#luxury Oscar watches

[gmtindiasposts]

2024 Oscars Watches: Best Luxury Watches

Do you love watches and the Oscars? Check out GMT India's coverage of the best luxury watches at the event, including Ryan Gosling's impeccable and sophisticated TAG Heuer Carrera and Cillian Murphy's elegant and refined Omega De Ville. Explore the best luxury Oscar watches on the red carpet.

[thegivenchythree]

Anya Taylor-Joy in Dior Haute Couture and Tiffany & Co

[missydior]

pretty in pink ౨ৎ

♡: when an unfamiliar face tries to steal you away, oscar is there to remind them that you are his.

notes: oscar piastri/reader, established relationship, protective & somewhat possessive demeanour, unwelcome attention from strangers, fluff.

– based on this request ☁️

a/n: thank you nonnie & i love this req since i am the pretty-pink girl of my neighbourhood lol. as some know, i am not much of a lover of toxic tropes or that dark romance genre so i apologise if this isn’t the kind of ‘possessive’ you were thinking of, i was craving some soft & loving osc. <3

♡ ✧ 。*・.

The aroma of petrichor against warm pastries from the L'Amour du Pain Vieux bakery nearby lingers, skies over Montréal grey with the lull of clouds where hints of the early afternoon light dance through and upon the Circuit Gilles Villeneuve below, a gentle remnant of dampness about the smooth stone streets from rainfall earlier in the hour that has since come to a halt.

With qualifying to commence in a few hours – highlighting the true beginning of the Canadian Grand Prix where your boyfriend hopes to secure the finest result possible – there is a heightening feel about the paddock as you wander through, latte of oat-milk and vanilla balanced in one soft-skinned hand, donned in your favourite, little dress like blushing, pale peonies.

After an early albeit comfortable, familiar morning waking beside Oscar in your shared hotel suite amongst the quiet luxury of pretty, minimal décor – mussed bed sheets of lush cotton, cashmere throws and interlocked limbs – shared, slow kisses and breakfast consisting of sweet, syruped pancakes and coffee, before greeting the true day ahead, you are most excited.

Amongst conversational journalists with inviting, saccharine smiles merely for enticement and photographers who do not hesitate to notice your face, the lovely and pretty diamond that is Oscar Piastri's lovable girlfriend, you have never quite opposed to the media attention so long as you have him by your side.

"Hm." Chanel ballet flats of embroidered ivory and light-pink clicking on the path, comforted by your sweet treat in hand whilst balancing your iPhone in the other – a brief conversation with your lover concluding he would be busy for another couple of minutes at least due to press conferences – you are mostly contently lost in your own daydreams.

"Excuse me?"

It is the sound of a voice addressed in your direction that has you faltering in your gait, pretty head tilting just the slightest to glimpse over your shoulder just as the sudden voice and approach of a male has you somewhat shy.

"Sorry, I feel like I know you from somewhere," He is youthful, perhaps the same age or a year older than the aforementioned by looks, dressed rather comfortably in a clean, white shirt of linen only half-buttoned against the beige hues of his trousers, Française Cartier watch glinting on his wrist.

His mouth curves on a smile, eyes like caramel dancing over your face and lower until he allows himself the fleeting, silent glance at how the neat edges of your mini dress hug your thighs before straightening his stance once again, lithe fingers threading through his styled, light hair.

The words leave you a touch perplexed given you certainly do not recognise him and lack any recollection of his face, laughing uncertainly as you tuck a stray hair behind the shell of your ear with the clink of a rose quartz bracelet about your wrist, the sound sweet as an angel's.

"I'm sorry, I don't think–"

"It's alright, I don't either." The man continues with an amiable shrug as though pretending to understand or assume what you had been meaning to say, countenance turning more charismatic on the edge of a revealed dimple, "My name's Jacques, love."

There is something in his gaze and the execution of his demeanour which has you hesitating, rosebud mouth parted ajar whilst you glance about momentarily even when the hint of a natural, polite smile remains.

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Jacques," You reply quietly, the expression you hold towards him is a pleasant one despite yourself, although not enough to reveal the slight discomfort that lurks in the depths of your stomach, "But my boyfriend is–"

"Right here."

As if the mention or mere thought of him was an innate manifestation, you are greeted with the presence of a certain, handsome individual where you recognise the warmth of his aura just as fingertips are felt on the curve of your vertebrae against a splayed palm.

You cannot deny or refuse the immediate beginnings of a soft smile and the ease flourishing within you as soon as his touch is known, the lingering scent of his cologne with hints of patchouli and rosewood permeating, an incline of your head allowing gazes to meet momentarily in mutual greeting.

He stands tall beside you, the limb draped around your waist a familiar presence whilst eyes of an intimate, rich hue that remind you of coffee and autumn dance between yourself and the other man who now stands a touch awkwardly with a dissuaded visage.

"Is this man bothering you, princess?" His tone is honey-like, a smooth and lowered baritone that you adore, though there is the telltale sign of his fingertips that press a touch firmer against your hipbone, and the arch of a brow, that demonstrates the silent brewing of protectiveness in the midst of his affections for you. Oscar Piastri is an affectionate sweetheart, true to his feelings and honest in generosity with the renowned presence of patience, though can be a defensive figure when the subject concerns his girl.

"Not really. He was just being friendly," Your cadence is light and sweet with imploration, the subtle gesture of a kiss left against his cheekbone in comforting warmth as you balance on the edge of your toes momentarily.

You are sweet, almost too much so with your pretty looks and the faint glimpses of innocence there even though you know exactly where you stand; it has Oscar longing to return to the quiet privacy of home where nobody will harass you both for attention, where he can have you to himself even if only for a little while.

Jacques chuckles, almost uncertainly in a manner that juxtaposes his previous incentive whilst tucking one palm into the concealing wool of his tailored slacks when he nods, "I was just saying 'hello', no harm done."

The Australian does not seem particularly reassured though there is no instigation for a disagreement, looking over the other only a moment longer without another word before he's silently coaxing you against his side when he walks with a gait somewhat quicker than his usual.

"Wait," Your kissable lips touch a little downward in uncertain wonder, though you follow his guidance easily, a touch intrigued by his lingering silence that lacks explanation, "Where are we headed? Was I doing something wrong?"

There is no initial comfort or answer to your inquiries as he looks forward, evidently lost to his own thoughts whilst internally calming himself from the dwindling ache of his possession over you, a muscle in the line of his jaw shifting almost imperceptibly.

A boring press conference consisting of being asked the same questions like a repetitive, tedious dance had already left him a touch bitter, and the sight of a stranger trying to steal his girlfriend's attention away only aggravates him further.

Eventually, your shared walk leads to the quieter alcoves of the McLaren hospitality comforts until he's nudging you backwards through a white-varnished door, breathing in the sweetness of your perfume – Good Girl: Blush – with hints of almond against sweet peonies, vanilla and coumarin.

"You weren't doing anything wrong," Oscar murmurs, his arm entwined securely about your figure as his lips ghost over the outer shell of your ear near the glimmer of divine, embellished earrings he gifted you on your birthday after he had seen you admiring them through the glass of a jewellery shop once, swallowing slowly.

It is a quiet, comfortable room – one that he often confides in the refuge of when in need of fleeing from the never-ending attention and demands of his profession, an inviting, plush chaise lounge of white cushioning, shelves and cupboards of various items.

Your glossed lips touch into a delicate pout of mystery, a gentle sound of consideration and acknowledgement leaving the back of your throat whilst arms drape loosely around his neck, the edges of your thumbs tracing along his nape where you feel the soft hairs there.

"Then what was it?"

"Nothing." It is an uncharacteristically brief reply, though the manner his lightly-calloused palms cradle the small of your waist until he cannot quite restrain himself from the tightened grasp there with a brief glance towards the closed door, exhaling through his teeth in some kind of defeat, "I'm... Do you want me to be honest?"

The question is uttered so softly that the question leaves you a fraction breathless, heart thrumming within the interns of your rib cage like a dove locked away as you nod.

"I always want the truth from you, Ossie," You respond in a lull so saccharine it sounds like a sing-song of delight, the edge of your index finger and thumb dancing downwards against the soft fabric of his sweater before pausing when you meet his eyes through your lashes.

Oscar sighs, though there is the slightest of reservations of a smile the corners of his mouth at the manner in which you address him, a nickname reserved especially for when the two of you are alone together and intimate.

He does not immediately bless you with an answer, tilting your head towards him in silent, shared invitation before your mouths melt together. It is slow and sweet, tasting one another and your belongings forgotten on the nearby, makeshift desk of polished oak, a sweetened hint of café au lait on your tongue.

"Seeing that man," He begins between chaste kisses, not quite allowing you the liberty of shying away as he holds you close until your back nudges the ivory-coated wall behind, near drawn photographs of memorabilia from old Grand Prixes, "And how he looked at you, it made me want to–"

He pauses, inhaling audibly as though trying to meditate on his own emotions in that moment, his hands feeling over your body like a sculptor and his finest work before he swallows the remainder of his sentence with a kiss.

Oscar Piastri is an undeniably attractive man when he's possessive over you, touching every inch of you like his belongings, muttered sweet nothings and vows of devotions against your tongue. It is a warm feeling, knowing he will always protect you without hesitance. And he does, cherishes you like the pretty doll you seem to be, because he cares in some earnest, undying reality.

"I love you."

The punctuation of another kiss, "I love you more." And he traces the jut of your ribs through the thin, velveteen fabric of your rosé dress when he holds you close until you're flush together, sighing against your lips, "I will never let anybody hurt you, ever. Understood?"

"I understand."

♡ ✧ 。*・.

© missydior

[ilovetoxicfictionalmen]

AND THE OSCAR GOES TO …

Pairing - Cillian Murphy x fem!reader

Warnings - No warning, the disgust!!! Fluff with a side of angst, I’m shocked… cheesy as

Word count - 2.4+

The day had been exhausting. Cillian, who expresses the importance of sleep, was unable to keep his eyes shut last night in the luxurious king size bed. Usually the award shows were just a part of the job, never taken as seriously as working on the project. But this was different, he had never experienced the honor of such recognition by the industry he adored. Everyone was hyping him up and secretly it terrified him even though he acted unphased. 

Humble, was the word you’d use to describe Cillian. The most modest man in Hollywood, never believing that his work is exemplary. Always reflecting on what else he could have done to be better. It was a guilty desire, to want to win it. He had already won all of the other major awards, but what if he managed to fall short to this?

Likewise to him, you remained awake. Merely embracing him as you two laid in silence. You kept him at bay, he wondered what he did to deserve you. Feared the embarrassment of what you’d think of him if he didn’t win this last one. 

He threw up in the morning. It was all getting to his head. These were the parts he hated most about this job. The expectation on his back now. All eyes were going to be on him tonight. Not to mention the reporters. At all of the award shows they tended to ask insensitive questions about your relationship. 

Your relationship with Cillian was certainly controversial. Age gaps always were. Neither of you ever intended to fall in love, but denying that spark of attraction felt like a major crime.  

At first, you both tried to make yourselves believe it to just be casual. To merely get those urges out of your system. Neither one of you intended on making the encounter romantic or innermost with each other. However, by the third date, it came to light in your senses that this was real. 

The dating stage was a rollercoaster of emotions. Filled to the rim with doubts of if you both would be able to make it work. Yeah, you’ve dated some real questionable guys. But a 20 year age difference was never a bridge you expected to cross. Despite the hesitance of this intangible factor, you two just couldn’t view a future without one another anymore. 

Slowly, you both tackled your insecurities of becoming public to your loved ones. The hardest were your parents, even though there was still a bit of an age gap, Cillian was closer to their age than yours and it was a judgment they couldn’t avoid. It took some time, but as they watched your eyes blossom at the sight of him they knew it was real. 

The public would never know how you brought Cillian out of his despair. A man of privacy he was, hardly anyone knew how toxic his first marriage was. How bad his mind had become after years of trying over something that was long dead cold. With how he had given up hope on ever feeling loved by another again. Most days he felt like a man trying to find a pin in a haystack. 

Dating Cillian taught you the value of privacy and wellbeing. Behind the closed doors, your relationship was paradise. You had never experienced a relationship that wasn’t followed by the media. It was all that you had ever known. But this, being able to focus on him and not on how the world perceived your relationship had changed your whole perspective. 

When the news broke that not only were you dating Cillian Murphy, but pregnant, the backlash was astounding. However, you both had the approval and support from your inner circles and that was all that mattered. You had a shotgun wedding in Ireland with a small number of attendees. It was the greatest day of your life until you gave birth to your daughter, Aisling. 

He looked so charming as you watched him dress in the hotel room. He was laughing nervously a lot, trying to talk about things other than the ceremony. 

You didn’t blame his distress. Years ago you were in the same affair. It was your hardest role and greatest accomplishment. Portraying a woman at her lowest point in a society that she felt she didn’t belong. By the end of production, a part of you felt like you were her. When you were nominated for Best Actress, you were filled with gratitude and honor. But also couldn’t help but to think at the back of your head if you really deserved this. A part of you didn’t feel worthy to be running with your fellow nominees. The anxiety rose inside of you everytime someone asked what would you do if you won? 

But, when the presenter announced your name, the wave of acceptance consumed you deep into the ocean. Everything you had ever done had led to that moment. There was no need for you to secretly bring yourself down. You have pushed your mind, body and soul for this project. The gratitude had overwhelmed you as you accepted this recognition. 

Watching him on the red carpet, you could see right through him. The illusion of confidence mixed with the gratitude of accolades. He wanted the night to be done with, there was nothing more that he wanted to do besides be at home with you and Aisling. It was the first time Cillian had attended the grand event and you observed him look around in awe in the ceremony room. The whole time you had held onto his hand tightly as the big four without hurry finally rolled over. 

“And the Oscar goes to…” Brendan Fraser paused as he opened the envelope.

Time froze over, your iron grip on Cillian’s hand as you stared immensely. There was this clock ticking in your head. Your emotions were masked as Cillian had a stern expression. You could sense how anxious he was with being in the running for the greatest honor.   

Despite the distance, you ever so clearly saw the look that lit in Brendan’s eyes and knew immediately. His gaze looked up to Cillian as he announced his name to the world. A radiant smile grew on Cillian’s lips as the audience started cheering for him. 

He acknowledged you promptly, his blue eyes soft as he leant in to kiss you. After a small exhale of relief, you wrapped your arms around his body and kissed him passionately. His forehead pressed against yours for a few seconds, but it felt like hours. The noise drained out and you both forgot where you were. It was just the two of you. When Cillian opened his eyes again, his gaze was met with your undying smile of bliss. 

The track for Oppenheimer was playing as Cillian slowly let you go and embraced his fellow cast members You were clapping your hands together uncontrollably, your eyes welled with tears of joy as you watched Cillian make the short journey to the stage.

Emily embraced you, you exhaled heavily against her as you were still feeling the overwhelming sensation against your skin. It was all too much to take in, you could see his photo up on all of the screens, the cheers were running down to your ear drums. It felt like deja vu from years ago when you were in the exact same spot. 

He shook all of the presenters' hands. Sharing a few words with each of them individually. The audience were still on their feet as Cillian looked down to the golden prize in his hold, his mouth dry as he struggled to think of what to say. 

The crowd was standing in awe for him. Cillian laughed nervously, his expression overwhelmed and shocked at what was occurring. He has never even dreamt of this moment, never believing he’d be able to make it. His hand trailed over jaw as his eyes took in everything. He waited for the audience to silence themselves but realized that they wouldn’t be doing it on their own any time soon. 

“Um, I’m a little overwhelmed. Thank you to the Academy” Cillian started, his eyes roaming over the room. The crowd came to silence. “Um, Chris Nolan and Emma Thomas, it's been the wildest, most exhilarating, most creatively satisfying journey you’ve taken me on over the last 20 years. I owe you more than I can say. Thank you so much” Cillian expressed his gratitude to them. His mentors, the people that trusted him dearly with many of their successes. 

There was such little time. Shockingly, Cillian hadn’t prepared himself for this moment, despite everyone telling him that even though the competition was scintillating, the Oscar already had his name written on it. Of course he had summed up a few words to say, people to recognise. But the shock had drowned his thoughts. 

“Every single crew member, every single cast member on Oppenheimer. You guys carried me through. All of my fellow nominees, I remain in awe of you guys, truly” Cillian acknowledged, his eyes darting around the room to look for his fellow nominees. 

He truly was in admiration of them. The pair of you had watched all of the nominated films and Cillian couldn’t help to be even in applause of them, but also intimidated by them as award season had rolled over. 

“I wanna thank my incredible team. Ah, big shout out to Craig Bankie!” Cillian grinned. “Brendan Murphy- Brendan Murphy, Mary Murphy. Who are currently taking care of my baby girl back in Ireland. Aisling, my darling, daddy loves you so much” He smiled purely into the camera. 

