#of what he wears or like him for his personality and character

[dollniu]

late nite spicy headcanons 🌃💋 — JJK MEN

SYNOPSIS — short NSFW headcanons for ur pleasure 🎀

PAIRINGS — sukuna x f!reader, gojo x f!reader, nanami x f!reader, toji x f!reader, ino x f!reader, choso x f!reader, higuruma x f!reader

CONTENT — degradation, praise, blood play, oral, throat fucking, fingering, orgasm control, begging, masochism, sadism, raw (no protection, no lube), hickeys/marks, cyber sex, etc!

A/N — MDNI 🔞, if u have any characters you want headcanons of, lmk ! 💋

SUKUNA — “you’re my pathetic little play thing, doll.”

- there’s nothing sukuna loves more than seeing you at his feet, begging to be fucked, touched anything. and neglecting your desires only makes him crave you more

- he is absolutely cruel during sex, only using you as practically a sex toy and making you cum over and over again

- sukuna is loves torturing you, making you cry from overstimulation while he’s fucking you while you beg him to stop but he knows damn well that you want to be screaming his name alllll night

- he def has 2 dicks and he uses that shit to his advantage, double penetration EVERY. TIME.

- he bites. hard. like till you’re bleeding and he’s licking up that sweet crimson blood, savoring the taste of you

- sukuna calls you disgusting names, making you feel practically worthless and only living as his personal sex toy!

GOJO — “yeah? you want me to keep going? too bad, sweetheart.”

- gojo is the biggest tease you’ll ever meet, especially in bed. he’ll edge you for what feels like hours just to see you begging on your knees to cum

- he has a collection of sex toys he uses on you, a box sits besides the bed you share full of various dildos, vibrators, rose toys, you name it!

- whenever he has a bad day, you can tell just by the way he barges into your room and rips your clothes off. he doesn’t spare a second before he’s already inside you, fucking the absolute living shit out of you bc gojo likes it rough.

- he loves being overstimulated! whether it’s you bouncing on his dick, giving him the most toe-curling blow kob imaginable, or hand jobs that follow with him moaning your name, he fucking loves the dizziness and utter ecstasy of it

- there’s nothing gojo loves more than shower sex, or even bath sex! fucking you against the marble shower wall with the hot steam making it hard to breathe, he’s not stopping till he’s finished with you 🙏

- eye contact. whenever he stares down at you while he’s mercilessly fucking you and gazing at the mess he’s made upon him, it drives him absolutely crazy. he even forces you to look at him, grabbing your face while whispering in your ear “you’re mine.”

NANAMI — “i’ll be gentle at first, but i dont think i can control myself when you’re looking at me like that..”

- nanami has a breeding kink. cumming inside you and thrusting further into you just to see his cum spilling out of you is one of the best pleasures in life !

- hes very gentle and never wants to hurt you, but if you tell him to be rough.. oh he’s rough. like breaking the bed and making you cum five times consecutively kinda rough

- usually, he’s in his office working all day and usually night. so seeing an explicit photo of you with your tits out on deck will 100% make him call off of work just to go home and fuck the shit out of you

- he loves fucking you with your back on his office desk, looking down at you while he’s pounding you, seeing your eyes roll back from pleasure, it only makes him fuck you even harder 💋

- seeing you wearing nothing but his dress shirt sends him into an actual frenzy, something about you wearing his clothes never fails to make him hard. (usually leading to him eating you out from underneath the shirt 🤭)

TOJI — “such a filthy whore, taking my dick so good, huh?”

- toji is the KING of raw sex. like he refuses to wear a condom because the feeling of your pussy perfectly wrapped around his huge dick is fucking heavenly

- he lovesss throat fucking, ur head is basically the same size as his dick and he knows damn well you can’t take all of him but he makes it work 🫣

- hair pulling, this man will be fucking you from the back and pull at your hair to force you to look at him. “such a pretty little slut, you like it when i fuck you?”

- he will fuck you wherever whenever, if you’re in the kitchen? he’s fucking you on the kitchen counter. in the shower? he’s fucking you against the shower marble walls. in bed? he’s breaking the bed.

- he will leave hickeys and bite marks ALL OVER YOU. especially on your neck because he wants to make sure everyone knows that he’s yours and yours only. plus he knows all your sweet spots and the exact places that make you arch your back.

- loves getting his hair played while he’s eating pussy fr, he doesnt admit it cuz he says it’s embarrassing but he def gets a hard on from it

INO — “are you close? i’m close too..”

- ino is a switch, there’s no doubt about that. sometimes, he loves how overstimulated he gets when you’re giving him a blow job or a handy, basically begging you to let him cum. or he’s pounding you like it’s so tomorrow, making you cum over and over again.

- he’s very auditory, he becomes a complete babbling mess when he’s having sex with you which always results in low whimpers and moaning your name. yes, he is a loud in bed guys.

- he’s super experimental, he’s tried basically everything with you and wants to try more! he surprisingly liked getting fingered which he’s too embarrassed to admit but still begs for it in the end

- ino likes being called a good boy 😵‍💫

- he likes betting whos gonna cum first, which usually results in the nastiest roughest sex of edging and begging to cum and loud moans and pleads, his favorite of course

- he always makes you laugh during sex, like this man will put on a whole show because we all know his dramatic ass will not keep his mouth shut 😭

CHOSO — “please.. keep going— don’t stop please!”

- choso will do absolutely anything to make you feel good, he CUMS just from eating you out and hearing your sweet moans 💋 doing literally anything to make you scream his name is enough to make him die happy

- he’s a crier, like on his knees begging for you to let him cum with wet tears flowing from his eyes from overstimulation. he absolutely loves it when you neglect him of his wishes no matter how torturous it is

- he LOVES lacey clothing, whether it’s lacey bra and underwear sets, lacey sleeping dresses, he won’t be able to contain himself and fuck you right there on the spot

- orgasm control, one of his most loved (and hated) things in bed. whether it’s you or him, he loves it when you stop just before he’s gonna cum just for you to ride him faster and rougher 🤭 and if you’ve been a good girl, he might just let you cum too 🎀

- he can fuck you over and over again till your sopping, pathetic, overstimulated mess. like at least 10 rounds because he can’t get enough of youu

HIGURUMA — “you’re so good for me.. let me let you feel good too, hun.”

- we love our big nosed king, and as we all know what doja cat said— we riding his mf nose 😫 he loves it when you sit on his face with your thighs wrapped around his head, hearing the loud moans come out from you when he teases your clit with the tip of his tongue, absolutely glorious

- he WILL call you a good girl and shower you in praise and soft kisses, this doesn’t mean he won’t fuck you like a whore though!

- when he’s away at work, he’s usually gone all day all night— sometimes not coming home at all :(( because of this, having cyber sex practically every night has been beneficial because higuruma can’t stand not seeing you completely naked for a single day. jerking off on call together, seeing each other pleasure yourselves while dirty talking.. he can’t get enough of it.

- bath tub sex (without his suit on this time) is just what our hard-working lawyer needs after a long day. riding his dick in the hot steaming water.. he can’t get enough of how good you feel wrapped around his dick like that

[stormgardenscurse]

pillow stacks

Summary: Sleeping over with them! Ace’s is longer in honour of his birthday!

Characters: Ace, Vil, Azul, Charming Stranger (that new Gojo-guy in the next halloween event)

Ace

The idea begins when Ace realises how quiet Ramshackle Dorm is at night. Sure, you say that you’re used to it and it’s not a big deal, but a part of Ace feels bad for not realising that no matter how he and Deuce may try to liven up your daily life, you still are, first and foremost, a student displaced in another world.

And with that comes a certain sense of loneliness that Ace can’t stop thinking about. At this point, it’s less pity that he feels for you and more of a desire to hang out with you after your usual hours. He wants you to feel like you have a home in Twisted Wonderland, too. And, well… He’d like to include you in his, by letting you into his personal world, if he has the chance.

…Which is why you’re here now! Doing typical things like a movie marathon, nail painting, and snacking on cup noodles. Ace claims that everyone just needs some TLC once in a while (including him, though you can’t imagine what’s stressing him out), so he’ll even let you do his nails (if you do a bad job Ace will have his revenge by doing your makeup after).

But Ace has always been a best friend who involves you in everything, so the activities up until now haven’t really struck either of you with a sense of ‘something more’ yet. That is, until you guys were fighting over the makeup palette and it stains your shirt - you didn’t bring a spare, so it was left to Ace to give you one of his instead.

That was the moment Ace realised that not only was he dressing you up, but he was doing so in his clothes; just what kind of crazy scenario is that?!

Suffice to say, he couldn’t help but stare as he saw the way one of his baggier shirts looked on your frame. It had to be one of his sleepwears too, which most people wouldn’t see him in - which only makes his thoughts race even further, knowing that this was a side of you that only he would be privy to. And he’d very much keep it like that. 

(The next day, Ace just borrows you one of his uniform’s dress-shirts so that you can escape the dorm without looking too suspicious. You get caught regardless because he’d forgotten to retrieve one of his hair pins from you, in the design of a bright red cherry.)

Vil

It’s not often that you get to spend a quiet evening with Vil (or simply a quiet, extended amount of time at all, considering how busy the both of you are). So to summarise the sleepover as therapeutic wouldn’t be too far off.

Vil wastes no time in beginning an elaborate skincare routine, and the two of you watch movies while waiting for your face masks to dry. 

You even manage to convince Vil to try one of your favourite games. If it’s for two-players, you’ll quickly get engrossed and experience a bit of drama (just typical, childish arguments about how one of you keep falling off the platforms). If it’s a visual novel or otome type of thing, you finally have the chance to witness what Vil Schoenheit, real-life celebrity and crush of thousands, has to say about romancing a 2D fictional man who is pretty, by the game’s standards, and critique how the storyline goes. 

Spoiler: he thinks you just decided to torture him for your entertainment, specifically because you chose an otome where the male leads were all pigeons. 

In the case where you played a normal two-player game, Vil will ultimately try and fail to forget about it so that he doesn’t get addicted/distracted by the game in the next few days, but of course, you soon get asked when you’ll next be free to play. He needs to get the ending over with so that he can move on with his life.

Your main souvenir from the sleepover is a new phone wallpaper — which Vil swapped for you when you were still setting up the game on your laptop. It’s a selfie with the two of you together, a far-cry from the usual celebrity and prefect personas you wear in everyday life.

Azul

No one can fathom how you managed to convince Azul to do this. Even with the pretence of this being a study-sleepover, he was generally much too self conscious about how he’s presented to let people witness him unguarded — let alone sleepwear.

Azul’s stuck; he can’t wear anything too tight fitting or hugging his silhouette because he knows he’ll just be too busy stealing glances, checking to see your reaction and overthinking about whether it’s a good one or not. So, instead, Azul wears something baggier (very unlike him), which also covers all his skin.

His plan works pretty well, up until the point where you almost roll off the bed by accident, and while catching you, Azul realises - ears red and face following - that you were leaning your entire weight on him. And your hands are right on his abs.

It’s almost phantom-like how fast the two of you dart away, trying to salvage your dignities. You’re left flustered because his muscles felt unexpectedly defined, while Azul is considering if he should make a contract with you and try to confiscate your memories of the past minute.

The paper that you both were working on is submitted successfully the next day, but Professor Trein notices an embarrassing spelling error on your names.

Just what could’ve caused this kind of mistake anyways? Well… it may have to do with your innocent question of how your names would be written together if you had the same surname instead. 

Just yours ‘and Azul Ashengrotto’ together in one line, or separately as you ‘Ashengrotto and Azul Ashengrotto’? Wouldn’t that sound redundant?

Azul had quite enough of your questions after that, scribbling your names and shutting the folder like his life depended on it. He’d forgotten to include your surname, making it look like the former hypothetical above.

Charming Stranger (Pumpkin King, Gojo twst, etc)

For a second, you thought you’d woken up in yet another coffin like the one that brought you to Twisted Wonderland. But you were soon proven wrong as someone cleared their throat next to you, causing you to jump and hit your head against the coffin door in your alarm.

It’s more spacious than you realise, accommodating a man beside you without it feeling too crushed. But judging by the lack of panic on your part about how claustrophobic it is, you assume that this was some sort of odd dream.

An odd dream with a charming-looking stranger. Perhaps you wouldn’t want to wake up just yet.

The stranger welcomes you to his humble abode, mentioning that it’s the first time that anyone has entered here other than himself. That ought to make you quite special, seeing as he doesn’t even feel irritated by the lack of space. Are you perhaps a ghost seeking some warmth? He regrets to inform you that his vessel is equally as cold as the ‘bed’ around you.

He’s also quite enamoured by your nickname for him. ‘It makes it sound like we’re in a romantic tale~ If you do not mind dancing in a graveyard of wilted flowers, then I would be more than happy to share a never-ending waltz with you.’

You bat off his comments, saying you probably won’t meet again after this - only to be taken aback by his smile.

Confident, knowing, and stretched as wide as a jack-o-lantern’s mouth. For a second it finally hits you that he is a type of powerful being, and that if he wanted to, may gain a permanent hold on your soul.

Then, the alarm flees your veins as his expression relaxes, taking your hand to place a parting kiss on your knuckles. Until you meet again…

Like how most dreams evade memory, you’ve already forgotten about this encounter the next time you see this man. His eyes land on you within he crowd of students at the college, and seems delighted that you’re there.

A wink, a finger to his lips. Just wait a little longer, and you can share that waltz he promised you atop his bed.

[saffusthings]

Baby I Can Feel Your Halo

oscar piastri x personal assistant! reader

summary: the one where the world gets to become familiar with a new name: Y/N L/N. word count: 8.4k warnings: awkwardness, my attempt and poetic writing, poor understanding of how film and media works, Lando as a bit of a side character, poorly edited writing a/n: i can't tell whether this is half decent or nonsensical. inspired by That Viral Interview. i have a soft spot for this part of the story, so i hope you guys are able to like it too.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

She’s going to kill him.

Clicking her phone on to check the time for the umpteenth time as if it will make this stupid elevator go any faster, she lets out a huff. The tapping of her shoe acts as a placebo, perhaps. Or maybe this elevator is actually getting slower-

When the metal gates finally part, she bolts. As gracefully as one can, she awkwardly half-run, half power walks past the hall of doors until she reaches Room 307.

She doesn’t even pretend to knock. Glancing at her phone one more time - 27 calls - she slips a plastic card from the lanyard around her neck. When it beeps, flashing green, the door opens with a click, allowing her to storm in.

