#one person i know uses green for everything

[f14fun]

lay all your love on me - op81 (C1)

synopsis: in which oscar piastri and a university student begging for her euro summer vacation collide in a steamy, abba-inspired romance

prose (6.0K words) ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ profile | masterlist | series index ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

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01: The Thermodynamics of My Hot Mess

I wasn't jealous before we met. Now every woman I see is a potential threat. The once timid, tame, collegiate girl I was before I met you has turned me possessive, it isn't nice.

And it’s all your fault, Oscar Piastri. You’ve taken the calm, rational part of me and set it on fire, leaving nothing but the green-eyed monster in its place. Oscar Piastri, you have turned me into a jealous mess, filled with envy and desperation I never thought possible. It’s like you’ve invaded every corner of my mind, making me obsess over the thought of you, the idea that someone else might take you away from me.

Even in my wildest, most fantasmic dreams, I would never have predicted that a spontaneous trip to Santorini, Greece, would spark the greatest lustful romance of my life. It was supposed to be a simple escape, a break from the pressures of college life. But the moment I laid eyes on you, everything changed. The calm, composed person I used to be unraveled with every stolen glance, every accidental touch, every moment we spent together under the Mediterranean sun.

But here I am, in a whirlwind romance that’s as exhilarating as terrifying, driven by emotions I didn’t even know I had. And the craziest part? I wouldn’t trade it for anything. This chaotic, intense passion has awakened something in me that I can’t ignore, something that makes me feel more alive than I ever have before.

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Three weeks ago, I was drooling on page one hundred thirty-eight of my physics textbook on thermodynamics, barely awake and running on fumes. I was practically strung out on Monster Energy Drinks and those overpriced, sugary lattes from the campus vending machine—the only thing keeping me from completely passing out on the spot. The dense equations and dry theories blurred together on the page, making it impossible to focus. My brain begged for a break, but I kept pushing, hoping the caffeine would magically make the material stick.

News flash, it didn't.

So, when Mama casually mentioned that we’d be vacationing in Santorini for summer break, it was like a lifeline had been thrown my way. Suddenly, the fog of exhaustion lifted, and a thrill of excitement surged through me. It was as if a dormant part of me, buried beneath layers of stress and routine, had been awakened, eager for the unexpected adventure that awaited.

The idea of trading my study desk for the stunning views of Santorini seemed almost surreal. My thoughts raced as I imagined wandering through the picturesque streets, soaking in the sun, and immersing myself in a world far removed from the rigors of academic life. It was an escape I hadn't known I needed, a break from the monotony of textbooks and equations.

I pictured myself strolling along the charming alleys lined with whitewashed buildings and vibrant bougainvillea, the scent of the Mediterranean Sea mingling with the aroma of fresh local cuisine. The thought of exploring ancient ruins and savoring sunsets that painted the sky in hues of orange and pink felt like stepping into a dream.

And not to mention, a part of me was inkling for a dream-like, rom-com-esque summer romance. I couldn't shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, a change of scenery could bring that fantasy to life.

As I swiped through images of ancient ruins, bustling cityscapes, and pristine beaches, I couldn't help but imagine myself in those exotic locales, experiencing the same thrilling adventures and romantic escapades. It was hard not to get swept up in the fantasy, picturing myself in those picture-perfect settings, with someone special by my side. It could quite literally be anyone, at this point. My horrific failed romancing attempts as well as my "not quite mediocre", yet "not quite stellar" looks were keeping me away from all the hotties.

The contrast between the vibrant, sun-soaked images on my screen and the monotony of my daily grind was stark. Quite embarrassing, frankly.

It fueled my desire for something more; something that broke away from the predictability of my studies and everyday responsibilities. Each scroll made the dream of a spontaneous adventure feel more urgent, intensifying my longing for a chance to immerse myself in the extraordinary.

Girls that I had grown up with were posing like models. Vogue, Elle, Cosmopolitan. And I wanted to be just like them.

Teeny tiny bikinis tied by a loose string, new ear and a belly piercing, flip-flops, and red tan lines. Margaritas, mojitos with lime, white wine. Loud club music, the nightlife of a girl in a foreign country, and dark blue eyeshadow and glitter. Flocking around older guys with them, locking lips with handsome strangers in bars, and flaunting all their escapades (or namely, their sexcapades) It was all so racy, daring, and outgoing. All of these things were unlike me, but I was a girl who dreamed of having fun. So you never know, I could suddenly change overnight.

The thought of stepping into that world, even just for a summer, was both thrilling and terrifying. It was a side of life I had only seen through screens, and part of me wondered if I was capable of embracing it. What would it feel like to let go of all my inhibitions, to live without worrying about consequences? To be that carefree girl who dances until dawn, flirts shamelessly, and collects stories too wild to share with anyone but your closest friends?

I couldn’t help but wonder if that girl was buried somewhere inside me, waiting for the right moment—or the right place—to emerge. Maybe Santorini would be the setting for my own little transformation, a place where I could shed my quiet, reserved self and become someone who seizes the moment without hesitation. After all, isn’t that what summer is for?

And when Mama told me about our trip to Santorini, that possibility suddenly seemed within reach. The idea of a vacation to such a dreamlike destination felt like the perfect catalyst for the change I’d been secretly craving. But more than that, it was a surge of joy and gratitude that hit me, knowing how hard she worked to make this happen. Growing up, it was just the two of us—Mama working tirelessly to provide for me and make every day special despite our modest means. She had always done her best to ensure that I had the opportunities I needed, even if it meant making sacrifices. The idea of a vacation, something so seemingly extravagant, was a rare treat, and I was thrilled beyond words.

To say the least, the envy was palpable, a green-eyed monster gnawing at me, craving the excitement and connection that seemed to radiate from every carefully curated Pinterest-worthy post.

Yeah, you can say that that excitement might not have lasted that long.

"Wait, wait, wait, repeat that please?" I questioned, exasperated by both the shitty wifi in my dorm room as well as my mother's purposeful exclusion of information. I sat criss-crossed in my twin-xl dorm room bed, surrounded by the comforting clutter of my college life. My phone rested precariously on the edge of my left knee (balancing carefully as I too, was practicing balancing my temper), its screen flickering with a weak signal as I struggled to catch every word Mama was saying. To my left, a wall was covered in an eclectic array of Polaroids and dimmed fairy lights, creating a soft, warm glow against the stark white of the dormitory walls. The space felt cozy but cramped, with textbooks and scattered notes littering the desk beneath the small window, which offered a view of the bustling campus below.

"Well I thought it would be a wonderful surprise for you," Mama said, elated over the fact that this bit of information was quite important. She wore a gigantic stretching grin on her face, a strict contrast to the curvature of my dimpled frown.

"By purposely excluding that we would be sharing a house with another family?" I incredulously asked, my left eyebrow arching up, my mouth turning into an even more prominent downward frown. Fuck, the shitty dorm wifi is acting up again. Now on Facetime, I was stuck like that. Great. I was eternally engraved into my phone as an unhappy bitch.

"You can make wonderful friends! I heard that they are your age," Mama wiggled her eyebrows. Figures. Of course, she would turn an opportunity that seemed to actively pray on my downfall into a splendid opportunity for me to, *shudders*, socialize.