There was a pause as he blinked heavily. His gaze found its way back to you so lovingly. CIllian stared at you in awe. Even though you were at a distance from each other, he could see you so perfectly. His perfect woman, wife, lover.  

“Oh” he breathed out, tilting his head up the slightest bit. “And there’s a woman” he professed as he closed his eyes dramatically, taking in all of the emotions he was feeling. 

Some of the crowd couldn’t resist screaming out in excitement. Your hand pressed against your mouth as you slowly shook your head in disbelief. 

“Yeah” he said to himself as he nodded his head, eyes still shut. “A woman. Who I love” Cillian vowed, his eyes finding you once more. Cillian breathed out your name as he watched you enchantedly. “You’re the love of my life, and I owe everything to you. You’ve kept me sane throughout this whole process. I wouldn’t be up here without you. This award, it’s for us. I love you” Cillian commended, giving you an angelic smile. 

The crowd roared in exhilaration. The camera focused on you and your teary eyes as you were shaking your head in disbelief and happy embarrassment. 

“I’m a very proud Irish man standing here tonight. So…” Cillian smiled as he raised his award into the air. The crowd cheered as he could feel the privilege of honoring his nationality. “You know, we made a film. We made a film about the man who created the atomic bomb. And for better or for worse, we’re all living in Oppenheimer’s world. So I would really like to dedicate this to the peacemakers everywhere” Cillian finished with a satisfied nod. “Go raibh mile maith agaibh!” He raised the award one final time as he spoke his native language and took a step back from the microphone. 

The music began as Cillian winked to you. Everyone stood up again as they all applauded him, many eyes were on you as well. He engaged with the past winners as they all walked off stage. People congratulated you for landing such a romantic man and you couldn’t argue with them if you wanted you. 

You kissed him passionately in the elevator, the buzz of the champagne you shared in the ride over giving the pair of you slightly too much confidence. Cillian was chuckling slowly as you both looked at the award in his hand. The doors dung open and you were cheered by the guests in the venue of the afterparty. 

A snort left Cillian as he noticed a tap of Guinness at the bar. Neither of you could refuse a pint of it. The night rolled on with many congratulations, drinks, photographs, hand shakes, embraces and conversations on what an achievement this had been. No one would be able to guess how exhausted Cillian truly was. But the adrenaline was still pumping through his blood stream and it wasn’t stopping anytime soon.  

As the music blasted and the dance floor filled with highly tipsy people, Cillian confidently pulled you onto it. His arms wrapped around your body as he swayed you to the music. The two of you smiled gleefully, intoxicated with the moment and built up emotion over these past few months. Even though the lighting was dark, you could see the crooked smile on his lips. 

“Let’s have another” he proposed into your ear. You hummed and looked up to him. A heavy laugh left your mouth as you turned your foot to the bar but he stopped you. “No, no” he laughed. “Another baby” he clarified. 

“You only ever wanted one” you brought up. It was unsure if he was being serious, or merely caught up in the moment. 

“I’ve been wrong” he admitted, swaying you perfectly to the beat of the music. You hummed confidently, a sparkle in your eyes, the thought of a baby boy with his eyes coming to mind. “You’ve brought me out of my hardest moments. I know I tell you this all the time but woman, you mean everything to me. Your support, advice, guidance and love is all I’ll ever need to live a fulfilled life. You’ve taught me so much which has benefitted not only my career but happiness and spirit in life. I love you more than I’ll ever be able to say or show you” Cillian confessed. 

Innocent embarrassment made you shake your head towards him. He just had a way with words that made your heart swoon over him, even when he was drunk. A long, gentle kiss connected you together once more. This was life, the happiness you both could share together. Not the expensive outfits, fancy cars or grand events. It was the emotions and feelings intertwined as one between two bodies. 

Cillian had made history tonight, but you were forever to be his grand prize in life. 

[the-offside-rule]

Oscar Piastri (McLaren) - Self Care

Requested: yes

Prompt: 32) "I could kiss your lips all day."

Warnings: none tbh

Y/n hummed contentedly as she stood in front of the bathroom mirror, organizing her array of skincare products. Tonight was one of those rare evenings when she had the luxury of indulging in a thorough skincare routine. The soft glow of the bathroom lights cast a warm ambiance as she meticulously selected her serums and creams. Just as she was about to begin, Oscar, her boyfriend, poked his head through the slightly ajar door. His eyes sparkled with mischief as he leaned against the door frame, a playful grin tugging at his lips.

"What you doing?" He asked. "Just my skincare for the night." Y/n replied. "Ah. Mind if I join in on the skincare stuff?" He asked, teasingly. Y/n looked back at him through thr mirror. "Sure, but you'll need this." She playfully threw a hairband over to him, With a laugh, he obliged, pretending to be an eager participant in the skincare ritual. The sight of Oscar in a pink hairband, holding all his hair back was soon captured in photos up all over Instagram.

As Y/n began to apply the first layer of a soothing face mask onto her skin, Oscar leaned in, unable to resist the urge to steal a quick kiss from her lips. "You're so cute." He smiled, simply watching her like a lovestruck puppy. "Thank you babe. You are too." She said, continuing to put on her face mask. He leaned in a few seconds later, gently kissing her lips once again. "Oscar!" Y/n exclaimed, her laughter bubbling up at his playful antics. "You're going to ruin the mask!"

"But your lips are too tempting to resist." Oscar replied with a grin, his eyes dancing mischievously. Y/n rolled her eyes playfully, unable to suppress her smile. "You're so distracting." She said as her hand found itself behind her boyfriends head. "Guilty as charged," Oscar admitted, planting another gentle kiss on her lips. "I could kiss your lips all day," Oscar sighed contently. Y/n shook her head, "We'll never finish if you keep doing that. I need to do my face mask and you need to do yours, babe." Y/n said turning to apply the mask to Oscar now. He sat still, taking in her face as she focused on putting the face mask on. "It's not burning or anything, is it?" She asked. "No, not at all." He replied quietly. "Why are we whispering." Oscar shrugged. "I dunno." He replied, still whispering.

They continued teasing each other, sharing laughter and kisses. Y/n finished applying the mask to Oscar's face, pretending to be a professional esthetician. "You're glowing." She joked. "Oh my god, you are so right." He replied in a teasing tone. Y/n giggled,

As the face masks dried, they decided to watch Netflix to pass the time. Snuggled up on their bed, Y/n couldn't help but steal glances at Oscar's silly face mask. "You look like a superhero." She giggled, covering her smile with her hand. "I can't move my face." He muttered. "Alright, Captain Moisture. Calm down." He looked at her. "Captain Moisture? Seriously?"

"It should actually be in and around the time to take the masks off." Y/n climbed on top of her boyfriend. Oscar's hands held onto her hips as she carefully took off the mask. "Oh wow. You got even better looking." Y/n smiled, pecking the tip of his nose. "Let me take yours off." Oscar said, his hands peeling the mask off just as carefully and inspecting her skin. "I think I look better." He said. Y/n slapped his chest playfully, making the aussie laugh. "If racing doesn't work out I could just do this." Oscar declared proudly.

As they settled into watching their favorite show, Y/n sighed contently. "That was so much fun." Oscar wrapped his arm around her, "Anything with you is fun."

[charlie-lec-stories]

McLaren Detectives Department // CL16 & MV1

Pairing: Charles Leclerc / Original Female Character / Max Verstappen

Summary: One day Max is totally furious with Y/N and Charles' relationship and the next he's completely fine with it, Lando is not buying it.

Warnings: Suggestive talk, Lando and Oscar rambling on conspiracy theories, Oscar being the annoying little brother, Lando being unable to mind his own business.

Author’s Note: This one is quite funny, I hope you guys like it as much as I do. Rate: +16

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Lando Norris was a simple man, he grew up with the commodities and luxuries of an upper class boy and had never in his life took a bus, but you could take away all of his privilege and he could manage to survive. He could adapt, change his ways, work his way back to the top of the chain again, whatever it took. As long as he could interact with other people on a daily basis he didn't care what happened in his life, because he was fueled by one thing and one thing only: Gossip. Nothing in this life moved Lando more than gossip, he was a sucker for it and when he was paired with Oscar Piastri in McLaren, he found someone as unable to mind his own business as himself. They could spend hours just gossiping, about their friends, other drivers, celebrities, their families, whoever lived on Earth, they always had something to chat about. And their favourite part was drama. They loved it when some scandalous situation reached their ears and they'd spend the rest of the week talking about it and trying to keep up with the updates. The rest of the people who worked with them knew they were like that and more than once they would fake drama just to watch them ramble to each other about it for days. Their capability to gossip was the main entertainment of the garage.

Of course, when Y/N, Max Verstappen's best friend, and Charles Leclerc, Max's rival, started dating, it was the biggest drama the paddock had seen in years. Max and Charles going at each other's throats every weekend was like "Keeping up with the Kardashians" for Lando and Oscar. They would try to use any chance they got to listen to the arguments and comebacks the Ferrari and Red Bull drivers would throw at the other. Lando was close with Max, while Oscar was close with Charles and Y/N, which also meant that they would usually get more information from them, making their gossip sessions even more interesting. Lando loved to hear Max complain over and over again about Charles, telling him how much of a prick the monegasque was and constantly wondering what Y/N ever saw in him. Oscar and Y/N loved ice-cream, and they would go out for it pretty often, there, she sometimes talked about how worried she was about Max and Charles fighting all the time and Oscar did what he could to help her out. On the other hand, when Oscar and Charles went to play pool on Mondays, the Australian gladly listened to his friend complain about Max and his possessiveness over his girlfriend, getting a little possessive himself. All of this made Lando and Oscar fans number one of the Max-Y/N-Charles drama developing in the paddock.

The whole season, they watched the progress of motorsports' favourite couple. From Charles flirting with Y/N at the Mercedes garage, to the last race where Y/N hugged and comforted a defeated Charles who had just lost the championship. The McLaren boys witnessed the couple's hard launch on Instagram during summer break, with a scandalous picture of them kissing on Charles' yacht, Y/N sitting on his lap and Charles shamelessly grabbing at her ass. They had a feast with the fans' reaction to the picture and they had even more fun watching Max's live, while the three of them were together grabbing a beer. The dutchman's ears going red and his eyes hyper-focused on the screen of his phone, so angry that Lando was sure some smoke could go out of his head. They also had the pleasure to watch Max call Charles "stupid" on open TV, with millions watching, followed by the FIA's response to that and Max's public, and notoriously forced, apology. They were both aware that Y/N and Charles' relationship was the thing that Max despised the most on this world. He could spend weeks rambling about why the two should break up and how terrible of a combination they were.

It was suspicious, to say the least, when the first race of the next season, Max entered the paddock along with the couple, chatting amicably and even laughing a bit. Lando and Oscar stared at the sight of the three drivers skeptically, how come they were all friends now? What crucial episode of the telenovela did they miss? Something was off. They watched as Y/N and Charles walked holding hands towards the Mercedes garage, Max chatting excitedly with his best friend not even caring about her relationship anymore. At the entrance of the german team, Charles kissed his girlfriend goodbye and Max gave her a friendly peck on the cheek, then the girl went into the garage and the two guys walked to their own garages, talking lively just the two of them all the way. The whole day, the tree of them crossed paths and exchanged some words with big grins and happy auras, all of the previous tension completely dissipated.

"I don't get it, mate. They hated each other three months ago!". Lando said to Oscar while they were chatting in Oscar's driver's room. "I just can't get it".

"Maybe they talked?". Oscar suggested.

"Nah". Lando dismissed his idea with a flip of his hand. Oscar threw a little papaya ball at him, Lando caught it and threw it back. "I met with Max plenty of times during the off season, he would had told me".

"True". The other agreed and passed the ball again. "I also met with Y/N and Charles, went to their house for dinner a lot at the beginning of the year. They would've said something".

"Maybe it's a PR thing". Lando wondered as he played with the ball before passing it back. "Like, maybe they were scolded so bad for their behavior that now they have to act like they like each other to clean up their public images".

"That actually makes sense, I mean, Max did call Charles stupid on TV". Oscar chuckled and threw the ball back at Lando. "Amazing, mate. Sometimes, you do speak some sense".

"You're so funny". Lando threw the ball harder at Oscar, hitting him on the chest as a response to the other's teasing. Oscar let a huff out at the impact and then laughed a bit, satisfied with the annoyed reaction he got from Lando.

With the resolve to find out what made the other three change their act so drastically, Lando and Oscar started trying to gather some information. They spoke with other drivers, people from Mercedes, Ferrari and Red Bull, friends they all had in common, even Charles' brothers and Y/N mentor, Lewis Hamilton. Little by little, they both discovered that no one knew anything about Charles and Max putting their differences aside and were as shocked as them to see them hanging out in the paddock. Lewis asked Y/N about it and she told him that nothing happened and that everything was like always, which was obviously a lie, but he didn't want to pressure her on the matter. Lando and Oscar spent four race weekends melting their brains trying to work out what happened. Lando had enough. Everything was the same? He wasn't buying that. He walked to Max and asked directly. The dutchman was as direct with his answer: "I still want to jump his throat. I'm just being civil about it".

"Is that what he said?". Oscar asked and Lando just nodded his head while he bit his apple.

"He said that and then walked away. He didn't even give me time to ask more". Oscar played with the papaya ball, that seemed to be his new favourite toy.

"That's weird".

"I agree, if there's something Max isn't, is civil". Lando added with his mouth full. They were frustrated, they had even more questions than before.

Over time, Lando kept trying to extract more information from Max, but all he got were answers like "I have a lot of self control, that's all", "Just trying hard to do the right thing", "I'm trying to make him trust me a little more", "Just want to be close to Y/N again", and things like that. But there was a conversation that put Oscar and Lando on edge. They were discussing the Qualifying session, one where Max got pole and was closely followed by Y/N, Lando on third place. Y/N was explaining that she didn't like the circuit, she felt like every lap she was learning new information and she just could never feel like she was familiar with it. That led to talking about perceptions and how other things like lights and unnecessary noises could divert your attention from what's right in front of you. "Sometimes you need someone to remove everything you don't need so you can finally see clearly". Max said and he placed his hand on her hip, squeezing it lightly. Lando noticed the motion instantly. Max's eyes went from Y/N to behind her and the brit followed his gaze, landing on Charles, who was talking with George Russell and Alex Albon. The comment, the possessive squeeze, the way he so intensely looked at Y/N and then Charles, Lando felt a chill down his spine. Not a good one.

"You're crazy, mate. You finally lost it". Oscar said as he shook his head, shutting down the possibility right there and then.

"Think about it!". Lando paced back and forth on the little room, running his fingers through his hair. "He wants to get close to her again? Someone has to remove the things she doesn't need so she can see clearly? He believes that he's doing good at self control?". Oscar replayed the phrases inside his head. They did look suspicious.

"He still wants to jump Charles' throat...". Lando stopped on his tracks at Oscar's addition.

"We need to do something". There was this weight on their shoulders now that they finally understood Max's intentions. "Max is a great lad, we can't let him turn into a...". Lando struggled with the word, so he whispered it. "A killer".

They both agreed on that, they couldn't let Max go on with his plan of eliminating Charles. They liked them both, they weren't losing their friends just because they couldn't see eye to eye about their relationship with Y/N. They took turns to follow Max around, the only free time being when they had to focus on their jobs. They knew that Max wasn't killing Charles in the paddock, with so many possible witnesses. Every night, they both followed Max to his room and stayed there, hiding in a corner of the hotel hallway for an hour, making sure he wasn't coming out. Oscar even went to the extent of suggesting Charles getting bodyguards, when the other asked why, Oscar just ran away, leaving Charles extremely confused. Every chance they got, they did what they could to keep Max away from Charles, which was kind of hard since the dutchman was constantly following the couple around and trying to chat with them. Lando ended up running out of excuses to pull Max away and they understood that they had to do something about the situation.

One particular night, they followed Max to his room as always, but after 45 minutes, they saw him go out again. He wasn't wearing his usual Red Bull attire, instead, he wore black clothes, sunglasses and a cap, the hood of the hoodie covering his head. If they didn't know better, they would have never guessed it was Max. He went straight to the stairs and they followed him quietly, already suspecting where he was going. Oscar stopped to grab two brooms from a service room and Lando frowned at him. "We may need weapons", was what the Aussie said and Lando took one while scoffing. They hid at the stairs, watching Max stop on front of Charles' room. For insurance matters, Y/N stayed at another hotel, with the Mercedes crew, so Charles was most surely alone in the room, it was the perfect opportunity to kill him. First time in the season Red Bull and Ferrari stayed at the same hotel. Max looked around and opened the door as quietly as possible, walking in and shutting the door behind him.

"We need to go in, now!". Oscar said and tried to run off to the door, Lando grabbed him and pulled him back behind him.