To her credit, she at least waits for the door to close before she yells.

“Oscar Jack Piastri!”

Oscar wakes to a fire. Or at least that’s what he has to assume is happening, considering someone is screaming his name at full volume. Eyelids barely open, he immediately sits up in bed. “M’awake! Jesus, give me a second,” he mumbles, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes.

Tossing him his pants that had been hanging in his closet, she goes around, picking up any stray items. “Put some pants on,” she grumbles. “C’mon get up, we’re already-”

“-running late,” he says defeatedly, eyes landing on the bedside alarm clock. 

When he finally steps out of the bathroom, his brows are scrunched in confusion. She’s typing something on her phone, and definitely not trying not to look at him.

It’s been over a week since their almost-kiss in her office. She’s no rookie, she’s been more than professional since, knowing she can’t risk this. But a small part of her can’t help but think of how close his lips had been to her anytime she’s standing close enough to smell his familiar cologne. 

She’s interrupted from her thoughts by the sound of Oscar’s voice, her thumb still hovering over her phone from her long forgotten text.

Trying to get the swoop of his hair to land in some sane looking way, he gestures to the pine green sweater spread out for him on the bed, the one she insisted he wear. “You sure about this?”

He watches her as she knits her eyebrows together as she gives him the once over. “Yes. You look good in green,” she explains, still entirely absorbed in sending an e-mail to their media liaison.

It’s only once he’s finally dressed that she gets up and gives him a look over. Her lips purse before she motions for him to stand closer. “C’mere.”

She aligns the seams that are supposed to trace along his shoulder, before using her hands to smooth out any wrinkles in the soft fabric. She stands back for a moment, before coming closer again, and pulling his sleeves up just a bit in a way that exposes some of his forearm. Assessing it one more, and seeming content with how it looks, before doing the same to his other sleeve.

Entirely unaware of the chaos his cardiovascular system seems to be undergoing, she gives him one last look over, and wipes a bit of excess moisturizer that had been left on his nose.

“There we go,” she says with a small smile. 

Grabbing her things, she stands at the door before looking back for him. “Ready?”

“Yeah,” he says slowly, patting his pockets and searching the hastily made bed. “Just…”

“Good to go,” he announces, swiping his phone off the bedside table, and tucking into his pocket before following her into the hall. “Where are we headed?”

“They’ve set up in one of the conference rooms near the swimming pool” she says from over her shoulder as they make their way down. “It’s some Australian channel looking to do a segment on their hometown hero, so it should be a safe set. Of course, if they veer off course, let me know and I’ll take care of it. ”

“Will you be there? Or are you headed back to the office?” Oscar asks. His tone makes it difficult to differentiate whether he's nervous, wary, or doesn’t want her to be there, but he hopes she understands anyway. 

“Yep,” she replies, smiling. Oscar wonders why his chest feels warm. 

“That’s my job, remember?” 

When he gets to hair and make-up, he can’t help but feel more than a little lost. Not because of the makeup, certainly - god knows Hattie has tested more than enough ‘smokey eyes’ on him - but rather because when he sits in the chair, the woman immediately asks what kind of look he wants to go for.

Huh?

He looks over to Y/N with desperate eyes. 

Help me, please.

She’s quick to walk over and greet Lindsay, his stylist for today, with a warm smile. Once she’s sure that the stylist is okay with taking recommendations, the rest of it comes easily.

“We’ll wanna do some powder to counter the glare from the studio lights,’ she suggests, glancing at the woman for approval. Tilting Oscar’s face, the two women survey him analytically.

“It’s up to you if you want to add a little warmth, but no blush or color corrector or anything like that. And then his hair looks good like this, so we don’t need to do anything there. How does that sound?”

The elder woman nods in agreement before pointing at different parts of Oscar’s face and mumbling somethings to Y/N who nods along thoughtfully. 

Finally, he’s left at the mercy of his stylist, as Y/N walks away.

Once the mic checks are complete and the people behind the large lights give the go ahead, one of the employees counts off the seconds before the cameras start recording.

Oscar spends those seconds looking over to wherever she is. She’s stood by one of the people carrying a large white panel, watching on to make sure everything runs smoothly. They’ve done this dance probably dozens of times, but the buzzing lessens once he assures himself that she’s still in the vicinity. 

He watches her nod, giving him a reassuring smile, and then, Oscar is ready.

“And cameras are rolling 5… 4… 3… 2… 1.”

“We’re here now with Oscar Piastri,” the host says with a warm smile, “now in his second year of representing Australia in the highest level of motorsport - Formula One. Thank you so much for joining us, Oscar.”

“Of course, thank you for having me,” Oscar smiles, that polite cat smile that’s become associated with his name. “Just Oscar, is usually fine though,” he jokes, never one to feel too comfortable with high praise. The host laughs good naturedly, “Oh, the boy’s got jokes now, does he?“ Oscar seems to glow in the spotlight. Something about him, even in front of  the cameras, seems to radiate comfort, familiarity. Even on TV, even with his rising stardom, his laidback posture and the crinkle around his eyes when he smiles suggests that he could be the boy next door, that he could be your boy next door. The cameras are not the only thing focused on him. “So Oscar, not sure if you remember, but you did a sit-down with us last year as well.” “Of course. I don’t forget that easily, Mick,” the driver replies easily. “I’m not that old.” “No, no, in fact, you’re quite young aren’t you? Only 23 and already in your second year of Formula 1.” “Yeah, feels a bit strange when you say it like that,” Oscar chuckles, “but yeah. It’s been a bit of a wild ride.” Mickie smiles. “One year closer to retirement, I imagine?”

“God no,” Oscar scoffs, shifting in his seat to get a bit more comfortable. He looks more relaxed this way, more open. “I’m not leaving without a championship, so you’ll be seeing me around for a while. Sorry to disappoint.” Laughing good naturedly, the older man shakes his head. “Far from it. You’re a hometown hero. You’ve got everyone here rooting for you,” he tells him, gesturing to the crew around them.” Smiling gratefully, Oscar nods. “Yeah, I’ve been pretty lucky with all the support. That always makes a difference.” “I’m sure it does. Who would you say are your biggest supporters?” “My parents, for sure. I’m sure there’s a clip of my mom talking about my… let's call them oddities, as a child,” Oscar laughs, referring to his habit of make-believing as a car around the house, or how he wanted car magazines read to him instead of bedtime stories. “If they hadn’t put up with me through that, there’s no way I’d be here now.” It’s clear as day that beneath the thin film of humor, there’s a chasm of sincerity. He really does love his family - always making time to call them during long trips away or even just because. Working on media with Oscar is (usually) pleasant for that same reason - you don’t have to give him PR-written responses or pre-plan his anecdotes to make the audience fall in love with him. He tells the truth, and they can’t help but fall in love all on their own. “I’ve also got other supporters too. Silent supporters, I guess you could call them, since you all don’t see their faces as much. But my sisters, my team, Y/N, the fans - they are the reasons I get to live my dream everyday.” Mickie nods in acknowledgement. “Of course. Though I see we’re name dropping now,” he teases. Oscar looks up at him, mild panic hidden behind his eyes. He’s only just about to adjust his cap - a predetermined signal to Y/N that he needs her to intervene somehow - when Mickie interrupts his train of thought. “You mentioned Y/N as one of your supporters. Could you tell us a bit more about that?” When Oscar looks at the man with the salt and pepper hair, he doesn’t see the usual malice or hunger that many reporters would have if they had been in the same position. Mickie has been good to him and his team in the past - not coming off as a dog with a bone, but instead as an easy conversationalist who happens to be genuinely curious about Oscar and his life. The young driver recovers easily from his momentary scare. “Oh, yeah. Y/N’s definitely one of my greatest supports. I’d tell you all that she works for me, but I think she might poison my coffee if I did that.” The two share a laugh, easing Oscar’s nerves a little. He subtly adjusts his watch instead.

It’s alright, I got it.

From behind the cameras, Y/N takes a small breath of relief. Though she’s pleased the conversation didn’t take a turn for the rumor mill, she’ll still be a little on edge anytime her driver is in the media’s playpen.

“Alright then. Without risking your coffee, what can you tell us then? That’s not a name we’ve heard too often around the paddock.”

“Yeah, I mean. It’s a shame too - she’s supposed to be my assistant, but with how much she’s involved in everything, we might have to come up with a better title for her,” Oscar smiles easily. Mickie gives him a smile, straightening his notecards into a neat stack. “Is that so? Must be high praise, coming from a big-shot like yourself.” The air is pleasant, the conversation flowing naturally. Even as an observer, the scene could almost be mistaken for a casual chat in a living room somewhere. Oscar shakes his head. “Not enough, actually. When I say I wouldn’t be here without her, I mean it literally. If she hadn’t come to my rescue this morning, I’d probably still be in bed!” Mick leans over, laughing. “Glad to see how much you value our time here together, Oscar!” “Even if I did, I value my sleep more,” Oscar deadpans, a sly smile on his face. “I don’t envy her job, not in the slightest.” “Fair enough, fair enough.” The conversation makes its own way from there - Oscar’s goals for this year, what people can expect from the team this season, how the new car has been. 

“So what I’m hearing is that we have a promising season ahead?”

“I mean, every season looks promising at the start really, but yeah, I have a good feeling about this one. Cautiously optimistic, we’ll call it.” “Well I’m sure I’m not the only one when I say that I can’t wait to see what you have in store for us this season, Oscar.” “Wow, no pressure there. Thanks, though.”

The two share a laugh. It’s getting closer to the end of the segment, but with some time remaining. Mickie decides to take the conversation in a different direction. “Now that we’re done with all the shop talk.” he starts. “I was wondering if you could tell us what Formula 1 has been like for you personally. Last time around, during your rookie season, you mentioned that the intensity of the training and the magnitude of the races were some of the things that took some getting used to. Would you say the same is true now, or have you gotten used to it?” Oscar nods, thoughtful. “Yeah, I mean, your rookie season is always an adjustment. It took me some time to get used to that stuff, and I’d say I’m better at it now,” he answers honestly. “But that doesn't mean there aren’t still things I’m learning to get used to.” “What kind of things?” “As you can probably tell, the time zones are one thing,” he laughs, animatedly gesturing to where his eye bags would be. For a second, there’s silence as he’s given a moment to think, before he finally speaks again. “I’d say the people, too.”

“The drivers, the teams, or the fans?” Mick asks curiously. “The fans are pretty great,” he tells him. “But I think I meant like the drivers and their teams?”  Oscar tries to explain. “Like, you have to understand that there’s so many people in this complex machine that is Formula 1. And every single person that’s there, is because they’ve got this insane drive to win - that includes the drivers, of course, but the engineers, and the strategists, and the trainers too.”

“Tell me a bit more about that.”

“I mean, like, even in Formula 2, with Prema, there was a certain level of friendship and camaraderie that gets overshadowed in Formula 1, because of just how competitive everything is,” he explains, gesturing with his hands. “It’s crazy how the drivers flip a switch for lights out or the chequered flag, because that’s what comes with competing at the highest level.”

The host nods, making an effort to understand.

“Would you say it strains relationships then? This sort of… dual personality that you and the other drivers have to have?”

“Honestly. To some degree, I imagine it has to. But that doesn’t mean we can’t be friendly with one another.”

“You’d mentioned earlier this year, in an interview with your company Quadlock, actually, where they asked you if you had any mates on the grid, and you replied with…” Oscar chuckles shyly, recalling the moment. “No friends, only enemies,” he quotes himself. “Exactly,” the older man chuckles. “Would you say the same is true for you now?” “The honest answer would be yes and no.” The man sitting across from Oscar raises an eyebrow at this, intrigued. “When you live in that bubble with people that are, at their core, just as competitive as you are..” he trails off, contemplating how to phrase it. “Let’s just say it has an interesting way of showing you who your friends and your enemies are.”

“And has it?” Mick asks genuinely. “Shown you your friends, I mean?” Oscar takes a breath before replying. “I mean, of course. There’s Lando, y’know - as my teammate, he’s always my greatest competitor but also the only one who can kind of understand where I’m coming from. Logan, also - you know we grew up through the lower Formulas together. He and I have been teammates in the past too, so it’s nice to have an old friend on the grid. Y/N too, y’know - we’re pretty close in age, and she’s really been there for the highs and the lows.”

“We’ve seen you interact with Logan and with Lando, but what would you say your friendship with Y/N is like?”

“I mean, we work together, so a lot of it comes from that,” he shrugs, not wanting to slip up and say the wrong thing. He signed up for the spotlight, but putting his assistant, his friend there without discussing it with her would be unfair.

“We work in tandem, you see - she takes care of everything outside the car, while I take care of everything in it.”

The interviewer hums thoughtfully. “That sounds like a dynamic that requires a lot of trust, I’d say.”

“Maybe, but she hasn’t let me down even once in two years.” For a moment, for a fraction of a second it feels like Oscar’s eyes glance in the direction of where she’s standing with the tech crew, but it must be a trick of her imagination. They’re standing in the shadows, and it’d be a stretch for her to think that he could even see her in the first place. “Not even once.”

“Would you say your friendship complicates this dynamic, or simplifies it?”

“Helps, definitely. Easier to get out of media duties that way,” Oscar jokes. Mickie laughs easily at that, before focusing on the subject once again.

“Really?  You two don’t face any challenges with that? I’d imagine with the other drivers that that boundary is a bit more clear, what with them being your competitors and all.” Oscar lips press together, his tongue subtly running over his lower lip to soothe the pressure. “I think maybe if it were someone else, then it would be. But not with her.“

Looking over to the armchair, he can see that the other man looks surprised. 

“You seem quite confident in saying that.”

“I am,” he says bluntly. Why wouldn’t he be?

“And what inspires that confidence?”

“Just who she is, really, “ Oscar answers with a shrug. On the other side of the room, Y/N waits for a signal that never comes. 

What the hell is he doing? 

This was most definitely not one of the agreed topics for tonight’s show.

“How do you mean?” Mickie can’t help but inquire.

“I mean the obvious thing to say here would be to say that we’re close in age,” Oscar starts, gesturing. “But it really is more than that. I’m lucky to work with an immensely talented team, especially with all the fresh talent McLaren’s brought on board this year.”

“Of course.”

“But as for her in particular…” The blonde seems to think for a minute. “I think, that in order for someone to understand how we work, they’d have to understand how she works,” he muses.

“And how’s that?”

“She’s like the light you need in order to see. With her perspective, her input,  the fundamental way in which she operates - things make sense. She makes things make sense, really - whether that’s logistically, or with the car, and especially with me.”