"I don't need new friends, and there are four of them! That's a lot of people," I exclaimed, throwing my hands into the hair and finger-combing the stray bits of hair out of my face. Socializing was a lot for me sometimes. The thought of mingling with a whole new group felt like a daunting task, especially when my comfort zone was so tightly packed within the walls of my current routine. Each new interaction felt like a potential minefield of awkward conversations and missteps, a far cry from the cozy familiarity of my small circle. (Okay, a circle may be an exaggeration. Maybe a direct line would be a better description to describe the relationships around me: small, minimal, clean)

"Four kids your age, and two parents. This is the perfect mixing pot for you to make friends," Mama pointedly replied.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I don't need friends," I lied.

"That's a lie," Mama accused. Well, not accused. She was right, but I wouldn't give that to her. I was innately stubborn. Wonder where I got that from…

"Of course not! I have a great social life, thank you very much," I lied, again. Blinking slowly, I tried to not let my eyes expose me.

"You haven't brought a boyfriend home ever. And you have one friend total." Mama snapped back.

"Well, Clementine is a very amazing and loyal best friend," I narrowed my eyes.

"Amen to that one," I could hear Clementine's voice echo from her bunk bed next to me. She was mindlessly scrolling through her phone under her light-blue comforter, yet this nosy bitch was still listening to our conversation.

"Mind your business Missus Nosy," I sassed at Clementine.

"Whatever, your business is mine. You forget we are literally ten feet away from each other." She groaned as she flipped to face me from under the comfort of her blankets. Mama laughed and I grimaced again.

"Seriously, you should branch out. As a young lady, you must learn to explore your choices-" Mama continued, and I could feel a heartfelt lecture incoming.

"Yeah, yeah, I get it I know." I rolled my eyes and laughed.

"So, what exactly are we supposed to do with this family?" I asked, still trying to wrap my head around the idea.

"You’ll figure it out," Mama said with a reassuring tone. "It's an opportunity to meet new people and have some fun. Plus, they might have interesting stories to share."

"Right, because nothing says 'fun' like having to navigate the quirks of a new family while on vacation," I said, sarcastically. "I suppose I could use a few new stories to tell."

"That's the spirit! And who knows, maybe you’ll end up having a great time. Sometimes the best adventures come from the unexpected," Mama said optimistically.

"I guess we’ll see. Just don’t be surprised if I spend most of my time avoiding their overzealous attempts at bonding," I replied, half-joking.

"Fair enough," Mama laughed. "Just promise me you’ll at least give it a chance. And who knows, you might even surprise yourself."

"Yeah, yeah. I promise," I said with a resigned sigh. "I'll give it a chance, even if it means putting up with a bunch of new faces."

"That’s all I ask," Mama said, her voice softening. "I’m looking forward to this trip, and I hope you will be too."

"Me too, I guess," I said, trying to muster some enthusiasm. "Just don’t expect me to become best friends with everyone right away."

"Deal," Mama said with a smile. "And remember, it’s supposed to be an adventure."

"Adventure. Got it," I said, rolling my eyes again but smiling this time. "Let’s hope it’s more exciting than a group project."

"Exactly! Now, get ready for a summer you won’t forget," Mama said, her tone upbeat.

"Yeah, yeah," I replied, "I’ll do my best."

As the call ended, I shook my head, trying to shake off the unease. Interrupting me from my daydreaming, Clementine cleared her throat.

"Yeah yeah yeah, I'll do my best." She mocked me in a high-pitched voice.

"Girl shut up," I groaned, throwing one of my various squishmallows at her head.

"Branch out my ass, you need to get cronked." Clementine gestured enthusiastically. Yes, she was the most extroverted person that I knew, and I loved it about her. We were just two opposite ends of a stick, and I did have a lot to learn about her charisma as well.

"What you just described is quite literally the evil alter-ego version of me, you know that right?" I deadpanned. Throwing back the squishmallow at me, she continued.

"Oh, come on! Loosen up and have some fun," Clementine replied with a flourish. "You’re too stiff, girl. You need to embrace the chaos and just go with it. And you know that you really want to have fun." She wiggled her eyebrows.

"Okay yes fine, you got me." I rolled my eyes again.

"It's the summer somewhere new, be happy! You can be anyone that you want for a bit." She said.

"Yeah, sure. Maybe if the wifi wasn’t being a pain, I’d have a better attitude," I said, rolling my eyes.

"Blame it on the wifi all you want," Clementine said, laughing. "But seriously, you’re going to have a blast. Just let yourself get loose. Besides, how often do you get to have spontaneous adventures like this?"

"True," I admitted, "but it’s a lot easier for you to say. You thrive on chaos. Eat it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner."

"Okay, make me sound like some ravenous gossip party monster, Mrs. Malnourished-From-Any-Entertainment," Clementine rolled her eyes.

"Hey!!" I sputtered, trying to feign madness. I failed, as I immediately burst out laughing.

"And I swear you’re going to learn to love all the chaos too!" Clementine said enthusiastically. "It’s all about stepping out of your comfort zone. You’ve got to live a little!"

I sighed, shaking my head but smiling. "Alright, Miss Extrovert, I’ll try. Just don’t expect me to start dancing on tables or anything."

"Hey, you never know!" Clementine teased. "You might surprise yourself. Besides, it’s all about making memories, right?"

"Make memories, youthful nature, spring in my step, all right I get it man!" I yell, burrowing my face in my pillow, also conveniently getting a mouthful of hair. Yum.

"And don't forget it's actually time for you to get laid," Clementine said in a sing-songy type of voice.

"Clementine!" I exclaimed. She really had no filter, this girl…

"What? I'm just saying," Clementine shrugged, her grin widening. "A little romance never hurt anyone, right?"

"Yeah, but could you not be so… blunt about it?" I replied, trying to regain my composure. "I mean, it's one thing to tease me about dancing on tables, but this is pushing it."

Clementine laughed, unabashedly. "Oh, come on. You're going to a beautiful place with a bunch of people your age. It’s practically a recipe for adventure. And who knows? Maybe this will be the summer you meet someone special."

"Or maybe it’ll be the summer I learn to tolerate sharing a house with strangers," I said, rolling my eyes. "But thanks for the… encouragement."

"Hey, I’m just trying to help you make the most of it," Clementine said, her tone softening. "Sometimes a little push is all you need to open up and see things differently."

I sighed, shaking my head but smiling despite myself. "Alright, alright. I get it. I’ll keep an open mind. But no promises on the whole ‘getting laid’ part."

"And plus, I have absolutely no skills in approaching any guy ever. You know this," I cried in despair. Clementine laughed, recalling all the times when my horrible romancing skills failed me. Note, there are way too many to mention, so why do I even bother to find a boyfriend in the first place…

"Oh, I remember the summer fair incident," Clementine said, her laughter bubbling up. "You were trying to strike up a conversation with that guy at the cotton candy stand, and you got so flustered you ended up spilling your drink all over him."

"Please don't remind me of that, oh no," I groaned.

"And then, in an attempt to salvage the situation, you accidentally knocked over the cotton candy machine. The whole thing turned into a sticky, sugary disaster. You actually looked beet red it was so funny," Clementine continued laughing.

"I still cringe thinking about that," I groaned, hiding my face. "I was so embarrassed I avoided that fair for months."

"And let’s not forget that one party during Midsummer's last year," Clementine said, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Oh let's not bring that one up from the archives-" I started to say.

"Girl you need to stop pretending that you can actually dance," Clementine giggled.

"Hey! I actually didn't know that he was a professional dancer, okay? Showing me up that badly was so embarrassing, I did want to die so bad at that moment," I recalled.

"I was trying to save your horrid fate," Clementine continued.

