#Stronger Circuits

[millenniumsemi]

Choosing the Right Semiconductors for Stronger Circuits

In the dynamic world of electronics, making smart choices when selecting semiconductor components can greatly influence the performance and reliability of your projects. From microcontrollers to power transistors, each semiconductor plays a vital role in shaping the functionality of electronic devices. 

Here are some simple yet crucial tips to consider when picking the right semiconductors:

Understanding Requirements: Begin by clearly defining your project's requirements. Consider factors like voltage, current, temperature range, and speed. This understanding will guide you toward components that best match your project's needs.

Application Consideration: Different semiconductor components are designed for specific applications. Opt for components that are purpose-built for your project type, whether it's digital, analog, or mixed-signal.

Datasheets Analysis: Thoroughly review the datasheets of potential components. Pay attention to parameters like maximum ratings, operating conditions, and performance characteristics. This helps ensure compatibility and optimal performance.

Availability and Lead Time: Check the availability and lead time of the components you're interested in. Delays in sourcing components can hinder project timelines.

Longevity and Support: Choose components from reputable manufacturers that offer long-term availability and reliable technical support. This prevents obsolescence issues down the line.

Cost-effectiveness: While it's important to choose quality components, also consider your budget. Balance performance and cost to achieve an efficient solution.

Future Scalability: Anticipate future upgrades or modifications. Select components that allow for scalability and easy integration with potential enhancements.

When it comes to sourcing your semiconductor components, consider Millennium Semiconductors as your reliable partner. 

With a proven track record of providing top-quality components from renowned manufacturers, Millennium Semiconductors ensures access to a wide range of options to meet your project's unique requirements. Our commitment to customer satisfaction and technical expertise makes them the ideal choice for electronic enthusiasts and professionals alike. 

Make your projects shine by making smart semiconductor choices through Millennium Semiconductors.

For more visit-

[5mind]

(( i kept thinking abt the vampire au and initially ive thought of kelvin being like a vampire hunter or something...but then i thought it would be funnier if he was a werewolf because i just pictured a regular looking wolf but with a little patch of blonde hair on his head and glasses 😭

[rad-roche]

*grabs your shoulders* Roche, Harrow will challenge your will to live to get his parts. I Beg Of Thee, as someone who did farm for them, TRADE for them 😭

oh come on, how bad can it b-- KUVA SURVIVAL AND SPY VAULTS?? SWEET GOD

[mildmayfoxe]

i loved that focaccia with guanciale and egg that i had the other week so much that when i saw little round focaccias at the store yesterday i knew i needed to try to make another one myself (with bacon). it came out great but i had to bake it in the toaster for like an hour so finally i put my oven thermometer in there & turns out it’s only hitting like 250 while set to 450 so guess i gotta go toaster oven shopping

[xinganhao]

🫶 svt reacts to you saying 'i love you' on accident.

★ prompt: Ot13 reaction to you saying I love you for the first time (possibly kind of by accident) 🥰 c/o anon

ⓘ friends to lovers vibes, flirting, pet names. headcanons under the cut.

🫶 read more?

seungcheol tries to take it in stride. really, he does. he's convinced he can be very normal about this, even though it will probably have him preening the whole day. he's always thrived most on words of affirmation, and what's more affirming than the truth?

jeonghan's joking, of course. he knows deep down that your little slip doesn't immediately entail a relationship, but he's definitely intent on going out swinging. the light teasing is an attempt to get you to think about a time where you can freely say 'i love you' to him every day.

there's a fair amount of sincerity in joshua's reaction. his first thought is to make sure that you're okay with it, since he has some idea that you've probably tripped on the words. but give him that leeway and he'll take it in a heartbeat. you've started saying it; he'll never let you hear the end of it.

if junhui manages to feign nonchalance, it's because of his acting prowess. he's smug and giddy, though he's not about to let you know that. he's the type to pull the rug underneath you a couple of days later, right when you've probably forgotten it. "so…" he'll drawl. "how much do you love me, hm?"

to no one's surprise, soonyoung is decisively not chill about it. this is A Big Deal to him! an 'i love you'? something he's wanted to hear for ages? he needs to make sure he's not dreaming. there's the dopiest smile on his face, because you love him. it's the best thing he's heard.

wonwoo's hands are shaking. his throat is suddenly dry, and he's relatively sure his brain has short-circuited. it's— just an offhand thing. at least that's what he tries to convince himself. the reality: he's going to be replaying the words in his head for weeks on end.

it doesn't strike jihoon immediately. maybe it hits him once you're gone; maybe it occurs to him when the moment has already passed. one thing's for sure: he's not going to let it go unanswered. he's a little late, not on time, but that doesn't mean he doesn't mean it. you know that, right?

the words make something bloom and blossom in seokmin's chest. they take root like a promise, and even though he tries not to get ahead of itself, it's hard. he's so, so happy to hear it from you that he'll be walking on clouds for the days to come.

mingyu doesn't hate you. that much is certain. he just hates the power you have over him— how you can upend his entire day with a couple of choice words. he had thought he'd be stronger than this, but here he is. panicking because of 'ily'? god, he can't afford to be in shambles like this.

ever the rational type, minghao will be the type to press, "how do you love me?" he can't afford any missteps, needs to know you're on the same page. if you love him as a friend, then so be it. but if there's a prospect for anything more, even just a minute worth of it… well. he would like to know.

joking about it is a coping mechanism. that's something seungkwan subscribes to, at the very least. it gives him time to gather his wits, this whole keeping-up-a-facade thing. (ask anyone: he had been smiling a little too hard at his phone when your text came in. the eyes never lie.)

rarely is vernon thrown off his game like this. he's not supposed to be melting over a flippant 'ily', and yet here he is— trying (and failing) to be cool about your slip-up. can you blame him? he's wanted you for so long, and the words can be as good as a promise if he really wanted them to be.

you're not playing fair. chan has half a mind to make you suffer, to not give you the satisfaction of a reaction. alas, he's always had a soft spot for you. that extends to unquestioning forgiveness, and reciprocity where it matters. yes, even in accidental confessions.

› scroll through all my work ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ my masterlist | @xinganhao

[blairxbear]

When they realise they are in love with you.

MHA Class 1A Head cannons

Class 1A / Other UA Students / Pro Heroes / Villains

How will the boys of Class 1A react to realising that they are in love with you?

Featuring: Izuku Midoriya, Katsuki Bakugo, Shoto Todoroki, Eijiro Kirishima, Denki Kaminari, Hanta Sero, Fumikage Tokoyami, Mashirao Ojiro, Mezo Shoji, Rikido Sato, Koda Koji.

Izuku Midoriya

• He doesn’t realize it at first—it hits him like a train when someone else points it out.

• You’re patching up his wounds after a battle, scolding him like usual, and he just stares at you.

• “They care about me so much… I don’t ever want to lose them.”

• That’s when it clicks—his face turns beet red, and he literally short-circuits trying to process it.

• He starts writing about you in his notebooks, not just as a hero, but as his hero.

• Tries to confess a dozen times but ends up stammering and running away.

Katsuki Bakugo

• He freaking hates it when he realizes he’s in love.

• He notices he gets jealous when you talk to others too casually.

• He starts training even harder because he wants to be stronger for you.

• The moment it fully hits him? You defend him from someone bad-mouthing him, and his chest tightens.

• “Shit… I don’t just like them. I love them.”

• He won’t say it out loud but becomes insanely protective overnight.

• If someone flirts with you, he glares daggers and pulls you closer.

• His confession is awkward but genuine—probably blurts out “I love you, okay?! Now deal with it!”

Shoto Todoroki

• Love isn’t something he understands right away—it’s foreign but comforting.

• He notices he trusts you more than anyone else and actually wants to be around you.