The words tumble out of his mouth before he can even know what he’s thinking. The tricky thing about this cozy lounge setup that he’s seated in is that, from her,  it looks nothing like the studios and press conferences and media pens that they’re used to. Here, there are no clambering reporters, no flashing cameras, no microphones shoved in his face.

It’s easier to forget that the world is watching.

“It’s a bit unfortunate that the fans watching this don’t get to see her as we do,” he says with a serious expression. “Because it’s hard to describe her personality, or even just her role if you haven’t existed in her orbit. There’s this… this spark that ignites with everything she interacts with.”

Oscar finds himself thinking of everything that happened on the road so far, every step that led them here. All he knows for certain is that his confidence is not unfounded. Sure, things were… less than ideal at the moment, but they’d go back to normal. He knew they would, he was sure of it.

Not so much because Oscar had a plan, but rather because he didn’t know what to do if they didn’t. They’d figure it out - that was their thing, after all.

He’s disturbed from his thoughts by the voice of another.

“A spark?” the older man prompts with a smile.

It’s almost frustrating when the words don’t come fast enough to keep up with his mind.

“When you’re expected to function at the highest levels, there’s a lot of moving parts underneath the shiny cover that no one really tells you about. Y/N has this intuitive sense and this unlearnable skill to take apart the most challenging complexities and put them back together into something wonderful.”

The studio falls silent. 

“She sounds lucky,” Mick offers sincerely.

Oscar laughs dryly. “The way I see it, I’m the lucky one. McLaren certainly is.”

Mickie’s expression is open, leaving the silence available for him to fill.

Oscar, on the other hand, isn’t quite sure how they ended up here. Talking about Y/N wasn’t a preplanned part of the segment, but he doesn’t seem to mind. It’s surprisingly nice to talk about something besides how hot it is in the car or the rabbit food  athletes have to eat or his opinions on the championship standings. 

And it probably doesn’t hurt that talking about her is really quite easy.

“It’s an incredible gift to meet someone who complements each of your strengths and your weaknesses completely. And if that person happens to be someone who can somehow challenge you and support you simultaneously, then there’s nothing more that I need.”

The boom mic edges closer to the stage setup, careful not to enter the cameras’ parameters of visibility. There’s a shift in tone that’s apparent, something curious and authentic that seems to wash across the studio and everyone in it.

“Will we be seeing this dynamic duo in action anytime soon then?” the interviewer asks, charismatically guiding the conversation towards its conclusion.

“I sure hope so. Maybe you guys can finally convince her to do some of those McLaren challenges with us,” Oscar smiles widely, that dorky, lopsided smile of his. “Trust me, I tried, but somehow she won’t let me drive her around for a Hot Lap. Wonder why that is,” he shrugs, before both men share a laugh.

A hand in the dark silently signals for them to wrap up, indicating that the segment must come to an end.

“Well then, Oscar I see we’re being told to wrap,” he smiles, glancing over in the direction of the crew. Both men begin to go to stand up, extending their arms for a friendly handshake.

“Thank you so much for joining us once again. As always, it was a pleasure, and I know I speak for everyone here at Down Under Daily when I say that we can’t wait to see what the future has in store for you.”

Oscar nods, smiling, giving the man a firm handshake. “Thank you.”

Once the segment wraps up and the overhead lights come back on, the studio buzzes with the hum of activity. Uniformed crew members unpack and disassemble various machines and setups, beginning to clear out the studio. Oscar glances around, but his gaze keeps drifting back to Y/N, who stands a few feet away, chatting with one of the technicians. Her laughter cuts through the noise, bright and genuine, making something warm unfurl in his chest.

“Hey,” he calls out, a casual attempt to draw her attention. When she turns, their eyes lock, and for a moment, the world around them blurs. There’s something in her expression that sends a jolt through him, a flicker of recognition and a hint of something deeper.

“Hey,” she replies, her smile easy but layered, like they’re sharing some inside joke that only they understand. He shifts slightly, suddenly a bit squirmish under her undivided attention.

Not that he gets squirmish, of course. Oscar is the picture of cool and collected.

As her eyes scan him, she notes the slight flush of his skin, the way the muscles of his face are tense ever so slightly. It’s honestly a bit refreshing to see someone who isn’t always unfazed by it all, she thinks. She does her best to offer him a reassuring smile.

“That went well,” she comments, her voice carrying a lightness that contrasts with the tension simmering beneath the surface. It’s the kind of praise that makes him feel seen, but also a bit exposed.

“Thanks. Couldn’t have done it without you,” he responds, his tone sincere. Oscar isn’t one of those fools who thinks the whole orchestra runs around him. Even  if it did, his mother didn’t raise him to be any bit unappreciative to everyone who works behind the scenes for his successes. He knows she’s more than just an assistant; she’s the one who keeps everything in motion, the anchor in the chaos.

Her gaze lingers on him, and for a moment, the air between them thickens. He’s acutely aware of the distance that’s very much there, yet it feels charged, like static before a storm. “I just do what I can,” she says softly, brushing a loose lock of hair behind her ear—an action so simple, yet watching it feels intimate.

Oscar looks away.

The moment stretches, and he senses a shift, a palpable tension that neither of them is ready to address. Memories of their almost-kiss hang between them, unacknowledged yet ever-present. He wonders if she feels it too, this strange blend of familiarity and hesitation.

The silence is uncomfortable in a familiar way, like the awkward pause that occurs when you can’t decide who should speak first. Oscar even opens his mouth to try to say something - though he’s not sure what - Y/N beats him to it.

“How’re you feeling?” she asks, her tone casual, but he detects a deeper curiosity behind her question.

“I guess just… figuring things out,” he replies, glancing down for a moment as he gathers his thoughts. There’s moments in the midst of the whirlwind of fame and fortune where it all truly feels surreal. Young Oscar always aspired to go fast, to push himself to the limit, to win, but this?

The spotlight, the admiration , the respect, the expectations? It was almost overwhelming, a heavy medal hanging around his neck that he’s still not used to wearing. Especially with the number of people that work day and night to give him a fighting chance at making his childhood dreams into reality, there’s no greater expectation than the one Oscar places on himself.

“Trying to get it right still, I suppose.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, nodding, her eyes searching his. There’s an intensity in her gaze that makes his heart race, as if she’s peering into the part of him he keeps to himself. Briefly, he wonders if she can read his thoughts sometimes.

Like on one of those teleprompters they use for broadcasts and award shows.

He wants to say more, to delve into this strange thing swirling between them, but the words feel stuck, caught in a web. The awkwardness between them might as well be a loose screw in his car - keeping him at the edge of his seat as he navigates the clunkiness that replaces the flow he’s used to. “I keep waiting to get used to it, but it never seems to happen,” he says finally, hoping to keep the conversation light.

“True,” she agrees, her smile faint but genuine. “But you manage.”

“Most of the time,” he admits, letting out a soft laugh that feels half-hearted, both playful and tinged with something meaningful. Oscar may have grown into this suave, clever, mature personality that he’s recognized for, but there are times when he still feels like the lanky teen with the acne and the too-short hair that climbed into a Formula car that very first time.

As the crew clears the set, Y/N steps back, her focus shifting to the flurry of activity around them. Oscar feels the space between them widen, the moment suddenly dissipating like a whisk of smoke. He wants to reach out, to anchor her back to him, but the tide of reality keeps them away.

“Ready to head out?” she asks, her voice interrupting the stream 0f his personal thoughts. 

“Yeah,” he replies, an uncharacteristic hesitation slipping into his tone. He can feel the warmth radiating off her, and the longing rises within him, a familiar ache that refuses to fade. He elects to ignore it, in favor of using long strides to catch up with her quick ones to follow her out into the hall.

Oscar steals a glance at Y/N, her profile illuminated by the fluorescent lights, and he wonders what it would be like to bridge that gap. He recalls what it had been like the last time he'd been in such proximity to her - felt the warmth of body, the coolness of her breath, the ghost of her lips. For now, though, he settles into the silence, allowing the moment to hang between them.

Y/N leans against the small counter in her hotel room, the yellow light from the lamp seeming to warm the place. She stares at her phone, buzzing with a handful of messages, but her mind is tangled in thoughts of today’s interview. Hearing him casually mention her, smiling as he spoke, had left her feeling a mix of pride and confusion.

As she pours herself a cup of hot tea, she replays the almost-kiss in her mind - the way his breath had caught for just a moment. It felt like a line had been crossed, but they hadn’t addressed it. It hung in the air between them like an uninvited guest, and the last thing she wanted was to ruin the good thing they had.

Her phone buzzes again, the sixth time in the last half hour. This time, however, the contact name reads: Oscar. “How’s your evening?”

“Trying to figure out the chaos that is my notes,” she replies, glancing down at loose pages, and spiral books that are splattered across the coffee table.

“You always have chaos in your notes. It’s part of your charm.” His teases, knowing full well that no matter how chaotic her notes were, they were somehow still always loads better than his hurried scrawl.

The tone of the conversation feels light, teasing, friendly - but she’d be lying if she said it didn’t feel like something more—an unspoken understanding that neither of them wants to acknowledge.

“Charm, huh? I prefer to think of it as organized chaos.” She takes a sip of the warm herbal tea, now having cooled down to the temperature of her liking. It’s grounding these little rituals - which reminds her that she still needs to change out of her work clothes, maybe shower and do some skincare…

“Sure, if that makes you feel better,” he replies easily. Even just reading the words, she can practically hear the laughter in his voice. 

A moment later, he decides to add, “I was just about to put something on the TV. You in?”

In a hotel room just a ways down the hall, Oscar’s heart rate increases. What the hell are you doing? He chides himself. He feels stupid - things were already weird, and now he probably just made them even weirder.

Relax, he has to tell himself. This isn’t new - in fact, this is normal. Like before - friends, just relaxing together after a long day of work. Airplane games of monopoly, friday happy hours, movie nights - all of this was perfectly normal. Right?

Thumbs still hovering over her keyboard, she hesitates. The idea of sitting together, sharing popcorn and laughter, sounded nice, but there was the lingering possibility that things would be strange instead.

Instead she types out, “Maybe. What are you watching?”

She could use a night off, after all.

“Something mindless, one of those cable shows they have on this thing. You know, to balance all the brainpower we exert during the week.”

She had to admit, he did make it sound inviting.

“Mindless does sound good. I’ll join you.”Oscar props himself up a bit better, leaning back on his elbow. The smile on his face is lit up by the blue light of his phone screen as he reads her reply. Forcing himself out of the unexpectedly comfortable position he’d evolved into, he gets up, phone in hand, before starting to work to make his hotel room look a tad more presentable.

He was not having a repeat of this morning.

He types out a reply. “Great. I’ll set it up.”

There is a brief pause, and he wonders if he should clear the air, just in case. He really does just want to have a relaxing evening with her - it had been a long time since they last had the chance. Conjuring up some courage, he types out another message to her. “So, about the interview…”

Reading that, Y/N’s heart races. She didn’t want to overanalyze his words, but it was impossible not to. She decides to go for the safe answer. “You did well. Really.” So maybe he was just overthinking it. The praise lifts some of the weight off his chest.

“Thanks. Felt good to share some insights. And the part about you… well, it was true.”

Had he really meant all of it?

There’s a fluttering sensation in her stomach. “Just doing my job.”

“No, really. It means a lot to me. You’ve been here through so much of it.”

The sincerity of his words has her forgetting this tension for a moment, allowing it to slip into the back of her mind. They had a rhythm, a friendship built on shared experiences, but now it felt precarious.

“I just want you to succeed, Oscar,” she tells him, words honest. “That’s all.”

“And you’re doing your part brilliantly. I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you.”

His words hang in the air, thick with unspoken feelings. He’s said those same words a thousand times before, but for some reason, this one makes her heart skip. She shifts her weight, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks. 

“So, movie?” she suggested, wanting to steer the conversation away before she can get too caught up in her own messy thoughts..

“Right. I’ll get it ready.” 

Rustling the duvet to make it appear slightly less misshapen. One of his hands seeks the remote to see what’s on at this time, and tries to pick the most tolerable option. Happy with his choice, he stalk over to the other side of his room, the show in the background acting as welcome background noise.

He then pulls out two packets of microwaveable popcorn from the welcome basket that had greeted him when he checked into the room, popping each of them into the microwave so the snack would be warm by the time she arrived.

Y/N stands outside the door to Oscar’s hotel room, feeling a mix of anticipation and nerves. Sure, she could use her emergency key card, but she decides that knocking feels less criminal. She knocks, and immediately the door creaks back to reveal his familiar face. His hair is mussed up, loose locks flopping to one side or the other. Her eyes are fogging with sleep, but  the smile he wears is warm and  sweet.

“Hey! Look who made it,” Oscar teases, stepping aside to let her in.

“Thought I’d save you from another night of mediocre cable,” she replied, a playful smile on her lips. 

She hopes it comes less nervous than she feels.

“Trust me, you’re in for a treat. It’s ‘Chef’s Disaster’ tonight. Guaranteed chaos,” he says,  leading her to the couch.

When she glances at the television that’s playing, she finds scenes of various chefs - forgetting ingredients, leaving the stove on too high,  accidentally dropping their dishes.

“Ah, the best kind of TV,” she laughs, settling in beside him. The pair of them end up on opposite sides of a generously-sized, two-seater couch. Her mind begins to whir, trying to figure out if she’s sitting too far, if it’s too late to scoot a bit closer, would that make things weirder? But when she looks over to Oscar, his relaxed figure sprawled across his side of the couch, the knot in her chest loosens a little. She allows herself to get more comfortable, curling up on her seat. Finally breathing a little bit easier, she allows herself to lean back against the cushioning.

The show flickers on, and they immediately fall into a comfortable rhythm. Y/N reaches for the bowl of popcorn he’d prepared, gathering a handful of pieces to then to slip into her mouth.

They watch as the chefs try to organize their chaos into something presentable, laughing as they watch one of the younger contestants put an unseasoned chicken into the oven.

What happened to salt? Pepper? Common sense?

In the darkness of the room, their faces are lit up only by the glow of the changing scenes flickering across the TV screen. With a subtly yawn, Oscar stretches his arms, before one coincidently drapes itself across the back of the couch, right behind Y/N’s shoulders. He can feel how her hair tickles the skin of his forearm, but it only makes him smile. He’d missed this - time together, the two of them. Life had a funny way of making people feel so close and so far all at once.

