looking for love! The alien (reader) is.. kind of cute. In a weird way.

Characters: Azul, Malleus, and Idia.

Azul, Malleus, Idia with Alien! Reader

hi! i hope you like it <3 sorry for the wait!

Azul Ashengrotto:

It was a peaceful day in Twisted Wonderland. Azul Ashengrotto was meticulously planning out his next business venture (which may or may not involve the emotional manipulation of some unsuspecting freshmen) when suddenly—CRASH.

A blinding flash of light, a rumble, and the unmistakable sound of something exploding.

Azul sighed. “Great,” he muttered, flipping his fountain pen between his fingers. “Another day, another disaster.” He could already hear Floyd and Jade rushing toward the source of the chaos.

Then, the door of the Mostro Lounge flew open.

And there you were—an alien, crashing into Twisted Wonderland.

"Greetings, Earthlings!" you chirped with a wave. Your three fingers wiggled in what you thought was a charming way. "I have come in peace... and possibly to find a life partner. Anyone looking for a mate?"

Azul froze, his brain short-circuiting. This was new. He had seen a lot of strange things in his life, but this? This was a whole new level of strange.

Jade’s eyebrow lifted ever so slightly. “Fascinating,” he whispered, glancing over to Floyd, who was already doubled over in laughter.

Floyd, still wheezing, pointed at you. “Yo, boss! We got ourselves an intergalactic lover on the loose! Wanna make a contract?”

Azul shot him a sharp glare, but his business instincts kicked in almost immediately. An alien? From another world? Looking for love? There had to be a profit in this. There’s always a profit somewhere…

Azul adjusted his glasses, putting on his best business smile. “Welcome to Twisted Wonderland,” he purred, his voice as smooth as ever. “Might I interest you in a… contract, perhaps? You’re clearly looking for something, and I happen to be someone who can find things.”

You squinted at him, tilting your head to the side like a confused puppy—if puppies were green and slightly sparkly. “A contract? Is that like space marriage?”

Azul blinked. “No, not quite—”

“Sounds perfect!” you interrupted, your smile growing even wider, revealing a row of… what could only be described as tentacles? “Let’s get married! I’m very good at intergalactic housekeeping, and I can cook anything that resembles goo! Do you enjoy goo?”

Floyd was howling at this point. Jade’s lips twitched in a rare show of amusement.

Azul’s perfectly crafted business persona cracked for a moment, his eye twitching ever so slightly. “Excuse me, marriage wasn’t exactly what I had in mind. I was referring to a… business arrangement, one where I help you find what you’re looking for, and in return—”

“Right!” you chirped, completely ignoring him. “I’m looking for love! It’s mating season on my planet, and I’ve decided to broaden my horizons! Do you have eight legs? That’s a non-negotiable on my planet.”

Azul blinked. “Well… I don’t have eight legs, but I do have—”

“Oh, thank the stars!” you interrupted again, fluttering your hands (tentacles? limbs? appendages?) excitedly. “It’s been so hard to find someone who understands the true beauty of multiple limbs! You and I are going to be the power couple of the galaxy.”

Azul, still processing the fact that he was apparently engaged to an alien, swallowed hard. “I… see. But—”

Before he could even finish his sentence, you lunged forward with surprising speed, your alien arms wrapping around him in what could only be described as a weird, somewhat slimy embrace. “I knew it,” you whispered dramatically, “the moment I crash-landed, I felt a cosmic connection! You… you’re my octo-prince!”

“Octo-prince?” Azul repeated, eyes wide with horror.

Jade, unable to contain himself, cleared his throat. “You have to admit, Azul, this does seem rather fitting.”

Floyd was still laughing, practically in tears now. “Haha! Boss, you got yourself an alien spouse! This is the best day ever.”

Azul’s face flushed pink, and he began desperately trying to pry your surprisingly strong alien arms off of him. “Jade… Floyd… a little help, please?”

But his most loyal (and evil) henchmen were no help at all. They stood back, thoroughly entertained by the spectacle.

In the midst of the chaos, you pulled back just enough to gaze up at Azul with your enormous, glowing eyes. “I can tell we’re going to be very happy together,” you said, your voice soft and—dare Azul say it—creepy. “Shall we begin planning our union?”

Azul’s soul left his body. He felt himself spiraling into existential dread. His carefully constructed life as a scheming businessman was unraveling before his very eyes, all because some alien had decided he was their octo-prince.

“I—this isn’t—you can’t just—” he stammered, for the first time in his life at a complete loss for words.

You leaned in closer, your breath smelling faintly of something otherworldly. “Don’t worry, darling,” you cooed. “We’ll be together forever. In space.”

And that’s when Azul blacked out.

Idia Shroud

Idia was in the middle of his nightly gaming session, headphones on, hunched over his desk like a cryptid as he shouted insults into the mic at his teammates. It was a normal, uneventful evening—until a loud crash shook the entire Ignihyde dorm.

Idia didn’t flinch. In fact, he didn’t even pause his game.