"We need a plan. Let me think". Was he actually ready to stop his friend from killing another of his friends? He had never physically fought anyone, could he really stop a murder?

"Fuck a plan, we have to save Charles!". Oscar ran again and this time Lando followed him. They stopped at the door. There was music playing inside and they could faintly hear Charles' voice.

"No, Max, wait. Wait!". That was it, they were barging in.

"No, Max! DON'T DO IT, DON'T KILL HIM". Oscar screamed as they ran into the room with their brooms up, ready to attack. What they didn't expect was finding Max on his knees, in front of Charles, trying to undo the button of his jeans. "Oh... OOOH!".

"Putain de merde!". (Holy shit!). Charles cursed as he pushed Max's hands away from his body and backed away. Max fell backwards. Lando covered Oscar's eyes, they dropped the brooms. For a second, the room fell silent.

"Kill him?". Max asked, confused.

"I think we misread the situation...". Lando added, then, he thought about Y/N. "I can't believe you could do something like this to Y/N". He sneered.

"Are they decent?". Oscar asked, his eyes still covered. Lando removed his hand.

"It's not what you think-". Max started, but Lando cut him off.

"Oh, sure, you were just checking if the zipper of his jeans worked fine, weren't ya?". Oscar shook his head slowly, backing Lando up on his disappointment.

"Don't give me that look, you two barged in with brooms asking me not to kill Charles". Max said. "Sucking him off is way better than killing him". Lando saw Oscar make a face, like he was actually considering Max's point, he elbowed the younger driver and made him go back to his disappointed posture.

"We promise, it's not what you think". As Charles was saying that, the bathroom door opened, Y/N walking out with a blue and red lingerie set. She opened her eyes wide when she spotted to kids that weren't supposed to be there. Lando covered Oscar's eyes, again.

"Okay, I'll give it to you. It definitely wasn't what we thought". Y/N was still there, shocked. "Please, get dressed, there's a baby in the room".

"It's me, I'm the baby". Oscar added, his hands coming up over Lando's to make sure he didn't see anything. Charles ran to Y/N and covered her with his Ferrari hoodie that was close to the bathroom. Lando lowered his hand and Oscar opened on of his eyes to peek if it was safe, he then opened the other one.

"We fixed our problem". Max explained.

"We can see that". The brit stressed.

"We're uhm... all together?". Lando and Oscar looked at Charles when he added his comment. "We've been... you know".

"Fucking?".

"Among other things". Y/N corrected Lando. The two McLaren boys just nodded, synchronized. "We're happy like this, all together. We'd appreciate it a lot if you could keep the secret for us". Lando and Oscar smiled and nodded again.

"Of course, we will". They grabbed their brooms and got ready to leave. "We'll leave you to it".

"Thanks". Max said, the two were going out when he called them again. "And guys...". They turned around to look at him. "Don't play detective again. Do us a favor and buy yourselves a board game".

"Copy that". Oscar gave them a military salute and Lando just smiled. Outside, they both ran back down the stairs as fast as they could, giggling like teenagers. On the street, they kept laughing uncontrollably, walking back the three blocks to their own hotel.

"Mate, we're not gossiping anymore". Lando said, knowing pretty well that they will keep doing it.

"Deal". The rest of the way they just kept laughing and then, at the hotel, they went to their respective rooms, calling it a night. While lying in bed, Lando just couldn't sleep, repeating the night in his mind and giggling, there were a lot of sexual jokes and remarks he needed to let out. He went to grab his phone to text Oscar, ready to gossip again, when it vibrated on his hand. Lando laughed out laud at the message:

Oscar: "Can you top when there are two other people?".

Lando: "Dunno mate, but's gonna be a hell of a challenge to guess the bottom".

Oscar: "Challenge accepted".

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Well this one is a lot of fun! I thought Lando and Oscar were perfect for this one. Thank you for reading!

[coff33andb00ks]

Poison - LN

Hopeless, Part 3 {1 - Hopeless} {2 - Luxury}

Lando Norris x fem!reader / reader x Charles Leclerc) summary: perfect couldn't keep this love alive, we were always meant to say goodbye songs: already gone by sleeping at last word count: 5414 warnings: angst, reader says things she shouldn't, angst, lando says worse things, angst, charles is a bad fiance, alcohol use, oscar remains the only truly decent person in this series, angst, mentions of sexual situations (not explicit), oh and angst (not a happy ending) a.n.: I've really enjoyed writing this little series. thank you all for being as obsessed with heartbroken lando as I am <3 note: this picks up immediately after the ending of the first part {Hopeless}

You can't bring yourself to read Lando's texts. You're still in shock yourself, the last twelve hours a whirlwind that still has you spinning. So you leave that message thread untouched, and when he calls you for the tenth time you send it to voicemail, knowing you won't listen to it.

The one you listened to first thing this morning left an ache in your heart you're sure will never go away.

Is it true? You… A shaky breath, like he was fighting tears. You can't. What about – call me. Please.

You can't call him. You can't even read his texts, you don't know if you'll ever be able to speak to him. Your phone buzzes and you look at the voicemail notification, turning your phone facedown on the nightstand. Not now. You need to catch up with everything that's happened.

Behind you Charles groans and you squeeze your eyes shut as his arm tightens around you. He nuzzles the back of your head, humming while he presses kisses to your shoulder.

"Good morning," he murmurs.

You murmur it back to him, watching his hand slide down your arm to clasp yours. He lifts it, the morning sunlight catching the diamond on your finger. You're engaged. You still can't believe it. How had you gone from arguing in the garage to this? The night rewinds in your mind while Charles whispers sweet words.

The argument. Why? He'd said he'd wanted to spend the summer break in St. Tropez. After promising you over and over he would spend it with your family back in the States. St. Tropez was just a couple hours from Monaco, he could go there anytime, you rarely got to see your family. But it was his summer break, his money, his choice. Four words had burned on your tongue but you'd held them back, finally storming off to cool down.

Lando would take me.

Because of course he would. It wasn't a secret between you that he'd do everything within his power to make you happy. And you'd stood in the chilly night air, tempted to ask him to come with you to Cali for break, because you knew how much he loved LA. Then Charles had found you and…

Said all the right things.

Apologized. Validated your feelings. He'd forgotten, he was sorry, he would cancel his plans of course, the two of you would spend a lovely two weeks in California. He was so sorry, please, he would make it right.

And you'd forgiven him. As you always did.

He starts to pull away from you now, and you know it's time to get up and get ready for race day. The hotel room is a ridiculous mess, clothes from last night all over the floor, tipped over candles, scattered roses. You inwardly cringe, nodding when Charles suggests leaving a large tip for housekeeping. You tidy up a little while he's in the shower, because you can't not do it.

The ring feels heavy on your hand and you stop gathering the discarded clothes to stare at it. It's beautiful, if a little on the gaudy side, a large diamond solitaire set in platinum, diamonds all around.

"I know I have made mistakes, mon amour. But you have stood by my side and made me a better man. Please, say you'll stay by my side forever?"

It had all been too much. The roses, the candles, your favorite wine, the adoration in his eyes. You'd said yes, knowing you couldn't take the pain of saying no. And you couldn't take it back. It was too late.

Late night calls to his family in Monaco, FaceTiming with your sister and mom. Candlelit photos posted to social media.

You're going to marry Charles.

It's supposed to be one of the happiest days of your life but you feel like your world is turned upside down. You're supposed to be over the moon, already planning the wedding that you've had in mind since you were a little girl.

"We'll have the wedding of your dreams, chérie."

"What about your dream wedding?"

"My dream was you."

He'd said the right things.

You shower, standing under the hot water to ease the slight aches from the night before. He'd been more passionate than ever before, driving you over the edge countless times, twisting and bending your body with his, near constantly moaning his love for you.

There's a crowd of fans outside the hotel and you blink in surprise when they begin screaming their congratulations, still unused to the attention even after being with him for over a year. You smile and stay at his side while he signs a few things, wondering if you look as shell-shocked as you feel.

Leclerc's camera shy girlfriend, they call you online. Apparently you're goals, and you wonder what they would think if they knew the truth.

At the track it's even crazier, and you're reminded that he was called the grid's most eligible bachelor when you first began dating. How'd you pin him down, y/n?

You wish you knew.

By the time you reach the motorhome you never want to hear the word congratulations again. You stop outside, letting Leo down so he can do his business, freezing when you spot a McLaren uniform.

It's Oscar. You breathe a sigh of relief, nodding when Charles kisses your cheek and says he has to go chat with Max.

"C'mon, Leo," you encourage while the puppy sniffs the ground.

"Y/n."

You look up, smiling faintly as Oscar approaches. "Hey."

He looks at you, then at your left hand, slowly lifting his eyes to your face again. "Big night, yeah?"

"Yeah." Your cheeks hurt from your forced smile. "I guess it's a shock to everyone."

"Eh… You're right," he says. Squatting down to pet Leo, he stays down, watching the puppy. "Have you seen Lando?"

"I think Oscar suspects."

It's mumbled between heated kisses in the club bathroom. Lando moans, head falling back when your hands slip inside his jeans. "No he doesn't."

"He keeps looking at us." The heavy bass vibrates the door you're pressed against, and his hands push at your dress.

"Everyone's looking at you tonight."

Your protest to that dies on a moan because he's inside you and you forget Oscar exists.

"Not today," you tell him. Finally Leo pees in the tiny scrap of grass he found and you bend to pick him up.

"Have you talked to him?" Oscar asks softly.

"Is he missing?"

Oscar sighs, pushing upright. "He's in the garage."

You glance in that direction, even though you can't see the McLaren garage from where you are. Sighing, you hold Leo close, arms aching to hold someone else. Then, like he knows you're looking, you hear your phone start to vibrate in your purse. You don't have to look to know it's Lando.

"Are you happy?"

Your head slowly turns and you hold your breath as you look at Oscar. "What?"

"Your engagement."

You part your lips to tell him yes. To push the forced smile back into place and play the part of ecstatically happy fiancée to the Charles Leclerc. But all you can do is look at him while your phone stops buzzing. You don't know why you can pretend for everyone else, but not for Oscar.

He sighs, obviously reading the answer on your face. Giving his head a little shake, he folds his arms over his chest.

"I didn't—" You stop, not wanting to say the words out loud. You can't.

He tips his head to one side. "Didn't what."

Didn't mean to hurt Lando. Didn't mean to fall in love with him. Didn't mean to ruin your life. Didn't mean to make such a mess of everything. You blink, the past few months rushing through your mind.

"He deserves the truth, y/n." He says the words softly, and you don't get to ask which he before he turns and walks away.

Ferrari is ecstatic. Good press is good press, and apparently Charles getting engaged is great press. They want photos, a quick interview for their social media. They want you front and center in the garage, and the PR person encourages you to kiss Charles before he gets into his car.

You watch from inside the garage, feeling as though you're more on display than usual, a camera always cutting to you. Charles wins and you're forced to finally see Lando, who gets p2, because it would be weird if you didn't go out to congratulate your fiancé. During the chaos he turns to you and you're frozen, staring into his eyes.

He's smiling but there's heartbreak in his eyes. And you want to do whatever it takes to send it as far from as possible.

Someone bumps into him and he catches himself before he stumbles into you, his lips mouthing your name. Despite the noise around you, you can hear his pained sigh and then he's gone, eyes on you until he's swallowed up by the cameras.

The Monaco anthem. Charles beaming as he looks down at you from the podium. Champagne. He's so happy you can't help but smile.

Whenever your eyes stray to Lando next to him your smile dies.

The alcohol isn't doing its job. Lando downs another drink, heart beating to the same rapid beat of the song playing, and he tries to part the crowd with his mind, thoughts jumbled but he knows what he wants to see.

You.

The dancing, drinking bodies part and his desperate eyes finally land on you. Champagne has been flowing steadily since you and Charles walked in. The it couple.

He wish he could vomit, but all he can muster is a grimace, perfectly timed with a kiss between the happy couple. Taking a drink, he leans against the wall, head and heart pounding as he wills the alcohol to do what it's supposed to and numb everything. Instead it's only enhanced every bit of the pain and torture that's been in him since the first unanswered text.

"Mate."

It's Osc. He reaches out, grabbing his teammate's shoulder. "Osc!" He's happy to see him. Osc knows. Osc understands. Good old Oscar. "Sorry for calling you a sponge cat."

"Fuck, how much have you had?" Oscar asks.

"Don't worry 'bout me." He lifts his glass to take a sip, whining when it never reaches his mouth. Watching it, it occurs to him that Oscar took it from him. "Hey…"

"C'mon."

"Can we get me another drink? Some muppet stole mine," he says, leaning against his friend as he's led away.

"Sure, mate," Oscar yells above the music.

"Yay." Slinging an arm around him, Lando barely notices where they're going. He is pretty sure the bar is in the other direction… But Oscar knows best. "You're my best mate, mate, ya know that?"

Oscar patts his back. "Yeah."

"Thanks." Yay, a best mate. "Didn't mean it when I said you was a pain in my fuckin' ass, mate. Said it with love."

Oscar sighs so loudly Lando hears it over the music. "I know."

He blinks and they're outside. The air feels weird in his lungs and he coughs, swaying a little as he tries to catch himself on the back of the building. "Jesus."

"Do you wanna go?" Oscar asks.

He doesn't know. "But she's here." He's still not numb and he realizes there's not enough drinks in the world to deaden the pain. "She's here, Osc."

"I know." There's sympathy in his voice.

"Why'd she do it?" His voice cracks and he tries to breathe, tries to stop the tears but they're already burning his eyes. He pushes the heels of his palms against his face. "She loves me."

"Lando…"

"We n-never said it but we like, couldn't yeah? But I know she does. She told me." It doesn't sound right but he can't care right now, too busy trying to keep the tears from falling. "I love us."

"Us?"

"It's how we say it. Because we can't say it."

Need it. This. Us. Love it. This. Us.

"I love her, Osc." The last word breaks on a sob and he presses his hands tightly to his eyes but there's no stopping the tears. "Wasn't supposed to. Know that. But how can I not love her? Even before we had sex I loved her."

"Oh, mate." It's sad and understanding and there's a gentle hand on his shoulder.

And it all comes pouring out. A bit mixed up but he knows Oscar's smart enough to put it in the right order. How he had a little crush but liked being your friend. The feelings grew but he never dreamed – okay, sometimes he'd dreamed, he wasn't a fucking saint – you felt the same. How he truly never expected for those dreams to become reality or how lifechanging it would be. And while he tells it he lets the tears fall because trying to stop them is pointless.

"She's everything," he gasps, bracing his hands on his knees to keep from spinning with the world around him.

"I know, I know," Oscar says gently.

"I gotta go. Can… Can't watch them be so happy." And he laughs through the tears. "I want her happy but I can't see it."

"C'mon, we'll go."

He blinks, sways, and he's in his hotel room. A bottle of water appears in his hands and he stares at it then slowly lifts his head. "Osc."

"It's alright, drink it." His voice is warbles and Lando shakes his head to make sense of what's happening.

"She's gonna marry him," he whispers.

"Not right now, yeah? Drink your water."

"Why's it hurt so much," he mumbles after sipping the water. "Love's s'posed to be the best thing."

"It can be," Oscar says. "But sometimes it hurts."

"It's why I stayed away from it for so long. Didn't wanna get hurt." He leans his head back, feels the softness of the pillow. "But…"

"But you fell."

"Yeah," he whispers. "Dived right in and was over my head 'fore I knew it was happening. And… This time it hurts. A lot."

Oscar hums and Lando reaches out, slapping his arm.

"Thanks Osc."

"Anytime, Lando."

He's silent, and just when Oscar is moving to turn off the lights he speaks again. "You think they'll get married in Monaco?"

"I honestly have no idea."

"She wants a beach wedding. There's a spot near her parents'… Like a look over place?" Still clutching the empty water bottle, he gestures with his hand. "Showed me pictures once. Pretty place."

"Yeah?" Oscar turns off the lights and returns to the chair by the bed.

"Sunset. She wants it at sunset. With her niece as flower girl. Doesn't want anything big or fancy. Just people she loves who love her."

"Sounds nice."

"And a honeymoon in Ireland. It's where her nan's from, and she loves it. County Waterford. That's why she loves that crystal thing I got her for her birthday."

"What'd you get her?"

"A vase. Cuz she loves the crystal. And flowers."

Your coworkers are over the moon. A wedding! So exciting! Ah, young love! Have you picked out a date? Color scheme? Where will it be?

No, but you're thinking next spring. Blush pink and sage green. You're looking at different places.

Yes, you're so excited. Still hasn't set in that you're engaged. Oh of course you've never been happier. You're so in love.

You hate yourself for having become an expert in lying. The venue has already been reserved. Charles flew your mom out, and your dress is being made . It's easy to just let everyone else do the planning for you, because it's not your dream wedding.