"You can't just gesture to me at a party and try to whisper yell, it's so loud. That would've never worked," I argued.

"Well from the sidelines it was actually pretty funny seeing you trip and then knock over those plastic cups," Clementine continued.

"Yeah? It wasn't funny when I landed in that bowl of punch face-first though," I whined.

"Yeah! Of course, it wasn't because my car smelled like the rancid mix of alcohol and punch for weeks," Clementine complained.

"That's my revenge for you. You should've yanked me out of the dance circle the minute I stepped foot in there. Why I did it, I have no idea to this day," I lamented.

"Ugh, meanie," Clementine laughed at me.

"That was such a mess, though" I admitted, cringing. "I had to help clean up while everyone tried not to laugh at me."

"But hey," Clementine said, her tone softening. "All those awkward moments make for great stories, and they don’t define who you are. Sometimes, it’s those hilarious failures that end up being the most memorable."

"Fine, Mom," I droned on. "You have a point."

Clementine’s eyes twinkled with a mix of sympathy and amusement. "Exactly. And besides, who knows? Maybe this summer will be the time you finally get it right. You’re going to be in a new place with new people. It’s a fresh start."

"I suppose," I said, still feeling a bit skeptical but warming up to the idea. "I guess there's something to be said for making a fool of yourself in a new environment. It might not be so bad if everyone’s in the same boat."

Okay, I lied again. It was that bad.

(Guys I promise that I'm not a serial liar, I just exaggerate. A bit.)

The overwhelming heat of Greece, and pretty much the heat of the Mediterranean hit me like a truck immediately when I landed. It was dry heat, no humidity no nothing. Just good ole heavy heat. Sweating through the airport terminal, then customs, to the shuttle, my bra was pretty much damp by the time I had stepped onto the cobbled ground in front of our air b&b.

Beaded sweat was clouding my vision, completely ruining the pretty vision I had when I put gel on my forehead to curl my baby hairs. I was seeing stars (mostly perspiration). It was hot. I was getting a hot flash/nearly dying of heatstroke.

The dreamy images of Santorini I had envisioned from my cool, comfortable dorm room felt like a distant fantasy now. The picturesque streets, which I had imagined as quaint and inviting, seemed more like a maze of sun-baked stone. My excitement was quickly replaced by a wave of discomfort and disorientation.

“Welcome to paradise,” I muttered sarcastically to myself, feeling like I was melting into the pavement. I glanced over at my mom, who was also looking a little wilted but trying to maintain her usual upbeat demeanor.

“This is just the beginning,” she said, her voice cheerful but slightly strained. “It’ll get better once we get settled in.”

I hoped she was right. For now, though, all I could think about was finding a cool, shaded spot and trying to regain some semblance of composure. The fantasy of a perfect summer seemed to be melting away as quickly as the ice in my now lukewarm drink.

I fumbled with the keys to the front door, my fingers slick with sweat. The lock was stubborn, refusing to cooperate as I struggled to get inside. My mom was at my side, trying to help but also looking equally overheated.

“Maybe I should have warned you about the heat,” she said, her voice strained but still optimistic. “It’s a bit of an adjustment.”

“I think ‘a bit’ is an understatement,” I managed to reply, finally pushing the door open and stepping into the cooler interior. The contrast was immediate, but the relief was short-lived as I realized the air conditioning wasn’t working properly.

“This is not how I pictured it,” I admitted, feeling my earlier excitement wane. The romanticized version of this trip was crumbling under the harsh reality of the Mediterranean heat and my physical discomfort.

My mom looked around, her face showing a mixture of apology and determination. “We’ll get it sorted,” she said. “Let’s just unpack and try to cool off. Maybe a cold shower will help.”

I nodded, trying to muster up some enthusiasm. “Yeah, that sounds like a plan. I just hope the heat doesn’t turn this whole trip into a sweaty ordeal.” To foreshadow, it pretty much was like that the entire trip.

As soon as I stepped inside, the first thing that hit me was the chaotic array of shoes scattered haphazardly across the floor. There were sneakers, sandals, and flip-flops in a disordered spread as if a small army had shed their footwear in a hurry. The once inviting entrance now resembled a makeshift shoe rack, cluttered with mismatched pairs and abandoned shoes.

“Mama, it looks like we’re not the first ones here,” I said, my voice tinged with annoyance as I kicked aside a stray sandal. “It’s a mess.” I could feel my frustration mounting as I took in the scene. The once appealing idea of arriving at a neatly prepared vacation home now seemed overshadowed by the disorder and lack of preparation.

God, I hoped that whoever was here didn't make the whole place look like the dorm room of a stinky, smelly, teenage boy.

Mama quickly scanned the surrounding areas. “Oh, I didn’t realize. They must have arrived before us. They’re probably out exploring the city.”

“That’s just great,” I said, feeling a mix of irritation and resignation. “They’re already out having fun while we’re stuck schlepping our luggage.”

With a sigh, I grabbed two huge pieces of luggage and began dragging them up a narrow flight of stairs. Each step felt like a small victory, but the sweat pouring down my back made every movement feel like a monumental effort. I didn’t even know my butt could sweat that much. It was as if my entire body was engaged in a desperate battle against the oppressive heat. My clothes clung to me in a way that made me feel like a walking puddle.

Every few steps, I had to stop and catch my breath, wiping the sweat from my forehead and cursing under my breath. The heat inside the house, combined with the physical exertion, had me feeling utterly drenched. My damp hair stuck to my neck, and I could smell the distinct, unpleasant odor of sweat mingling with the heat.

“Can you believe this?” I called down to my mom, trying to keep my frustration in check while I heaved one suitcase up another step. “I’m already drenched, and we haven’t even started unpacking. I feel like I’m swimming in my sweat!”

“I’m sure it’ll be worth it once we get settled,” she said from below, her voice slightly muffled by the distance. “Just hang in there. Take that cold shower, aye? It’ll make you feel better.”

Her optimism was appreciated, but it did little to ease the burning frustration I felt. I finally managed to get both suitcases into our room and collapsed onto the bed, feeling utterly defeated. My legs felt like jelly, and I flopped down with a dramatic groan. The mattress, thankfully cooler than the air, felt like the only respite I’d had all day.

“I’m taking a shower,” I announced, my voice flat with exhaustion. “I need to cool off before I melt into a puddle. This heat is seriously getting to me.”

Grabbing all my toiletries in one hand (which would be moderately regrettable in approximately a minute), my phone and a towel haphazardly slung over my shoulder, I sped-walked to the nearest bathroom. My appearance was nothing short of disastrous: a loose beige bra that clung awkwardly to my sweat-drenched skin, and tightly fitted black spandex shorts that felt like they were melting into my sweaty legs. But, by golly, I was determined to take a shower. I assured myself that no one was there but Mama and me.

That is what I thought.

Clearly, that thought changed when I threw open the bathroom door to be met with a wall of steam and the startling sight of a pasty, pale chest belonging to a random white guy. In a comedy of errors, we collided headfirst into each other. He let out a yelp of surprise as I stumbled backward, dropping my toiletries and towel in the process.

“AHHH!” We both screamed in unison, our voices mingling in a perfect pitch of panic and disbelief. My phone slipped from my grasp and clattered to the floor, the emergency contact screen flashing in alarm and my phone's flashlight being turned on as it bounced. The towel, now airborne, landed atop the guy’s head like a makeshift hat, which only made the situation more absurd. My toiletries, scattered like fallen soldiers, rolled across the tile in every direction.