When she can’t help but giggle at someone who’d forgotten to put the lid on their blending before powering it on, Oscar can’t help but look at her.

Even at this awkward distance, even with her too far to touch - he feels lucky. He’d be happy to stay like this - to only hear her laugh instead of causing it, to watch her smile from the sidelines -  just to get to be in her orbit at all. 

He wonders if the world might stop spinning on its axis if that wasn’t the case.

His certainly would.

“Okay, chef,” Oscar said, nudging her. “What’s your go-to dish?”

Turning to glance at him, she can’t help but smile. Oscar’s smile is contagious like that, she supposes.

She hums, thinking over his question for a moment.

“Honestly? I make a pretty decent chicken alfredo. You’d be impressed,” she replied, a hint of pride in her voice.

“Pasta, huh? Fancy,” he teases, wiggling his eyebrows at her. His heart does a strange fluttery thing when she laughs. “The only thing I can make reliably is scrambled eggs,” he admits, chuckling.

“Hey, scrambled eggs are a classic! Hell, all the eggs I make end up scrambled. But you should branch out,” Y/N says with mock seriousness, raising an eyebrow. “Maybe I should give you cooking lessons sometime.”

“Deal,” he says, his tone shifting slightly. Raising his hands defensively, he adds, “But no promises on the outcome.”

As they watch the chefs struggle with absurd challenges, the initial awkwardness begins to fade. They exchange jokes about the contestants, their laughter echoing off the walls. They laugh until their stomachs hurt, adding in their own commentary until there are tears in their eyes and their cheeks hurt from laughing. “I actually hate you,” she wheezes, throwing her couch cushion at him. “My nonexistent abs hurt, you asshole. Can’t you be a little more considerate?”

He catches her projectile weapon with an exaggerated ‘oof’, defending himself. “I was just providing valuable insights, really.”

The silence that settles thereafter as they try to catch their breaths is comfortable in the way that graceful snowfall is - familiar and calming, peaceful.

“What’s the worst thing you’ve ever cooked?” he asks, turning to her.

Y/N has to hold back a giggle, recalling a memory. She can’t remember how long its been since she was able to let loose like this. “I once tried to make soufflé. I think by the time I was done with it, it fell under the legal definition of what the pros call, ‘hazardous materials.’”

Oscar bursts out laughing, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “That’s a tragedy! You should’ve brought it here as a surprise.”

“I’m sure. Next time, I’ll bring my ‘signature’ dish,” she replied, rolling her eyes playfully.

Tilting her head back, she lets her eyes slip closed for a second just basking in whatever this is. It’s difficult to think of the right word for it, but quite frankly, she doesn’t care. She just wants to bottle it up and keep it with her forever. Just as they start to find that comfortable groove, a sharp knock interrupts them. Immediately, they both lift their head to turn to look in the direction of the offending sound.

“You expecting someone?” Y/N asks, her heart sinking slightly. She tries to push the feeling away. “Who is it?”

“Probably someone who doesn’t know the meaning of ‘do not disturb,’” Oscar grumbles, shaking his head as he gets up to walk over to the door.

He stands up and walks toward the door, leaving Y/N to focus on the flickering screen. But her mind drifted back to the lingering tension between them, their easy banter feeling suddenly fragile.

She nervously fixes her hair, tucking the loose strands behind her ears. Making sure she looks professional enough - and not like they were sitting a mere centimeter apart - she turns toward the door. Finally, he slides the pin aside, unlocking the door as he pulls it back.

“Who is it?” she asks him quietly.

There’s a pause for a moment, before Lando’s familiar voice calls through. “It’s me,” he replies, and Oscar seems visibly annoyed. Lando peers over Oscar’s shoulder, noting Y/N perched on one of the couches in the room.

Good, both of them were here. That’d make this a bit easier.

“You need to see this,” Lando tells them, careful to keep his tone even. Oscar nods, stepping aside and opening the door wider to allow Lando in.

“Yeah, of course. Come on in,” she replies at the same time, making sure she looks presentable. Hopefully whatever Lando has to say will save her from whatever awkwardness was probably about to ensue.

Lando pushes into the room and instantly notices that the vibe is… something. It’s *very* obvious that he’s interrupted something, but he doesn’t comment on it. 

Interesting. He files the information away for later.

Instead, he holds his phone out in front of him, a news article pulled up on the screen.

“What is it?” Oscar asks, his gaze flickering between Lando and the screen.

Lando points to the small picture in the article, and Oscar’s jaw clenches, the muscle on the side of his face visibly pulled tight. Lando observes his teammate’s reaction, before he looks over to meet Y/N’s eyes. 

“You might want to read this,” he says gently, his voice low. “You’re mentioned in it.”

That doesn’t sound right.

“I- What?”

Lando briefly wonders what the likelihood is that the ground will physically swallow him whole. Or that he might turn invisible. Or anything that means he doesn’t have to explain this.

“I don’t-“ He cuts off, struggling to put his words together, sighing. “I don’t know how they got their information, but some of these details…”

Seeing Lando - normally smiley Lando - looking so painfully neutral despite the anxiety that flashes in his eyes, feels deeply unsettling. Like dark clouds at a wedding or an empty chair at a birthday party, seeing Lando like this feels ominous, wrong.

He hands her the phone, watching her as she takes it and begins to scan the text. Words and letters blend into a blur, her eyes reading through the article - speculation after speculation on her current health status and how she got hurt. It reads less like news and more like pure gossip tabloid rumors. 

There’s an odd sinking in her chest, some muscle winding itself tighter and tighter.

She can’t stop reading it, standing eerily still. Hidden amongst this clear violation of the privacy she’s held sacred for so long are some very specific facts that only Oscar and a select few other people should be able to know and recognize. 

“This is-“ she starts quietly, her breath hitching in her chest.

It’s quiet. “This is bad.”

Her eyes continue to scan the article, and her mouth goes dry. Even when she knows it’s all mostly bullshit, there’s still a part of her that feels a little violated, like there’s suddenly not enough oxygen in the room. This is her life - her past and her trauma put on display. The most traumatic years of her life suddenly available for the whole world to read about. 

She reads it yet another time, uselessly hoping for something to change, for the words to transform or dissipate like the final wisps of a nightmare.

“One has to ask—can you really call it a "dream job" when it lands you in the ER? Y/N L/N is clearly in need of a reality check. Whispers from insiders paint the picture of a young woman entangled in a life of chaos, fueled by impulsive decisions and reckless relationships. Is she simply a victim of her surroundings, or is there a more troubling narrative at play? Recently, Y/N was hospitalized with troubling injuries: extensive bruising and a suspected concussion, allegedly the result of a wild night that spiraled out of control. Sources suggest her aggressive tendencies may have exacerbated the situation, raising alarms about her behavior and its implications for McLaren. As Y/N navigates her tumultuous life, her influence over rising star Oscar Piastri comes into question. McLaren must now confront the uncomfortable truth: her erratic behavior could endanger Piastri’s career and the team’s reputation. The last thing they need is a scandal, especially when they’re striving for excellence on and off the track. The team's efforts to sweep this under the rug hint at deeper issues within their camp. Insiders are growing increasingly concerned that Y/N’s instability could tarnish McLaren’s hard-earned image, especially as rumors circulate. As Y/N begins her recovery, the pressure mounts on McLaren to manage the fallout. Fans and sponsors alike are watching closely, and the stakes couldn’t be higher. Ultimately, the future for Y/N is uncertain. Will she take this opportunity to change her trajectory, or will she continue to spiral, jeopardizing not only her own future but also the stability of McLaren? The racing world waits with bated breath, knowing that every decision could have lasting consequences.”

Lando’s expression is sympathetic as he watches her pale. Something guilty settles in his gut - he knows he didn’t cause this, but he doesn’t know how to protect her from it either. Lando has always held loyalty so close to his chest - growing up famous at such a young age forces you to learn that lesson quickly.

It's easy, then, to understand why Lando is the way he is. He's known for his friendly personality - his charismatic charm and his easy laugh - but there are a select few which Lando considers his closest friends. Those are people he answers even in the middle of the night, the ones he’d fly across the world to be there for.

But Y/N is standing in front of him like the very ground  has been pulled from beneath her feet and he can’t do a fucking thing. 

“Um, it’s- it’s okay,” she stammers, voice shaky. She tucks her hair behind her ears again, but they were never loose in the first place. A fragile mask of calm slips over her face, a familiar trick she’s performed thousands of times before

“I can take care of this. I- I’ll take care of this.”

Her heart feels like it’s stuttering in her chest but she knows better than to show it. Taking a short breath, she whirls around to make a beeline for her office. She’ll need to make a few calls, send emails to various liaisons and communication personnel, maybe reach out to HR and PR too-

“Hey, hey, stop.” Oscar reaches out and gently wraps his fingers around his bicep, spinning her around gently to face him. His eyes are worried as he searches hers for something true. He’s seen her upset before, but now her face is pale in a way he’s never seen before.

“Oh, right,” she chuckles awkwardly, suddenly remembering. “Lando, your phone.”

She holds the phone with the article displayed on it for Lando to grab, but she eyes the device like it’s very presence is toxic. She chuckles, but the sound is high pitched and forced. “Sorry, almost forgot!”

Lando slowly takes his phone from her, his eyes flickering between his friends for a moment.

“No worries, s’fine,” he says carefully, his eyes not leaving her face. “Are you actually okay?” That’s a stupid question, you idiot.

“Me?” she asks, as if caught off guard. “Yeah, yeah! I’m fine,” she answers, waving him off.

Oscars expression is stern, unconvinced - and he doesn’t bother to hide it.

“You seem a little, uh, upset,” he says delicately, his gaze flitting to her shaking hands. He immediately looks away, not wanting to draw any attention to it. He doesn’t want her to feel exposed.

“No it’s-” horrible, she wants to say. Instead, what comes out is, “It’s okay. I’m just trying to figure out what I need to do, that’s all.”

He hesitates, his brows furrowing at her attempts to downplay what’s happening.

“And your first thought is to go work?” he points out, a small hint of accusation in his tone.

It’s like she doesn’t even hear him.

“I’m going to fix this,” she tells him, giving both of them her most convincing smile, even as the corners of her mouth threaten to twitch downward.

Breathe.

And with that, she sees herself out of the room, already planning each action she needs to set into motion. She’s going to fix this.

a/n: thank you for reading this far! feedback means a lot to me. your likes, comments, reblogs, asks - that's the only way i can tell if you like the story so pls pls pls! all the feedback!!!

[bones4thecats]

Hi, it's me again. Can I request twst with a gn reader where they meet their future child if you could 🫶🏻

➸ Twst! Future Child; Ace Trappola × S/O

Character: Ace Trappola A/N: I've read so many of these that I've wanted to write my own one, so thanks for requesting this 🫶🏻Anon! Disclaimer(s): Nothing

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗

╚═════ Ace Trappola ═══════════════════════════╝

🪅 Ace hummed as he walked around the campus, his footsteps matching the beats of the song playing in his earbuds. He was ready to go see you at your dorm in Pomefiore

🪅 As he walked around, he noticed Yuu running around with a tiny child following him. This confused Ace, as there were no children that ever came to NRC, especially one that would've known Yuu other than Cheka, and that prince was back home (he thinks)

🪅 He watched as Grim tackled the child, making them fall into the ground. Yuu then walked back and picked up the kid, next thing he knew, Grim was yelling his name and motioning for him to come over as fast as possible

🪅 Ace stepped up and looked at the young girl in Yuu's arms. The little girl was gripping onto his sleeve and messing around with his sleeve as Grim asked him what he thought the child looked like and if she was familiar

🪅 He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head lightly as he observed the child

🪅 She did look slightly like him, and her eyes did remind him of your own. But, you guys had no children so there was no way that she could be yours. Perhaps his brother had a secret love child?

"Dada!" She yelled, making everyone look at her shocked.

"Ace, you have a child?!"

"What? No! If I ever did, you think I'd let her come to this school?!"

"Ace? What's going on?"

🪅 Turning around quickly, everyone looked at you as you walked up. You were dressed up differently than you would, as you weren't wearing your Pomefiore uniform, so Yuu and Grim had to contemplate who you were for a second

"Nothing!"

"Mama!"

"Oh Great Sevens..."

🪅 Looking at the toddler, you smiled and picked her up. She just laughed and you tossed her up and down, a cute, chubby smile being placed on her cute, chubby face. Her cheeks grew a tiny rose-tone as she laughed with you

🪅 Ace flushed slightly as you messed with the baby perfectly. All of a sudden, they could hear the push of magic come through as a portal appeared out of literally nowhere

"Casi! Where are you, sweetheart!"

🪅 Everyone's eyes widened and jaws dropped as a taller and more mature-looking you came through the portal. Your hair was tied up in a messy bun as your long-sleeved yellow turtleneck with overalls popped against the more desolate colors around you all

"Oh, there you are!" Future you said.

🪅 Future! You ran up and grabbed your baby gently, hugging her as you smiled and scolded her for touching her Father's magical pen without permission, resulting in her being sent into the past

"Uhm... who are you? Because you look a lot like my girlfriend." Ace said nervously.

"She's our future wife, and mother to our child." said a taller Ace from the portal's opening.

"Wait- that's Y/N?! And you guys have a child?!" Yuu yelled.

"Yes...? Oh, we're in NRC, which means we just started dating a couple months ago. Sorry for spoiling the future, young us!" Future you said as you giggled.

🪅 You nervously smiled as you buried your face inside of your hoodie's hood, pulling the strings to keep your beyond-flustered face hidden from the surrounding people

"We should get going, Honey. Deuce said he needed us for his lesson at the Academy."

"I swear... Deuce needs to find another person to perform magic tricks. You're busy with work so much." Future you said as you walked away, your baby cooing in your arms as you walked.

🪅 While you and Future Ace walked into the portal and back to your time, baby Casi waved and yelled goodbye to you and the others in the area. And when they disappeared, Ace turned to look at you, only to see you were gone

🪅 He then pulled out his phone as messaged you

Mace-the-Ace❤️: Y'know we can make that future start earlier than intended Thorn-Hearted❤️❤️: Fuck off. Thorn-Hearted❤️❤️: love you... Mace-the-Ace❤️: Love you to! Thorn-Hearted❤️❤️: *Too Mace-the-Ace❤️: Shut up.

[see-arcane]

It's a special day in Dracula!