“That’s probably just some monster… or a random explosion. Meh.”

But then… his door slid open, and there you stood. An alien. Your shimmering, blob-like figure oozed through the doorway, glowing faintly in the dim light. Your eyes—if those were eyes—stared at him with an intensity that made Idia want to crawl under his bed and never come out.

But the worst part? You were smiling.

“Hello, human!” you declared in a voice that sounded like a mix between static and something from a 1980s sci-fi film. “I have crash-landed here in search of a mate. Do you… come in peace?”

Idia froze. His hair turned from blue to white in an instant. “W-w-what the hell?!?”

You blinked at him with your many, MANY eyes. “You look like a prime candidate for my affection,” you said, completely unaware of the fact that Idia looked two seconds away from fainting. “I sensed your energy from across the galaxy.”

Idia’s brain was doing cartwheels. He was already socially anxious when it came to humans, but an alien looking for love? This was some next-level nightmare fuel.

“I—uh—I think you’ve got the wrong guy,” Idia squeaked, scooting his chair back slowly, his fingers trembling over his keyboard. “I’m not… um… I don’t do affection. Or eye contact. Or… this.”

You floated closer, your gelatinous form undulating with excitement. “Oh, but you have such a unique aura! I can feel your power. You are… the one I’ve been searching for.”

Idia gulped. “Power? I—I’m just a guy who likes video games and anime. I’m not even popular! I mean, you should probably go find someone else who’s, like, charismatic or whatever.”

You paused, your many eyes narrowing. “Is this… a rejection?”

Idia’s panic spiked to a level previously thought impossible. “N-no! I mean, I just—wait. Are you saying you want to… date me?”

Your eyes twinkled—literally, they twinkled—and your blob-like form shimmered with delight. “Date? Yes, that’s the Earth term! I wish to date you, human! I’ve studied your customs thoroughly. Would you like to engage in what you call ‘cosplay?’ I have constructed an outfit based on your planetary ‘anime’ culture.”

Idia’s eyes nearly popped out of his head as you suddenly produced what looked like an alien approximation of a magical girl outfit, complete with glowing tentacles and glittering stars.

“W-wait, what the hell is that?” Idia squeaked, backing up until his back hit the wall.

You proudly held the costume out. “I thought you would appreciate this. I have prepared this outfit in hopes of wooing you. Shall we engage in ‘cosplay’ together and deepen our bond?”

Idia’s brain was short-circuiting. Cosplay? Magical girl outfits? This was so far out of his comfort zone that Idia couldn’t even see his comfort zone anymore. It was a tiny speck in the distance, waving goodbye as he plummeted into a pit of alien-themed existential dread.

“I—I’m not really a magical girl kinda guy…” Idia stammered, trying to inch toward his bed where he could hide under the covers forever. His legs felt like jelly, and his hair was practically on fire with panic.

You didn’t seem deterred. In fact, you floated even closer, your glittery tentacles wriggling with excitement. “That’s okay! I can adapt!” you said brightly. “Do you prefer… space cowboys? Or perhaps a mecha pilot uniform? I’ve observed that humans enjoy when their partners dress up to match their interests.”

“I—uh—no, that’s not the point!” Idia squeaked, heart racing. “You can’t just—look, I’m not dating material, okay? I’m the guy who stays in his room and talks to people through a screen! I’m like… the human equivalent of a cave-dwelling monster in an RPG.”

Your many eyes blinked again, as if processing this information. “Hmm. That’s okay! I can also live in a cave if necessary. We’ll make it work.”

Idia gaped at you, utterly flabbergasted. “That’s… not what I meant.”

But before he could come up with a more coherent response, you were already examining his gaming setup with curiosity. You poked at his PC, your strange alien fingers leaving faint glows on the surface. “Ah, I see. You enjoy interacting with simulated realities. Perhaps I could join you in these… ‘video games’ of yours?”

“Join me?” Idia repeated, his voice an octave higher than usual. “In video games? You… you play?”

You nodded eagerly, still poking around his gaming desk. “Oh, I’ve mastered many simulations in my travels! Galaxian, Space Invaders, even Asteroids! We could play together and strengthen our bond through virtual combat.”

“Wait, those are all, like, retro games…” Idia muttered, his brain struggling to process the situation. “You mean, you don’t play anything… newer?”

You paused, considering. “Ah, you mean the more recent simulations? No, I haven’t encountered those yet. But I’m adaptable! Teach me, and we can conquer the virtual realms together.”

Something shifted in Idia’s mind. Amidst the sheer panic, a tiny part of him—a very, very small part—felt… intrigued? He was terrified, sure. But also, there was something oddly charming about the fact that you, an intergalactic blob alien, were so enthusiastic about his world.

It was like the universe had taken one look at his love life and decided, “Well, you’re clearly a lost cause. Here, have an alien.”

“Well…” Idia swallowed nervously. “I mean, if you’re that into video games, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to… you know, show you a few. Maybe.” His voice trailed off, but he realized he wasn’t outright rejecting you anymore.