• One day, you brush a strand of hair from his face, and his heart skips a beat.

• “Why does my chest feel warm? Is this…?”

• He spends weeks thinking about what this feeling means.

• His father’s influence made him fear attachment, but with you, he feels safe.

• He realizes he loves you when he catches himself smiling for no reason just because you exist.

• When he confesses, it’s simple but deeply meaningful—“I think I love you. No, I know I do.”

Eijiro Kirishima

• He’s the type to fall fast and hard, but he won’t admit it until it hits him like an explosion.

• You do something small but meaningful, like fixing his hair or remembering his favorite drink, and suddenly, he’s melting.

• His brain just goes: “Oh no. Oh NO. I LOVE THEM.”

• The moment he realizes it, he becomes the most obvious person alive—grinning like an idiot, blushing when you compliment him.

• Denki figures it out first and teases him relentlessly.

• He confesses spontaneously—probably during training or when you’re just hanging out.

• “Hey… I, uh, love you. Like, really love you.”

Denki Kaminari

• He thinks he’s just crushing on you, but one night, you laugh at one of his dumb jokes, and his heart flips.

• “Wait… why do I want to make them laugh forever?”

• He starts noticing the little things—the way your eyes sparkle, the way you say his name.

• Suddenly, every love song reminds him of you.

• He realizes he loves you when you comfort him after a bad day, holding his hand without judgment.

• He panics—freaks out and tells Sero before he even tells you.

• Ends up blurting it out without thinking—probably during a sparring session.

• “Oh, shit—did I just say that out loud? …Well, I meant it.”

Henta Sero

• Realizes it slowly but surely—love creeps up on him like his tape until it’s wrapped around his heart.

• It happens during a casual hangout, maybe when you’re laughing at one of his dumb jokes.

• “Damn, I’d do anything to hear that laugh every day.”

• His friends notice before he does because he starts bringing you up in every conversation.

• “Oh, Y/N likes that movie too!” “Y/N would totally win this game.”

• When he realizes, he’s cool about it but lowkey dying inside.

• He confesses casually but sweetly, probably while sharing a snack.

• “So… I’m kinda in love with you. Thought you should know.”

Fumikage Tokoyami

• He doesn’t see it as love at first—he calls it “a deep admiration”.

• Dark Shadow calls him out first: “Dude, you’re OBSESSED.”

• He realizes he loves you when he misses you more than he should.

• The thought of you being hurt makes his blood run cold—he becomes fiercely protective.

• He confesses in a poetic and dramatic way—probably quotes some gothic literature.

• “My heart, once shrouded in darkness, now finds solace in you.”

• He’s nervous about whether you’ll accept him, but when you do, he’s deeply devoted.

Tenya Iida

• Love is logical to him, so he doesn’t understand why his brain short-circuits around you.

• Realizes it when he starts worrying about you more than necessary.

• “Are they drinking enough water? Did they eat today? Should I check on them?”

• The real moment? You tell him to relax, placing a hand on his arm, and suddenly, his heart is racing.

• He denies it at first—tries to rationalize it.

• But one day, you cheer for him in a match, and it clicks—he wants you by his side forever.

• His confession is formal but flustered—“I have come to the realization that I love you. I hope you will accept my feelings.”

Mashirao Ojiro

• He falls first but doesn’t say anything—he’s the quiet type about his feelings.

• The moment he realizes? Sparring with you, when you pin him down and smirk.

• “Oh, I’m completely in love with them.”

• He acts normal but becomes a little more protective, a little more soft-spoken around you.

• His tail wags when you’re near, and he hates that everyone notices.

• He confesses simply but sincerely—probably under the stars or after training.

• “I love you. I don’t need anything back, I just wanted you to know.”

Mezo Shoji

• Realizes it when he starts looking forward to your voice every day.

• He’s always been reserved, but you make him feel safe.

• The moment he knows? You tell him he’s beautiful, and he nearly chokes on air.

• “They… they actually see me.”

• His confession is quiet but meaningful—probably late at night when you’re alone.

• “You’re the only one who makes me feel like this. I think… no, I know I love you.”

Rikido Sato

• He realizes he’s in love while baking—he catches himself making extra portions just for you, even when you’re not around.

• One day, you sneak into the kitchen to help, and he watches you struggle with frosting a cupcake.

• Instead of laughing, he just smiles fondly and thinks, “I want to do this with them forever.”

• The moment it really clicks is when you try his baking and get so excited, giving him the biggest grin.

• His heart pounds, and suddenly, the sweetest thing in the room isn’t the cake.

• Becomes super flustered around you after that, fumbling with ingredients and spacing out.

• His confession is adorably shy, probably over a homemade dessert.

• “I, uh… I made this for you. And also, I think I love you.”

Koji Koda

• He falls slowly but deeply, and it takes a while for him to understand his feelings.

• He realizes it when he notices the way animals react to you—his rabbits love you, birds always fly near, and even skittish animals trust you.

• One day, you rescue a tiny injured bird, and as he watches you care for it so gently, his heart swells.

• “They’re so kind… I never want to leave their side.”

• The next time you smile at him, his whole face turns red, and he gets so nervous he forgets how to talk.

• Starts getting extra shy around you, but his actions speak louder—always carrying things for you, making sure you’re safe, sitting near you quietly.

• His confession is soft but heartfelt, maybe while watching the sunset with you.

• “I… I think I love you. You make my world so much brighter.”

Ko-fi / Masterlist

blairxbear © 2024. do not copy, modify, or translate my work. you do not have permission to share my work outside of tumblr!

[anaktoria-of-the-moon]

Girls who seethe about the weakness of their flesh, the imperfections of their meat-form. Girls who dream in technicolor of being bigger, better, stronger, faster. Girls who smuggle textbooks from repositories to study by night the dark science of tissue-machine interfaces, of chemicals with which to quell immune responses, of hijacking nerves and spines and ganglia, of replacing neural pathways with silicon ones. Girls who grit their teeth and teach themselves coding against every odd, while society urges them instead to become good mothers and obedient daughters - girls who rail against everything they have been told to be. Girls who know the blood price of the change and make it anyway, all alone, who carve the cost into their own bodies with scalpels they forge in the fires of their rage. Girls who braid up thick lengths of interfacing cable around their heads instead of hair, who glitter with fiber optics and inlaid circuit threading, whose fissile hearts beat within impervious tantalum cages, who are perfect and cold and beautiful in their fearsome ways. Girls with nails like knives and voices like jet engines, channeled through vocal cords made of piezoelectric polymers and steel. Girls who do not yield. Girls who engineer for themselves the future they want, that they know they can have if they only reach for it. Girls who are machines, too.

[monstersflashlight]

Anniversary special: Double knot

A/N: It all started with a minotaur a whole year ago and I’m still SO SHOCKED how much my life changed thanks to y’all. I would never be thankful enough, truly. I thought what I should post today, and well, minotaur sounds like the correct choice, but let’s… spice it up. *wink*

Minotaur x fem!reader || double knot, knotting, oral sex, size kink, breeding, (light) degradation, (light) dirty talk, praise kink, cum-inflation (kinda)

You’ve been dating your minotaur boyfriend for a long while. And he’s been playing hard to get for equal amount of time. You wanted to get on your knees and blow him right after the first date, but he had been very adamant about it. So you waited, and waited, and jerked off until your fingers were wrinkly and your pussy was clenching over a minotaur dildo you found online.

The same minotaur dildo he found in your bathroom the day you invited him for dinner. Truth be told, you didn’t leave it there on purpose, but it gets you what you really wanted: some real minotaur dick.

You can see the exact moment he realizes what it’s in the bathroom, because he walks right out with it on his hand, staring at you and gaping like a fish. You try not to laugh, you really try to, but the amusement at his shocked face is a lot stronger than your embarrassment.