Not that you've spoken to him. You haven't seen him since the club the night after your engagement. And then, only for a split second. You've opted to stay at home, lying to Charles and saying you were doing wedding planning.

No one needs to know that you spend race weekends in front of your laptop, hugging your knees and watching every scrap of footage you can of Lando. Just to check on him. Because you still can't bring yourself to return his calls and texts. They don't come as often now, and he no longer leaves you voicemails, but you haven't been able to tap his name on your phone.

And you're too much of a fucking coward to show up at a race and see him in person.

He looks okay. A little tired, and maybe you're the only one that notices his smile doesn't reach his eyes. Maybe not. Maybe others can tell that he's a little more subdued in post-race interviews. Or maybe not.

"And are you looking forward to the break?" the interviewer asks.

He smiles. "Yeah… Hoping to spend some time alone. Get out of my head for a bit, yeah?"

"Anywhere special?"

"Nah, just away from everything. A quiet beach or something." He shrugs in that slightly self-conscious way that always makes you want to hold him.

He walks off and you drain the last of your wine, closing the laptop and dragging a hand over your face. You have to finish packing for the trip back home. Snatching out your earbuds, you reach for your phone. Open your messages.

Stare at Lando's name and open the thread. It'll be tomorrow before Charles gets home, you can spend the night crying over texts.

-Were you gonna tell me? -he's cheated on you since day one why would you marry him -does he make you happy? -if he makes you happy I'll be happy for you -tell me he makes you happy -please y/n -talk to me

Those were from six weeks ago. For four weeks it was more of the same. Until…

-I miss you -miss your smile. and your laugh. and that cute little snort that you hate but I think it's beautiful. -miss your hugs. they always make me feel like I'm safe -I just miss you -I miss you dancing in my living room and pretending not to notice when I steal cupcakes. -I even miss your fucking sushi.

Your eyes well with tears. You miss him, too. You miss his hyena laugh and how he'd forget the simplest of words when explaining something. You miss his hugs, how you always felt like nothing could affect you as long as you were in his arms. You miss the dancing, spinning and bouncing until you were breathless and dizzy. You even miss his fucking chicken nuggets.

-Will you come to Spa? -Just wanna see you again. -Guess you're not coming. -Hope you're doing ok. He told Osc you're going back home for break. I know you're excited. Cali girl. -I wish I knew I could see you over break. -Call me when you can -there's so much I never got to say -that I cant put in a text -I miss us

You stare at that last text, sent five minutes before the start of the race, and you let out a sob. And before you can stop yourself you're composing a text. You delete the words and start over several times, finally closing your messages with a frustrated groan. Your finger hovers over the call button, and you punch it, taking a deep breath before you tap Lando's name on the favorites list, where it's been since he called you his bestie.

It rings once. And you realize he's probably busy, probably in another interview or—

"Hello?" He sounds panicked. Out of breath. Like he can't believe it's you.

"Lando," you whisper.

"God – fuck, hang on—" There's rustling and you can hear others speaking in the background. "Yeah, I know, it's an emergency," he says in a rush to someone and you muffle a sob, because now you're crying you can't stop. You hear him saying something about having to take this, he's sorry. "You still there?"

"Y-yeah."

"I'm – hang on, I gotta get somewhere quiet."

You can imagine him sprinting away from the crowd, avoiding eye contact so no one tries to talk to him. Putting it on speaker, you set the phone down and hug your knees to your chest while you listen to the rustling and heavy breaths. Next to you Leo whines softly, leaning against you and you reach to absently pet him.

"Y/n."

"I'm here," you sniffle.

"Are you—"

"I'm sorry."

He's panting, and you hear his shaky breath. "Are you ok?"

No. "Y-yeah."

"Why?" he whispers. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"It was all so sudden, Lando." A flimsy excuse. You could have easily texted him that night.

"I had to find out from fucking Instagram. Half the world knew before I did." There's a thud, and you wonder if he's punched the wall or slammed his head against it.

"I'm sorry," you say again because it's all you can say. "I was in shock, I guess. He posted the picture before I even called my mom."

"Are you happy?" he asks after a moment, just as you're beginning to think he's not going to say anything else.

You don't answer right away. "I—"

"I love you. Never thought I could love like I love you. Thought I loved but it was just…bullshit before you. It was fucked up and you were never mine, but I needed you. I've never not needed you. I still can't fold a fucking shirt proper. Y-you were everything and I know I was stupid to think we could make it, but I never wanted anything more than us." He's rambling, breathless, and you can hear the pain and desperation in his voice.

You press your face to your knees, shoulders shaking. "Lan—"

"But it's not gonna happen is it?" he asks and his voice breaks, shattering your heart. "You're gonna marry him. And I'm… I'm gonna have to smile and be happy for you even though I'm nothing."

"You're my friend," you sob.

"Friend." It sounds like the vilest curse word. "Friend? Tell me one friend who knows how your pussy tastes."

"Lando, please." You know you deserve it, but it hurts.

"I let you into my soul," he murmurs. "I'm supposed to just be your friend again?"

You can't answer him, because you know you can't ask that of him.

"I can't, y/n." There's a tremor in his voice and the shattered pieces of your heart crack. "I can't go back. I… I can't pretend we never happened and go back to just game talk and dancing and baking. I… I only want you to be happy, but I can't do that."

"I know," you whimper.

"You were everything," he whispers. "You still are."

"I loved us," you say softly.

"I needed us. But us…was always doomed wasn't it?"

"I suppose so." Sniffling, you lift your head, shakily tapping to ignore Charles's incoming call.

"Are you happy?"

Despite everything, you can't lie to him. You can lie to Charles. Your mom. Even your grandmother, whose said time and time again she doesn't like Charles. But you'll never be able to lie to Lando. "No."

There's silence, then he lets out a pained sound. "Don't marry him, y/n."

Charles doesn't notice your mood when he gets home. He's riding high off another win, talking excitedly about planned improvements for next year and how he's actually got the chance to be champion this year. He's so goddamned happy you can't help but smile a little, knowing all too well how downtrodden he's been over his career in the past. There's relaxation to be had now, though, and his first day of break is spent on his yacht, sunning and swimming and he's still so happy.

The next day you fly home, and despite the jet lag you're bouncing because it's so good to be back home. Charles has been here twice now but still you point out landmarks from your childhood and you can tell he's faking his enthusiasm. He loves America, he's always said because it created you, but you know he doesn't like it. He can take it in small doses. You push away the worry that by the end of your trip he'll be tense and irritable.

There are days at the beach, three nights up in the mountains, the weekend in Vegas. With each day that passes you tell yourself you can do this. You still hurt. You still miss Lando, who hasn't texted or called since the night of Spa. But it gets a little easier, and as you sit in your hotel room watching the sunrise over the Strip you realize you almost feel happy.

Charles's phone dings and you step away from the window to switch it to silent. He groans in his sleep and you smile, watching him push his face deeper into the pillow. Glancing at the phone screen, you shrug.

You don't recognize the name. You can't remember ever meeting a Cassidy or Charles mentioning her. Pushing away the doubt, you switch the phone to silent, about to set it on the nightstand when it buzzes with another message from her.

It might be someone from Ferrari. You chew on your lip, finally unlocking the phone and opening the message thread.

-miss u 💞

You barely see the text, your eyes instead on the nude photo that was sent just before. You don't know her. Scrolling up, you exhale harshly as your eyes scan the back-and-forth messages, ranging from a simple miss u to it's not fair chérie, I wish we could run away together. Interspersed are photos of her and him, and you grip the phone tighter, remembering his insistence that neither of you send nudes.

Yet he's apparently had no problem sending Cassidy pictures of his dick. Or receiving pictures of her. There are even videos and you can't stop yourself from dropping onto the couch, scrolling further up, needing to know how long it had been going on.

-marrying her won't change a thing, chérie

By the time he wakes you've gotten to the start of their messages. All the way back in November. It had been mostly innocent at first, but you'd been revolted to see photos of him in your mom's house, in your old bedroom, at Christmas, when he hadn't so much as wanted to kiss you with tongue because it was rude.

"Bonjour, chérie," he greets you as he stretches.

You say nothing, twisting the heavy, gaudy ring around your finger. His phone lies in your lap and you know he's looking for it when he looks to the nightstand.

"We go to the Big Bear today, yes?"

You stay silent, swallowing hard. You know you have no right to be angry – after all, hadn't you done the same with Lando? But you are. Because you and Lando had evolved from friends to lovers, and it hadn't lasted eight months. And you'd cut everything off with him the moment the ring had been placed on your finger.

"Chérie?" He looks confused. "What is wrong?"

"Oh, you were talking to me?" you ask.

He blinks, rubbing his face. "Yes? Who else would I be talking to? We're alone."

"Right." You draw in a deep breath and pick up his phone, tossing it towards him. "I thought maybe you were talking to Cassidy."

Despite his quick reflexes he fumbles, the phone landing on the floor with a thud. You can see the blood drain from his face. "Chérie—"

"Don't call me that," you gasp. "Not when you called her that. Last night, remember?"

"She doesn't mean anything to me," he says, snatching his phone off the floor. "It is just a fling."

"A fling doesn't last eight months, Charles." You stand up, tucking your robe tightly around yourself. "A fling isn't a chérie."

"Ché – y/n—"

"You sent her a video of you masturbating from my grandma's bathroom!" you screech, jerking away when he reaches for you. "What next? Gonna invite her to the wedding? I'm sure the priest won't mind you bending her – what was it? – perfect ass over and fucking her until she can't remember her own name. God, you're disgusting."

"I have a problem," he says, and you can hear the edge in his voice. It's just like the last time, when he—

"How many girls are you fucking?" you gasp.

"I'm not…" He hangs his head, muttering under his breath. "They don't mean anything."

"That doesn't make it better," you groan. Snatching clothes from the open suitcase on the floor, you hurriedly put them on. "You said last time that it was a mistake. That it would never happen again."

Charles raises his head. "I lied."

You blink at him. "Oh my god."

"No, chérie, don't leave."

"I believed you. I fell for ever fucking lie." You shake your head in disbelief, grabbing up your phone and purse.

"Please, please, let me explain." He takes a step towards you, stopping when you shoot him a glare.

"No." You squeeze your eyes shut.

Don't marry him, y/n.

"I can't believe I trusted you. I gave up everything for you. Because I thought you were true. I thought that the last time was the only time. I thought… I thought you loved me," you whisper, twisting the ring again.

"I do. More than anything."

"But you can't. You can't love me more than anything and tell Cassidy that marrying me won't change anything. You can't stand here and say you love me while some woman I don't know has pictures of your dick."

"Please, I can… I can change—"

You let out a harsh laugh. "Do you know what I gave up for you? I left a job I loved to work in fucking Monaco because you needed me with you. I had to let friendships I've had since high school fade because I'm so far away I can't keep in touch all the time. I—" You choke on a sob.

I've never not needed you.

"I gave up someone that truly loved me, that made me happier than I deserved. Because I wanted us to make it," you whisper. You see the confusion on his face.

"Who?"

"It doesn't matter. H-he won't have anything to do with me now, because I chose you." Tears blur your vision and you wrench the ring from your finger. You want to throw it in his face, tell him it was Lando, let out your anger by telling him what you'd done. But you can't do that to Lando. With care you set the ring on the dresser.

"Chérie… Please, not like this," he says.

It hits you that he's probably not upset over you leaving. He's upset because he always does the leaving. "I'll go to the apartment and get my stuff while you're at Zandvoort," you say. "I'll leave my keys."

"Where will you go?"

"Don't pretend to care now."

"I wanted us to make it too," he says softly. And you almost believe him.

"Apparently not enough," you murmur.

His phone vibrates again and he huffs. "Yeah hang on, getting texts," he says, pushing his headset back and reaching for the phone.

Even though he deleted the contact he recognizes the number. Opening the message, he glances at the screen, watching Max cycle through the available cars. Swallowing his worry, he looks at the phone.

-I'm leaving Monaco. -I ended the engagement and broke up with him. -I just wanted to let you know. I don't expect anything. -I still miss us. -Good luck, Lando. Take care.

He reads them over again, ignoring Max and the game. His chest aches and he lets out his breath in a rush. About to reply, he pauses, seeing a text from Oscar.

­-Still coming to Melbourne for a few days?

He smiles, quickly tapping out a reply.

-Flight leaves tonight 2am my time. Can't wait.

Going back, he stares at the number. Then, pushing down the familiar ache, he swipes to delete it, watching it disappear. There's a sense of finality to it and he tosses his phone down and rubs his hands over his face. He pulls his headset back into place.

"You good?" Max asks.

"Yeah, just junk." He stretches his arms above his head then drums his hands on the desk. "Right, let's fucking do this."

[chilling-seavey]

Formula 1 Masterlist

♡ Welcome to my Formula 1 masterlist! A new addition to my corner of the internet where we will explore and create universes together, straying far from the pit lane we know all too well to, instead, journey through new realities! ♡ Comments are always incredibly appreciated and please feel free to send in questions or ideas or asks so I can write some blurbs and help keep these universes thriving! Most of my blurbs can be read as individual stories themselves and still make sense (but it’s more fun if you really immerse yourself into the universe first!) Happy reading!

George Russell

Enchanté ↳ On a brief business trip to Paris, you find yourself enamoured with this handsome stranger and the fleeting promises he offers in the city of love

Blue Moon Motel ↳ George has decided that his affair with you needs to end but he takes you out for one last night before saying goodbye.

Don't Worry Darling ↳ Married and thriving in an idealised community based on routine, gender roles, and arguable paradise, you and George seem to be just as perfect together as the utopia you live within - but not everything is as it seems on the surface.

Love Thy Neighbour PART ONE PART TWO ↳ It’s the end of summer 1984 and you and your perfect little family move into a quaint suburban neighbourhood to escape the hustle and bustle of the Manhattan lifestyle. Your next door neighbours are a picture-perfect family of their own - or so it seems from the outside. But, as you spend more and more time with the handsome husband, the cracks in your own marriage start to come to light.

National Anthem - feat. Daniel Seavey ↳ As VIP guests of Scuderia Ferrari - thanks to Daniel’s best friend as one of their elite Formula 1 drivers - you have the privilege of travelling to Monte Carlo for the Monaco Grand Prix. While on this getaway, you and Daniel decide to lean into the grandeur status of the Monaco Circuit and celebrate the weekend in a way you normally wouldn’t back at home - and that comes in the form of a luxury yacht party and a handsome Mercedes driver who seemed to capture your eye from your first day in the paddock

Lando Norris

Nothing Looks the Same in the Light - feat. Oscar Piastri ↳ "I watch you breathe, I cannot sleep. I touch your hair, I kiss your skin, and hope the morning sun won’t wake you too soon [...] Nothing looks the same in the light. Only a fool like me would take to heart the things you said you meant last night."

Dreamland ONE / TWO / THREE / FOUR / FIVE / SIX / SEVEN ↳ As a flunking university student in dreary Bristol, Lando is sure there’s another life waiting for him elsewhere. A life that he can only dream of living with the girl with a million dollar career, verified instagram, and a stunning smile that he swears was created for him. But maybe those dreams stray no farther than his phone screen.

[adventuringblind]

Oscar the Matchmaker: Part Two

Oscar Jack Piastri x Reader x Max Verstappen

Genre: series

Summary: Oscar struggles with the aftermath of Alpine and a rough start of the season

Warnings: Toxic work place

Notes: I’m using alpine drama as a plot point. Also they call Oscar Jack because lord it’s such a cute nickname he has.

Previous <-

Masterlist

The fact that two rookies are enjoying the luxury that comes with being a world champion is completely ridiculous.

Max loves to spoil them. Mainly because is makes them shy as they try to turn down his offers. He’s stubborn though and usually gives them no other choice but to relent.

Now he’s spoiling them with sleep. They all love sleep. All the time. It’s one of their favorite activities.

Max however, is not sleeping, just resting. His mind moving but his body remains stationary.

Oscar shoots out of the bed faster then Max can register. The Aussie is practically silent as he does it.

The Dutch is quick to follow him. Gently kissing the forehead of the girl still asleep before leaving the room.

Oscar is pacing back and forth, his hands tugging at his hair. He looks to Max as if he’s trying to seem productive and yet not getting anywhere simultaneously.

“Jack?”

He jumps at the sound of Max’s voice. “Sorry, did I wake you?”

“No, I was already awake, just to lazy to move.” Max drags him over to the couch. “Wanna talk about what’s going on in your head?” If there is one thing Max has learned about the Australian, it’s that he’s calm and collected outside and a whirl whine on the inside.

“I just panicked. It’s Tuesday.” He sighs.

A sleepy eyed female walks into the room and drapes herself over them. The two males practically use her as a blanket. “Tuesdays are Alpine meeting days.” Her voice may be sleepy, but the venom in her voice doesn’t go unheard. Max threads his fingers through her hair that is splayed messily across his lap.