You brightened (literally; your entire form glowed with an unsettling neon hue). “Wonderful! We’ll play, and we’ll bond. Just you and me—partners across the cosmos!”

“Yeah, uh, sure…” Idia mumbled, feeling like he had just agreed to something that would either be the weirdest—or the best—decision of his life. “But just to be clear—no magical girl outfits, okay?”

You blinked at him with your many, MANY eyes. “Understood. I shall reserve that outfit for later… perhaps when we reach the final stage of courtship.”

Idia’s face turned redder than his flame-tipped hair. “W-what final stage of courtship?!”

But you didn’t answer. Instead, you settled in beside him, reaching out a glowing tendril toward his keyboard. “Now, show me how to play this… Overwatch.”

Idia stared at you for a long moment. He wasn’t sure if this was the start of a nightmare or the weirdest love story ever, but either way, it was happening. And apparently, his new alien… companion was ready to learn.

Malleus Draconia

It was a dark and stormy night—exactly the kind of night Malleus Draconia preferred. The skies rumbled with ominous thunder, and the gargoyles of Diasomnia loomed even more menacingly than usual. Malleus stood by his favorite window, brooding in the shadows like a goth kid waiting for the next My Chemical Romance reunion tour.

Everything was calm. Serene. Perfect.

And then, from the depths of the night, a bright glow appeared—something falling from the heavens, crashing right into the forest just outside the dorm. The ground shook, trees cracked, and Malleus raised an eyebrow. Was this… some new form of mischief? Or had Lilia invited another chaotic guest from beyond the veil?

With a sigh that bordered on dramatic, Malleus stepped out into the night to investigate.

And there you were. The source of the crash. You stood in the middle of a smoking crater, your jelly-like form pulsing with an eerie glow. Your eyes—or what appeared to be eyes—locked onto Malleus, and you gave him the most unsettlingly cheerful wave.

“Ah! A local lifeform! Hello! I come in peace!”

Malleus’s eyebrow lifted. “You have… quite an entrance.”

You blinked, your entire body jiggling like intergalactic jello. “Oh, yes! I crash-landed. Happens all the time. I’m actually here on an important mission.” You paused dramatically. “I’m looking for a mate.”

Malleus, the ever-patient prince of the dark, was unphased. “I see. And you’ve decided to seek a mate… here?”

You nodded enthusiastically. “Correct! My sensors detected powerful auras in this area, and yours is off the charts! So much darkness. So much brooding. It’s very attractive.”

Malleus blinked, caught slightly off-guard. It wasn’t every day someone commented on his brooding in a… positive way. “You find darkness attractive?”

“Oh, absolutely!” you said, bouncing in place with excitement. “Where I’m from, we thrive in the shadows. Plus, you’ve got those horns! Very regal. Very commanding.”

Malleus straightened slightly, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. It wasn’t often he met someone who appreciated his aesthetic. “You have good taste.”

“And you’re a dragon, right?” you continued, eyes twinkling with awe. “I’ve always wanted to meet one! Although, full disclosure, I’m a little nervous around large reptiles. It’s not a dealbreaker, though!”

Malleus chuckled, amused by your strange, unhinged honesty. “I assure you, I am quite gentle unless provoked.”

“Good to know!” you said, floating closer. “So, do you have any interest in interspecies relationships? Or maybe… cosmic travel? I’ve got a spaceship parked just a few star systems away. We could go on a date to the asteroid belt!”

Malleus, still not entirely sure if this was some kind of elaborate joke, raised an eyebrow. “You’re… serious about this?”

You blinked, your entire gelatinous form shimmering under the moonlight. “Absolutely! Look, I know I’m a little different by Earth standards, but you can’t deny we’d make a power couple. You with your dragon powers, me with my alien abilities—we’d be unstoppable!”

Malleus tilted his head, considering you. Despite your strange appearance—and even stranger proposition—there was something oddly charming about your enthusiasm. Perhaps it was the way you didn’t shy away from his aura of darkness, or the fact that you seemed completely unbothered by his draconic nature.

“I must admit,” Malleus said slowly, “I’ve never been approached in quite this manner before.”

You grinned (or at least, your face morphed into what Malleus assumed was a grin). “Well, there’s a first time for everything, right?”

Malleus chuckled softly, his emerald eyes glowing faintly in the night. “Indeed. Very well, intergalactic traveler. I shall consider your offer.”

Your eyes lit up with excitement, and you bounced in place again. “Really? Oh, this is fantastic! I’ve never dated a dragon prince before. This is going to be legendary!”

Malleus smiled faintly, more amused than anything. “We shall see.”

And so, under the dark and stormy skies of Twisted Wonderland, the future king of fae found himself possibly—just possibly—entertaining the wildest, most unhinged courtship of his life.

Masterlist

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #idia x reader #azul x reader #malleus x reader #idia shroud x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #malleus draconia x reader #idia shroud #azul #azul ashengrotto #malleus draconia #malleus

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