“What is this?” He asks in a choked breath.

“A dildo,” you mutter holding back your need to laugh out loud.

“A minotaur dildo,” he clarifies for both of you, staring intently at you. You nod slowly, biting your lip to stop the smile threatening to appear. “Why do you have a minotaur dildo?” He looks confused between the dildo and you, and you can’t hold back any longer.

You let out the biggest laugh, bending down to hold your stomach as you laugh and laugh. At some point he huffs and you look down to see him staring at the toy with a smirk.

“You know I’m bigger than this, right?” He asks as you try to catch your breath.

Your brain short-circuits. There’s no way he’s telling the truth, the dildo is huge already. “What?” It’s your turn to be confused.

“Want me to prove it?” He says with a smirk that looks nothing like the sweet minotaur you’ve been dating all these months.

You nod, unable to form words and he approaches you very slowly. You’ve been waiting for this moment so long you don’t know how to react. You have enough time to process his movement before he’s throwing you over his shoulder and walking to your room as you giggle.

“Naked. Now.” His words are almost slurred and your brain is spinning as you do as you are told.

You get naked in a rush, your body thrumming with anticipation and pent up sexual frustration of all the times you wanted to fuck him and he pulled away. Your brain is almost rushing through the steps to avoid him changing his mind. You want to ride that minotaur cock ASAP.

He’s no better, ripping his clothes off as he stares at every inch of revealed naked skin in front of him until you feel a bit self-conscious. But then he pulls down his pants and you have a lot more to worry than your body. You stare down at his crotch as your eyes almost pop out of their sockets.

“What… What is that?” You are trying really hard not to cringe at your own words, but he’s not only huge but he has two… He has two… Fuck.

“I- It’s… My species…” His breathing is getting labored, his whole body tense as he tries (and fails) to not look at your naked breasts. “My specie has two knots,” he says in a rush, his breathing erratic as he holds his dick in front of him, his hand looking almost tiny in comparison to his monster dick.

You smile up at him, his nervousness calming you a bit. He looks almost cute right there, embarrassed in front of you. “Breathe. It’s okay. I… I can try.” You aren’t sure that’s going to fit inside of you, even less if it’s supposed to get bigger, but god goddess if you don’t want to try. Your pussy is dripping wet and you are definitely going to give him your best.

He moans as if the mere idea of you taking him is driving him insane. “Gods, your mouth. Get on the bed, I… I need to pleasure you before we try nothing.”

You lay down on your back, and he crawls over you. He claims your mouth first, making out like needy creatures as he grinds his huge cock onto your stomach. He whines against your lips and you let out a responding moan. His mouth travels south, sucking a hickey on your neck and kissing a trail down the valley of your boobs. He licks your belly button, making you giggle as you pull at his hair softly. He grins up at you and keeps traveling down.

You can see his hands trembling as he touches your leg, softly caressing them as he lowers himself between your legs. He looks up at you expectantly, and it only takes a nod before his mouth is on your clit. His tongue is a lot bigger than humans, and the texture of it is sending all kinds of sensations down your spine.

You arch your back and he slips his hands under your ass, pulling you up until he’s holding your pussy against his face and you are arching your back impossibly. You moan as he starts eating you out like a professional, the noises he’s making letting you know he’s enjoying this as much as you are.

You grab onto his horns as he devours you like a starving man. The scream that breaks out of you is ragged, and he opens his eyes enough to stare at you as you fall apart and he slips two huge fingers inside your still clenching heat.

His big fingers feel rough against your soft insides. You groan when he pinches a bit too harshly on your clit, a bit too forceful. You know he did it on purpose, he was always gentle, but it feels like you unlocked a new side of him. A feral side of him that couldn’t get enough of you… And good goddess if you aren’t feeling as feral for him.

So you do what you can: you whimper.

He chuckles at your pathetic whine, a spark of cruelness shining through as he opens his mouth to whisper against your ear: “Don’t act shy now, darling. I can feel you squeezing my fingers like a vice. You like this.” He punctuates his words pushing his fingers deep inside, curling them just enough to rub his knuckles against your G-spot. You don’t know where this dirty talked minotaur came from, but you want MORE.

You moan his name, and that’s your undoing.

He fucks his fingers in and out of you in a frenzy, stretching them, adding more, until you’re falling apart messily. He doesn’t let you catch a breath, he doesn’t play games like that. One second his fingers are stretching you, and the next his dick is buried deep inside of you as you scream to the heavens in another soul-ripping orgasm.

He keeps going. Too fast, too harsh, not letting you adapt to his size, to the pleasure. He’s in for one thing and one thing only: filling you deeply.

His dick’s so deep and so hard that you can feel every ridge, every vein. It’s like he’s trying to make your pussy remember him when he leaves, like he’s imprinting himself so deep inside of you, you would only come again if he’s the one fucking you. It feels like the most amazing torture.

You stop being his girlfriend and become his fuck-toy. Just a fleshlight for his minotaur dick to empty in. He grabs your hips, bouncing you on his cock with abandon as he moans and grunts over you, the noises he’s making only driving you higher in your pleasure.

“Are you gonna cum again like a good little whore? Like a good girl for me?” You whine, his words making your eyes roll back into your head as he pounds into your pussy. He’s so big you can feel him in the back of your throat.

The combination of his shaft inside you, his filthy words and his fingers playing with your clit makes your climax hit you like a tide wave, gasping for air as you shake around his dick. But that doesn’t stop him, you’re his to play and his to fuck. You can barely count the orgasms anymore.

“Take my knot, darling. Be a good little whore and take all of me,” he says with a grunt, pushing so deep inside it almost hurts, but sends you spiraling into unstoppable pleasure aftershocks.

The first knot pops into you as you squeeze it with all your strength. You feel so tight around him it’s driving you insane. He doesn’t move, just grinds his hips against your stretched pussy and plays with your little pearl until your eyes are teary from the pleasure.

“Can you take the second one?” He asks between his teeth. His jaw is so tight you can see the muscle tightening as he tries to be as still as possible as you moan a half-assed response.

Your voice is raw and fucked out when you let out a soft: “Please.”

He roars as you feel the second one expanding inside of you, right at the opening of your cervix, sending all kinds of confusing pleasure signals into your brain. You don’t know if it’s pleasure or pain, you don’t know if you want more or less. It’s overwhelming in the best way possible. And it only gets better (or worse) when you feel the come inside of you. He comes and comes and comes...

Your vision goes black, and you go limp as he pumps you full of cum. You look down in time to see the bulge on your lower abdomen. His big body was pressing you down as you tried to remain conscious as waves of indescribable pleasure rocked your body until you were nothing but an exposed nerve of desire and orgasms… his perfect fuck-toy.

“That’s it. Good girl. You’re doing so good. Can you come again?” His knots inside of you feel too much, too big, too stretched… But the way his fingers are still playing with your oversensitive clit is sending you over the edge. Your pleasure feels raw, a sweet torture as you scream voicelessly, not a single sound coming out of you. “One more, little whore. Give me one more, darling.”

His soft tone calling you a whore and then darling, and the next shoot of his come inside of you precipitate you over the edge. Your orgasm ripping out of you and leaving you boneless under his too big form. He ruts his hips against you, sending wave after wave of aftershocks to your every cell, making you black out for a second.

He’s breathing hard over you, his hair obscuring his eyes as he kisses your forehead. “I knew you’d be the one,” he whispers with a smile.

A/N: Thank you again for a year of monsterfuckery and happiness I didn’t even know I deserved. <3

[absdollievu]

Ruin me gently

bully!abby x fem!reader

Warnings: slight nsfw towards the end, public-ish sex

You hated Abby Anderson before you even knew what the word “hate” really meant. It started in kindergarten — she knocked over your juice box and called you a crybaby when you dared to tell the teacher. Her laugh was loud and mean and got under your skin like splinters.