Jonathan experiences a flashback to the Horrors, Mina experiences bisexuality in the wild, and the poor nameless Pretty Girl in Piccadilly rides out of the story, parcel in hand and chic cartwheel hat on, oblivious to the Count stalking after her. In honor of the anonymous young lady who proves for a third time that Dracula and Mina have literally the exact same taste—Jonathan, Lucy, random beauties on the street—I wanted to take a crack at giving her an identity.

But I am also indecisive as hell, so she can be one of a number of pretty persons of note. For example…

Miss Piccadilly #1: Clarimonde

My original favorite choice, if only because I love the idea of Clarimonde still cruising around after the heartbreak she left behind in her own story, “La Morte Amoureuse” (The Dead Woman in Love), aka “Clarimonde.” She is now and always the undead Parisian party queen of my heart, but I could see her traveling around to dabble in hedonism in other corners of the world. Naturally she has to go and catch the attention of the local aristos. Human or otherwise.

But, of course, she is psychic and can read Dracula like a bloodstained book. Keep walking, bat bastard. Her vampiric voluptuousness is reserved for VIPs. (Maybe that fetching mourning couple she saw gawking in the park…)

Miss Piccadilly #2: Helen Vaughan

Oh, Helen Vaughan, elegant hostess and demigoddess horror supreme. I don’t care what Arthur Machen says, your story did not end with the conclusion of The Great God Pan. You were life and death and human and beast and all the hideous realities in-between and a mortal end could never keep you down. Especially not when you have so many paramours left to entertain! So many secrets profane and maddening to share! One of these days you’ll catch one who won’t dissolve into madness and self-destruction after a little innocent eldritch chit-chat.

Like this charming Count here! Count? Count, where are you going? Count, she just wants you to meet her dad—why are you running? Why are you running?

Miss Piccadilly #3: Luna Blue

What’s this? An OC?

Well, of course. No one’s actually naming their child Luna Blue in the late 1800s; that’s just her professional pseudonym. It’s amazing how well the spiritualist movement can work out for a girl with a knack for shuffling painted cards or chatting with the night sky and the occasional planchette. She can even boast something more than showmanship behind her skill. The sort of ‘something’ that worried Transylvanians might whisper about in fear on a certain haunted date while a likewise worried solicitor breaks out the polyglot dictionary.

She recognizes Dracula for what he is as surely as he recognizes her. No, she is not interested, voivode. Even if she was, she’d be out a benefactor within—a hard look at him here; cold and far—oh dear. Scarcely more than a month. At least by her guess. But oh, there is good news in his future too! He shall cross paths with an old friend soon! How lovely. She’s certain these things are not connected. Don’t even worry about it.

Miss Piccadilly #4: Cosette Marchand

The fourth and final young lady in the roster is one more original character and she deserves absolutely none of the horror coming her way. This is Miss Cosette Marchand, an artist by hobby and profession. The parcel received from the jeweler’s was a commissioned necklace and earrings she designed herself. A glittering birthday gift for her mother who will chide her for such an extravagance, Cosy, she has no place to wear such things! But they are lovely…

She’s so lost in her daydreaming that she doesn’t realize the hansom behind her has been following the victoria since leaving Piccadilly Square. All the way home. Home, where there are no bloodletting suitors, no wise professors, no divine or diabolic powers to forestall the natural progression of things between predator and prey. There is only a nightmare waiting for her, unobstructed.

…By anything other than my own bleeding heart. I’m too attached. She has to make it.

So.

How does Miss Marchand’s story go?

Turns out, her mother has some experience in these matters. Her mother being one Laura Marchand, who left a thirsty terror of her own behind twenty years ago. One she has mourned as much as feared in the time between the love of a husband eaten by war and the sharper kisses of a girl far more than a friend or living being. She recognizes the sour reflection of Carmilla’s eagerness in the Thing pretending to be a nobleman at the door. She still has General Spielsdorf’s axe. She has kept the steel sharp. Tonight she will whet it sharper still, from dusk until dawn.

You see all that yellow in her dress. It’s recently become one of her favorite colors, owing to a most diverting play she happened to read. Such lush storytelling! What decadent inspiration! She simply had to design something fine in honor of it. She does hope her mother will appreciate the artful way the gold was wrought, twisting in echo of the Sign. A mother who has gone so strangely still since she happened to glance at the second act of the play. Still and cold. Perhaps she will be cheered by her gift and their guests. There is a nobleman at the door, Mother! And there, see, leaking from the yellow damask wall is His Tattered Majesty—oh. Where has their visitor gone? He shall miss the masquerade! Ah, well. His loss.

Scheherazade…2! In which Miss Marchand pulls a Jonathan by stalling via playing to charm and utility. She wears many hats beside the cartwheel when it comes to the arts. Portraiture, fashion in fabric and ornaments. Surely the Count can savor the spider-and-fly game a little longer for that and some pretty panicked smiles. Look how much patience and frustration he burned on Lucy! Yes, yes, a little while longer to draw things out, play at flirtation between artist and patron, isn’t this nice? Ha ha. (Please don’t drink me please don’t drink me please don’t drink me.)

Well. She got drinked. And maybe succumbed to death before the Count could get slain. But the bat bastard does get put down eventually and she still gets to pop back up! Good news: She’s not under the Count’s thrall! She can think and act for herself! Nice! Bad news: Vampire. At least she can drink her problems* away. (*Problems with names like Atherton, Wotton, Gray…)

Her neighbors are the other three Piccadilly girls. Dracula makes his way downtown, walking fast, walking faster— 

Werewolf free space.

[eliza-forget]

PLEASE tell us more about your Leshy and the two cats!!!!! The cats are so pretty and also so is your art. I love your art so so so so so much 💖

Well, I'll start by saying that the Leshy himself in my AU is quite dark, violent, and traumatized. He survived the sudden betrayal of Narinder (as the one he trusted and looked up to most as a child), he survived all the turmoil associated with the fact that faith in the bishops was shaken, I call this period as "shaky", and the whole four were on the verge of losing their authority. And already during the game's storyline, Lamb's campaigns, Heket died. In my Au, which is mostly based on my insane playthrough of the game, Leshy was the last Bishop to be killed by Lamb. I mean, there was this sequence: Heket> Shamura> Kallamar. I have that point actually explained in the storyline, but that's not what the main question is about xd.

In the works, where you see him in the clothes of a follower (yes-yes that red one), has its own meaning. It's like a sign of his acceptance of a new way of life and to some extent, a rejection of the past. In this story, he's processing his traumas, learning the ways and lives of mortals, and then he makes two close friends: those two cats.

In general, I can characterize my Leshy as a personality. He changes slowly, but throughout the narrative in my Au. Leshy is still the Bishop of Chaos, in terms of character, but has softened a bit because of his environment in which he resides.

Tirena

Let me briefly tell you about Tirena's storyline. Her parents were nomads who came from other lands to the lands of the Old Faith. They mostly moved between locations, but eventually stopped at Darkwood.In fact, Tirena's family was loyal to what was happening in the lands and tried to please all the local cruel rules. The turning point of the plot for Tirena came at the time of her coming of age, for which her parents sacrificed themselves to the bishop, and she was given a necklace (but not the one she wears now) in memory of her parents. As a result of which she ran away from the place. Stumbled upon Lamb by accident, from behind a campfire in the night. So in the story, she showed up in his settlement and became a devoted disciple in the future, but still with an unconcealed grudge against the bishops.

In comic, she got into an altercation with Narinder on the same topic.

Yolk (yellow cat)

Yolk's former name was Najulmer, and he changed his name at the settlement. His parents were the same cultists who, long after Leshy's death, continued the resistance. Yolk did not share the same point of view with them; he was more interested in studying the world around him, and specifically its strange inhabitants. So he set out on his wanderings in search of that "paradise" by which he meant the Lamb's settlement. Along the way meeting various companions, studying monsters and even cooking with them. He has already been rescued by Lamb when he was trapped by the treachery of his recent companion. In the settlement he quickly finds contact with Tirena, or rather she has to tolerate his intrusive company. Then Lamb returns from a camping trip and summons Leshy from purgatory and he becomes both a nightmare for Yolk, but and an intriguing object of study. He btw yes, never once saw the bishops and didn't even know that Leshy was one.

Somehow that's what the plot of these three sounds like. I hope it was interesting and informative to learn about them!

[the-twst-cast-needs-therapy]

So I really like the "what if" scenario of Idias dream of Ortho being alive.

We don't see how teen non-robot Ortho actually looks like or how he is as a person (besides being an extrovert).

I present to you a series of headcannons:

-Its unclear if the attack still happened in Idias dream. If it did, I think Ortho still has some scarring from it. It would be cool if he had a prosthetic to go along with it. Through that, the very central elements of loss and technology in Orthos character can be preserved through transformation.

-Both shroud boys are talented in programming and building stuff, but I think Idia is more promising programming while Ortho shows more talent in mechanical engineering. They sometimes help eachother out in projects and do collaborations. They'd also work together on updating his prosthetic from time to time.

-Ortho loves tinkering with blastcycles (is that how you spell it?), mechanical trinkets, and retro tech. Hes known as the handyman around the RSA campus.

-Since the Brothers attend different schools, they often meet at a burger place in town to debrief on current happenings. (When the desire comes to game together, they have to sneak eachother into their respective campuses to not cause any outrage amongst students)

-Orthos nerdy interests often revolve around social activities. He has found a recent appreciation for In person RPGs, board games and in person fan meets. His love for star rouge (among other retro games) still remains, he owns a themed puffer jacket with some cool patches on it.

-Ortho and idia wear their uniform in a similar manner, wearing their jacket instead of the blazer and some sneakers and (Styx) headphones. Ortho wears the aforementioned jacket since it is one of his most prized possessions.

-Ortho, similarly to Chenya, has friends in both NRC and in the RSA.

-Since Ortho is more extroverted, he shows significant advancements in his social development compared to his brother. Ortho still tries his best to get him out of his shell if he wants to. They practice public speaking and prepare presentations together. A big difference to cannon Ortho is that Idias dependency on him is definitely less severe, but still a problem. Idia often tends to shut himself off intentionally to not burden his brother, rarely this even leads to him (reluctantly) engaging in social activities on his own.

[acourtofthought]

@oristian just received an anon that read the following:

The difference between Elriels, Eluciens, and Gwynriels is that Elriels actually like the characters. We like canon Azriel and Elain and don’t need to assign them other characters’ characteristics or rewrite them. We appreciate the way they have been presented, flaws and all. We are invested in their story thanks to canon, not despite it.

Canon Elain does not wear Illyrian leathers.

Canon Elain does not wear a necklace that she returned to Az therefore unless it's fanart depicting Solstice night and only Solstice night, it's not canon.

Canon Elain does not enjoy wielding a dagger.

Canon Elain does not have tattoos.

Canon Az does not train Elain or take her on spy missions. He didn't even want her searching for the Trove. Canon Az got reprimanded by Amren for not believing in Elain.

Canon Az's shadows do not play with Elain, by his own admission in HIS POV they tend to disappear around her.

Canon Az has not thought of a future with Elain beyond his sexual fantasies.

Canon Elain is NOT "Velaris's Princess" which is a wild thing to say since Velaris already has a QUEEN in Feyre.

Canon Elain would not be fine with Az's torture of defenseless people.

Canon Elain likes sunshine and flowers and is bothered by cruelty.

Canon Elain, despite her proclamation that she's part of the NC and would do what is necessary has the life sucked out of her while wearing NC black.

Canon Elain is different from her sisters, as stated in the books and interviews from the author herself.

Canon Elain is NOT described as being Illyrian at heart the way Nesta was.

Canon Elain, despite Nesta's belief that Elain is doing just fine with her friend and hobbies (something Nesta can only assume from afar considering canon Nesta avoided Elain for a year), confirmed that she has trauma that nobody seems to acknowledge.

Canon Az is connected to the Illyrians and the Valkyrie.

Canon Elain is not.

Canon Elain is connected to Vassa and Koschei through her visions.

Canon Az is not connected to either.

Canon Az did not acknowledge the trauma he heard Elain speak of.

Canon Elain did not acknowledge Az's struggles though she's apparently well aware of how Az was bothered by the scent of her bond.

Canon Az avoided Elain for nearly a year though she never asked him to stay away, though he knew she was fighting with Nesta, though he knew she was mourning the loss of her father.

Canon Az showed yearning for Mor while Elain sat in the room with him.

Canon Az felt something spark in his chest at the thought of another female's happiness.

Canon Az never gave his dagger to another female outside of Elain yet made sure Bryce knew what NESTA did with it during the war.

The ONLY thing that Elucien's and Gwynriels fail to adhere to at this point in time in terms of these characters is who their endgame person will be.

It seems we are the only ones who have a fairly good read on their behaviors, who they are, what's important to them, where they would thrive based on how they've been described and who they would best be suited to.

These are books and just because Elain said, "I'm part of this court and will do what is necessary" it doesn't in fact mean that Elain will forevermore be happiest in the NC and has to live there for the remainder of her immortal life simply because of a statement she made in a book prior to her own POV, a statement she made while still processing her trauma. As readers of books, we are fully aware that many times what a character states while processing trauma is not a true reflection of how they feel.

Not when the author placed that single comment on the floor then continued to build onto another pile of bricks next to it.

One brick being Elain needing sunshine.

One brick being "but Elain wearing black, no matter how much she claimed to be part of this court....it sucked the life from her."

One brick being Elain missing the flowers in winter.

One brick being that the NC doesn't turn to Elain for help.

One brick being that we're told Elain might be acting a certain way so as not to disappoint her sisters.

One brick being that Elain loses her color in winter.

One brick that the rose necklace given to Elain needs light in order for it's true depth to become visible.

One brick being that Elain is a rose bloom in a mud field filled with trampling horses while Nesta in that same Illyrian camp was a newly forged sword.

One brick being that Elain's scent is "a promise of Spring".

One brick being that "but the spring court had been made for someone like her."

One brick being that the author said Elain took she and Lucien by surprise.

One brick being the author telling us that Elain and Lucien (not Az) are both happiest in nature.

Just because Elain doesn't seem to want Lucien right now doesn't mean that won't change in the next book. Just like who Aelin wanted changed drastically over the course of multiple books. As did Chaol, as did Feyre, as did Nesta (since she didn't seem to want Cassian at different points throughout the series) as did Eva, as did Juliette, as did Elizabeth, as did Claire, as did Violet, as did Sophie, as did Francesca, as did Tessa, as did Harry, as did Katniss (and so on).