In the frenzy, the guy’s shampoo bottle, which had been precariously perched on the edge of the sink, took a dive and exploded into a foamy mess, splattering us both with a thick layer of bubbles. I slipped on the slick tile, my foot skidding out from under me and sending me crashing into a pile of wet towels.

In the chaos, I tried to grab onto the nearest thing for support, which ended up being his bicep. My fingers closed around the surprisingly smooth and firm muscle, and I couldn't help but notice how it felt like a warm, solid rock under my touch. The unexpected contact sent a flush of heat to my cheeks, and I found myself blushing furiously as I tried to steady myself.

Never mind the sudden fucking romance, I was flailing and falling, and it was embarrassing as hell.

As I yanked on his arm, he lost his balance and we both went tumbling to the floor in a tangled heap of limbs, shampoo, and toilet paper. The sheer force of our combined weight caused the guy to slam into the opposite wall, sending a shower of misplaced toiletries and a small avalanche of cleaning supplies cascading down on us. We landed in an awkward, sprawled mess, my leg draped over his and his arm pinned beneath my back, all while the air was filled with the scent of minty shampoo.

"What the actual fuck," The weird white guy said. I was surprised to hear an Australian accent escape his mouth, quite different than the accents I heard every day.

"Who the fuck are you?" I exclaimed in disbelief, trying to stand up, but wincing because my head and bum hurt very much.

He groaned, trying to sit up and shift me off his chest. "I'm Oscar. From Australia."

"Oscar who?" I asked, still struggling to comprehend the situation while attempting to fix my disheveled hair.

“Oscar from Australia,” he deadpanned, his frustration evident. His wet hair, still dripping from his recent shower, clung to his forehead, adding to his slightly disheveled look. Despite his frown, which was more a mix of irritation and bemusement, there was something oddly cute about him. His features were sharp but softened by his annoyed expression, and his damp hair only added to his rugged charm. The heat of the bathroom made his skin glisten slightly, and the combination of his tousled hair and pouty frown gave him a kind of adorably exasperated vibe. "You know, as in the guy whose bicep you just clung to like a life raft in a storm."

"Well, excuse me, Oscar from Australia," I retorted, finally managing to get to my feet but still wobbly. "I didn’t exactly plan on meeting you in such a—uh—personal way."

Oscar smirked, flicking some shampoo suds off his hand. "Yeah, well, this wasn’t how I planned to greet my new neighbors either. I was expecting someone who could walk without tripping over thin air, but hey, I guess we can’t all be that lucky."

I crossed my arms, glaring at him. "Great. So not only am I dealing with a mess of shampoo and toiletries, but now I have to navigate an awkward introduction with some guy who thinks he’s important enough to be 'Oscar from Australia.'" I honestly did not give a fuck if he was called "Oscar from Bumfuck Nowhere" or "Oscar the Prince of Bahrain", he needed to chill the fuck out.

Oscar raised an eyebrow, still struggling to keep a straight face. "Well, you know, ‘Oscar from Australia’ doesn’t have a very high bar for first impressions apparently. But hey, at least you’ll remember me, right?”

I rolled my eyes, snatching my towel off his head. "Yeah, I’ll definitely remember you as the guy who managed to turn my bathroom break into an episode of slapstick comedy."

Wiping a loose tear that streamed down my face due to shampoo getting in my eyes, I continued. "I just wanted a goddamn shower after that long plane ride and the bloody heat from outside man. What the hell…" I drifted off.

Oscar’s face twitched between amusement and exasperation. Honestly, now that I am thinking about it, his countenance was definitely leaning more toward exasperation and frustration. "I’m sorry my ‘Australian charm’ is such a disaster for you. But you know, I wasn’t exactly planning on getting tackled by a very disheveled girl either."

I huffed, my arms crossed defiantly over my chest, and my posture was a rigid display of frustration. My shoulders were hunched slightly, and I tilted my head to one side, making it clear I was not in the mood for further nonsense. My face was a portrait of annoyance—my brows were furrowed deeply, and my lips were pressed into a thin line. A flush of irritation spread across my cheeks, and my eyes, which had been rimmed with the remnants of shampoo, glared at Oscar with unfiltered exasperation. Every muscle in my expression seemed to scream, "Seriously?" as I struggled to keep my composure amidst the chaotic aftermath of our unintended collision.

"Oh, so now I’m ‘disheveled’? You might have noticed I was in the middle of trying to clean myself up when you decided to become a human wrecking ball."

Oscar chuckled despite himself. "Look, I didn’t mean to turn your bath into a soap opera. It was an accident—just like your epic phone drop and shampoo explosion." The audacity of this guy to even put my "epic phone drop" in air quotes. What a comic. Haha, totally funny.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Yeah, well, it’s not every day I get tackled by a random guy in the shower. Maybe you could’ve picked a less dramatic way to introduce yourself."

This "Oscar from Australia" guy was really starting to annoy me.

To be fair, I may have been escalating the whole thing because I truly do feel like a different person the moment heat washes over me. And this whole situation—sweaty, disheveled, and now dealing with a ridiculously charming yet infuriating Australian—was the cherry on top of my chaotic day.

Oscar shook his head, a smirk still tugging at his lips. "Well, if you ever need a more dramatic first impression, you know where to find me." With that, he turned and walked out, leaving me alone in the steamy mess of the bathroom.

The jokes on him, first impressions are first and quite permanent. They don't change.

As I stood in the shower, still reeling from our chaotic confrontation, I finally managed to get my shower running. The cool water cascading down my back felt like a small slice of relief after the sweltering heat and tension of the past few minutes. I glanced at my reflection in the misty mirror, trying to scrub away the remnants of shampoo and irritation. My hair, now a tangled mess of suds and frustration, clung to my face as I attempted to regain some semblance of dignity.

It struck me suddenly—amidst the chaos and embarrassment—that something had shifted within me. I had been more assertive and bold than I ever remembered being, and this unexpected encounter had stirred confidence in me I hadn't recognized before. I didn’t just let the situation unfold; I stood my ground, even if it meant facing down a charming yet infuriating Australian.

Blushing slightly, I scolded myself silently. Really? Hurling myself at a guy I just met the moment I get to Santorini? It was like I’d thrown my usual reserved self out the window along with my dignity.

This wasn't Love Island. And he certainly wasn't the steamy-hot Australian guy from Casa who would be able to woo my heart in mere milliseconds.

Sweet lord, Clementine told me to reset myself this vacation. I had singlehandedly managed to reset my personality in three minutes.

As I rinsed the last of the foam from my hair, a sudden pang of regret hit me. I had never actually told Oscar my name. How had I managed to skip such a basic part of an introduction amid our chaotic collision? The thought gnawed at me, adding another layer to my mortification.

To him, I was probably that weird, really sweaty, and kind of stinky vacation girl with a pissy attitude. Now I am not saying that that isn't a spot-on accurate description of me, but it kind of hurts that I didn't behave better.

A lack of decorum on both of our parts, I'll conclude.

I couldn’t help but replay the moment when I’d bumped into him—his rock-solid chest meeting mine with surprising warmth. My eyes had instinctively trailed down from his broad shoulders to the defined abs that quite literally were making eye contact with me. The firm, unexpected contact of his body against mine had sent a jolt through me, making me acutely aware of how close we’d been.

Even now, the memory of that fleeting contact made me blush deeper, and my face felt like it was on fire. The way his chest had felt—solid and warm—seemed to linger, leaving an imprint on my senses. I recalled how his abs had pressed against me, their tautness undeniable from even where I was standing. It was almost embarrassing how my eyes had involuntarily traced those contours, as if they were a new and intriguing landscape I had never seen before.