"So muscle memory?" Asks the confused Dutch.

Oscar starts fumbling around with his words. "Well - no, it's just that- Alpine weren't the best to me, I guess." His fingers find his hair and run the back if his neck raw.

The confusion turns into concern as Max goes wide-eyed. He knows all the drama that happened. There were countless nights on the phone with Daniel about it. That was Max's first impression of the rookie. The fact he apologized to Daniel for taking his spot and being a hindrance to him.

"He'd gotten in trouble for over sleeping once, and it was absolutely hell. I had half a mind to report them to the FIA." The girl on their lap is flushing with frustration now, her knuckles turning white from her fist tightening around nothing.

Max could see the memories flooding the Australians eyes. He leans over to him and kisses the top of his head. "It makes sense now why you avoid them like the plague."

"They are the plague."

The witty comments sometimes shock the two. The girl is usually quiet around people she doesn't know and is kind for the most part. However, she's also protective.

Max and Oscar chuckle at her antics. Watching her carefully drift in and out of sleep.

~

The next race weekend, they walk in together. It's not uncommon since her and Oscare are practically attached at the hip, but Max is new. They just tell people it's a coincidence.

Oscar has always walked her to her garage. Currently, it's towards the end of the paddock. Meaning they have to pass Alpine to get to it.

Max takes not of how Oscar refuses to look anywhere but the ground. He can't see the female since she's on the other side of Oscar, but he can hear her seething.

The Australian visibly relaxs when they are past.

It sucks saying goodbye to her. They woke up this morning, and it felt perfect. The morning rays leak through the window, limbs tangled up in each other. None of them wanted to get up or leave.

Now, the first had gone off to work, and Max and Oscar were left to walk back down.

Max makes it a point to walk on the side closest to the hospitality entries. He doesn't say anything as they near the door. Some of the guys in charge meandering around right outside.

"I know what you're doing." Says the Australian.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Max looks at him and winks. Somehow, the action calmed Oscar's overreacting brain.

Max waved off Oscar as he jogged to catch up with Lando. The Brit shot him a few confused glances. The ones that said he has questions.

Lando may he an idiot, but he's not as oblivious as everyone thinks he is.

Max leaves that for another day.

~

She knew something was off with the Austr as soon as he entered the room. They're all exhausted from the race, but he was completely void of life.

There's no goofy smiles or sarcastic jokes. Just Oscar, sitting on the bed staring at the wall. She can see him processing something. Whatever it is, it can't be good.

She looks at Max. The Dutch just stares at her with confusion. She'd learned that his upbringing made him mildly clueless when it came to dealing with emotion.

With that in mind, she sets off to Oscar's side. She sits down next to him and takes his hand in her own. "Jack, you gotta talk to us." She signals Max with her eyes to sit on the other side of him. Good thing she's not clueless or they would be in trouble.

"It's stupid drama stuff."

"It's not stupid if it's making you upset." She puncuates with a kiss on his cheek.

"Stupid Alpine and their stupid comments. Apparently, I am not the most expensive but terrible rookie to ever be signed." He sighs. They can hear how he tries to pass it off, but they both know he's lying.

"Lies and slander. You're the best rookie this season. You're driving a tractor right now for fucks sake." Max says.

"Logically, I know that. Emotionally, I don't."

"And you're not required to know that yet, technically speaking." She counters, causing the Australian to roll his eyes.

Max chuckles to himself. “I could crash my car into their garage if you really want me too.”

“As funny as that sounds, I would rather you win if neither of us can even get close.”

“…at least you two are consistently in the points!”

~

Tuesday again. They all lay asleep in bed together. Max opens his eyes for a moment and catches the females gaze.

She places a finger over her lips and points at Oscar. The Australian breathing evenly, sound asleep.

[gmtindiasposts]

Rolex is the official sponsor of the Oscars® ceremony in 2024

It's fascinating to note that Rolex, a prestigious watch brand, has the honour of being the exclusive sponsor of the Oscars® award ceremony. In addition to this, they've also designed the Greenroom at the iconic Dolby® Theatre in Hollywood, which is a stunning masterpiece in itself. Read here for more details: https://www.gmt-india.in/post/back-to-nature-presenting-this-years-oscars-r-greenroom-designed-by-rolex

[oleworm]

With white actors, their stereotypes are clear satire, while their authentic portrayals of accents are taken seriously—African accents are not afforded that luxury. Part of the authenticity and grit we’ve come to love in Good Will Hunting (1997) owes to the fact that both Matt Damon and Ben Affleck speak in accents native to South Boston—which successfully shows the importance of class distinctions, Will’s intellectual ability despite his “rough” surroundings, and rooting him in his neighborhood and background even as he progresses to new places and opportunities. Part of the joy of watching Mary Poppins (1964), is the grating sound of Dick Van Dyke’s bizarre “Cockney” accent. Often noted as one of the worst accents in film history, Van Dyke’s character sounded like he came from New Jersey, Australia, but Poppins is a children’s comfort film filled with magic, so audiences are already prepared to suspend their disbelief.  Language, voice, and tone are vital parts of storytelling, but somehow caricature-like portrayals of African accents still manage to win Oscars, while Dick Van Dyke’s “Cockney” failure is an actor’s cautionary tale. This speaks to a larger issue: the hierarchy of occidental languages over languages from the global south, the (lack of) knowledge of African dialects, and a general laziness toward the research required to thoughtfully and effectively learn regional African accents. Alongside my research for this article, I also spoke to Djeneba Bagayoko, a linguist who specializes in African languages and is currently working on a book exploring the similarities in Ebonics and continental languages. When we discussed Beasts of No Nation—no nation indeed, as the film is set in an “unspecified” West African country—Djeneba pointed out the prevalence of guttural sounds and line delivery in a lower vocal pitch. While having a lower-pitched voice is completely within the rights of directors and actors to be a stylistic choice for a character, its unfortunate prevalence goes beyond artistic prerogative and seems closer to laziness or ignorance. Viola Davis’s accent in The Woman King is also delivered in a lower register, with an emphasis on guttural sounds and a sprinkling of that American English rhotic R that would not be present in a West African accent during the 1820s. Winston Duke’s accent in Black Panther (2018) also features guttural sounds, a low pitch, and even Nigerian facets of speech (adding “o” as a standalone sound at the end of sentences), despite the fact that the fictional nation of Wakanda is supposedly located in southeast Africa. Bagayoko rightly asked, “Why, when it comes to Africa, are we all lumped together?” Reducing Western and Southern African accents down to hard, low-pitched noises positioned at the back of the throat perpetuates the idea that African languages are too “other” for any attention to detail. The frequency with which we see this technique reiterates the view of Africans as homogenized and underdeveloped—a colonial perspective.

[dr3comebackera]

Daniel Ricciardo on his Zandvoort crash, surgery on his broken hand, recovery process, and return in Austin

Tom Clarkson: "Now you mentioned the elephant in the room, Zandvoort. FP2, Turn 3, what happened?"

Daniel Ricciardo: "I *awkward laugh*, I mean I obviously can remember it very clearly, since I didn't hit my head. Erm, but, so you come through, turn, I guess it's Turn 2, and it's over kind of a crest, but then you stay quite tight, because, then the line for 3, you ride the top of the banking. So you know, you're not taking a conventional racing line, so you're not like looking at the apex, you're looking at the top of the corner, pretty much. Like, as a driver, we're always looking ahead and normally like at the apex, but the way you exit 2, you then kind of look straight ahead and pick your braking point."

DR: "So at that point, I'd exited 2, I hadn't seen any yellows, nothing like that. And then by the time I've looked and braked, I then looked where I need to turn, and I see Oscar. This all happened so quickly, but I remember, I can, obviously I'm picturing it in my head now. So I remember, okay, the line we take is high and by this point I'd braked, so I'd already committed, so I knew the speed I was going. My only choice was to take the high line, but I could see his car was at the top of the track. So there wasn't enough room for me to pass through the high line. I'm going too fast to take a low line, so it was either, probably look like a real idiot and crash into him, or try and just slow the car as much as I can, and likely just crash into the barriers, which is what happened."

DR: "But yeah, because it was all, I guess I'm still trying to figure out what I'm going to do, by the time then I'd committed to just going straight, I hadn't then realized, 'okay, take your hands off the wheel.' And a lot of us still don't do it, because crashing is not natural. And it happens so quickly, because you don't plan to crash, so a lot of the time you don't kind of have, yeah, the time to be like, 'okay, I'm crashing, what do I need to do? Brace myself, okay, take my hands off the wheel.' Sometimes you just don't have the luxury of time."

DR: "So, that was it, I hit the wall. I've only watched one replay, but I just don't, I don't want to. Basically, when I've gone in, I'm pretty sure like the right front, it's just the angle, right, the right front would've grabbed the Tecpro [barrier] first, and then that's, like, pulled it in, so it's, it's like I've turned really hard right, the way obviously it's grabbed the wheel. So because the wheels then turned so quickly, I've basically lost grip, so it spun out of my hands, and the bottom of the [steering] wheel, which is pure, hard carbon, has then come up and basically karate chopped my hand."

DR: "So then, you've got the shock of the crash and then adrenaline, so I've come on the radio, and I'd, I think I'd been like, oh sorry, like I've crashed or something. And then, is he like 'oh, you alright?' or 'can you continue?' and I was like, 'no, the car is damaged.' And then, I could feel my hand, and I was like, 'ow, my hand, my hand.' And then I just, it started to, like the pain just went, obviously ramped up really, really quickly, and I feared that something was bad. So, as I'm, I wanted, I was like, 'I need to get my glove off, I need to get my glove off.' And as I'm pulling my glove off, I remember, I was thinking, *awkward huffy laugh*, I was like 'if there's a bone through the skin, I'm gonna pass out.' So that's all, I was just like 'please, please don't let me see anything gruesome.' I'm not good with this stuff, I'm sweating telling it, like I'm serious. I suck at this.

TC: "Have you broken a bone before?"

DR: "I broke my arm as a kid at school, throwing a tennis ball. Anyway, yeah, another very random accident, and I didn't need surgery, that was like a long, long healing process."

DR: "But yeah, so, alright, so I've pulled my glove off, and I, I could see it was already quite swollen, but no bone through the skin. I was like, 'okay.' But then the pain just got so bad, so as soon as I jumped into the medical car, I was *long pause* making a lot of noises, because I was in a lot of discomfort. So I knew that it was not good. I knew immediately, obviously, I wasn't going to race on the weekend. Like I didn't need a doctor to tell me. I feared it was a broken bone. I think the first thing that really kind of just made me sad, was I just had a very, very productive summer break. I felt really, really good physically, and I was just, yeah I was just ready to go. And this just felt like an unfortunate setback. But I was just more worried about surgery and all that, because I'm, again, I'm a bit of a wuss.

TC: "What happened next, I mean, you went down to Barcelona, to Dr. Xavier Mir, who is renowned in the MotoGP world, for mending those sort of breaks. I also think he was, didn't he help Lance Stroll earlier in the year as well?" "Yeah" "So who put you in touch with him, or did you know him already?"

DR: "So from the medical center, we went to the hospital there in Amsterdam. Got scans, and they're like, 'yeah, it's broken.' And by this point, it's the size, like, looked like an elephant stepped on my hand. The doctor there said, 'look, I would recommend surgery.' He's like, 'you can have it here, but you probably want to wait anyway a few days for the swelling to go down. Speak to whoever you need to speak to and obviously you can have your surgery wherever you want, I'm just going to give you my advice.' So then we reached out to Lance, we reached out to, well Jose, a friend of ours who works with Alpinestars, so he knows all the MotoGP guys, and he, he's Spanish as well, so he knows. So he, I think, put us into touch with Xavier Mir, and then, yeah, Lance was like 'go to him' as well. All signs were just pointing to, this guy's done this too many times, just go see him. Like, like don't even bother, just go there.

DR: "So it was, it was a blessing and a curse because, *laughs* he does a lot of MotoGP guys, who, are not human. They are not. It's fact, they are not. So, I think there's an expectation of me going in there, he's like 'oh, F1, MotoGP, same! Not human, don't feel pain.' 'No, doctor, I feel pain. I'm going to cry for the next 48 hours whilst I'm in this hospital.' So it was just funny, they, I think, you know, all the doctors and nurses and that who were helping me, and they were great, but I think they were, they were just quite, they would laugh a lot, because I would wince and pull away and ask questions every needle that went into my arm. Erm, so I think they just thought I would be tough like a MotoGP rider, but I am not."

TC: "I'm sure you were."

DR: "No, no, trust me, I'm not. The break itself was quite significant. It was a shatter, like it wasn't like, oh you just break it clean down the middle. I think it was in eight pieces or something. So it was also, for a bone that can be quite a simple one, it wasn't too pretty."

TC: "So it's your pinky that was being affected by it?" "Erm, well..." "On your left hand?"

DR: "It's like the outside of the hand. So that's the bone I broke, in between like the wrist and the pinky, like that knuckle. So like along the outside there. But even me just rubbing my finger over the top of my hand, hurt like crazy. Maybe I just feel pain more than others, I don't know. *laughs* But er, sorry, I just want to, just let's also say one thing. There was also the reality where, yes, I would moan and complain because I don't like the pain. But it was a broken hand, so there was also a part of me which was like, 'look, dude, yes you're in pain and it's going to be a bit of a process, but people have worse injuries, people have bigger accidents.' So don't get me wrong, I also tried to reality check myself through it all, and I think that's what made me quite, like remain quite positive."

TC: "You missed five races, you came back for Austin. Was there any talk of you getting back earlier, maybe for Qatar?"

DR: "So I knew, I was doing physio every day, and I was, I was doing what I could to come back as soon as possible. But I also wanted to make sure, and I think, you know, Red Bull/Alpha Tauri were really good with this, I wasn't fighting for a world championship, like it's not like, dude you need to just drive through immense pain and just get a point, you know because this is your titles on the line. Like it was, let's make sure you do this and heal properly, and get the right treatment, because also you've got, hopefully a second part of your career which is going to be long and glorious. So it was just, don't compromise anything that you then have a bum hand for the next two years of your career, three years, whatever. So it was good, I could just do it properly."

DR: "Qatar was talked about, I went on the sim the week of Qatar, on the Monday, but I couldn't, er, yet, drive with the full force of the steering, like so we would like bring the feedback down. Er, I just couldn't grip it and do more than like two laps at full strength. So it was very clear that Qatar was out of the question, and also for me to come back and like, yeah, I don't know, not drive at my best and then, no, that no one benefits. I don't benefit, the team doesn't. So er, it was that, at that point we're like, let's just go all in for Austin and make sure I'm good for that."

TC: "And Liam was doing a decent job as well"

DR: "Exactly, he was doing well and there was also, I think Red Bull were great to give me a contract whilst I was injured, to give me a contract for next year. So I, I had that-"

TC: "That was very significant, wasn't it?" "Yeah" "They actually signed you long-term when you were on the sidelines?"

DR: "Yeah, there's so much about being back in the Red Bull family this year that's felt good and right, and I think that was such a, yeah just such like a big thing for them to do that. I think obviously it showed they have a lot of faith in me. It also put to bed if anyone was like, 'oh you know, is there still any issues from their previous relationship years ago? Like is there any carryover tension or whatever?' Like, for them to do that, I think it was very much like, he's our kid and we're going to support him because we believe in him and- So that was really nice."

TC: "So you come back for Austin, and were there any ill effects there? Because I mean, that's a quick track, sector one in particular."

DR: "Er, no, like in, in short no. Erm, I think the race, I got into it quickly and, and, and I was actually honestly expecting more pain in Austin. I was expecting like every kind of bump or kerb I'd hit would be like 'ow, ow, ow.' But it was okay, and erm, I think it was just an endurance I needed to build so like, towards the end of the race, I could feel like my grip strength was maybe not as good as at the start of the race. But honestly, I was, I was fine. And I think that was another thing, I didn't want to get back into a race and then be like, 'yeah I could have done better, but you know, my hand was not up to full strength.' Or like, I was like, this can't be an excuse, and it wasn't, so it was all good."

TC: "And Daniel, you were never going to miss Austin, right?"

DR: "No, I couldn't. I would've loved the result to be better, but no, I couldn't miss Austin.

TC: "The track, the place"

DR: "Yeah, yeah. I love it."

[nikethestatue]

A Match Baked In Heaven

Chapter IV

Strange Times

Warning: Explicit

The plan was solid: Piglet was going to eat some flowers (they didn’t taste bad, just weird, like cucumbers, and Piglet hated cucumbers!), then get a mild tummy ache, get his Elain all nervous and then guilt her into giving him chicken and rice. Once he was full of chicken and rice, he was going to be let out of his enclosure, having lulled his unsuspecting humans into a false sense of calmness and security. Then he was going to jump on the tree, topple it, and finally destroy all the shiny balls. He was sure he was going to get in trouble. But did he care? Nope. It would be worth it. 