That was the first time you swore vengeance. The first of many.

Every year, like clockwork, Abby made it her goddamn mission to ruin you.

In middle school, she got a growth spurt. You didn’t. Suddenly, she was towering over everyone — all muscle and swagger. She shoved you into lockers just for fun. Flicked your ears in class. You’d be mid-sentence, and she’d interrupt with some loud, stupid joke that made the rest of the room laugh. But it was never funny to you. Not once.

And high school? High school was worse.

You remember the locker room incident with surgical precision — a trauma branded into your teenage brain. You came back from the shower, and your clothes were gone. Completely gone. All that was left were your underwear, dangling from Abby’s stupidly strong fingers as she paraded them around like some kind of trophy.

“Look at this!” she had laughed, loud enough to echo. “The legendary cherished chonies — guarded like the holy grail.”

You wanted to die. No — you wanted her to die. And if you’d been even a little taller, a little stronger, maybe you would’ve launched yourself at her right then and there. But she was always bigger. Always stronger.

So you waited. Bided your time. And whenever the universe handed you a sliver of opportunity — when she tripped, or slipped, or even just dropped her guard — you hit back. Once, you managed to deck her right in the jaw during sparring. Your knuckles throbbed for days, but the memory of her surprise? Worth it.

She laughed then, too — blood in her teeth.

“You’re so fucking feral,” she said, almost impressed.

God, you hated her.

You hated the way she called you “runt” with that smug grin. Hated the way her biceps flexed when she pulled herself up onto fences. Hated that you noticed.

And you especially hated that part of you was obsessed. Not in a like way — fuck no. It was in your bones, how badly you wanted to wipe that smirk off her face. How you dreamed of pinning her, embarrassing her the way she did to you.

But it was impossible.

She was nearly five times your size, and she knew it. Weaponized it.

⸻

You hated Abby Anderson like it was your religion.

And it wasn’t just the shoving or the stolen clothes. It was how she never let up — how even when you were minding your business, she’d just appear. Like a goddamn curse.

“Hey, shortstack,” she’d greet you with a smirk, nudging your shoulder with hers hard enough to knock you off balance. “Grow an inch yet?”

You’d roll your eyes, jaw clenched. “Die mad about it.”

That was the thing: you didn’t run. Not once. Even when she got in your face, even when she pinned you against lockers with that smug, infuriating smile — you never backed down.

You didn’t want to give her the satisfaction.

But then something… shifted.

It started small. Instead of just shoving you, she’d lean in close — close enough that her breath ghosted your ear.

“New shampoo?” she’d ask, mock-sweet. “Smells like strawberries and desperation.”

You grit your teeth and shoved her back, but she didn’t push harder. She just laughed, low in her throat, and walked off like she hadn’t just short-circuited your whole nervous system.

Then came the nicknames. Not just “runt” or “loser,” but new ones. Weirder ones.

“Sweetheart.”

“Bite-size.”

“Princess.”

The worst part? She only used them when no one else was around. Like they were private. Like she was claiming something.

And you—God, you wanted to scream. You didn’t like it. You didn’t like the way your stomach twisted or how heat crept up your neck. You especially didn’t like the way her eyes lingered on your mouth when you talked, like she wasn’t even listening to the words — just waiting for an excuse to say something filthy.

She was toying with you. She had to be.

So you started fighting back — not just with fists or words, but with venom dipped in sugar. Quiet digs, whispered jabs that made her raise a brow.

“Wow,” you’d say, eyes flicking down her arms. “All that muscle and still couldn’t open a pickle jar yesterday. Impressive.”

And she’d grin. Not angry — not even annoyed. Just… entertained. Like you were her favorite little game.

Sometimes you’d find her staring at you across the yard, arms crossed, head tilted. Not menacing. Just watching. Assessing.

The next time she shoved you, she didn’t slam you into anything. She just pressed you up against the wall, one hand flat beside your head, eyes dark and unreadable.

“You’ve got a mouth on you lately,” she said, voice quiet.

You scowled. “Must’ve learned it from you.”

Her smile widened. “That right?”

You didn’t answer. Wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

But when she leaned in — too close, again — you didn’t move. Not an inch.

And that silence between you? That was new. Electric. Heavy with something unsaid.

Something shifting.

And you hated it.

You hated how it made your heart race. You hated how your body stopped recognizing the difference between rage and want.

But most of all?

You hated that you couldn’t stop thinking about what she’d do if you finally shoved her back.

And meant it.

⸻

The locker room’s quiet — steam clinging to the air, the harsh hum of overhead lights the only noise. You towel off your hair, muscles sore, mind already halfway out the door.

You hear the door creak open.

You don’t have to look. You know that sound. Heavy boots, confident stride.

Abby.

You roll your eyes and mutter under your breath, just loud enough for your own satisfaction, “Here comes fun sunshine.”

You think you got away with it — until her voice slices through the stillness, sharp and amused.

“What was that?”

Your hand pauses mid-dry. You don’t look up. Don’t give her the fucking satisfaction. Just keep rubbing the towel through your hair like she’s not there, like her presence doesn’t light every nerve in your body on fire.

Silence.

Then the scuff of her boots moving closer.

You see her shadow shift, her voice lower, soaked in challenge. “Say it again,” she says, tongue poking into the corner of her cheek, eyes locked on you like she’s already got you pinned. “I fucking dare you.”

You finally look up. Her arms are crossed, her body close — too close — heat radiating off her like a furnace. That smirk’s plastered on her face like it was born there.

You raise a brow, unimpressed. “Didn’t think you were hard of hearing.”

That’s all it takes.

She steps into your space, slow and deliberate, backing you up until your spine hits cold metal. Her hand slams against the locker next to your head — not touching you, but caging you in like prey, and making you flinch. Her body crowds yours, chest nearly brushing against your towel-wrapped skin.

You don’t breathe.

Her eyes search yours, flicking down to your mouth for just a second too long.

The smirk never leaves.

“You’ve got a lot of attitude for someone who shakes when I breathe on ‘em,” she murmurs, voice low and full of something that makes your skin prickle.

“I’m not scared of you,” your breath hitched

She leans in, lips inches from yours, the air charged and suffocating.

“No,” she says, voice barely above a whisper. “You’re not. That’s what makes this fun.”

Your heart is a jackhammer. Your fists clenched so tight your nails dig into your palms. Every instinct screams to push her, hit her, kiss her — and fuck, it’s all blending together now, tangled beyond recognition.

Her hand slides just slightly down the locker, fingertips brushing your side, making your breath hitch.

And then—

The door slams open.

Laughter echoes down the row of lockers. Someone shouting a joke, oblivious. Casual. Normal.

Abby freezes. Her hand drops.

She steps back like nothing happened — like she wasn’t just about to ruin you against cold metal — and flashes you a look over her shoulder. Not regret. Not even apology.

Just that same smug glint.

Her voice is casual, cocky. “Later, sweetheart.”

And then she’s gone.

You’re left standing there, towel slipping a little lower, skin flushed, chest heaving, fists still clenched — pulse roaring like a war drum.

Fuck.

You hate her.

You hate her so fucking much.

⸻

It’s quiet.

The kind of quiet you like — not the silence of tension, but the calm hum of pages turning, low whispers, footsteps muffled by carpet. You’re curled into the corner of a table near the back of the library, thick book in hand, attention fixed. Peace. Finally.

Then the door opens.

And of course it’s her.

You don’t even need to look up. You can feel her — the shift in air pressure, the smug gravitational pull of her presence.

You don’t react. Don’t flinch. Maybe if you ignore her, she’ll go away.