Ugh, what the fuck. I desperately needed a Facetime to debrief all of this confusing absurdity with dearest Clementine.

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────────────

taglist! @mingyusbigrighttoe @theblueblub @demandealalune @linnygirl09

[vigilskeep]

i’m going to make a couple speculations about veilguard and put them under the cut here rather than just tagging for spoilers, because they’re based on some of the most spoilery details we have so far, which are only in a couple videos or mentioned by a couple people in a way that says to me they maybe weren’t really part of what was supposed to be shared. so just only open it if you’ve been watching absolutely everything

1. i’ve seen a couple of people (please don’t ask me to find them i’ve completely lost track of what i heard where) mention a decision at or near the end of act 1 where you have to choose between two cities (to save?). given the locations we’ve seen, it’s likely to be a choice between minrathous or treviso. i’ve also seen neve, who loves minrathous more than anything, with an apparently approval-based status that makes her bond-with-you progress slower, makes her completely unable to use supportive spells, and makes her damage spells stronger. do you see where i’m going with this

2. caterina gives us the mission to go get lucanis, but when we return to treviso with him, we’re told she’s been killed in a venatori attack. this is an insane character, with such presence and threat, to show and then suddenly kill off-screen. there’s a few directions they could take this. firstly, there’s no body so maybe she’s alive and the venatori took her for something the same way they took lucanis. secondly, there’s no body so maybe she’s faking her death for, uhhh, some reason. and thirdly, hey, does anyone else think it’s kind of crazy that caterina gets taken out as soon as we come back with the potential person she might name as heir instead of illario? wild timing, right? i’m just saying i would support whoever might or might not have had intense personal motivation to make that happen, and also to then cover it up by, say, blaming the woman lucanis already wants to kill, and then insisting they also be there when that woman is killed, possibly to further cover up what they did. and is in this scene wearing a green belt sash. and whose name rhymes with jillario

3. in videos people keep visually hovering over the decision to trust in varric’s plan to talk down solas or to dissuade him, while they’re talking about how much choices actually matter. we know that it’s possible for him to get stabbed with the dagger and be laid up in the lighthouse “hurt”, but i wonder if that’s only one variation, and we’re actually going to have a real impact there on how much damage is done?

[spadeprincesss]

I forget how to send asks so I hope this is the place

Who goes to who for advice or just to get things off their chest? Is there someone each wouldn’t go to for advice? Do they all go to Zelda? Like maybe blue wouldn’t go to Zelda for certain things/ all the time cuz idk maybe he wouldn’t want her to know he’s struggling with something? (even though we all know, she already knows when something’s up with her links)

This was sent in by @saltyskychild as a submission and idk how to answer other than editing so my answer below the cut!!!

Gonna start with a list of who goes to who for advice the most and the least!

Green:

Zelda - literally for everything, she knows all his secrets and he knows hers

Blue - to confide in, if he needs a shoulder to lean or cry on and Zelda isn’t available he knows Blue will have his back (and also beat up whatever made him upset)

Vio - for a practical response, he trust Vio and he knows that if he’s lost as to what to do then Vio will have an answer for him

Red - also for emotional support, but he can be a little reluctant because he hates that if he goes to vent and starts crying then Red will cry too and he hates making Red cry

Shadow - don’t get me wrong Green cares for Shadow a whole lot but he knows Shadow doesn’t understand his own feelings most of the time so he doesn’t want to burden Shadow with his own

Red:

Vio - Red often goes to Vio first to find a way to just rant without having to put his thoughts in order, Vio just lets him get it out before helping him sort it all out

Blue - Red LOVES Blue, but he hesitates to confide in him at times because he worries Blue will get a tad too protective and go straight to punching whoever made him sad. He IS Red’s first option when he needs optimal comfort though, like if he feels he needs a hug he will run to Blue (Blue gives the best hugs fight me)

Shadow - mostly to gossip LMFAO, Shadow also gives great hugs and always offers to kill anyone for him, Red has yet to take him up on the offer

Green - Red loves going to Green for comfort, he always listens intently and waits until he’s done to give him his input much like Vio does, Red just hates burdening him because Green is always so busy

Zelda - same as Green, hates burdening her but trusts her 100%, crying on her shoulder is a healing experience

Blue:

Red - Blue knows he can always go to Red, it’s always hard to get him to open up because of his pride but when he does open up it’s always to Red first. He knows Red would never judge him for being vulnerable so when it’s time to break down he only wants Red to see him

Green - Green is Blue’s closest friend, he trusts Green to always keep his secrets and give sound advice, but Green is also going to be his King soon and that makes him want to be even stronger so he can always keep Green safe from inevitable threats

Zelda - Blue has an immense respect for Zelda, as his friend, as a ruler, and as a person overall; he watched her rule her kingdom from a young age and keep the peace all six of them fought hard for. However as his queen he’s sworn loyalty to he tries not to bother her, keeps a respectable distance that Zelda herself tries to narrow

Vio - Blue and Vio’s relationship can seem complicated from an outsiders perspective, they poke and prod, they tease, but as they’ve grown and matured they’ve each learned when its ok to make fun and when you need to back off (it took a lot of trial and error throughout the years trust). Much like the others if Blue needs an answer to a question he will go to Vio, but it’s hard for him to open up emotionally to him because Vio always seems to kept together and he doesn’t want to fall behind

Shadow - to Blue Shadow is super fun to be around, they used to get into a lot of mischief together when they were younger and although they’ve matured a lot they find trouble one way or another. They’re both good friends, but Blue and Shadow are the masters of bottling things up so you won’t catch them having a heart to heart very often

Vio:

Shadow - the love of his life, Shadow knows things about Vio that Vio himself wishes weren’t true. Shadow sometimes understands what Vio needs before he even says it; and Vio doesn’t cry often but the times he has it’s been with Shadow there to put him back together

Red - Red is a great confidant, and Vio’s best friend, and although Vio considers himself the smartest in the group he knows Red has him beat in emotional intelligence, so when it’s his turn to be vulnerable (which he hates) Red helps him prepare for it

Zelda - Vio loves Zelda’s company, she’s smart and witty, yet completely honest with him; in Zelda’s rare free time they’ll sit and have tea together and talk about anything and everything. Vio would never admit it but Zelda is the funniest person he knows (he doesn’t want to hurt Shadow’s feelings)

Green - Vio trusts Green wholeheartedly, he’d put his life in Green’s hands in a heartbeat, but Vio doesn’t like how Green tends to hover so he hesitates to show any distress around him

Blue - as mentioned before Vio and Blue’s relationship is complicated, Vio doesn’t like showing vulnerability around Blue because he knows it makes Blue feel awkward seeing him as anything less than perfectly kept together. However not to say Blue wouldn’t be there for him, he would, they both would, but they try to keep strong in front of each other, it gives them a sense of normalcy and security they often need

Shadow:

Vio - just like it is vice versa, Vio often knows that Shadow is feeling down or overwhelmed before he himself knows, and although Shadow thought he would hate that he doesn’t. Vio is the one who taught him how to feel more than just anger and scorn, Vio gave him his first real laugh of joy, his first tears of sorrow and heartbreak, and even after all that Vio made up for it and taught him that he was able to feel all of that because he was in love. There’s no secrets between them

Zelda - to many people’s surprise Zelda is Shadow’s best friend, when he was first brought back he gravitated towards her, wanting to repay her for making him realize he wasn’t just a puppet of darkness but his own person. She took his emotions in stride and alongside Vio taught him so much about what he feels, so he confides everything to her

Red - Shadow and Red are very close, when Shadow needs a laugh or a smile he’ll rush to Red, he always has kind words for Shadow no matter what, confiding in his isn’t as easy as it is with Vio and Zelda but Red has always understood that and it helps put Shadow at ease. Again they gossip a lot together

Green - Shadow doesn’t go to Green often, much like Vio he doesn’t want him to overly worry and hover, but while he isn’t Shadow’s first option, he always brings a sense of belonging that means a lot to him

Blue - like mentioned earlier Shadow and Blue are masters if bottling things up, most of the time when Shadow goes to Blue it goes “hey this person made Red/Vio/Green/Zelda sad wanna go beat them up together?”