What his plans did not include was a trip to the vet in the middle of the night. 

Or an angry dad, who was super mad at him, as he strapped him into his new dog seat in the car.

“Don’t think I don’t know that you are faking,” Azriel hissed. “You think I can’t spot a faker when I see one? I’ve played Neymar! That silly fucker dives like he is gunning for an Oscar. You are not far behind. There is not going to be any chicken and rice for you. No meatloaf,”

At that, Piglet expelled a horrified squeal.

“Yeah, too late to be moaning now,” Azriel rounded the car and got into the driver seat. “You done a fuck up, lad. Also, I don’t know how much this little excursion is gonna cost me, but it’s all coming out of your IG sponsorships and allowance. No more Fuji water. You gonna drink tap.”

-

But, let’s rewind. 

“But where are we going?” Elain wondered, as Azriel’s heavy palm squeezed the back of her neck and he gently guided her down the spacious hallway.

There was an open den, where the walls and shelves were covered with trophies, trainers, kits, medals and lots of Arsenal gear. 

“My little spot of pride and gloating,” Azriel joked.

“Nice,” she shook her head, but she was also proud. And therefore, she turned her head to him and said, “and I happen to think that you are brilliant.”

“Aww, baby,” he smiled. “Are you going soft on me?”

She blushed but didn’t answer, only asking, “so?”

“I want you to hear a song that I love. I think that it’s about us,” he told her, a bit bashfully, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“A song?” That was unexpected. Elain knew that Azriel was musically inclined–he always hummed something to himself, there was music playing in some manner whenever he was at her house, he made up songs for Piglet, and sang in the shower–she had to admit that he did it well and had a husky, gravelly voice, which had a lovely sexual quality to it.

“Maybe we can dance to it as well,” he proposed quietly.

“Oh, a slow song then?”

“Pretty slow, yeah,” he nodded, and opened the door. To his bedroom.

Elain swallowed, but put on a brave face and entered, though her hands were balled into little fists and he smiled to himself. 

It was a huge space–completely unlike her own bedroom, which was lage, but also cosy and personal. This was right out of a modern hotel catalogue–vast, comfortable, but without an identity.

“Yeah, I know. It needs a woman’s touch,” he chuckled, as she looked around the space. At least it had gorgeous views. 

“None of your lady friends stuck around to redecorate a little?” she asked, her tone a bit tart, as she stared at the oversized luxurious bed. 

“Oh, is my matchy a little bit jealous?” he teased, spinning her around carefully, until she was facing him, her expression sour.

“Not. At. All.”

“Hmmm, you sure pretty girl?”

“Why would I even care?”

He shrugged and then threw himself across the bed, while propping his head and watching her. 

“I’d care!” he argued. “For example, I care about your Lord Eris. I don’t like him very much at all. Not at all. In fact, I think he is a bit of a cunt.”

“Azriel!” she gasped, whirling to him.

He shrugged. 

“What? I am jealous. I am jealous that he got there first. I am jealous that you loved him…kind of,”

“Kind of,” she murmured to herself. 

“I am jealous of all the time he’s had with you that I didn’t,” he continued. 

“You’ve spent all the time with me since you’ve met me,” she reminded him.

“Still ain’t enough. Still doesn’t change the fact that I can’t stand the cunt,” he said roughly.

She bubbled her lips and shrugged, “well, doesn’t matter. You don’t need to worry. I’ve not heard from him in weeks and he didn’t even wish me a happy birthday. I think we can conclusively say that it’s over.”

Azriel smiled, his smile a little too knowing, and then declared, “Fucking brilliant. I am more than happy to hear that.”

“Meanwhile,” she bristled at him, “what about your girlfriends? Mr. Orgy.”

“Ehhh,” Azriel waved his hand dismissively. “My orgy days are long behind me. Don’t have girlfriends. Well…one. She is standing in front of me now. And don’t worry, no one’s been in this bed except for the lonesome me.”

She stared at him so hard, he thought smoke was going to pour out of her ears. 

“I ain’t lying, beautiful,” he raised his hands in futile defence. “Okay, maybe a little,”

“A-ha!”

“I think Cass slept here after shoulder surgery, when I played his handsome nurse,” he recalled, smirking.

At that, Elain’s expression softened and she cooed, “You nursed him?”

“Someone had to. He was as dramatic as Pinky when you break his treat into halves.”

“That’s very dramatic,” she agreed solemnly. 

After a pause, where they looked at each other, Azriel pulled out his phone and Elain asked, “What about this song you wanted me to hear?”

He searched and quickly found what he was looking for. A slow, mellow melody came from the speakers. Then, a woman’s voice sang:

It’s gonna take a bit of work

Oh work

Now that you are here, 

Oh work

Because people come and go

But I think you should know

That I, I think this will work

It’s gonna take a little time

But with you by my side

I won’t let go, till I got what’s mine

Because people come and go,

But you should know,

That I, I’m taking it slow

There was something haunting about the simple rhythm and when Azriel got up from the bed and slowly approached Elain, wrapping his strong arm around her waist and pulling her closer, she succumbed to the flow of the song immediately. Azriel’s scarred palm squeezed her own and he placed it against his chest, as they swayed steadily to the song.

This was their song. Nothing about them and their relationship was quick, and everything took work. Nothing was quick, other than Azriel Night falling in love with Elain Archeron. Because that took no time at all.

When Azriel kissed her at last, he was so slow. So indulgently slow, as his body moved languidly and gracefully against hers, sweeping the two of them in a gradual circle around the room. Elain closed her eyes, giving herself over to the music, but also wholly to him. His lips were hot on her mouth, the kiss lingering there for a while, moving with assured intention. He pulled her closer to him, her breasts smashing against his chest, as she melted in his embrace, her arms circling his neck instinctually, while he made her back arc in his big hands, as he leaned against her. From the small of her back, his warm hands travelled up, and he squeezed her waist and then appreciatively ran his palms over her sides, up and then down, until he splayed his fingers over her bottom and gave each cheek a generous squeeze. 

“Oh,” she gasped into his mouth, but he only cupped her ass in his palm and pressed deeper into her soft flesh. 

If there was a true ‘ass man’ then Azriel Night was the definition of one.

Their kiss was unhurried, but it felt otherworldly in its dreamy hotness. It was like with every kiss, another barrier was broken. Azriel chipped and carved at her defences with lustful, unyielding determination, and Elain clung to him with needy desperation which might not have been attractive with anyone else, but with her, it only ignited the spark of blind, all-encompassing love within him. As he moulded his mouth impossibly closer to her lips, breathing and drinking in her oxygen, he thought for a moment that if they’d cut him right now, he’d bleed Elain. That’s how deeply she was ingrained in his very soul.

Elain stroked his neck with her hot little hands, her nails lightly raking over his skin, pressing into his collarbones and then gripping his broad shoulders. 

When the song ended, it switched to the sexy intro of ‘Beast of Burden’, the riff of Keith Richards’s  guitar completely unmistakable. And Elain loved it. Moving her hips within the circle of Azriel’s hands, she gyrated to the tempo, her head buzzing from the champagne and for the delicious taste of Azriel’s lips. She wasn’t sure what she was doing exactly, but she pulled on his black hoodie’s zipper and bared his sculpted, incredible torso with flourish. 

Azriel tore away from her mouth only to kiss down her jaw before sinking his teeth into her neck. Elain figured that he needed to ‘refresh’ his nearly-permanent hickey that he sucked into her skin. 

“I have to feel you,” he growled into her neck.

“What?” she breathed, half-drunk from their kiss.

He pushed her back towards the bed and all but collapsed on his knees in front of her, his hands on her thighs, rubbing them slowly up and down. 

“Let me give you another present for your birthday,” he pleaded, his voice urgent. 

“What present?” she breathed, though Azriel’s rough, large hands slipping under her knit dress and resting on the bare skin of her thighs, while he fingered the clasps of her garter, which held her knit stockings, told her enough of what he desired. He groaned, as he caressed her fleshy thighs, his palms slipping between them, parting her legs slightly. Elain acquiescent, allowing him to touch her in a manner in which he’d never dared to before. 

“Fingers or tongue?” he asked, his voice rough. Before she could answer, he dragged her dress high up, baring her legs, her stockings, and finally her thighs. Elain’s chest was rising and falling erratically, her breathing heavy and rapid, especially when Azriel rubbed his knuckle over her flowery panties. He shrugged off the hoodie completely, tossing it on the floor and Elain was faced with his absolutely incredible body. Unable to stop herself, she reached to touch the stacked cobbles of his abdomen, carved with an almost obscene precision beneath his bronze skin. The sculpted shoulders and his big, muscular arms flexed and gleamed in the sexy buttery light of the bedroom, thick, black swirls of his tattoos spilling from his shoulders down to his arms and over his pecs. She couldn’t resist tangling her fingertips in the dusting of soft dark hair beneath his navel–and he was right when he teased her about it. Even back then, she couldn’t tear her eyes away from it. Or from his ridiculously defined Adonis Belt which lewdly pointed straight down towards his cock. It was inescapable.

He didn’t wait for her final decision, and instead, gripped the side of her panties. Before she could even squeak, he ripped the underwear at the seam and crumpled it in his fist, before stuffing them in his back pocket. 

Pressing his forehead to hers, he smiled at her with encouragement and then thrust two thick, long fingers straight into her tight, tender hole. All at once. Rough. The noise that Elain made was something like a pathetic, shocked rasp, while her pussy responded to the invasion with an erotic, almost profane squelch, sucking his fingers deeper. 

Elain’s head lolled back and she fell on the bed, shuddering visibly, her thighs tense, while Azriel settled between her legs, opening them up brazenly and exposing her soft, wet, pink slit. Elain’s moan was loud, explicit and it was obvious that she relinquished all control of the situation, opening her legs further, even without him prompting her to. Azriel smiled and kissed her knee, soothingly stroking her with his free hand between her legs. His eyes were literally glued to her pussy and he was physically incapable of looking anywhere else. It was the prettiest, most perfect pussy he’d ever seen–and he’d seen many. It could be that he was completely pussy blinded right now, and seeing Elain’s for the first time was almost a religious experience. 

She felt tight and soft against his fingers, enveloping his hand greedily, like she’s been hungry for him, or maybe for someone to pay attention to her.

Elain felt so incredibly full with only his fingers inside, and yet, the beautiful torture of having him in her was worth the discomfort. He moved slowly, but firmly, exploring, stretching, spreading her with appalling, delectable vulgarity. God she loved it. Fucking loved it. That hand was brazen and strong, and when the tips of his fingers found her sensitive her front inner wall was, she bowed on the bed, digging her fingers into the plush duvet. 

“Keep like this,” he ordered, “so I can finger you like you need.”

How he knew what she needed, Elain had no idea, but she obeyed him, legs falling open, her pussy fully exposed, as he pressed on her inner thigh with considerable force, keeping her in place. His other hand began to move rhythmically, with deft, knowing movements inside her hole, and she bit her lip so hard, she tasted blood. The intensity of the movements was almost painful, as he took from her with glutinous need, but she couldn't even keep her eyes open from the savage pleasure that she was now experiencing.

Azriel’s voice, hypnotic and breathy with lust, whispered, “is this good, beautiful? Getting what you need?” and then he leaned over her and kissed her deeply and filthily. His fingers never paused or changed their perfect rhythm and Elain clutched the rock-hard muscles of his shoulders, raking her nails down his arm.

She couldn’t explain what he was doing, but he hadn’t even touched her clit, and yet she was arching and shaking like she was being exorcised. But his fingers…god, his fingers. He was so horribly ruthless too–pushing a third finger into her, burrowing deeper and deeper, while whispering, “you are going to be a good girl for me and take it all in your sweet, tight pussy for me?”

She made some inhuman noise and Azriel laughed darkly. The prodded further, stretching and pumping her hard and oh-so beautifully, half of his heavy body covering hers, as he watched her reactions and listened to her loud moans. When she didn’t answer, he murmured ‘yeah you are, gorgeous” and even if Elain rebelled internally for being so predictable and so easily broken, she couldn’t argue, and succumbed to his demanding hand that filled her so completely. Azriel kissed her, slow and tender, his lips in complete contrast with his hand. 

“Can you take one more, sweetheart?” he asked, voice husky, eyes dark, perspiration covering his chiselled chest. Elain grabbed at him just when he pulled his three fingers out and the emptiness had her gushing with her sweet nectar. He breathed heavily, inhaling the scent of sex and her essence, and then leisurely licked his fingers until dry. Elain was panting, watching him half-lidded, desperately needing him back inside of her, So she didn’t ask, but took his hand and brought it back to her plump, bare mound which leaked like an overripe fruit. 

“I want more,” she told him simply, biting her lower lip.

He kissed her brow and nodded,

“I know, sweetheart. Here’s more.”

And he plunged four fingers inside of her with one firm thrust.

“Elain,” he groaned, his own eyes closing, as he felt around inside of her. “You are so fucking tight, baby. I can’t wait for fuck you for real. My cock is gonna go nuts!”

He slowly pulled his fingers back, almost all the way out, but the soft walls of her pussy squeezed him and dragged him back in, before he pressed his thumb into her clit.

“Oh fuck,” she moaned.

Elain felt like she was being torn apart by his savage hand, but the pain was so glorious, and the way it mixed with pleasure only had her opening further for him. She was no longer concerned with any propriety, all her modesty having flown out the window a long time ago. Here she was, turned inside out, groaning and panting, holding most of Azriel’s huge hand inside her pussy and loving every second of it. 

Yeah, this was a gift that kept on giving. And how grateful she was that Azriel decided on giving her another present today. 

His pace was merciless, four fingers inside, pushing and rubbing at her tender inner walls, two fingers curled and massaging that wondrous spot inside of her, while his thumb worked her clit roughly and unforgivingly. 

“Bite me, Ellie,” he offered and Elain didn’t know that that’s what she needed. But when she latched onto his neck and bit him hard, feeling the throb of his blood beneath her tongue, she realised that it was perfect–the taste of his skin, the scent of his body, musky, lightly spiced with cedar, the strength of him–all beneath her tongue.

“That’s good,” he approved, moaning softly with his own pleasure. “Do you want to come for me, sweetness?”

Did she want to?

Yes, the smouldering heat of her body, the spasming muscles of her pussy, the gorgeous pressure on her clit all told her that she was about to explode like never before. But part of her yearned for this to continue for as long as possible. And Azriel was patient. So patient with her, even though he was basically fisting her at this point. She never knew that she’d be able to stretch like that, to accommodate almost all of his hand up to the wrist, where only his thumb remained firmly pressed to her clit. God. It was positively crazy. It hurt and it ached and it was blissful and intense and the sounds that her body emitted–all the slurping, squelching, groaning, moaning–would’ve been completely indecent in any other situation. But today, Elain didn’t care. She guessed that Azriel was the type of man who liked his woman undone. Feral. Unbound. Uninhibited. 

“Azriel, Azriel,” she screamed out, jerking upright, unable to stop, or keep from thrashing against him.

“Say my name, Ellie. Let it all out.”

Fuck, did she ever. An orgasm to end all orgasms. Azriel’s unique gift, his personally crafted orgasm that only he could’ve given to her. Only he had the skill and the unflinching ruthlessness to do this so well. 

Elain came and came, her hole sucking him in almost fully, her voice hoarse from screaming. She probably looked possessed, but she didn’t care. And Azriel was probably going to be evicted, but it would be worth it. It was so brilliant–waves of pure ecstasy crushing all over her body, every muscle inside of her alive with pleasure and tension. 

And then she blacked out.

Legitimately blacked out. 

…Azriel was chuckling.

Elain was being jostled about, something around her getting tugged and pulled. 

When she opened her eyes, while moaning, she saw his smiling face hovering above her.

“What...what happened?” she mumbled, disoriented.

At least the jostling began making sense–Azriel was pulling off her dress over her head. 

Yes, she was still wearing her dress. 

“I might have semi-murdered you with some light fisting,” he said innocently.

“Light?!!?” Elain screeched, a nice, but definitely acute soreness radiating from between her thighs. “You call this light?!”

He was laughing, while he manoeuvred her out of the dress, folded it nicely and left her only in her bra and the stockings, which had descended all the way down to her knees. 

Then, Elain watched him get up from the bed and unbutton his trousers, pulling the belt out of its loops in one crazy, half a second move. She stared, open-mouthed, while he tugged the trousers down and she tensed.

“Sweetheart,” he chuckled. “You pussy ain’t ready for my dick tonight,” he assured her. “I’ve given it a nice gentle pounding,”

“It was not gentle!” she protested.

He stepped out of his pants, got rid of his socks, and stood there, in all of his almost-naked glory. 

That body.

It was almost unfair how stunning his form was–so long and so firm, every tendon and muscle on display, gorgeous lean sinew wrapping around his muscular thighs and the robust shoulders.