Spoiler: she doesn’t.

Abby stalks straight past all the empty tables in the library and drops into the seat right across from you.

You lift your eyes just enough to glare at her over the rim of your book.

She’s slouched in the chair like she owns it — broad arms crossed, a slight tilt to her head like she’s bored. But her eyes? They’re locked on you, gleaming with trouble.

“Didn’t peg you for the reading type,” she murmurs.

You don’t bite. Just flip the page.

She grins wider. “What’s that about? Another teen fantasy about a sad boy with a tragic past?”

You sigh, slow and deep. “It’s about forensics.”

“Oh, sexy.” She says with her cocky tone that you absolutely fucking hated.

You finally lower the book. “Do you just wander around looking for people to annoy or is this a special service just for me?”

Her grin only deepens, dimples threatening to make her look charming — which is unfair, because nothing about her should be allowed to look soft.

“I only give this much attention to people I like.”

You scoff.

Then she’s up, and for a second, you think she’s leaving — until she rounds the table and drops into the seat next to you, thigh brushing yours.

Too close.

You shift, but there’s nowhere to go. Her heat is right there, all-consuming, and she leans in like she’s reading over your shoulder.

“What’s this part mean?” she asks, pointing at a diagram.

You stare at her. “You seriously care?”

“Nope,” she says, popping the p — and she grins again. “But you do. That’s interesting.”

You freeze.

That… wasn’t a dig. It wasn’t a joke.

You glance at her. She’s watching you — but not in that cocky, cruel way. She’s genuinely looking. Curious. Focused. And worse — close. Her breath brushes your cheek when she exhales.

“You’re smart,” she says quietly. “Kinda hot.”

You blink, pulse stuttering.

Then her hand is on your thigh, casual, like it’s always belonged there. Heavy and warm and intentional. You’re not even sure how it got there, or when you let her get this close.

“I could be nice to you, y’know,” she murmurs, lips dangerously close to your ear. “If you asked.”

You hate the shiver that runs down your spine.

“I’m not asking,” you whisper.

She hums low in her throat — a sound that vibrates through you. “No. You like it better when I take it.” You say with instant regret.

Her hand slides higher, slow, testing the waters. Her fingers graze bare skin above your knee, slipping under your shorts, just a tease. You suck in a breath and she smiles, lazy and full of hunger.

Your hand catches hers, stopping it. But you don’t pull away.

She leans in, voice like honey and heat. “What? Library’s too sacred for you?”

Her thigh presses against yours. Her lips ghost over the shell of your ear.

And fuck it — your restraint breaks.

You grab her shirt, drag her in, and your mouths collide in a kiss that’s messy and angry and needy. Her tongue slides against yours, claiming, demanding, and you meet her just as fiercely, biting her lip hard enough to draw a sound out of her throat that goes straight to your core.

Her hand’s between your thighs now, moving with confident precision, knuckles dragging along the seam of your shorts. You gasp into her mouth, and she swallows it like she’s starving. Starting the fast circles on your clothed cunt.

And then—

Footsteps.

Voices.

She pulls away instantly, lips red, pupils blown, hand retreating.

She exhales, glancing toward the aisle. Then back at you.

“Guess we’ll finish this somewhere else,” she murmurs.

And with one last smirk, she gets up and walks away.

You pause

What the fuck just happened

And most importantly

Why the fuck did you enjoy it.

⸻

a/n: OH MY GOD, kinda cringed halfway through this but I hope you guys enjoyed💕💕 part 2??

[devilishchaos]

Shower | Lando Norris Imagine

Rating / genre: M (18+); smut, fluff

Pairings: Reader x Lando Norris

Summary: Y/N and Lando have soft shower sex.

Warnings: Explicit smut, explicit talk, oral (m receiving), unprotected vaginal penetration (don’t do it!!! stay safe!), hair grabbing, swallowing, use of pet names

AN: domestic Lando, because I'm a sucker for domesticity <3. also..not me and yet another shower sex fic. also pt.2..am I back? I don't know, just wanted to write about Lando. enjoy x

Word Count: 2 517 words

This is a work of fiction. The story, names, characters and incidents either are product or the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

You had it coming for a while, you knew it in the back of your mind. And it’s not like you weren’t looking forward to it, but just that the urges, that were slowly growing stronger for Lando, inside of you took a backseat as real world deadlines threatened to overcome you.

Lando had been staying home a lot more than usual, and found himself with a rare two-week break between races, a welcome pause in the relentless pace of the Formula 1 calendar. After months of high-pressure performances and grueling travel schedules, the weariness has started to catch up with him, coupled with the need to be with you and make up for the lost time, due to his hectic schedule, caused him to not want to leave the house. 

Coming back from work every evening, you were greeted with the sight of him whipping up something simple but delicious for you to feast on, his eyes getting all crinkled up as a smile covered his face whenever he heard you yell “I'm home!”. He was playing the part of a perfect boyfriend to the T and you really couldn’t have been more thankful for everything that he was doing for you, even though you couldn’t always say it out loud. 

But behind his loving exterior was something he wasn’t really telling you, for fear of coming across as selfish when he could clearly see the amount of stress you were already in. You weren’t blind though and just like him, you too could see that he was in need of some affection and some attention, was in need of someone telling him he did well on the circuit and was still doing well at home, and you also knew you were that someone. 

You could feel it in his touch, lingering just a second longer than necessary, his fingers dipping under the hem of your shirt to rest against your skin. You could feel it in his kisses, turning hot and fervent despite starting out as soft and gentle. You knew he needed it and you knew he wasn’t going to be explicit enough and say it out loud nor was he going to pressure you into doing something you didn’t have the energy to do. 

Yet upon hearing the slow pitter-patter of water as you came back home, you had found your feet leading you towards the bathroom, your heart picking up its pace at the thought of Lando taking a shower. The bathroom door unlocked as always, his steamy silhouette could be seen through the glass wall. You couldn’t tell what came over you in that moment, but before you could stop yourself, your hands were moving on their own, getting rid of your clothing piece by piece, until you were naked. 

Your hand came resting against the glass as you peeked inside, taking in the sight in front of you. Lando looks gorgeous, the water trickling down his body and hugging him at all the right places, his shoulders and hipbones, making you want to lick the wetness away. The sight alone is enough to make you press your legs closer together, a need growing inside of you as you take your time admiring the beauty that is your boyfriend. 

Lando had his head under the water, his wet curls sticking to his forehead and the side of his face, his mouth slightly parted to let the warm water hit his tongue as he was lost in thought. And to say that he was beyond surprised when he opened his eyes and found you on the other side of the glass, naked and looking nothing but breathtaking to him, would be an understatement. A groan escapes his lips under his breath as he stares at you, his eyes trailing down, taking in your completely naked body and swallowing thickly, a hunger rising in him, just looking at you.

That is, until a voice snaps you out of your thoughts, your eyes meeting Lando’s as he calls you out. 

“Baby?” He murmurs, his voice sounding low as the water still hitting his face causes his words to come out muffled, but you could still hear that his tone was filled with need and anticipation. His left hand moves from where it was against the wall to press against the glass, his eyes meeting yours. There’s a silent conversation happening between you within just that moment, his eyes full of want, making his desire for you clear.

"I'm home" you say in a soft murmur.

“Yeah I can see that..” Lando mutters, his eyes still glued to you through the glass, his mouth going dry as his eyes rake you up and down, taking in every inch of you as if it was the first time he was seeing you like that. He was trying to focus hard on not letting his eyes linger between your legs, because the thought of it already has his brain short circuit.

“You want to join me in here?” He questions, his fingers tapping the glass lightly, giving a small smirk.