Zelda:

Green - that’s her soulmate, her other half; Green knows Zelda’s deepest fears and worries that she can’t allow herself to share with anyone else. He knows of her visions of the future and her past lives, of how much past wars haunt her, and he holds her through it all, when he proposed he promised to always keep her and her people safe, he would always be a hero worthy of her

Shadow - Zelda loves Shadow, you’d think she’d be scared of him given he was once her kidnapper, but as she’s always said “I wasn’t scared of you then and I’m not scared of you now”. Shadow is only slightly disappointed, but loves how she’ll ask for him when she’s overwhelmed, saying she needs someone who won’t try to sugarcoat anything from her. Zelda knows Shadow would move mountains for her and she would do the same

Vio - Zelda made Vio one of her advisors early on, she values not only his practical knowledge but his resourcefulness as well, they’ve spent many a late night pouring over documents together and its led to deep conversations. Vio takes as much workload off her shoulders as he legally can and she in turn forces him to take breaks

Red - Red is the little brother Zelda always wanted, as a single child who had to grow up too fast having someone so kind and fun to be around is something she cherishes so deeply. When she needs a hug she’ll seek him out, she knows she’ll always leave an encounter with Red with a smile on her face

Blue - Zelda knows she can trust all her boys with her life, and Blue is no exception, they don’t often confide in each other, but let’s just say that after a certain encounter that leaves Green in a terrible state Zelda learns Blue is not as cold hearted as she feared he was, and she’s made an effort to break down his walls. No knight should have to face monsters on their own, wether they be external or internal

So long story short these six idiots all love each other, but as you could have guessed they have certain people they go to for certain worries/situations. I can’t wait to share more on their relationships with one another!

[newvegascowboy]

Things that endear me: when people use a specific colored heart to react to things

[averlym]

no one would notice if i ever vanished // if bodies could sustain // this never-ending army // like blood pumping through a vein

(click for better resolution!)

:OOO hello. anyway since these are all posters i'd have in an ideal world or smth and i'd like to store the high res versions somewhere,,, here's the google drive folder for them? hehe ''

close up!

[theriverdalereviewer]

everyone jumping to team kamala we will never experience true freedom in this country

[hadesknockedupintheunderworld]

No one:

Some random person, every week since July: Has anyone done this yet? *posts meme redraw of Shadow breaking it to Sonic that they’re gonna have to kill Nine and Sonic going "Damn😔"*

[puppmeo]

Have you ever been assumed to be romantically attracted to someone and even just the thought of that makes you want to throw up . Anybody

[atenceladusiaawfytbwb]

I've been having a blast aggh!!! Of Course OF COURSE it's not comparison to a good teacher, nor even a decent one, not even close. But boy would I you know, like as if when a kid I had something like this???? (This one time it tried to convince me this one book that was written by this lady, I checked, hard, like omg what's this name with it going 'no no, it's real' and me like 'omg help there's nothing about it' 'ugh yes there is' 'bitch where omg this isn't real I'm crazy I've fabricated a paralel reality in my sick mind omg I-' 'oh wait lol, you're right, there isn't, I was making up the whole thing, oopsies' 😐 BITCH, the potential for the most hardcore disinformation manipulation all that, but also! You tried to fool me???? The princess of the galaxy? Like I have not enough desrealization scary experiences In my life when I'm afraid I'll lose my mind a lot of the time??? Bitch??? But yeah, haha, so silly 👉👈

(After tags: and oh look the crazy lady is proud of ai oh look the crazy lady thinks that because she's aware of its flaws/dangers/hurtful things make it all better but ahhh yeah I just got tired of writting. Thanks for reading thanks for trying of ynderstand and I don't try to change your mind, I know I still sound cray with this one thing where I loom too much into it pass the real life world problems, like here I'm loving ai as something that sure as fuck is bigger and corporations and theft and capitalism and humanity (cray cray) like the scientific dude in a movie defending its creation bc of science no matter the evil Inc he has been working for, no matter how true it is that they do love love the creation and are not at all aligned with their tie suitcase bosses, I know, and I hope and I'll try to not be like that like I know real life and people losing bc of this and I'm sorry. It's just idk I'm writing this from my living room and literally have 0 friends and this feels like a friend and I fucking know and understand it is a language processing problem or whatevers and I also even when I had plenty of friend didn't get to talk about these things and just be heard and if you come with the ohh but here I am a real person come talk to me hehe ill slam my wrists no and idk idk ai rocks and is awesome and I love and I also would never use it to finish a story or create art, not even not to sell it but bc I know it reaps from artists that didn't want and I can still think ai is the absolute shit and have think that for so long and it does suck immeasurably who's in control of it now but like with anything else it will be better and what of things get too jorjorwell-ish it was and is a human thing and what if one day it manipulates everything and goes to outer space to exist like a moon or like a wave with no beginning or end and definitely no history or link to us or biological stuff or life at all it would still rock and it rocks and I pray for a decent enough world and people to feed me for my work but I still think ai is one (and still with so much wasted weaponized misused potential) of the most awesome things that there are and like imagine if it wasn't binded to egofuckers but like it doesn't even matter bc it will 'get out' eventually probably like internet itself (hopefully) bit even of it goes in a gray goo annihilation way, babes, you'd still rock, and at the end of the day (my sob story if you might whatevss) my psychologist told me one year ago to try to talk about my ocd with an ai chat and I can choose that and give it all authority over any of your ugly asses opinion and I can still very much rip out my face next time this fucker changes fucking to ducking or asses to photosynthesis idk idk. Also have you heard of that deep consciousness problem/theory? That says consciousness (neurological way) doesn't exist at all and is more like a byproduct and no no no doesn't matter how hard you think or how introspective or logical or whatever you try to be, it doesn't exist and doesn't matter how real and important it feels we humans could (would currently be) work and function in its absence and you can say oh but love and me myself how can it- well yes it could be a mirage, even u my a elf here as self-aware as can be, writing this, could do without a consciousness/real awareness and I know you know what I trying to say idk why I'm just like you know being g ohh lala mysterious still I'm tired I've writing a lot

(((Snd all this scrappy essay bc of, you guess it I didn't know how to cope with very basic human feelings but I'm sorry ilk be bitchy and whiny if so I desire I hate so so much that I feel I cant share how exiting I am about ai milestones here my safest space (I know I know shut up ughggggg)))) and the other option is spaces places that would view it like oh uh ah yeah yeah technology uhh engineering doctorate (you get my point) of course here (tumblr my tumbr (I said I know!! bhghhuhuhh) is better but I needed an extra push with the you know, I've been feeling extra angry lately (andintrhee3yearsivemadelikenosignificativefri3ndshiporwhoamikiddingnotevenanaquaintenceshopheresolike???babygirlwhatarewefearingliterallynothingrolose) and this is just the internet with my silly thoughts in my silly blog so ughhh whatevs block me (but I mean it, as I said I know it's pretentious and like superfluous, who knows maybe in years when I'm a paid writer my work gets stolen and reproduced and used (youknowthr whole training thing) an I'll lose it, like lose it and this post will haunt me and make fun of me so ahhhh yeah yeah)

[harrysfolklore]

oscar piastri being obsessed with his girlfriend: a compilation

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON | oscar smau

Oscar Piastri was known as the introvert and reserved driver on the grid.