Only paying attention to the direct quotes from a character or their behavior while dealing with trauma, thinking they know everything they need to know about them before they've even had a POV doesn't prove they know them better. It simply means they're choosing to ignore that Sarah is the kind of author who leaves crumbs for readers, who often writes her FMC actually wanting the thing that she insists she does not, who often writes her FMC avoiding her destiny before finally embracing it.

E/riels don't like canon Elain or Az more than Eluciens and Gwynriels. They like a one dimensional version of the characters where everything said and done could not have any deeper meaning.

"Az wants to eat out Elain and Elain wants to kiss Az which means they want to be together forever!".

Versus:

"Az and Elain wanted to hook up but it's clear they were both in a bad place and probably not in the right headspace, especially as neither was first willing to discuss the struggles they're both having".

This narrative that we don't like canon Elain, Az, or Gwyn is tiresome. The only thing we don't like is shipping Elain with a guy who the author has clearly written as someone who, despite his and her willingness to hook up months ago on their timeline, wasn't there for her when she was put into the cauldron, wasn't there for her when she was suffering from severe depression (even drawing straws so he didn't have to stay with her), who never offered her a kind word about the death of her father, who avoided HER for an entire year because he couldn't handle a bond that will always exist, who looked at another female with heat and yearning while she sat in the room with them, who never bothered to check on her after any of her fights with Nesta, who couldn't admit to his best friend that he had any real feelings for her and that he wasn't just looking to get laid, and who hadn't thought of a future with her beyond his sexual fantasies.

All canon events.

[teeny-tiny-revenge]

So I hear we're doing asexual Sunday this week and I'm gonna contribute by extending the theme a bit into romantic orientations and floating the idea of demi-romantic Ed by you guys. There's been several posts on demi-sexual Stede (and I really like this headcanon for him), and a few demi-sexual Ed takes, but I feel like some brand of allosexual but demi-romantic Ed has merit. It's fairly clear canon that Ed has had casual sex and liked it even if not all of it was particularly satisfying apparently, the poor guy feels like he has to specify he wants orgasms with his intercourse, thank you.

But Ed is falling in love the first time with Stede. He's in his fourties, and yet this experience of falling in love blows him over like you would expect for a much younger and less experienced person. I know a lot of people like to read Ed's falling for Stede as love at first sight, instant crush, but it's as easy to read what we see on screen as friendship at first sight and then a slower falling in love with your best friend as is more common for demi-romantic people. Ed never seems confused by being attracted to Stede sexually, he can easily go for flirty swordplay and run me throughs, but what renders him wide-eyed and stunned is the moments when he realises that oh fuck is this romance happening to him? You wear fine things well 1.0 is all about Ed finding himself being romanced and he's utterly bedazzled by it. He did not see this coming at all. Romance has never happened to Ed before. Maybe he thought about it, maybe he dreamed (did he dare dream, or did it seem too made up, too unrealistic to be a possibility?). But the actual experience of falling in love? Of finding someone who just gets him, of finally finding a real friend, and then realising oh shit oh fuck he's in love with his best friend? He has no idea how to handle that.

Of course you can read everything as just being circumstances rather than any orientation stuff going on, but I think I just like the additional bit of character drama added by having gone all his life not really believing romance is a thing (or that it isn't a thing that happens to him), because it really never did happen, and then suddenly boom, on top of finally making a real friend he can be vulnerable with and finally starting to embrace his desire for retirement/a softer life/etc now there's also this entire romance thing happening and how is he supposed to deal with this.

[midnightwriter21]

aot hcs: them as boyfriends

characters: levi, eren, connie

warnings: i have the mouth of a sailor im srry

an: first aot fic lesss gooooooo!!! lmk if y’all want another part with diff characters!!

LEVI ACKERMAN

*sigh* he's so girlfriend

starting off strong...

this man is NAWT kissing you in public lololol

he's got a reputation to uphold

however!!

he will show pda in much smaller, more subtle ways

walking down the street, he's offering his arm for you to loop yours through

or guiding you with a hand on your lower back

if y'all are walking through a crowd he is CRUSHING your hand with his grip

he's not trying to hurt your hand haha

he's just strong, can't see over peoples heads, and doesn't wanna lose you in the sea of people

he'll keep that unbothered bored look on his face but just know that on the inside that this man is stressed lmfao

alsoooo

service bf to the maxxxxx

dude is not good with expressing his feelings

especially romantic ones lol

so he expresses his love by doing little tasks for you

oh you forgot to get food for your cat?

levi already has it

can't get that jar of pickles open?

he's snatching it out your hands and popping it open

and you already know your house is about to be the CLEANEST its ever been on god

next

i feel so bad

for the person to shit talk you in front of levi

on my mama let somebody say something slick lmfaooo

he is not gonna let it slide

forget getting physically violent

this mans mouth is absolutely DIABOLICAL

in more ways than one if ur picking up what im putting down

*ahem* will make said person cry with his words alone

period.

EREN YEAGER

meowwwwwwwww

bark bark bark

*insert other animal noise here*

huh? somebody say something?

no? okay

AHEM

this man right here? cocky asf

dude is fine

and knows it too

and he knows y’all make a FINEEEE ASS COUPLE

shows you and your relationship off all the time

not a day goes by where he’s not posting you on social media

and he coordinates yalls outfits too omg

he makes sure his clothes match yours

not exactly matching ofc but the colors

if ur wearing a red dress to an event

he’s wearing a red tie

it’s a casual day and you’re wearing a blue shirt or dress?

his shoes/accessories/etc. are gonna be the same color

it’s an aesthetic that he keeps up with. period.

also he CANNOT keep ur name out his mouth

brings you up in every conversation possible

“i think y/n mentioned wanting to go see that movie too. was it good?”

“nah sorry, my girl said she wants to have a date night soon so i’ll have to pass. we can make plans another day though.”

“i gotta go to the store when i leave here. i wanna get some stuff to surprise my girlfriend, y/n, when i get home.”

and he is handsy asf

bro is touching you at all times swear

it’s impossible to walk past this man without him latching onto you and lathering you in kisses and feeling you up

in public he’s gonna keep it respectful tho

unless he knows he won’t get caught lmfao

introduces you to mikasa and armin

wants all of the important people in his life to get along ofc

i love him sm

CONNIE SPRINGER

let’s get right into it shall we?

as soon as y’all make it official

i mean the MINUTE y’all are boyfriend girlfriend

he’s calling up all his friends to tell them the news

and then he’s making plans for them to meet up so he can introduce you

i feel like he takes you on a lot of fun dates

y’all don’t jus go get dinner and then go home

that’s too lame for connie

he’s taking you to laser tag, haunted houses, trampoline parks, etc.

and let me tell you this rn

come close

connie is NOT teaming up with you for laser tag

he’s making sure he’s on the opposite team so he can’t hunt you down over and over

will not take it easy on you idc

anyways… when y’all do go to dinner

7/10 times sasha is third wheeling yall

maybe jean too lol

idk i jus think that for connie it’s “the more the merrier”

especially since dinner isn’t something that’s gonna get his blood pumping yk?

but at least y’all can all get drunk and be funny together as a group right?

connie is so incredibly dedicated to being a dumbass around you

like as long as it makes you laugh, nothing is off limits

bro is constantly cracking jokes, telling embarrassing stories, doing stupid shit in public

he wants you happy. at. all. times.

this being said

if ur sad connie is doing anything and everything to cheer you up

i’m talking getting you ur fav snacks, renting that movie you always talk about, and pulling you close for a snuggle

yeah so i want to eat him basically

[kellycataclysm]

'You have a reply for everything, don't you?'

She sat back, a mischievous smile on her face. ‘Care to join me, handsome?’ She pouted playfully. ‘Unless you’re too busy that is…?’ She made a slight move, as if to climb away.

He looked over her, his mouth watering at the sight of her. He leaned over the bed, his hand on her knee.

‘Oh no, no, no. Don’t you dare. I am never too busy for you.’ He smirked. She was such a tease, this little game of cat and mouse making his pulse spike, his head spin with thoughts of what he wanted to do to her.

She hooked a finger under his chin. ‘Are you sure?’ She purred, as she beckoned him closer.

‘Absolutely.’ He murmured against her lips. He moved to kiss her only for her to lean back, just enough, the miniscule gap between them feeling almost impossible to cross in that moment. He groaned in frustration, his lips curling to a smile.

‘Sure of what, Harvey?’ She spoke softly, her gaze dropping to his lips.

‘Of how much I want you.’

‘You can have all of me.’ She smiled, their lips finally meeting, the sweetest moan escaping her. He melted into her delicate touch as she traced her fingertip down his throat, deepening the kiss, taking his breath away. She quirked an eyebrow as they parted.

‘You’re wearing far too many clothes, handsome.’ She smiled, her teeth pressing softly into the pink, kiss-swollen flesh of her perfect lips. He looked down at her, exquisite, half-naked, wearing beautiful teal lace that made her eyes shine. 

‘You’re right. How about we fix that?’ Looking down with a grin as his fingers moved slowly to unbuckle his belt, he chuckled. ‘You’re always so mischievous.’ His eyes locked onto hers. 

‘No-one ever said I was innocent.’ Her eyes flashed. He was lost.

My beloved friend, the sweetest person in the whole world, and incredibly talented artist @sunshinecovey was so so amazingly wonderful and drew Lyra and Harvey again. This commission was so fun for me as I have worked with Sunny several times and I feel like she knows my characters as much as I know them myself. So, I asked Sunny to take the lead and draw them how she felt they would be in a more spicy and intimate situation. And oh boy, did she deliver. Not only is this art utterly flawless but I feel she captured their relationship dynamic so beautifully. They've been together a long time, have had some ups and downs, and made it through. This is so them and I adore it completely.

Thank you so much Sunny for always working with me and for always drawing them so beautifully. I couldn't imagine writing them without you with me!

[takeariskao3]

What was your childhood headcanon for a hp character that changed as you grew older?

everybody else answered this question so well and all i've got is this depressing tidbit...

i used to think that after harry left the dursleys at the beginning of DH, he was free of them. not just physically but mentally as well. free to pave his own way and be his own person...

but as i've gotten older i headcanon that harry prefers earl grey tea because that's what petunia drank. (he'd sneak a cup on cold mornings to warm up after a night in the cupboard)

and every now and then he'll let an insult slip that sounds exactly like something vernon would say (it stops him in his tracks, usually halting his participation in the conversation for a moment or two before he can shake it off)

and that even as an adult he still buys his wardrobe one size too big because tight fitting clothing feels confining (he's never figured out how to wear a turtleneck sweater without feeling claustraphobic)

and sometimes the weasley yelling matches give him a knot in his chest and his first instinct it to escape (it took him a while to realize that yelling and conflict don't mean he's unsafe)

and we never are really free from our abusers.

[shikariiin]

Hello! I adore your art, and I was wondering if I could ask you a question:

How do you come up with your designs? They are so pretty, especially Eddie and James ♡♡

I'm asking this because I'm having trouble creating designs for both Gordon and James for my AU, Hope.

Thank you for seeing this, I wish you a splendid day/night! :3

Why hello!!!

Oh gee I would ramble alot in this

Before I make a design, I like to list things that I like about them, their hcs, their ethnicity, and their primary colors

For example, Edward's primary color is blue, but he as a character is a kind and soft soul, in my hc his patience thins faster in adults, so a combination of white and red is a great indicator of this, The red being on his Tie and hair tie so it doesn't overpower the other colors.

My James is the one that's a little complicated, mainly because he's more based on his ethnicity, but him being a vainy, self-centered and show-offy means he likes to stand out, he likes being in the center of attention, so gold is the next best option, but for my James because he have aspects of him that is more cozy (he likes cooking, making clothes and learning languages), earthy Brown is used to support the bright red, that also helps with tuning down his personality a bit.

And next, are Shapes!

Again, their personality plays a big part, in Designing it's a factor that you would want to show your character's personality through their design, The three pillars of Round, Square, and Triangle Aspects plays a huge role.

If you see here, My Edward has a more fluffy, friendly look to it, with a hint of an old soul, and a fire that had died out, his design is rounded.

The same with my James, he has more edge, a sharper touch than Edward!

Appearance is also important, wether you go hand to hand by giving them buffers like a literal anthropomorphic trains, mecha, or more human etc, appearance is an indicator.

You might make them all have the same uniforms because they're a worker, but giving (for example) Gordon square glasses, then combining it with his basely square body type, can indicate he's a strict person, so on.

My James has alot in his design

Golden details in his clothing, Brown as a secondary color, darker red on his coat so that it doesn't clash with the main red in his outer, earrings and lip piercing indicating he loves accessories to support/show off his appearance, the moles I give him for that beauty marks, the Batik on his coat to represent his proudness of his home country, the coat that he make himself, he wears make up to touch up his appearance.

Alot can go on in a design, Mine is not God-Tier level designing, and I'm not an extremely experienced character designer, but these are the indicators I usually do whenever I make my designs.

In simple terms, list what you want to have in your engine design, and build it off from there, this is to prevent overcrowdedness.

And that's all! Thank you for the ask!

You don't have to follow it step by step, be as comfortable as you like, these are just factors and tips to help in designing🩵

Hope it helps!!!

[ssentimentals]

seventeen members as love tropes: kwon soonyoung

love at first sight (or meet cute au)

'did you hear wedding bells ring? cause that's what i heard when i saw you'

it wasn't supposed to happen. hoshi knew better but he's been sitting at the hotel whole day and boredom clung to his whole body like that stupid fly on the ceiling that refused to budge no matter how many pillows you threw her way. and he knows that it's all for his own safety, knows that fans went ballistic since they learned he landed in this city and he knows that his managers actually want only the best for him. it's just their version of best for him is basically imprisoning him in the hotel and hoshi's version of best for him is letting him roam around the city unguarded. so yes, him walking out of the hotel unsupervised was not supposed to him but oh well, it's too late to think about it now that he's hiding in the very first shop he saw on his way, running away from overly excited fans.

said shop turned out to be a small coffee shop in a ghibli movie characters theme. it's cute, hoshi notes from his position behind the counter. he climbed here the second he entered, quickly realizing that hiding under the tables will not help him. there's no one in the cafe and he has half a mind to call someone from staff when door from his left opens and a person walks in. hoshi instantly shoots up, apologies on his tongue when you finally look up and- oh.

not many things can leave hoshi speechless; he's been in this business for such a long time that it feels like he's seen it all, even some stuff that he wishes he could un-see. he's very used to perfect faces, perfect settings, perfect speeches - he's been trained to know what to say in any situations but right now he's at loss. you are so-

'what the hell you are doing standing behind the counter?!'