Lando can’t fight the grin that appears on his face as you nod, his mind already racing over what the two of you would do. He grabs the shower glass and pushes it open, his arms spreading out towards you as a silent invitation for you to come inside. He can’t wait to touch you again, to feel your skin against his, to hear your soft moans, but even amidst all of that he still has a tiny voice inside his head reminding him that you’re probably tired.

Lando closes the glass door back when you make your way inside, and all it takes is a couple of seconds for him to pull you into his chest against his wet, warm body, his strong arms wrapping around you gently. He lets out a sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly as he buries his face into your neck, the stress melting away from him just from having you close. His hands move up and down against your wet back, the water trickling between you.

He can tell what you’re planning and while it is something he’s been craving all these past days or weeks, now that you were right in front of him, he feels as if just having you so close to him is enough. And so he decides to show you, placing the softest of kisses to your crown as his grip tightens around your waist, the sensation making you lift your head up from his chest, a smile on your face. 

“You are so beautiful.” Lando whispers and that’s all you need to lose your footing. 

Before either of you can realize, your lips are moving in sync with his, a rhythm both familiar and new, being set up as you dance around your desires. You don’t know who started it, but it’s not like it matters anyway. All you can think of in that moment is the way his tongue explores every inch of your mouth, his teeth digging into your bottom lip as you get lost in the love only he can give you. And it’s the same for Lando, his senses getting overwhelmed as he finds himself getting high on you, on the way you make him feel. You’re all he could ever want and more, and every time you touch him, it feels like you’re reminding him of the reason he’s alive. 

So he takes it in his stride, finally letting go of his fears and his worries, completely losing himself in you, in the love he feels for you. His hands roam all over your water-covered body, from your cheeks to your neck to your breasts and hips, and he takes his sweet time caressing and feeling every single one of them, just like you do too, your own hands lying pressed flat against his toned body. You touch him everywhere, letting your focus shift from his hair to his biceps to the round cheeks of his ass, and as you do so, you also find yourself pulling away from his lips, kissing down his body, crouching lower and lower till you’re on your knees in front of him. 

The sight makes something turn on inside of Lando’s brain, his hands making their way to your cheeks again. But this time, he’s just a little more assertive, pulling you closer to his crotch, because he can tell you already have eyes for his cock. 

“Want a taste?” he asks, his voice hoarse already and a lazy smirk playing on his lips. You can only nod at that, biting your lip as you lean in, placing a kiss to his tip. And from the sigh that escapes from Lando’s mouth at the small gesture, you know it’s just like the first time for him, over and over again. 

“Then suck on it, baby.” his voice calls out again, pulling you out of your thoughts. 

With that, your hands are quick to get wrapped around his shaft as you take him into your mouth, making him throw his head back in the slightest of pleasure. As your tongue begins to roll around his head, you make sure to savor the heavenly taste of his finest delicacy, your teeth grazing against his flesh as you decide to make up for the time and the rounds you’ve lost out on. 

His tip was already leaking, his body eagerly reacting to your touch, the anticipation building within him. He swallowed, his words caught in his throat, all he could do was let out a groan in response. His hips instinctively moved forward, pushing his cock further into your mouth, his body seeking more pleasure, more of you. He was powerless to the sensations coursing through him, every swipe of your tongue sending a jolt of pleasure through him.

"More," he found himself whispering, his voice rough "I want you to swirl your tongue around the tip, take it into your mouth, then-" he whispered, his eyes flicking down to you, the intensity in his gaze burning with need "Push your tongue into the slit, please.” 

Lando's body tensed, a low groan escaping him as you did as he asked, his eyes falling shut, his face flushed, his jaw clenched in an effort to hold back.

"Good girl," he groaned, his words husky, his voice filled with appreciation and a hint of dominance. 

Lando's eyes fluttered shut, a low moan escaping him as your free hand found his balls. His body tensed, his fingers gripping your hair a little tighter, his hips instinctively pushing forward in a shallow thrust.

"That's right," he growled, his voice filled with need, his words a husky rasp as he tried to control himself, his body trembling. 

As you pick up the pace, your surroundings fade away, the sound of the water acting as background music while you continue to give head to Lando, enjoying the effect you have on him. His hands guide you along, resting at your head, as your own take to worship his cock, your cheeks hollowed out to the max. Maybe it’s the lack of touch that he’s been forced to go through for the past weeks, or maybe it’s the way you seem so determined on bringing him to his knees, but Lando can’t seem to control the urge to cum right then and there, his body involuntarily thrusting his dick right down your throat and making you choke. 

“Go faster, please.” he groans, pretty sounds emanating from deep inside his chest as you oblige, going faster and harder as you begin deepthroating him. Countdown from ten in your head and that’s all you need to have him lose it, his seed seeping into your mouth as you lap every bit up. He tastes just as you remember or maybe even better because it’s been so long. As the last drops trickle down your throat, you let out a sigh of satisfaction, licking your lips before gripping his thighs to pull yourself back up. 

Your eyes meet his and you don’t miss the way he smiles at you, and you can’t help but ask, “Was I good?” and make him chuckle at your cuteness. 

“Incredible as always, love.” Lando says, leaning in to catch your lips in another kiss, his body weight pushing you flat against the glass wall. Maybe it’s you imagining things, but he somehow tastes even sweeter now, the aftertaste of his cum still fresh on your tongue as you make out with him once more. Parting your mouth open with his own tongue, he doesn’t leave a single spot untouched as his cock prods around your heat, silently seeking entrance. 

And you’re only too keen on granting him that, a whimper making its way out of you as you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer than closer. 

“I n- need you..” you whine, kissing him harder as you feel yourself grow more needy by the second. Lucky for you though, your boyfriend is a great listener, listening to your demand as he thrusts himself into you, penetrating into your pussy at long last. He feels so delicious like that, moving in and out of you as your thighs squeeze around his, your walls tightening around his length as he fills you up with himself. 

You’re a moaning, struggling mess within seconds, the water making everything foggy and slippery as he continues to thrust in you, massaging all the right places you didn’t even know existed inside of you up until you started dating. Every move of his hips, as they roll against yours, sends you into a frenzy, gibberish rolling off your tongue as he starts speeding up more and more. Your bodies mold into one as you claw at each other’s skin, wanting to be as close to the other as possible. You’re in bliss at that moment, the pent up stress from work and the sexual frustration finally coming to the fore and bursting like a bubble as you make love. 

He cums first, his cock still sensitive from your lip-service as his load fills you up to the brim, his thrusts not stopping as he leads you to your own orgasm. It feels like an eternity and like a single second at the same time, your sense of being completely distorted as you focus only on the pleasure, your nails digging into the skin of his back as he pumps into you one last time, making you ride out your climax in style and leaving you panting for air. 

As a new slew of moans racks through your body, he vows to drown them out in a kiss with his hands holding you in place. When he pulls away, the expression on his face is the most lovesick one you’ve ever seen. 

“Thank you.” is all he says, but it’s enough to fill your heart up with warmth as he pulls away, ready to dry you up and lead you to the bed for another round.

[pitlanepeach]

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

No 

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)

[glowingkorbat]

I wish I could show my gfs reaction from last night when I was telling her about Neopets and got around to explaining the pound chat and pet adoption process. When I said “so you have to basically write an essay about why you want and deserve this pretend animal” she could not believe it. I wasn’t even really questioning it as anything weird as I’ve been steeped in UFA culture since I was ten. then I had to explain that I myself have also written these neopet applications and she fully short circuited. the only stronger reaction she had in our 45min neopet discussion was when I said “so you have pets, and then you have petpets which are pets for your pets, and you have petpetpets which are pets for your petpets” and she audibly screamed

[pomegranatelifethis]

Don't move away

Living in Gotham was already hard enough, but being one of Bruce Wayne’s adopted kids made life even more complicated. Sometimes, their protective instincts were just too much. The constant surveillance, the way they always needed to know where you were… You knew they loved you, but it was suffocating.