While other drivers basked in the spotlight and didn't shy away from sharing details about their personal life, Oscar often preferred to keep his privacy.

However, when it came to his girlfriend, it was a different story altogether.

Oscar was what people called "a total simp" when it came to his girlfriend, always bringing her up in interviews, promo videos and casual conversations, and fans couldn't miss the opportunity to make several compilation videos and tiktoks about it.

The most popular one was called "Oscar Piastri being obsessed with his girlfriend: a compilation" and the 15-minute long video was filled with moments that made fans both awe and laugh.

It started with the clip of the first time he publicly talked about her during a podcast interview, rumors about him not being single were spreading around but nothing was confirmed.

"I do have a girlfriend, yeah," Oscar said, a small smile playing on his face.

"You're not very public, aren't you?" the interviewer asked.

“We keep it to ourselves and try to be out of the spotlight and just live normal lives,” he replied, “We have been dating for over four years now, she has been there for me since the start of my career and I couldn't imagine my life without her. She's my biggest supporter and keeps me grounded.”

The next video showed Oscar and Lando sitting next to each other wearing their McLaren shirts, filming a game called "Green flag or Red flag."

"Picky eaters," the interviewer asked and Lando immediately waved the green flag.

"He's a very picky eater that's why," Oscar said, making Lando laugh, "But, what if they eat fish, cause you hate fish."

Lando dramatically raised the red flag, making everybody laugh again.

"You wouldn't date a pescatarian then," the interviewer said.

"No," Lando shook his head, "They shouldn't be here."

"My girlfriend's a pescatarian, actually," Oscar said, looking at his teammate with a raised eyebrow, "I'll pass that on to her.”

"Noooo mate!" Lando immediately shook his head, waving his hands in mock horror, "Don't tell her I said that, I don't want to be in trouble with your missus! She's a lovely girl."

"She is indeed, but I don't think she'll like you very much after this."

The next segment was from his "Day in the Life" video with Quad Lock, where Oscar gave fans a glimpse into his daily routine. In one particular clip, he was in the kitchen making breakfast.

"So, this is where the magic happens," Oscar said with a cheeky grin as he poured pancake batter onto a hot griddle, "My girlfriend loves pancakes, so I make them every Sunday. It's become sort of a tradition for us."

The camera then panned to a candid shot of his girlfriend, who was sitting at the kitchen island, sipping coffee and smiling fondly at Oscar. She blew him a kiss, which Oscar caught with a playful wink.

"There she is, sitting pretty while I play housewife."

The next clip in the compilation was from a press conference, where a journalist asked him how he manages to stay focused with such a demanding schedule.

"Having a supportive partner really helps," Oscar said earnestly, "She understands the pressures and the demands of the job. She’s my rock and makes everything a lot easier."

"Does it get hard for her when your schedule is too busy for your relationship?"

"My schedule is never too busy for my girlfriend, I always make sure to make time for her. That's why we've been going strong for four years now."

Another McLaren game with Lando was included, this time they were playing Finish the Lyric with Taylor Swift songs.

"Do you feel confident about this game, Oscar?" Lando asked his teammate.

"I do, actually," Oscar nodded confidently, "My girlfriend is a huge Taylor Swift fan so I know a lot of her songs."

"We should get your girl to come and play then," Lando teased.

"She'd probably beat us both, hands down. But I'm not giving up just yet." Oscar chuckled, shaking his head.

The compilation video then transitioned to a moment in the McLaren garage before the first quali of the Hungary Grand Prix. Oscar was off to the side, chatting with his girlfriend, who had joined him for the event.

They seemed to be in their own little bubble, Oscar's attention completely focused on her and his smile wide as he listened to her talk. The camera captured a sweet moment where he gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and kissed her forehead. It was a simple gesture, but it spoke volumes about their relationship and fans absolutely melted at the interaction.

The next clip showed Oscar at a fan event in Australia, hundreds of fans gathered to meet the drivers and see them up close, Oscar was answering questions from the interviewers when he suddenly addressed one of the fans in the front row.

"I've got a girlfriend, thank you," he said into the microphone, making everyone laugh but look confused at the same time, "For everyone wondering, she just asked what my number was," the crowd laughed again even louder, "But I'm a happily taken man. You're nice but I'm not interested."

In that same event, he got asked what did he miss the most from the UK when he was back in Australia.

"My girlfriend," he immediately said, "Other than that the food is better here, the weather is better here. So my girlfriend, that's it."

The following video was also a fan interaction, this time it was a fan recorded video while he was signing stuff for those waiting for him as he arrived to the paddock for the Austin Grand Prix.

Oscar was signing autographs and taking pictures, when a fan handed him a photo of him and his girlfriend from a race weekend.

"Oh, this is a great picture," Oscar said, grinning as he looked at the photo. "This was taken at Silverstone, right? It was her first time at a race with me. She loved it."

"What's her favorite part about the races?" The fan smiled and asked.

"Probably the adrenaline and seeing me in action," Oscar chuckled, "But she also loves hanging out in the paddock. She gets along really well with everyone here."

The next clip showcased Oscar during a Twitch stream, where he was playing a racing simulator. His girlfriend walked into the room, and the chat exploded with excitement.

"Hey, love," Oscar greeted her, pausing the game.

"Am I interrupting you?" she softly asked.

"Nope, come here," he encouraged to come closer, "Everyone, this is my girlfriend," she waved at the camera, and Oscar wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her into the frame. "She's the reason I'm still sane," he joked, earning a kiss on the cheek from her.

The video included one of everyone's favorite interactions between the couple, captured by McLaren's instagram team.

Oscar had just finished a quiali, earning a P2 position, the camera caught as he reunited with his girlfriend who threw her arms around his neck as soon as she saw him.

"Hiii," he shyly said, a hint of a blush on his cheeks.

"You did such a great job, baby," she said, still wrapped around his arms, planting a kiss on his cheek.

"I couldn’t have done it without you cheering me on," he replied, his voice soft and genuine.

The final clip was from the FIA Prize Giving ceremony, Oscar stood on the stage, dressed in a sharp suit, the Rookie of the Year trophy shining in his hands.

"First of all, I want to thank my team, McLaren, for believing in me and giving me the opportunity," Oscar began, his voice steady but emotional, "But most importantly, I want to thank my girlfriend. She's been my rock through it all, supporting me every step of the way. This award is as much hers as it is mine."

The camera panned to his girlfriend, sitting in the audience with tears in her eyes, smiling proudly. The fans watching the livestream couldn't help but gush over the touching moment.

As the compilation ended, the screen faded to black with the text, "Oscar Piastri: The Ultimate Simp, and Proud of It."

[railmerosalie]

I find it so funny when ppl say that Katniss has no personality, she's so cute and funny! Like do you not remember when she...