-rude. yeah. blinking, he snaps back to reality instead of getting lost in your eyes. it's almost five and sun dances beautifully on your face, it illuminates all your features with an orange glow and he wishes he had a camera with him because whoa.

'i'm gonna call police if you don't step back.' there's slight tremor in your voice but you still try to look confident. 'how did you even-'

'door was open!' hoshia blurts out in his defense, belatedly realizing that this is not a good excuse for hiding behind the counter, where only staff members can go. 'i had to hide, i'm so sorry, but they would've spot me if i chose just take any table.'

your face is very expressive. miriads of emotions change themselves until you settle on confusion. 'hide from who- oh my god, are you a gang member?'

'i-what-' hoshi sputters, looking himself up and down. does he look like a gang member? 'no, i'm- uh, a singer. popular one.'

hoshi is not sure why he added the last bit but it's too late to take it back now. your gaze focuses on his face and he takes this time to study you too. it's hard to pinpoint why, but there's something so interesting and fascinating about you (apart from you generally being really, really pretty). like hoshi could stare at you all day and not get bored, could see you as his muse even.

'okay,' you exhale, looking very done. 'okay. you are a singer. a popular one. hiding from..fans, i presume?' hoshi nods. 'okay. that still doesn't mean that you can stand here.'

hoshi moves like a lightning, quickly jumping to the other side. you're not wearing any badge with a name and he suddenly really needs to know your name. 'sorry again. uh-' he looks around, trying to keep the conversation going. 'can i get one ice americano, please? name is soonyoung, by the way.'

you look... amused. baffled. shocked. hoshi likes how he can pull out so many emotions from you but he is yet to see you smile and that makes him sad. 'okay, soonyoung. one ice americano coming right up, anything else?'

'your name,' hoshi says, beaming, not caring how awfully cheesy that sounded. he goes for a killer: 'i can't keep callling you 'pretty girl' in my mind.'

and there you go, there's your smile. it sets fireworks in his chest and his grin broadens. you look much better with that smile on your face, he decides and proceeds to tell you this loudly as well.

'thank you,' you say, blushing but also laughing.

you don't say your name but laughter is good, hoshi decides. laughter is almost love, no? it can start with a laughter, he is sure. his mind conjures thousands of pick up lines that can you make laugh and maybe, just maybe, if he makes you laugh often enough you'll tell him your name. and then he can get your number and then he can facetime you from whenever and will always be able to look at your pretty face. now that's a solid plan in hoshi's mind and he's never happier for not listening to his managers and running away from the fans because meeting you is worth it ten times over.

a/n: and i finished my 'seventeen members as love tropes' series with hoshi! hope you liked it, let me know! - nini

my other seventeen works are here

my formula 1 works are here

[smilingcrittersuniversityau]

I've been planning on making frowning critters university au characters designed but I'm having a bit of trouble making the designed for Charlotte (catfine) and Diane (dogpressed) could you give me some advice I would appreciate bro!

Sure! I'm not sure how I can help with Diane and Charolette's designs but if it helps I can tell you how I designed Charlie and Dakota ^^

This design is before he met Elias, after he met him he had to cover more cause Elias didn't like how he was 'flaunting' himself.

He does take it personally when Elias makes remarks about his outfits but he still does dress in his usual style which does often have moons, stars or space with some hints of emo fashion drawn to it

When I designed Charlie, I wanted to show that he was initially pretty comfortable with what he wore. He can be stylish but he keeps it simple

Dakota's design was kind of a challenge, I went to my gf and we both kinda racked our brains about it for a bit. I wanted to show hints of emo or punk fashion in his design.

Dakota doesn't mind colourful outfits but he does fins himself drawn more to darker colours (more often red). He also is a fan of the same band as Kyle (Sun Down) and he's wearing a logo of the band on his shirt, but I forgot to draw that ; w ;

For Dakota's design basically, I wanted to keep his style kinda hinting to emo. He won't say he's emo (he's very embarrassed of his emo phase in middle school- poor boy)

If Charlotte and Diane are meant to be their opposites I can suggest maybe doing the opposite of what I did here, like giving them colourful outfits.

Maybe since Charlie's design is more feminine so maybe Charlotte would dress up more masculine

I hope this helps- I'm very interested in the Frowning Critters uni au ^^

[court-jobi]

How'd You Know (I Needed This)

((banner by me! I don't own Horikoshi's (sleepy) characters/work))

Pairing: Aizawa x reader (American!Pro Hero fem!reader, set before the events of Season 1)

Words: 4.9K

Rating: T+

Warnings: Aizawa has feelings and doesn't know what to do with them, alcohol mentions, slow burn, he fell first she fell harder, the feeling is mutual TM

Summary:

Shouta Aizawa surrenders his capture weapon for the night in favor of humoring Hizashi, and is rewarded for his follow-through at his show. He wants to know you, more than he has from teaching the brats alongside you for the last few months. Wants to know the smile that reaches your eyes more intimately.

He’s happy he gets this balcony happy hour with you -out from all their eyes inside- to be able to water this sweet, small thing he feels towards you to fullness.

A/N: I've been WAITING for this one, turn it up!!! Aizawa my beloved, I've wanted to write you for so, so long and can only hope I can do you justice. The man just has such a gentle side and I just wanted to give him something nice and self-indulgent~

For my My Hero Academia Masterlist, check it out here!

Read on Ao3

Damn it, why was he thinking like this? He’s in public for goodness’ sakes, with only two sips of drink under his belt. Not two drinks- two sips of a drink.  So if that’s the case of his sobriety, why was he off in his own little headspace as if he were drunk?  

‘Put Your Hands Up Radio’ found its home recording studio attached to this lounge: a place Shouta Aizawa never frequented unless expressly invited- or when Eraserhead was needed to scout out trouble. Far too noisy, too chatty, and filled with too many grown adults losing their sensibilities for his liking. 

Through one round of begging or another, he’d been roped into joining some of the staff of UA to an evening out, in support of Present Mic. Naturally, Aizawa would go- as his presence would all but guarantee everyone else’s. Despite begrudging the plans that pushed himself out of his preferred rest mode, he kept true to his word for Hizashi’s sake.

Promise kept, and therefore, appears to have been rewarded. 

Once the show wrapped for the night, his best friend was over the moon at how things were turning into a party that Friday night. After a day of shrill, whinging teenagers he’d wrangled all week, this level of volume was honestly the last thing he needed. Yamada’s voice doubled the decibel of the entire room- and that’s without his quirk activated. He always managed to annoy Aizawa when he started fangirling about one duet matchup or another.

But truthfully? Every sound this tired hero registered around him fell to white noise while he looked at you…

Sweet Little Miss, you are; gracing the lounge with your presence. You’re a vision tonight. Insist with your lilting dip to your words they all call you by your first name, outside of school grounds and against what’s considered custom. No hero titles either, unless an emergency called for formalities- then you’d cave.

These Americans are too casual. Even down to these outfits. What’s this–  black turtleneck, necklace she won’t leave alone- moving it around her thumb like that, short skirt.. and those damn thigh highs and tights. How is it she’s driving that moped of hers, wearing something like this…

Everything on your person, down to the way you held yourself in perfect confidence and ease adorned you like a perfectly-styled pro hero. It couldn't be a more stark contrast to his tried and true wardrobe. Even this after-hours look sat perfectly around each bend and curve of you, as you listened to the group. 

You’re smiling, too. It’s subtle, but it reaches your eyes, which makes it all the more authentic.

A smile he shouldn’t want to keep all to himself. Curves he really should have no business noticing. Features that he’s actually surprised he’s labeling as ‘attractive’ in his mind because the last time he ever felt an ounce of attraction to anyone in that way, he’d barely been able to grow facial hair. 

Desire for a safe place to land his dizzying mind is driving his tired sights to look to you for relief again and again in the conversation– without you even saying a single word. 

The barely-touched drink in his hand is only a prop; something to make him blend into the scene and not something he’s actually tasting for pleasure… meaning, these are his thoughts. Nearly completely sober. Should be illegal. Just illegal-

"Yo Sho, you still with us, sleepyhead?" 

Yamada pulled him out of his thoughts. Disguising any flare of being put on the spot, Aizawa  flitted his absent gaze back to his blond friend–

"Be nice. He’s had a rough day and is a good enough sport by being here,” you chirped up catching Yamada’s pull for Aizawa to part from the fringes of your little gathering.

Now toward you? He’ll soften his edge. After all, with you sticking up for him with blind loyalty, he nearly felt guilty for spacing out and causing you to speak up in the first place.

“- yknow, I'm inclined to take a nap myself," you leaned forward to grab a few more calamari bites to tend to your seemingly insatiable appetite. Aizawa felt warm at the sweetness and straightened up at Yamada’s prodding.

From then on, he made sure to look in your direction more often when you spoke to help him pay attention. He still didn't say much, never did. But he liked the company well enough.

These nights were truly few and far between. Life as an in-demand hero left him jumping from role to role, daytime and midnight obligations. The routine split his waking hours and stretched them paper thin.  Now more than ever,  he typically shirked as much off time as he was offered. And yet, he had to remember to prioritize levity and breaks– and in this case, indulge his treasured friend’s interests and ‘take one for the team’. Good for morale, he reasoned, just this once. 

The occasion was also a way for you to integrate with the group in an informal setting– great for the transplant from the States. You’ve taken amicably to the group of alumni-turned-faculty at UA, though much still remained a mystery about you, presently being peeled back bit by bit through stories and slips of the tongue. There was only so much a dossier could truly reveal about a person- even one curated by S.W.O.R.D. to volunteer aid their Japanese counterparts in their hero work.

It couldn’t tell what kind of teacher you’d turned out to be. Even with no experience working with students, you tread the line between instilling team-centered outlooks and pushing their quirk’s limitations to their max benefit. A crafty, inventive counterpart to complement his blunt teaching style: better together, and even the principal agreed.

It couldn’t point out where your true ambitions lie or where your drive came from. There remained much to be explained as far as your hero status here in Japan– a red-tape nightmare Aizawa was still intrigued to learn about. So far, you’d shared some limitations about “immigration statuses are being vetted with a fine toothed comb, so they’re still trekking through the paperwork”, so your wings are essentially clipped down to a student’s provisional license. This doesn’t please you too much, but you’re driven as much as his finest students with the aire of a professional he’d love to see in full action.

It couldn’t explain the stillness you could dip into, that he only caught once or twice when you believe yourself alone. There’s a past was weighing your shoulders level and compliant in the eyes of the law… but an urge to push back and ‘play this out’  brought hypotheticals to your lips whenever you chatted about what hero life is like for him, and added a sparkle to the eye that he had yet to fully source.

It couldn’t give away the gentleness you hold behind a carefully guarded smile– even in this harsh hero world. Maybe it was that indomitable spirit that those foolhardy patriots overseas carried… or rather, maybe it was the way you fought against such a loud persona. So far, Aizawa has taken only a few notes, but each little mental post-it was cluttering up his headspace. You held a quiet love of tea, a comical passion for the oxford comma, and a mind to care for the little things in life– like the lizards you rescue in an inverted cup to take outside where they belong . 

Surely life must have treated you hard to elicit such softness. Something tenderized you to achieve the peace you carry around or else you’re wearing a damn good mask. No, he determines you had to have made a choice to continue on the path that’s brought you to the present– even to this table where you’re taking your fill of maki rolls while casting little caring glances his way. 

All smiles and calm surety, as he mills through his thoughts that are damn near obsessed with you.

An employee file could never record ‘heart’, anymore than it could expose anything you didn’t want to reveal.

The night progresses while Aizawa stews on these thoughts, and plenty of others… for the ones that drift to his co-teacher offer him more mental stimulation than that he finds in the club’s lights and music.

Yamada’s night of filling his social battery was made nearly perfect by the karaoke that just started. Several of the other teachers got preoccupied in round after round of song, so it left Aizawa with a moment's peace. 

Well, peace he was going to enjoy by laying back on the couch for a little shuteye–  when his gut jumped at the feeling of a hand trailing up his forearm to the elbow with a polite, companionable touch. 

Facing its owner, Aizawa caught your little smirk and nod towards the balcony. You didn't pull hard, yet he followed like a magnet out to the patio. 

From there, rather than stay by the door to listen in on their friends ‘releasing their inhibitions and feeling the rain on their skin’,  you took him to the right, where a matching lounge set positioned itself in a blind spot between the rooftop bar and the fire escape. 

"Thought you looked like you could benefit from some soundproofing~" you brushed your hair back over one shoulder to follow the breeze’s direction, and left an open spot next to you by the railing. 

Nightlife and neon didn’t hold magic for Eraserhead given as many nights as he’s spent perched on precarious heights, but through a newcomer’s eyes, he could see the appeal. This part of the city glowed at night from dusk to dawn, and you clearly loved looking out over it; Aizawa certainly didn't mind this view either. 

Your perception skills are spot on, and incredibly thoughtful as you’ve suggested some fresh air- for his sake. If he wasn’t drawn to you any of the other times he’s paid attention to the spastic moths a more romantic person might call ‘butterflies’ before…  this cements each and every one as valid. 

He likes you. He really likes you. 

Time passed with appreciative quiet until you spoke again, 

"The only thing is, you can't really see stars in the city... there’s too much light."

"The beaches have a nice view," Aizawa replied after some thought.

"Oh yeah?"

"Enough to stargaze properly,” he offered without much sentimentality. Right by the pier was the best spot he and his former classmates would go on the weekends, before their hero work took off.

"I'll have to remember to take a drive there. Y'know, sometime when I'm not in two-and-a-half-inch heels." you chuckled as you shuffled back to the rattan settee, sitting for a bit to stretch out your legs. "I don't know how Nemuri does it."

"Feet hurt already?" Aizawa snuck his hands from his pockets and came to the seat across from yours. “Night’s young.”

"Getting there,"  your laugh greeted him over, "But you know what they say, dress to impress and all that. Yamada really pitched some hype for this afterparty, so~"

Fashion was hardly something that ever swayed Aizawa’s decision-making. Utilitarian was the way to go for his wardrobe- then, as now. 

"If aesthetics are all that determine these pros’ attention, that’s horribly vain." 

You bristled in good humor, 

"He didn't mean it like that– I just meant, he said to look nice for fun instead of for work. Call it ‘girl code’ if you want. We know that means to– just– /doll up a bit/!"

Aizawa held back a snicker at how you still ran into difficulties finding the most apt Japanese equivalents in your (pretty decently executed) second language. English slang you reverted to in moments like these fell from your mouth with an odd drawl. Still couldn’t place the regional accent you carried, but it charmed Aizawa all the same. 