So, you started pulling away.

At first, it was subtle—replying to their messages less, skipping out on visits to the Batcave, avoiding training sessions. Then, you took bigger steps—going on patrol alone, disappearing without notice. But the Batfamily never lets one of their own go so easily.

One Evening…

You were hanging out with Harper Row, one of the few people who actually understood you. But when you got home, the entire Batfamily was waiting for you in the Batcave.

Bruce stood with his arms crossed, his gaze stern as always, but there was concern underneath.

“How many times are we going to have this conversation?” he asked, his voice deep and steady.

Dick stepped forward, his usual gentle but disappointed expression in place. “Why won’t you talk to us? We’re not trying to control you, but you’re putting yourself in danger.”

Jason let out a sharp laugh. “Just let them go. Maybe they want to be away from the family.” His tone was laced with sarcasm, but there was hurt there too.

Tim, eyes tired but observant, studied you. “Is this just about wanting to be alone, or is there something else going on?”

Damian was the quietest, but his furrowed brows showed his disapproval. “You’re making yourself weaker,” he stated. “Distancing yourself from us won’t make you stronger.”

All eyes were on you. You had to say something—but your brain short-circuited.

Then, as if fate itself had it out for you, it happened.

You took a step back in panic—

And your foot caught on some cables.

“Oh, no—”

Before you could finish your sentence, a chain reaction began:

You stumbled backward, knocking over a water bottle on the table.

Water splashed onto the Batcave’s main computer console.

Sparks flew as alarms blared. “EMERGENCY! EMERGENCY!”

In your frantic attempt to regain balance, your arm swung wildly—sending Alfred’s freshly brewed tea soaring through the air.

The cup’s contents landed right onto Tim’s laptop.

“NO! My notes!” Tim yelled, frantically trying to save his screen.

Panicking, you backed up—only to bump into a shelf.

The impact sent all the Batarangs flying.

“GET DOWN!” Dick shouted, diving to the floor with Jason.

Damian, with ninja-like reflexes, pulled out his sword to deflect the incoming projectiles. One Batarang missed Bruce’s head by an inch, embedding itself into the wall behind him.

Bruce took a deep breath, pinched the bridge of his nose, and closed his eyes in what could only be described as extreme patience.

Jason, still lying on the floor, looked at you in disbelief. “How? How do you do this?”

Face burning with embarrassment, you tried to steady yourself—only to accidentally knock Damian’s Robin mask off the table. It hit the floor with a soft plop.

Silence.

“I… uh…” you started, but Bruce finally spoke.

“Alright.” He opened his eyes, surveying the absolute disaster around him. “We are all going to sit down and talk. But first,” his gaze swept over the chaos, “we’re cleaning this up.”

Dick sighed. “New record, Y/N.”

Jason was still laughing. “You could literally destroy Gotham with your clumsiness.”

Tim, aggressively drying his laptop, muttered, “Seriously, how?”

Damian scowled. “Is this a skill or a curse?”

You looked down, utterly mortified. “I… was trying to get away from the family. I guess I failed?”

Bruce rolled his eyes, but there was the faintest hint of a smile. “Yes. Yes, you did.”

And in that moment—despite all the chaos—you realized something: No matter what you did, no matter how much you tried to push them away, they weren’t going to let you go.

Cleaning up the mess took longer than expected. Tim was still salvaging his laptop, Dick and Jason were gathering the scattered Batarangs, and Damian—still glaring—was carefully placing his sword back in its sheath.

Bruce? He just stood there, arms crossed, watching you.

“Do you have anything you want to tell us?”

You cleared your throat. “Uh… no?”

Jason burst out laughing. “Still trying to escape? Just admit it—there’s no way out of this family. You’ll take down the whole city in the process.”

Dick shook his head. “But seriously, why are you pulling away from us? Yeah, we can be a lot sometimes, but we care about you.”

You avoided their gazes. “I know… but sometimes you guys are just too much. I need space.”

Tim sighed. “So… you want us to leave you alone?”

Before you could respond, you accidentally knocked over Damian’s coffee.

Damian’s eyes widened in horror as the liquid spilled across his files.

“THE REPORT I PREPARED FOR THE TITANS!” he yelled, scrambling to salvage his documents. “Y/N, seriously?!”

Jason had collapsed onto the floor, laughing hysterically. “Oh, this is gold! No one is safe around you!”

You took a step back, utterly mortified, but Bruce just shook his head.

“Y/N, if you want to leave, fine. But know this—you can run as far as you want. We’ll always find you.”

Dick nodded. “And no matter what you do, we’ll always forgive you. Even if you cause total destruction.”

Damian scowled. “Or… at least, we’ll train you.”

Tim suddenly looked thoughtful. “Actually… if we harnessed Y/N’s clumsiness, this could be a huge tactical advantage. Imagine—taking down enemies accidentally.”

Jason was still laughing. “YES! Gotham’s greatest weapon—THE MASTER OF CHAOS!”

Your eyes narrowed. “Do not turn that into a superhero name.”

But it was too late.

Dick and Jason dramatically posed. “CHAOS!” they shouted in unison.

Bruce sighed, massaging his temples. “There is no discipline in this house.”

Despite your embarrassment, you couldn’t help but smile. Maybe… distancing yourself wasn’t the solution after all. Because no matter what kind of chaos you brought, this family wasn’t going to let you go.

And, honestly?

This was probably just the beginning.

[slutoru1207]

First time Invincible!Mark x reader

TW: smau, mature content, 18+ afab MDNI

Invincible!Mark who after a long mission went straight to your house because he just couldn’t stay away from you. Invincible!Mark who kisses you as soon as he sees you laying down in bed with nothing but his shirt and some small tight shorts.

Invincible!Mark who couldn’t help himself seeing you like this and feeling you.

Invincible!Mark who had no experience whatsoever so sweetie this is his first time.

Invincible!Mark who is a virgin and knows nothing about sex. Invincible!Mark who kisses you everywhere, takes your clothes off slowly and makes sure to have his hands everywhere on you but also couldn’t help but he scared.

Mark wasn’t sure if he’d ever known true fear before that night.

Yeah, he’d fought world-ending threats. Yeah, he’d been beaten half to death by people way stronger than him. But nothing—nothing—compared to the absolute terror he felt when he was hovering over you that first time, trying not to break you in half.

His arms were shaking.

Not because he was tired—he could bench press a spaceship if he wanted to—but because he was terrified of hurting you.

You looked so small beneath him. So soft. So human.

He could hear your heartbeat—racing, thudding, loud. He could feel the warmth of your skin against his fingertips, the way your breath hitched every time he moved even a little.

He wanted you so bad.

But he also wanted to stop completely because what if he got too lost in it? What if he lost control? What if he accidentally did something irrevocable?

And so, the entire time, he moved slowly. Carefully. Probably too carefully.

You were saying his name in that voice, the one that made his stomach coil and his mind go hazy, and he was dying.

But he was also thinking too much.

You deserved the best. You deserved more.

And the way he was doing it? He was sure it was the worst.

He could barely move without overthinking it.

His jaw clenched as he held himself up, refusing to let even a fraction of his weight rest on you. He was focused. Too focused. Every tiny noise you made had him pausing.

Every sharp inhale? He stopped.

Every shift in your body? He stopped.

Every time your fingers gripped his shoulders or tangled in his hair? He stopped.

He was sure you were frustrated.

Hell, he was frustrated.

And then, it happened.

He was so caught up in his head, so caught up in holding back, that he didn’t realize the way he was gripping the bed frame—

Until it snapped.

Loud. Violent. The entire mattress lurched.