“Didn’t I tell you before that I was rough?” he reminded her, crossing his arms on his chest and looking down at her sprawling in his bed.

Elain fucking Archeron, in his bed. 

It was incredible.

Her pussy bare and wet, because of him. Her body, naked and glorious, for him. Her fucked up hair, her smudged mascara, which made her look extra sexy and wanton. The way she looked so cosy and comfortable on his sheets. 

He couldn’t comprehend it. That after all this time, months of courting and cajoling, or slow, baby steps, they were finally here. Elain naked. Happy. Satisfied. Actually passed out from the orgasm that he gave her. 

If he’d known then that he should’ve cherished that moment even more he would’ve. But he didn’t. So he just enjoyed watching his girl in his bed.

Her cheeks turned pink under his scrutiny and he tracked her eyes staring at his raging boner beneath his black boxers. 

“It’s out of your hair tonight, sweetness,” he assured her, palming his cock for emphasis.

“You don’t want me to…” she swallowed nervously and he chuckled.

“Choke on this dick?” he clarified.

She reddened ever more and he thought that it was completely adorable.

“Well, yes,” she nodded.

“Not tonight. It’s your birthday, after all.”

Elain looked down, at her bare stomach, her bare pussy, the swollen, glistening folds, remembering how just a few minutes ago he had his hand in her and squirmed, feeling embarrassed.

“May I have something to wear?” she whispered. 

Azriel landed on the bed next to her and brought her face closer to his, before kissing her lips.

“Baby, you ain’t got nothing I haven’t already seen,” he reminded her, his smirk salacious.

“Well…ummm…still,” she tried, her little toes curling, as she tucked her legs to her belly.

“But I like you naked, in my bed,” Azriel wrapped his arm around her and drew his thumb over her skin which pebbled with gooseflesh.

Elain threw her arm over his stomach and snuggled to him.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“What for?” he asked curiously.

“The best birthday ever.”

He smiled,

“Better than Annabel’s?”

“Yeah. Better than that.”

Elain didn’t know that this was the happiest birthday. She didn’t know that she needed to cherish the moments with this man whom she loved. She didn’t know how things would change.

When Elain woke up, she was disoriented. 

She knew where she was–at Azriel’s, because she wasn’t that far gone–but she had no idea what time it was. She was still nearly naked, her pussy lips splayed over Azriel’s thick thigh. She’d drooled all over his bicep–very sexy–but he didn’t mind, and kept her bundled up next to him like she was his plushy toy. Outside was dark, with night lights twinkling all around. She carefully extricated herself from Azriel’s heavy embrace and slipped from the bed. She tiptoed to the bathroom, closed the door and turned on the lights. The bathroom was as opulent as expected–enormous everything, shower so big, you could wash a car in there, a long sink that resembled a trough, a gorgeous bath tub, and even a sauna tucked in the corner. Elain looked at herself in the mirror. Yeah, she looked a proper state. Naked. Her hair a terrific mess, as were the remnants of her makeup. She washed her face, scrubbing at her eyes, then saw Azriel’s hair brush and with no alternatives, combed her hair, before breaking the handle of the brush on a mega tangle. Well, that was just wonderful!

There were bruises on her thighs, and she was sure that it was from the grip of Azriel’s fingers. Her pussy lips were swollen and overly pink. It was obscene and sexy and she didn’t mind the sight of it. Of course she snooped behind one of the mirror panels, finding nothing incriminating, other than an alarming number of face and hair products. Well, that was a surprise. Mr. Night had a skincare routine apparently. There were nice French creams, some very expensive, some cheaper: moisturisers, retinol, anti-wrinkle. Serums, oils, argan and olive oil extracts, Japanese and Korean hair care products, fancy tubes of lip balms from Sweden. 

“Well, don’t mind if I do,” she muttered to herself, as she lined the products on the counter and began sniffing and trying them out.

She was so into it, she didn’t even hear the door open and Azriel padding into the bathroom.

Before she could even begin to lie and weasel out of her predicament, Azriel dropped on his knees behind her and wrapped his arm around her thighs. He rubbed his stubbled cheek over her bare behind, before latching onto her ass cheek with his teeth. 

“Awww!” she cried out, but he only laughed, but also licked away the pain that his teeth caused.

“That’s for breaking my brush on your wild horse mane,” he told her.

“I do not have a horse mane!”

“Right. More like an unkempt lion’s mane.”

“It’s still my birthday!” she complained. “You have to be nice.”

“Oh yeah? How do you figure?” he asked, his hand caressing her hips, both of her bum cheeks before he nosed below and buried his face in her pussy.

“Ohmygod! Azriel,” she moaned, gripping the trough sink, when his tongue swept from one hole to the other. She’d never been licked like this. And when his tongue poked boldly at her butthole she thought she was going to pass out…again. To imagine that Eris or Graysen would do something like this to her was laughable. Eris barely ever did any oral, his sex drive never very high, so much so that he didn’t even ask for oral himself. 

Azriel, ever the biter, bit her puffy nether lips, bit her ass again, lazily licked over her hole, pushing his tongue inside, before scooting back on his hunches and sitting on the floor, crossing his long legs at the ankles.

“I can’t believe you are not just a snooper, but also a user,” he scolded her humorously, shaking his head like a disappointed parent.

“Why do you have all this?!” she demanded instead.

“Don’t change the subject, snoop!”

“I was simply trying out your weirdly huge collection of face products.” she huffed.

“Turn around,” he told her.

“Why?”

“Turn around,” he repeated. “I want to see your pussy.”

Elain blushed like crazy and he watched her squeeze her thighs tightly.

“I can’t,” she mumbled.

“Why?”

“I am not used to this….this familiarity…you are still,”

“If you say ‘a client’ you will make me angry, Elain,” he said sternly.

She bit her lip, not saying the word, but Azriel saw it on her face and sneered with annoyance, before getting up.

“No, don’t be mad,” she begged, grabbing his hand.

“Well, then don’t be daft,” he told her. “Decide what you want from me and for yourself,”

“I know what I want,” she argued.

“Are you sure?” he cocked his brow at her.

“You are being very cross,” she pouted.

“Then give me a reason not to be cross,” Azriel said instead. “Sometimes, I find you very frustrating, Elain.”

“I am sorry,” she whispered guiltily. 

“Why won’t you just let go and be mine?”

Before she could answer, they heard an audible moan.

Azriel rolled his eyes and groaned, “Oh fuck. Now what? What did he do?”

Because the moan was definitely Piglet’s. It was a touch dramatic, which made Azriel wonder what the hell was happening and whether the pug got to a bottle of whiskey or something as questionable as that. Wouldn't surprise him though. 

“Oh my!” Elain cried out, “it’s Piglet!! What happened to him?”

Before Azriel could even respond, she was running off, barefoot and naked, her perfect ass bouncing with every step. Azriel followed, because he knew that he had to see it for himself.

-

Piglet was in his enclosure, laying on his side, moaning. Flowers from Elain’s bouquet littered the floor around him. They’d left the vase on one of the side tables near where he ended up. Well, apparently, he was so starved for snacks that munched on a bunch of flowers and petals, tearing them off the stems. He only ate the heads and only specific flowers. 

“Piglet! What did you do?!” Elain wailed. “Oh my god. Is he going to die?!?!”

“Of course he is not going to die,” Azriel sighed. 

“How do you know?” she was almost in tears. “We need to go to the vet!”

At the word vet, Piglet immediately quieted down and the moaning ceased just like that.

“See, he is faking it,” Azriel nodded towards the dog. “He probably just wants chicken and rice or something,”

At those words, Piglet not only stopped moaning, but also raised his head, giving Elain a hopeful look and a little bark of encouragement. 

“You don’t know this!” she argued.

“I do. I know men and he is a man. He is faking it to get attention and to get the food that he wants. He wants his woman–you, in this case–to cook for him and feed him.”

“He ate half the bouquet!”

“Yeah, probably on purpose,” Azriel noted, to which Elain rolled her eyes. 

At first, things were going well and according to plan. Piglet gave a pretty good moaning performance and soon after he began, he watched his Elain run into the big room. He wasn’t sure why she was naked, but maybe she was drowning herself for fun, like humans tended to do. He trusted his Elain with his own drowning, but he wasn’t a big fan in general, though he enjoyed it when she soaped him up and scrubbed him with a brush. But the drowning…he didn’t like so much.

Then dad mentioned ‘chicken and rice’ Piglet whooped internally and gave himself a high four. But then the words ‘vet’ began spoiling his hopes. What the hell? He didn’t want to go to no vet! Defeated, Piglet watched dad get his phone and start doing something on it, while Elain picked him up and carried him around the room, rocking him like he was a baby.

“Baby, you know it’s Christmas Eve,” Azriel kept saying, as he dialled what felt like the fifteenth number for a vet clinic in and around Canary Wharf. No one was picking up–not surprising, because it was around 11 pm and most outgoing messages stated that the clinics would be closed for the Christmas holiday.

“Can’t we just give him a laxative? So he can shit flowers?”

“This is not a joke, Azriel!” she exclaimed, stroking Piglet’s head and kissing him.

It’s not that Azriel didn’t want to help Piglet–even though he was convinced that Piglet wasn’t as sick as he pretended to be–but Azriel wasn’t trying very hard, because he was currently entranced by the fact that his gorgeous Elain was walking around his home, circling the vast expanse of the flat basically completely nude. He sat back on the sofa, threw his legs on an ottoman and made calls, while watching Elain and her bare pink pussy. Just like that. He didn’t even have to ask for it. It still blew his mind and he knew it was going to take him some time to get to terms with what was happening in his life and that Elain was almost his…but he’d have to deal with that later.

“Yes, yes,” he was surprised when someone finally answered. Elain stilled and looked at him. “We have a pug who ate some flowers…no…not garden…from a bouquet. How old is he? He is two-ish. Oh…I don’t know. He is a big pug. Short legs though,” at that, Piglet offered him an unimpressed side eye. Amazing, how Piglet miraculously understood everything whenever he wanted to. “I don’t know…he is kind of chunky. I’d say 13 kilos? Just under 30 pounds…Well, like I said, he is a big pug. No…not fat. Just bigger than normal pugs.”

He is? Elain mouthed, looking at Piglet.

Azriel nodded. How did she not realise this before? Piglet was only slightly smaller than a Frenchie. He was the biggest pug Azriel’d ever seen, with short little legs. 

“Alright. Thanks mate. We’ll be right over. Yeah, yeah…we have money and insurance too.”

-

Christmas

Piglet raced down the wide hallways and sitting rooms of the palace. 

He wasn’t exactly sure whether this was actually a palace, but this was the biggest house he’s ever been in. He came here a few times a year with his Elain and with Fey, and some of the times Aunt Nesta came along as well. Mostly, he loved it because it had a huge park around the building, and in the summer, there was a pool, where he could splash and where the sisters swam and played with all kinds of toys. Pool was different from the drownings that he was subjected to, and therefore, he loved the pool. And then, there were the meals! Oh, the wonderful meals, where he got chicken and steak, where he ate sweet potatoes, and rice, he ate ham and hard boiled eggs for breakfast, he drank the best water and had so many treats, he couldn’t even count them (okay, he didn’t know how to count). There were fruits and berries in unlimited amounts and pup cups whenever he wanted. Oftentimes, grandpa came as well, and Piglet spent most of his time with him–they went for walks, they played, Piglet could run with all the sticks, he could zoom as much as he wanted, and then grandpa gave him treats, or let him nap in his study. 

As he ran along, Piglet noticed a whole lot of big trees, with lights and shiny balls on them. In fact, the whole house was decorated with shiny things and he was contemplating how he was going to get to some of them.

He and dad came to an agreement earlier in the day.

While Elain was sorting out insurance information at the vet’s, Azriel told Piglet the following,

“Not only do I know that you were faking all of this, so you could get food and attention, I also saw how you’ve been looking at the Christmas tree.”

At that, Piglet made a show of looking indifferent and almost surprised.

But dad, unfortunately, was too smart.

“Here is how it’s gonna go,” Azriel continued, also making a show of watching Elain, because he was always watching her, instead of what he was actually doing, which was scolding Piglet. “You will leave Ellie’s tree alone. You are not going to jump on it, poop under it, or try to tear any of the ornaments off. By the way, they are glass, and it won’t be fun for you, if you do. It’s mum’s tree, she loves it and you will remember that.

“In exchange,” he continued casually, “I will ask the vet not to stick anything up your butt.”

Piglet swallowed audibly.

He hated the vet so much.

And he especially hated it when they put things…up there. Which they did, almost every time. Thinking backwards, he was now regretting the whole flower-eating plan. It was stupid and he shouldn’t have done it.

“The tree stays, and nothing goes up your ass,” Azriel concluded. “If you attack the tree, I’ll tell the vet that he is free to do whatever he wants.”

Piglet quickly barked in agreement. The tree could stay.

“Wise move,” dad approved. 

True to his word, Piglet didn’t get anything stuck up in his butt. They gave him a pill, he had some diarrhoea in the park and that was that.

Mid-day, they all got dressed up and piled into the car. 

Piglet had to wear a tuxedo today–his black dungarees, a white shirt and a bow tie. Dad looked very similarly to him–he wore a tuxedo as well. Today, they were like a real father and son duo, and Piglet liked that. His Elain was dressed so prettily, in a beautiful dress, and she couldn’t touch him, because the dress was so fancy.

There was tension in the car, which Piglet didn’t understand. They humans spoke, but their tones were clipped and there was something going on that he couldn’t quite put his paw on. So when they reached their destination, he was very happy to get out of the car and run to find grandpa, because he was tired of the drama.

-

Rosehall.

That’s what the country seat of the Duke and Duchess of Velaris was called. Rosehall Manor.

Manor was an understatement of the century. It was an enormous estate, with over 10,000 acres of land around it, and a stately mansion with 140 rooms. Though technically it belonged to the current Duchess of Velaris, which was Nesta, the ownership documents stipulated that the house and the land belonged to all the female members of the family. The estate was shared equally between the three sisters, with all of their female cousins having access to it as well.

The family always celebrated Christmas with a formal Christmas Eve dinner–hence the tuxedos, followed by a more informal Christmas lunch the following day. 

It’s not that Azriel was unfamiliar with this level of wealth and old money extravagance, but this was something straight out of Downton Abbey or something. Legions of servants, footmen, maids, butlers, valets greeted them as he helped Elain out of the car. Once unclipped from his dog seat, Piglet dashed inside the manor, feeling perfectly adept with all this finery and not giving a fuck. Azriel envied him. 

Elain took his arm, a lovely smile plastered on her face, but he knew that things between them were tense, at best. She didn’t show it though. When they entered the foyer and then the reception hall, Azriel saw Rhysand and Feyre, posing on the grand staircase, while professionally-looking photos were being taken of the two of them. 

Feyre wore an opulent gown of heavy pale silk with sheer sleeves and neck, embroidered with all kinds of gems. She looked regal and bridal. And happy, draped over Rhys’s imposing, tuxedo-clad form. 

“Happy Christmas. Helios Day, Hello Magazine,” a man approached them, slick and professional, handsome and curious. He handed out his card, which Azriel absently thrust into his pocket.

“We are here to take Christmas photos of Lord and Lady Darling. Their nuptials were so unexpected–but we are lucky to have snagged the first interview and the first photos of them as a married couple.”

He then turned to Elain and said,

“Lady Elain, do you have a few words for the article? And then, if you don’t mind, we’d like to take a few photos of you and Mr. Night,”

Azriel was surprised how quickly the man recognised him, but he supposed that that was his job. 

“And then of course the Duchess of Velaris and Mr. Cassian Night as well…”

Azriel hid his smile. Cassian hasn’t even gone on one date with Nesta, and yet here they were, being photographed as if they were a couple. Apparently, Hello Magazine just christened them as one, and was going to declare it to the world. He wondered how well it was going to go over with Nesta. But Nesta had invited Cassian to Christmas dinner here, at her family home. She didn't have to, but she did act like he was something more than a guest, so perhaps, she wouldn’t be affronted by the insinuation that they were a couple.

Speaking of Nesta–she appeared in the reception hall, with Cassian looming behind her.

She looked beautiful, in a blue gown with a lace overlay, which fit her gorgeous body like a glove. 

The three sisters were pulled to the staircase, and photographed together. Feyre–the bride, Nesta–the blade, and Elain–the flower. 

He might have been biassed, but Elain looked the best. She also wore a lace gown, with a very intricate pattern, in a sophisticated shade of pink, and with a full skirt. She definitely looked like his little princess tonight. 

-

Dinner was a traditional, if elegant affair held in the Walnut Dining Room, and thankfully, Azriel was seated next to Elain. The Darlings were here too–meeting of the families and all–and it seemed like Sir Charles and Lord Darling knew each other from before, and found each other companionable and there wasn’t any odd tension to contend with. Nesta and her father played hosts, he recited grace and then dinner was served. 