“//Doll up//?” he mimicked. 

"//I like dolling up//!"

Aizawa reached and pulled his glass to his lips, meant to look aloof but not hiding his interest altogether well. 

"You don’t need to put on airs to get people to notice you…" 

"Right, because the accent gives me away."

"No, it’s your-”

Finally, a coward’s streak flared deep in his belly to shut him up. A rare hesitation. Damn this. What the hell’s happening to me–

 “–nevermind."

"My what?" you’re fully  interested, knowing a secret when it's presented.

"Nothing important."

Thankfully you not-so-subtlety dropped it with a hummed ‘ok’, but kept a watchful eye for him in your peripherals. 

The pro hero mused. Better for him to be honest, right? 

Just choose your words carefully. You’ll have to look her in the eye after this, you know. 

Aizawa widened his seated stance so his knee barely breached your space. 

Your sights lifted to him while he put his best poker face on. It’s not really any different than what he’d give to a perfect stranger– the only difference here is he has to force it.

Shit shit shit you're in deep, Shouta.

"You're plenty noticeable as you are. Anyone who meets you can see that," Aizawa shared in his usual soft-spoken tone. "Give ‘em ten minutes, and you've got them wrapped around your finger. It’s a whole impression, not just the outer package. Doesn't matter if you're in a dress that costs a month’s paycheck or a black button down. You're welcoming, sincere..." 

He’s realizing he might be trailing off, but finding you listening with full attention led him on; no liquid courage required. 

"You're stunning from the inside out. Enough to get others to notice."

Aizawa heard your appreciation before he saw it, a hum preceding the a genteel smile. With the win of his walls coming down, he had to give an honest smirk back. It was only fair; you’d earned it just by being you. By your flattered look, you were touched– but your brain was still working beneath the surface, and soon showed by a fleeting expression that spit from him.

Then, you caught your bottom lip for a second, before daring to look in Aizawa’s eyes again. It’s a sneaky look– like he’d snuck a peek at a card he’d meant to hide.

"...You remember what I wore on my first day at UA."

It was half question, half amusement. So dear, but oh-so pointed.

Aizawa froze.

"Black button down. You noticed me, then?" you countered more, "And here I thought you didn't care about appearances~" 

"In professional circles, no. Personal… that's a different thing, entirely." 

He kept your  sights locked onto his, not unlike how he used his quirk in a challenge– only far softer and he could risk the occasional blink.

Even when you took his glass from his hand and placed it away on the table alongside yours, he still looked fondly after you, in fact tilting his head to the other side, studying the way one piece of your hair was caught by your neck. What he’d give to be familiar with you enough to ever-so-carefully brush it back, letting his touch send a wave of shivers across your skin and maybe even make you hum at the gesture. But he couldn’t trust himself to do it now, settling on stretching his arm around the back of the couch. Just an open move, letting you join him on the couch as close as you’d like.

Was he really doing this? He never has before, but this felt so natural. 

You smiled still– and as you sit, you’re leaning into it.  Well then. 

“What was I wearing, Aizawa?”

With free fingers, he risked some little brushes on your near shoulder, bringing a happy little eyebrow lift from you. He just took in your features in close quarters, settled in it, as he remembered that day:

Black button down, grey skirt. Biker boots -practical choice- and these damn tights.

Aizawa’s dazed in the head, but he knows he's listed it off aloud based on how your sights widen, impressed. 

"Hmmm, tights do it for ya?” you smiled, “I'm surprised you haven't jumped the darling Ms. Nemuri then."

"I know way too much about Kayama to ever consider her that way,”  Aizawa’s tempered hand twirled a finger along a blown-away section of hair, just absently enough. “You however, tease just enough." 

"Do I tease you?” you offer with a little depth, “I don't mean to."

It’s here he’s worry he’s stepping over a line- if it weren’t for the downright delicious look in your eye. You say it like you’re sorry for acting unprofessionally– but you’re urging him on, hardly apologetic for your sweet posturing.

"You may not mean it, but it's not unnoticed," 

He took second to swallow, and steps fully over it. 

"or unwelcome."

You’re pleased with this, but deflect with your trademarked humor- 

"Well now that’s saying something. You've seen me in my pjs, too- far from glamorous.  That didn't break the allure for you?"

Aizawa had to huff though his nose at that memory.

"I caught you at arguably your most real self, that first night you patched me up," His outstretched arm rubbed full circles onto your shoulder now, with the lightest touch. 

“Still have no clue why you chose me over Recovery Girl. For the harshest grader in school, that was a pretty dumb move.”

“You were closer than going to campus. It was the practical choice.”

“You didn't even know if I knew first aid.” 

“You do,” Aizawa smirked. “You're too nurturing to not have a knack for it.”

Your legs crossed over, deflecting both your words and refreshing your body movement. In doing so, you slid even closer- a move not lost on Aizawa. 

“Well, I'm still not happy about it. You needed more attending than I was able to pull off. Whatever you get into those nights,” you flitted a look to the underside of his arm that lays outstretched –where you know he sports a scar now- “It… looked like it hurt, ‘Zawa.”

Warm. Warm and cared form. Felt it then, feel it now. That's the life in his chest he gets when he’s around you. 

"Can't change the past, and I certainly wouldn't have changed that. Wouldn’t pass up seeing that sight of you for the world."

This connection, this dance, it all feels that it must be older than what it is, more rooted in a shared history than a short few months. 

Aizawa wants to ‘get’ you. Know the thoughts behind your eyes. Get you talking, even if it means he needs to give up his silent nights and muted text alerts so he can learn you.  He’s happy he gets this balcony happy hour with you, out from other’s eyes, to be able to water this sweet, small thing he feels towards you to fullness.

His eyes narrowed playfully, "Are you embarrassed right now?"

Out of this entire teasing exchange, that note seemed to surprise you and turned you shy.  Short of clapping a hand onto your cheek, you just darted your gaze away- can you be cuter if you tried?

“h-Yeah, a little!" –though you tried to snark your way out of it, "you were hurt before, and blubbery- but now that we’re y'know– awake, and talking... Pretty faces make me nervous."

Nervous? Pretty? Aizawa doesn’t like the sound of either of those.

Aizawa raised a brow and gave a look, a touch more serious.

"Hey," He tapped your chin still with his free hand, "if you want me to lay off, you say the word."

Blindly, you hold his hand from retreating away– "No. You're good, I promise."

He’s drowning in you leaning into the cool touch offered to you–

“ Heh, I–uh… I’m pretty sure ‘friends’ don’t talk about each other like this, though.”

He couldn't be a coward now– not with you melting on the spot and giving him an insane amount of hope.

“Maybe not,” Aizawa reasoned gently, “-not if they’re content to stay that way.” 

–then all of a sudden his heart soared at her next words:

"Well… I like this."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I like you, like this.” With your insistence for touch, you cupped his wrist in your own chill-tipped hand.

Hell yeah. 

Aizawa huffs another win in his foolish heart, but then watches as you keep talking–  you don’t break from your softness, but look reflective off to an absent point on his chest.

“It’s funny, y'know? Most jobs, you’d be lucky to find someone you would actually wanna talk to outside of board meetings and quarterly reports… but here in our line of work, you count on each other to save your lives.”

“That’s right.” Aizawa breathes.

“I uh.. never thought I’d be workin’ with kids- trying to keep them alive too. Teach them how to do the same. But I wouldn’t feel nearly as confident to do it, rise to the challenge, if it weren’t for you, ‘Zawa. You’re just as special. Inside and out.”

And when you look to his eyes again, fully awake and still sober, he swears he’ll say yes to any night Hizashi invites him to if it means he can have you this close. Things with you just feel lived-in. Companionable. He’s drawn to you in a way unlike others before you, because he didn’t believe he’s had the right, desire, or time to even entertain it. 

But everything’s different now. It just works, in his mind. He wants to spend his respites, his missions, everything- with you at his side, having his back. For however long you’d let him.

Touching your cheek, cursing the helmet you’d have to wear on the way home that would hide this angelic face from him once again– Aizawa curls towards you, barely tipping his head which screams ‘kiss her you ass’. You notice, and follow his lead almost halfway. 

“Yeah, I like you like this…” you sighed lightly, “--and I’d like us like this, too.” 

"Hm. Good."

...the door to the patio swinging open from around the corner startles you both. Present Mic doesn’t know his strength as he projects for the block to hear, swaggering about in his search.

You looked flustered sitting back up, but Aizawa was characteristically unphased at the sight of Hizashi finally rounding with a singsong cry of his name. 

Dammit.

"Hey kids, been looking for YOU, Miss America! There's some stateside artists on the karaoke lineup with your name on iiiiit- c’mon! I hyped you already to Nemuri– she didn't believe me that you sang with me for my English midterms!!"

"What?!” you blanched, “ Who said I was doing that?"

"I did!!” Yamada thumbed at his own brilliance, “ C’mon I'll do the first one with you!"

"First one– Dude, I don't need to be touting my Southern-ass self to a bunch of pros before I even make a name for myself here."

"This is HOW you'll do it! Come n’ wow them, break the ice- you’ll do amazing!" Yamada came to your side of the settee, tugging you up to your feet with little fight. "Tch, Sho, you're rubbing off on her, aren't you? Turning our sweet teach into a wallflower as we speak, huh?"

"She was doing me a favor- has an eye out for me when I needed an escape, unlike you." Aizawa droned, to your amusement.

"Yeah yeah fair enough. Now pleeeeeease, would you come inside?  It would be so much fun!"

From the way you’re freshening your jacket collar, you’re warmed from the neck up, caught between what just almost happened and the current situation Yamada is putting you in.

You look to Aizawa just like you did inside– a  glance, but it lingers longer than before. Like you are waiting to see what he thinks. If he’ll stay or go, should you leave. 

But Aizawa isn’t so selfish like before. He doesn’t feel it necessary to keep you to himself, because he sees your affection so clearly in your eyes now. He hosts butterflies in his stomach, yes, but they aren’t frantic and flitting about wondering what you may or may not think of him- chronically tired and a contrast to the breath of fresh air you are. You see him as a companion, too. Someone he might just get the chance to study, and learn, and adore in return.

No, he knows you like him as he is. Knows you’ll choose to meet him where he stands. He can share you, and will simply watch on as you stun him even more...

The Pro-Hero is desperate for some eyedrops in all this wind outside, but he would grin and bear it if you choose to deny Yamada’s pull on you. So instead, he merely leans forward to perch on his knees, with a hand on the lip of both your drinks. What Aizawa says in his non-answer left it open to what you wanted to do.  Stay or go, he’d follow suit.

Returning to the bright-eyed and bushy-tailed fellow teacher, you breathily gave in with your ‘ok’. 

"YEAAAAAUHHHH!"

"Damn peer pressure."

"You said yes," Aizawa smirked.

"Oh if she’s going, you're coming in too!" Hizashi was already whisking you away, and Aizawa rose on his own, following your knowing smile over your shoulder and matching it. 

With many forced karaoke and radio show nights, it’s Aizawa who braves the crowd and comes up behind you at one of Present Mic’s shows,  stepping in from the balcony where you wait by its door. He’s fresh off of work, sporting a new scar across his cheek courtesy of his day job, this time.. but you greet him with that familiar scrunch of the nose that he still finds adorable.

It’s rare he leaves campus nowadays, because he feels the stakes are higher than ever for him to remain vigilant. His students are his life, and as proud of them as he is, they are a constant effort of his mind and strength. Rest doesn’t come easy, and his rewards for a job (passably) done aren’t found in many places. 

One constant he has found helps, has been you. 

You, still alluring as ever, but who makes sure he doesn’t fixate on giving and giving of himself until he breaks– but to take his rests, reset, and even take a little jaunt over to these radio shows when he has staff coverage back at the dorms. Gives you two some time to get nostalgic, sentimental– or as close as he can get to those mushy spots in his heart about the club where he wrestled out his feelings for you for the first time.

He smooths a hand across your lower back now, when he joins you. He’s held onto your hands when they're cold, giving you whatever warmth he has. He knows each and every gap on your resume, partnered with you out on the streets, tag-teams in his classroom with this plucky 1-A Class he now leads, and is content to let you fill his thoughts when he wants to rest his eyes.

He doesn’t fight his affections now. Still would rather not simper in public too much because he’s quite averse to being the center of tabloids’ attentions, but stands by you all the same. 

"I'm surprised to not see you up there,” Aizawa greets, cool as ever. 

You lean on a hip, closer to him. 

"He's got his sets lined up today, didn't ask me-” You speak a little louder over the crowd, “I swear, your cockatoo still acts like I'm some gift from the heavens, just ‘cuz I can sing!"

"It's earned. You deserve every bit of it, and not just from Hizashi."

You turned over to him shyly, drawing his attention further– your tendencies to melt under his words encourages Aizawa to compliment you directly. Often. Whatever it is about his voice that you say you’re obsessed with, he still doesn’t understand– but he uses it to full advantage as he robs your drink from your hand,

"I happen to think you have a gorgeous voice," Aizawa speaks low to your ear. “You should sing at home more often.”

“Please. As if the kids would ever let me live it down.”

You refer -of course- to the twenty shared students between you, taking them all in stride since you’ve sufficiently bonded through fire alongside them. 

“That’s teaching for ya. Gotta push yourself beyond, plus ultra and all that.”

You chortle back in your throat, risking a kiss on his etched cheek to counter his snide remark, 

“You’re off the clock, ‘Zawa. No more hero talk, huh?” 

Aizawa cocks a brow, stealing a sip, “Sorry we can’t all turn it off like you, dear.”

The comment has you biting the inside of your mouth at the tease, and allows him a quick moment to press the glass’ condensation against his eye. 

“Want some air, hon?” you try again, softer than this atmosphere should allow.

Looking back at you -your hold on his elbow ready to guide him outside just like the first night- and Aizawa doesn’t need any more sips of the whiskey he holds.  

The retreat to ‘your couch’ is one he looks forward to any chance he gets. Bass boosted from the speakers inside becomes background noise that dulls his senses, doubled by the way you cozy up under his arm watching the skyline shift in light and color in comfortable silence. You trade roles with him: taking watch while he shuts his eyes for some restorative hydration. 

But before he gets too terribly relaxed by your weight settling his aching muscles to stillness, he registers a warm press to his mouth that he’s quick to chase after. That’s a satisfying thought, too: he doesn't have to imagine what it'd be like to kiss you anymore.