And Mark froze.

His breath hitched. His eyes widened.

Oh, fuck.

He ruined it.

His stomach dropped so fast he thought he might be sick.

“Shit—shit—are you okay?” His hands were everywhere, checking your arms, your waist, your face. “Did I hurt you? Oh my God, I—”

You?

You just burst into laughter.

Mark blinked.

What.

You were giggling. Breathless, flushed, giddy.

And then—you pulled him down into a kiss.

Mark’s brain short-circuited.

“What—?” His voice came out shaky.

You grinned against his lips, hands sliding into his hair. “I was wondering when you were gonna stop holding back.”

His entire soul left his body.

He pulled back just enough to look at you. “Wait… you weren’t mad?”

Your laugh was pure sin. “Mad? Mark, I thought you were gonna put me to sleep with how careful you were being.”

Mark choked on air.

You smirked.

“You were scared you’d break me, huh?”

Mark opened his mouth—then closed it. He couldn’t deny it.

Your hands slipped down his chest, tracing his muscles. “You can be a little rough, y’know. I can handle it.”

Mark made a distressed noise.

You had no idea what that did to him.

He wanted you. Every instinct in his body was screaming at him to take what was his, to claim, to mark, to devour.

But—

“Are you sure?” His voice came out strained.

You gave him a slow, lazy smile. “Yes, Mark. I’m sure.”

And that was when it all changed.

That was when he finally let himself go.

And he felt it.

The second he stopped thinking, the second he let himself get lost in you, everything felt different.

Better. So much better.

Invincible!Mark who had his knees next to your waste while your legs were up on his shoulders, the little ankle bracelet he bought you with his initial.

Invincible!Mark who couldn’t help but get goosebumps the way you moaned his name.

Invincible!Mark who pins your hands and leaves small bruises on your wrists.

Invincible!Mark who leaves hickeys everywhere on your body.

Invincible!Mark who kisses your ankles, who makes sure to whisperer in your ear on how good you’re taking him, how good you feel.

Invincible!Mark who loves missionary because he gets to see the expressions you make, the way your eyebrows pinch, the way your eyes roll back when he hits that certain spot.

The sounds you made, the way you clung to him, the way you moaned his name—

He was never going back to holding back. Ever.

And when you came undone underneath him?

Yeah.

He was done for.

babe you got this man pussy whipped ☺️

what do you guysss thinkkk

[ogwintersmind]

MHA boys as dads

Bakugou (boy dad)

When blue confetti fell from out of the gender reveal balloon you immediately predicted the future. A crazy, loud, chaotic future was very promising. And your predictions came true after litttle Kai was born.

When he was freshly out of the womb, four days, katsuki is already lecturing him about how great he's going to be and that he's a Bakugou so he's guarantee to be strong and awesome.

When he reaches the toddler stage… bless your poor heart. Not only does Kai look exactly like katsuki, but he acts like him too!

He's loud, always climbing the stairs, wanting to aggressively play hero’s vs villains, oh, he bites too. Katsuki thinks it’s the most hilarious thing in the world. When friends are over and kaminari, deku, or kirishima piss him off he’ll send Kai to do his dirty work (Bite them) only to get lectured by you saying “He’s a baby not a dog! don’t teach him to do that!!”

He loves matching family outfits, as corny and out of character it sounds, he loves it. He teaches Kai about the places of the world, and makes sure Kai has an out standing vocabulary claiming "I won't have an idiot running around. He's a Bakugou he has to be great, like me.” You retort by saying “He’s three!!”

He also teaches Kai that it's ok to cry. He wishes that he was taught that showing emotions doesn’t make you weak and expressing your feelings makes you stronger, something he learned from you, and he wants to make sure his son understands that and doesn’t have to grow up carrying the burden of emotions that he never got to express on his back. He wants his son to know that he’s able to talk to him and that he’ll be there to listen and support him.

100/10 great dad. (He’s begging for baby #2345&6)

Kirishima (girl dad)

He was surprised when the confetti came out of the balloon and it was pink. He definitely thought he’d have a son. He wasn’t upset though, he was going to have a healthy child and that’s all that really mattered.

He plays princesses and lets your daughter paint his nails and do his makeup. They proceed to do fashion shows for you all the while kirishima is stumbling over his feet in your way too small heels he attempted to squeeze his feet in.

When you’re out and it’s his turn to dress Kami he puts her in the most “dad dressed me” outfits ever.. for example, you’ll come home and her hair is in what you think is supposed to be a ponytail, she has on a neon green shirt, fairy wings, and baggy baby blue jeans. “I tried..” is the only thing he’ll say while you’re laughing your butt off.

Did I mention your daughter is a Velcro baby? Kirishima is very clingy so it’s to no one’s surprise that your daughter is the same way. She throws a fit when you or kiri set her down for even a second, it’s tiring for you but kirishima doesn’t mind it one bit. He holds her no matter what he’s doing, cooking, cleaning, playing his game, working out, it doesn’t matter. His baby will always be on his arm.

She has Kirishimas sharp teeth so when katsuki and he are hanging out with the kids and Katsuki sends Kai to bite him, kirishima retaliates by sending his daughter katsukis way to defend her daddy.

100/100 greattt papa!

Kaminari (twin dad boy + girl)

He short circuited when he found out he was having not one... But two little kaminaris running around the house, and you... Bless your heart.

He gives the children stupid nicknames like "concreate" and "cement" or "bloom" and "Sprout” and you hate it because when the children are in their toddler stage and they get into trouble and you say “Kami/Kai, get down you’ll hurt yourself!” they'll say "I not Kami/Kai, I Sprout/Bloom!!”

Speaking of trouble... Kaminari "doesn't allow" you to punish the twins. His favorite line is "they're just kids, babe. They're still learning.” so they get away with everything.

He teaches them how to tell dad jokes to his friends and Sero thinks it’s the funniest thing in the world. (he also taught them the “pull my finger thing” ..yuck.)

Denki stays up at night reading the twins bedtime stories, it doesn't matter whether it's 9pm or 3am, he'll read to his babies for as long as they need.

100/100 great dad!

Shoto (girl dad)

Shoto had no idea how he was going to be as a father. His family life was so messed up.. What if his father’s toxic traits take over and he ends up forcing his child into a toxic environment like Enji did him… “You’re not Enji, you’re Shoto. You’ll be an amazing father. I wouldn’t have a child with you if I thought otherwise.”

And a great father he is.

He spoils her to no end. Whatever toy, dress, shoe, candy, or whatever else she wants she gets. What baby do you know that has been to 7 different countries by the age of 3? None? Wrong answer because Your daughter has been to 7 different countries before she was even 2.

He wants her to know that she should never settle for less and that she deserves the entire world. When she does something wrong he doesn’t yell, he doesn’t even get angry. He’ll speak to her in a very gentle voice and tell her how and why her actions were wrong. After the talk he’ll give her a hug and tell her he loves her.

When he finally allows Enji to meet her he makes sure that his father speaks to her nicely and doesn’t scare her. The moment Enji does anything wrong in Shotos opinion he grabs his daughter and immediately leaves. He refuses to let Enji to traumatize or hurt his daughter in the same way he hurt him.

Your daughter is very kind a really smart, she’s a daddy’s girl 100%. He loves that your daughter trusts the both of you enough to open up and voice her feelings to you. He loves that she isn’t afraid of either of you. He loves that he broke the toxic cycle of the Todiroki family trauma and is an amazing father.

100/100. Great father.

Hi friends! I hope you enjoy these! Some were pretty rushed but that you for reading!

Requests are open and highly encouraged!

Not proofread

xo- winter 🪼🤍.

[rubytale-chapter2]

This is peak cinema right here.🍿😎 W Hacker.

Meanwhile on Planet 003….