There were platters of chilled seafood, blinis with caviar, and cold oysters to start off with, and bottles of champagne. The ubiquitous roast turkey was the main course, but it was stuffed with apples and chestnuts and tasted spectacular (for turkey). Indulgent dauphinoise potatoes, and roasted vegetables made Azriel think that he’d soon need to go on a diet. He was barely training, not playing, and eating apple crisps, and cheese, and bacon sandwiches every day because of Elain. He loved it. Loved every moment of it, but still…And speaking of cheeses–then the cheese course arrived and…well, he couldn’t say no. Lastly, there was trifle and Eton Mess for pudding.

“Interesting menu,” Azriel commented, attempting to start a conversation with Elain.

“It’s been the same since Victorian times,” she answered, sipping her coffee. “Curated by my great-great grandmother,”

“The infamous Elain,”

“Indeed. This is what the Duke of Velaris liked to eat, and what she enjoyed as well. It’s been the same for generations.”

“Not bad. Not bad at all. Beats Brussel sprouts and weird bread sauces.”

“She loved trifle, and he loved Eton Mess, so here we are.”

And then Elain smiled at him and Azriel realised that he lived for that smile.

-

“What’s wrong with you tonight?” 

Cassian’s booming voice sounded even louder in the glass enclosure of the Winter Garden. 

“I think all things considered, everything’s been going pretty well. Nes even agreed to get her photo taken with me. So I guess I am now ‘the boyfriend’.”

He snickered to himself at the idea.

“I think it took her by surprise.”

“But she didn’t say no,” Azriel noted. 

He had loosened his bowtie and took off his jacket. He’d come here after dinner, leaving the revelry behind, because guests began playing charades and Rhys even got behind the piano, urging everyone to sing along to Christmas carols. 

“So, what is it?” Cassian pressed, seating himself in a wicker armchair, not so close to Azriel that it would feel like a confessional, but close enough to listen.

Azriel shook his head with annoyance, and Cassian waited. 

He knew his brother.

Azriel would speak only when he was ready. And that is IF he even decided to speak. The man was not exactly in tune with his sensitive side. 

“Hey beastie the pug!” Cassian suddenly cried out and Azriel knew who he was talking about. “My little wingman–wingpug–got me together with Nes at Fey’s birthday. Come here, boy.”

Piglet trotted to Cassian and Cassian picked him up and laid him on his lap, and as soon as he did, Piglet promptly fell asleep. 

“I am alive! I am dead! I am asleep! I am running! I am dead again! I am asleep!” Cassian muttered, and Azriel couldn’t help but smile. That really was Piglet in a nutshell.

Suddenly, Azriel began speaking, and Cassian stilled, listening and not making a sound. 

“I don’t know what to do, Cass. Like she is driving me crazy. I am so consumed with her, I can hardly think straight. Everything is her. Every word, every gesture. I over-analyse all of it until I give myself a headache. If I don’t talk to her, I stalk her social media, to see if she posted anything…I have this photo of her that she sent me a while back. She was wearing my jersey in it, it was before that game with Liverpool. And I’ve looked at it so many times now, I think I’ve poked a hole in my phone screen. 

“My thoughts…I scare myself sometimes. If she ever said no to me, if she tried to break it off, I think I would kidnap her, Cass. I would steal her and I would keep her in a cage,”

“Whoa,” Cassian breathed.

“I know. And I’d feed her my dick when she got hungry.”

“Az,”

“No, you don’t understand. She is everything to me, Cass. I want to hear her voice first thing in the morning. I want her face next to mine. I fucking want her to submit to me and be fucking mine!”

“I am assuming we are talking about Elain,” Cassian said carefully.

“No. About Kevin!” Azriel snapped.

“Okay, okay. But–I don’t understand–aren’t you with her already? Aren’t you two dating?”

“We are…kind of,” Azriel agreed. “But it’s like she has this wall around her that I can’t seem to penetrate. It’s tug and pull all the time. She is so skittish with her feelings,”

“Elain?” Cassian confirmed in disbelief. 

“Yes! Elain. You think only Nesta is all prickly and cold? You’d think Elain would love all the lame couple things! But no. The moment I push even a little bit, she pulls back, as if she is scared…I’d never hurt her!”

“But others have,” Cassian said reasonably. “Wasn’t she engaged once? And the bloke cheated on her? And her current one–he is AWOL too,”

“I am her ‘current one’!!!” Azriel snarled viciously.

“Okay, sorry, I know,” Cassian said quickly. “That’s not what I meant, you know,”

“That’s exactly how she thinks as well! That somehow, this isn’t real. We are not real. That one day, I would walk away like those other cunts. But that’s not me. She’d have to cut me out of her with a knife,”

“Mate, enough with the graphic imagery today!” Cassian raised his arms defensively. “I just ate.”

“We had a fight today,” Azriel muttered. “A really stupid fight,”

“Aren’t most fights stupid?”

Azriel ignored him.

“What happened?”

“We had to take Pink to the vet,” Azriel explained. “And she texted me something in the car and when it popped up on my phone, she saw what she is saved under,”

“Which is what?” 

“Mrs. Night.”

“Oh, well…” Cassian didn’t know how to respond to that. 

“And she flipped out!” Azriel snapped. “She yelled at me and said that it’s too soon, that she didn’t ‘sign up for this’, that we’ve only known each other for a little over two months, and that I am–and I quote–her client!”

Cassian sighed. He sympathised with his brother, but he also understood Elain.

“Maybe you are moving too fast and it’s scaring her?”

“Oh, fuck off! This is not what I need to hear,”

“Maybe you need to give her a bit of space,”

“Out of the question,” Azriel said sharply. “I am not giving her any fucking space. She is mine. She was born to be mine. I love her and I will make her mine. She will be Mrs. Night. She will carry and birth my children. And we’ll die on the same day.”

“Well, I am glad to see that you are not all weird and intense about it,” Cassian said helplessly.

Azriel buried his face in his hands, shaking his head.

Cassian gently lifted Piglet off his lap and picked him up, cradling him to his chest. Then he got up from the chair and proceeded to give the worst piece of advice that he could possibly give.

“Why don’t you stop obsessing and do what she asks of you. Don’t push. Dial back the intensity like 134%. If she asks you for something, just do it, and show her that you’d be there for her. That when she needs you to do something, you’d do it.”

“Like I haven’t been,” Azriel groaned. 

“Just keep going. Don’t talk about babies and how you’ll make her Mrs. Night. And I’d keep quiet about the cage thing too.

“It’s not a big thing, you know. It’s just a little fight. Everyone has those. Elain just need a bit of time.”

“So, do what she asks?”

“Yeah,” Cassian shrugged. “Do what she asks.”

-

**The song that Elain and Azriel danced to is called “Work’ by Charlotte Day Wilson

The Archeron sisters Christmas dresses (left to right: Feyre, Nesta and Elain)

[lovableapocalypse]

the 1

bassist!remus x fem!reader

wc- 800 ish

warnings- swearing, alcohol, fluff?

a/n- watching the oscars inspired me to write an award show fic lol. also i chose the brits bc theyre british idek. another thing ik this picture is alexa chung but i just want to preface reader has no description except blushing and i do not picture her in any way specific i just liked this picture. lastly ive been so unmotivated to write so i tried tonight but ive been hating everything i write so the longer chapter im working on is taking awhile but its coming. im like 2k deep and not even halfway into the plot lol. anyway love u all.

The champagne you had been consuming tonight brought a heavy flush to your skin. The round table you all were surrounding was decorated elegantly and littered with drinks. Your head was perched in your fist and a look of awe was evident on your features. This was the boy's second year attending the Brits but it still ceased to amaze you. 

It was easy to forget they were a largely appreciated group now and these luxury events were a part of that. You were more dressed up than you think you’d ever been. Remus had wrapped his arms around you from behind when you were putting the finishing touches on, meeting your gaze in the mirror. He looked more than attractive in his simple black suit and his lips pressed to your neck, “You look beautiful.” Your face lit up at his words and your heart melted even at his most simple compliments. 

You, the band, and the team’s managers were all watching the current artist perform on stage and Remus had his arm wrapped tightly around your shoulders. They were nominated in the next category and you could tell the boys were tense. You moved to sit up straight and glanced at Remus. He caught your gaze and warmly smiled at you. You returned the gesture and leaned into him. 

“Even if you don’t win, I’ll still love you.”

He laughed, “Good to know.”

You smiled against him and rested your hand on his thigh, squeezing. The artist on stage finished and the room felt crowded with anticipation for the next award- Best Group. The band was up against some impressive names, but they’d put in the hard work and you believed they deserved to win. 

You could feel Remus’ hold on you grow intense as the announcers walked on stage. Your heart was racing and you could hardly retain what they were saying, catching certain words as your mind fluttered. Impressive. Best. Wonderful. Praise was floating around the room as short descriptions of the nominated bands played for the audience. 

When the last clip played, a cute montage of the boys sitting around you, and the woman on stage reached for the envelope, you held your breath. Remus grabbed your hand, squeezing it in his fist. You returned the gesture and glanced at the boys around you. James and Sirius leaned close to one another, Lily clutching James’ hand nearby. Peter was resting his face on his palm, their manager clutching his back. 

The boy’s had been invited to the ceremony last year under the Best New Band/Music category, but with only an EP out they hadn’t expected anything. And while their wins were unsuccessful, the experience itself had been amazing. 

This year the boys had produced a number one album and had been traveling all over the UK for shows. They had been dreaming of this moment, but were too scared to admit they might win- or lose. 

Your fingers were aching and time slowed as you anticipated the reveal. Your breath held still, you swore you heard wrong when both announcers shouted, “The Marauders!!!”

You gasped and reached for Remus as he sprouted out of his seat. You followed and he pulled you into him, smashing his lips against yours. You laughed and returned the gesture. Breaking away, you shared a yell of excitement and he squeezed your arms tightly. You both turned to the table, celebrating quickly as they moved towards the stage. 

Everyone’s smile was bright and unbelieving. You hugged Lily close as they greeted the announcers and moved to the mic. Sirius, the frontman he was, grabbed the award and lifted it up in appreciation. You cheered along with everyone and watched as he glanced at his bandmates in shock. 

“Fuck. Wow. Thank you.” He laughed. 

James threw his arms around Remus and Peter behind Sirius and they all grinned like madmen. Your hands moved over your face in shock, unbelievably proud of your boys and how far they’ve come. Sirius thanked their fans and the other bands nominated and finished with a group hug with his best mates. 

They shuffled off the stage and came back over in an adrenaline induced state. You hugged James, Peter, and lastly Sirius who held you close and whispered his love to you. Remus approached you again with a beautiful, bashful smile on his face. He kissed you sweetly and wrapped his arms tightly around you. 

When you sat back down you barely paid any attention to the ceremony and you took turns holding the award and admiring it. 

Remus pulled you close to his side again and moved his hand to your exposed thigh. He gently slid his hand up, whispering, “I just want to go home now and celebrate.” You subtly bit your lip, “Hmm. That sounds nice. Can’t believe I get to go home with a real rock star.” He laughed at the nickname and kissed your lips, muttering an ‘I love you’ under his breath. 

[boredzillenial]

Hiii i have been loving how you write for Oscar Isaac’s characters so much especially with the King John one 😩. Anyways, can I request a blurb of Orestes from Agora with anything Valentine’s Day related? You can do it with another character if you haven’t watched Agora yet, I’m completely fine with anything you will put ^^

Hi Anon! I gave this my best crack so let’s see! No smut this go around just a writing exercise ☺️

My Dove

Orestes hears of a Saint that may span the hostility between him and his new bride.

Themes: just Orestes trying to win her over, and failing to keep himself from simping

Word count: (idk it’s short lol)

A.N: historical and movie reference mistakes abound — just for funsies don’t take this seriously lol

“A Saint?” Orestes questioned “Valentine?” He tasted the name, finding it strange on his tongue. “And what did he do exactly?”

Orestes’ advisor shrugged as he picked over the arrangement of fruits on the table, “died for something or another. You know how these Christians get, will celebrate anyone who dies for ‘em.” He grumbled as he tossed a scroll on the table only to snatch a cluster of grapes. “Heard the ladies say something about it being romantic though.” His wicked teasing grin grated against Orestes’ nerves.

“Christian’s and romance huh?” Orestes returned his advisors smirk with a tight lipped one of his own. “Who’d have thought.”

“Thought it may help with -“ Orestes halted the sentence with a stony look. “- sorry, sorry.” His advisor threw up his hands and he exited the dimly lit chambers. It was no secret that the arranged marriage of Orestes and a daughter of one of the leaders of the Christian movement was strained to say the least. But he was at his limit with his own men giving him shit for it.

Orestes was not one to shy away from an opportunity for power. So when occasion presented itself he took it, regardless of the rumors he’d heard of her. Though he didn’t agree with the Christian notion of forcing his wife to heel, he thought maybe this could be a bridge. Some shared respect for this new Saint to bring them together.

Orestes grabbed the scroll along with a bowl of her favorite fruits and sauntered down the hall. He filled his lungs slowly, intentionally, as he readied himself. This needs to work, I can’t continue on like this.

This marriage had quelled the violence in the streets and to her credit his wife was commanding in her call for peace. Especially when aided by her father who ensured the zealots yielded. But the violence only shifted from the streets into his home. ”She’s as gentle as a dove.” her father had claimed in his initial offer. What a lair.

While he knew what her father said she should do, to obey her husband, it seemed she never could find the strength to actually do so. ”You opportunistic snake!” she’d screamed on their wedding night when he came to bed. She’d tossed the nearest thing a which turned out to be one of their gifts, a beautiful ornamental bowl. ”Now is that any way to welcome your husband, my dove?” he’d shot back at her. Ever since that’d been her moniker. He shook his head and huffed at the memory, at least she has heart.

That memory alone sent his heart hammering and sweat moistening his palms. His footsteps echoed through the corridors softly as he neared the ornate doorway to the atrium, where she spent most of her days.

As he opened it wearily he cast his gaze across the expansive room. His position had granted him more than a fair bit of luxury, and she had insisted the atrium be filled with flowering plants and water features. There she laid along the edge of the pool, dress hiked up to her hip revealed deliciously smooth skin that glistened with beading sweat. Her leg making slow ripples in the water.

Orestes felt as if his heart stopped for a moment. With here defenses down like this, body relaxed in the morning light… Gods she was beautiful.

The sound of his next step alerted her to his presence. She shot up like a viper, quickly pulled her leg up and under her dress and glared at him. “What.” She hissed

“Have you heard of Valentine?” He strained to keep his voice casual and cast his gaze elsewhere in the room.

“Saint Valentine you mean,” Her voice betrayed her interest as she eyed the scroll in his hand. “I’ve heard mutterings.”

“Well,” He waggled the delicate paper for a moment as he moved, “if you care to know the story.” Carefully he placed it on a nearby bench along with the bowl of fruits beside it. Orestes strolled slowly back toward the doorway. “He was very brave.”

He heard quick shuffling and the rustle of parchment. “Wait -” Her voice echoed in the chamber.

Orestes stopped and turned slowly, a brow quirked in interest. “Yes, my dove?” The look on her face sent his heart hammering again. For a moment the features there had softened and a smile played at the edge of her lips before hardening again.

Her voice though, was gentle, “Thank you, Orestes.” Oh how she could so easily bring him to his knees when she chose to be soft.

He cleared his throat and gave a curt nod with a smile, “Of course.” With what little control he had left he turned and left the atrium. Once the doors closed behind him he leaned against them. She’s taken my soul, my dove…

—————————

Taglist: @melodygatesauthor @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @ominoose @romana-after-dark @lunar-ghoulie @flowercrownonapegion @howellatme @mooksmouse @ahookedheroespureheart @beezusvreeland @auntiegigi @moonkxight-blog @faretheeoscar

[kleinblue52]

Sorry for the silly food metaphor, but watching Interview with the Vampire every week is like... eating the most decadent chocolate truffle you can think of, made of the richest, darkest chocolate which perfectly blends with the strongest, most fragrant of liqueurs and a hint of zingy red berry and as it melts in your mouth in a sensual explosion of warmth and pleasure you feel equal parts guilty and grateful that such a forbidden delicacy exists.

I had never experienced a TV show like this. The only other experiences that I can compare it to are Golden Age Hollywood melodramas, especially Sirk's, and the best creations of Oscar Wilde, Alexandre Dumas fils and E.M. Forster.

The exquisite, extravagant, luxurious beauty of it all, the depravity and the doom and the romance, so perfectly balanced by Daniel's dry humor that makes suspension of disbelief so intriguing because there's always that hint of a doubt about what is the truth and what is decadent embellishment by the two most unreliable narrators in the world... God I hope this show goes on for as long as the creators want, whenever that is it needs to go out in a blaze of glory.