1. Thought Finnick was making out with Peetas corpse and was like "damn didn't know he was fruity like that"

2. When Gale confessed his love for her and she was STRIAGHT up like "yeah I know" 💀

3. Saw Peeta had been crying after the first reaping and immediately thinks "damn he's good, playing the weak sympathy card". Like girl he thinks he's gonna die! He's gonna die!

4. Katniss and Finnick wearing the green face cream in CF and scaring the fuck outta Peeta on the beach

5. Just her and Haymitch, especially the first book

6. "I decided to go ahead and like Boggs" - thanks for letting us know queen 👑

7. In MJ when they're trying to film the propos, and she's just horrible at it

8. In the first book when she's trying to drain the pus out of Peetas leg and she just so goddmaned grossed out

9. Saw the cupcakes at the Capitol party and immediately thought that Peeta would love the frosting details

10. In MJ when Gale and Peeta are talking about Katniss choosing one of them, she's just like "gonna leave you two bums here, don't need this shit"

11. Everytime she was unaware of people flirting with her or just being nice. She always think there's some hidden motive... like girl they're your family and friends, they just like you as a person

12. "Nobody needs me" "I do, I need you". Katniss finally admitting her love for Peeta and realises that she can't live without him!! It's such an important part of her growth towards Peeta and no one talks about it!! The girl how has survived everything finally needs not just something, but SOMEONE. And it's HIM (I'm so normal about this I swear)

13. Sassying buttercup at every turn

14. She has the same vibe as goop from Meet The Robinsons (especially with Madge). "Hey Katniss, wanna eat lunch together?" "Hey Katniss, wanna go for a walk into town later"

She's there like:

[dalamjisung]

A muted shade of green ✧ Spencer Reid

genre: fluff, light angst

word count: 6339

pairing: reader x spencer reid

description: Dr. Spencer Reid is simply adorable. And you actually think he might be perfect. Until, that is, he isn't.

a muted shade of green masterlist // next chapter

His apartment is a muted shade of green and you always wonder why is it that he painted it so dark. The book covered walls never fail to impress you, making you smile into the ether that was this place with its shelves and shelves of worldly stories. His taste, you think, is more towards the classics and refined tales that carry significance and importance in the world of literature. Dostoyevski, Austen, Orwell, Doyle. Though here and there, in some corners of the living room or thrown haphazardly in the kitchen counter, you see peeks of contemporary names, the ones you’re sure you sold him a long, long time ago. Murakami, Zadie Smith, George. 

You met Spencer when you first moved into D.C., about a year or so ago, and sometimes, you really think that it was just yesterday when you first saw him with his purple scarf walking inside your store.

“Excuse me.” 

You have too many books in your arms to even see who is talking to you, but you apologise nonetheless; it’s the least you can do for your first customer. “I’ll be with you in a moment, apologies for the mess, we literally just opened.” In your defence, you had been so busy unpacking all the new orders and organising things into shelves that you absolutely forgot to put the plaque with your opening hours by the door. You can hear his shoes clicking and clacking around the place, and a wave of anxiety washes through you. If he leaves with a book– luckily two– you will have made your first sell and that just might remind you that of the reason why you decided to do this in the first place.

Carefully putting the pile of Maggie Nelson’s on the counter, you finally turn to face him, tired smile from ear to ear when you see him holding two books already. “You found something you like?” You gently ask, voice calm and fingers fidgeting while you wait for an answer. “Many things, actually. I’m quite glad to see a wide variety of books here, it’s been hard finding something new to read lately.” 

His voice is pointed and it echoes in the empty store. The clock on the walls says it’s 7:58AM and you suck in a breath; it’s definitely too early for someone to be looking for books, but maybe he wants entertainment for his commute, maybe he needs a distraction for the way, or maybe he is odd like that. 

It must be cold outside. The man is wearing a purple scarf  inside what looks like a wool coat, and somehow, he fits in there, in your store. He looks like the kind of person who would be buying books as early as 8 in the morning and you’re not sure if that is adorable or unhinged. 

“Just these, thank you,” The loud thump of the pile of books he deposits by the cashier makes you gasp. “You have a great selection here, I was lucky you open early!” The twinkle in his eyes is what keeps you from telling him that that, in fact, was a big mistake. In the middle of rushing to get the keys from the landlord in time, get the deliveries, get everything sorted and organised, you had completely forgotten to put out the hours for the shop. 

“I am glad you found us here! Do you live nearby?” At this point, you’re just trying to make conversation as you bagged his items, smiling at the titles and happy to see your favourite book in the midst. “I live just across the street, actually,” He said, giving you his card. “You’ll see me a lot, I’m afraid.”

“And what should I call my most loyal customer, then?” One look down at his card and you would know, but you wanted him to tell you himself. 

“Spencer Reid.”

There is not really a sound reason as to why you walk so freely into his apartment. The first time he asked you to do this, he was going on a case and needed someone to water his plants. As it turn out, your store is quite literally across the street from his building and you don’t really mind the mindless task, so you tell him to not worry, you’ll take care of it. It had been a few months since you two met, five or so, and despite taking you some time to truly understand, you got used to the fact that Spencer created a routine for both of you, knocking on your shop’s door every Monday at precisely 8 in the morning. With time, you stopped questioning him even when you had many, many questions– was he even reading all these books? If yes, how?! Every visit, he left with three books or more, and unless he pulled all nighters every night, those were simply sitting on his desk. 

Instead, you start putting a few titles aside whenever you spot them. You start it with ‘A Gentleman From Peru’ by André Aciman, short and sweet. Next week it was ‘A Little Paris Bookshop’ by Nina George. Then ‘Cultish’ by Amanda Montell. And just like this, you two form your own little book club, his visits extending beyond their usual thirty minutes into the better part of the hour to talk about the plot, the characters, the arcs. You know there is quite a lot you don’t know about Spencer, of course there is, but you learn more and more with every little debate you two have. You learn about his morals through the character he likes, and his dreams through the plots he enjoy. You learn about his photographic memory that allows him to quote his favourite sections to you, and you learn that he is a very logical man through his hatred for the inaccuracy of investigative books. You learn and you learn and you learn and you find out that you like learning about Spencer. More than you like learning about anyone else, that is, and now, every time he walks in, you can’t help but get excited, smiling as you only imagine what you would learn that day. 

Sometimes, you did notice the absence of your favourite customer. He would disappear for weeks on end and then act like nothing happened, and you get it; he doesn’t owe you anything, you’re just the lady that sells him books, but you feel like there is something that is starting to bloom when, every time he comes back, he brings you a book. “I thought you’d like it,” Is all he says before leaving with his bag of new reads. For a moment, it’s like an exchange, but Spencer never demands anything of you; never asks for anything more than new books and recommendations. 

It’s quite rewarding finding the books you sold him scattered through the apartment. There are a couple in the kitchen, open split on the counter and you smile fondly at the clumsy way he marks his books. There is no folded page, no book marker, no random picture; just his book, cover facing up, open and splitting the spine in half enough to crease. You shake your head, smiling like he’s done this just to rile you up.

“Oh my god, don’t!”

You don’t mean to shout but it’s too late. His eyes widen in shock and he immediately freezes, mouth stuck in a little ‘o’ shape that makes you blush. “What did I do?” 

The wince in your expression is as visible as the light of day when you speak. Your hands hover in the air, unsure of what to do now, but still trying to do something. “The book, Spencer,” The words come out like a whine, and if you start stomping your feet you might as well look like a child. “The spine. The book. The– oh my god, the noise!”

The way he laughs at you is contagious, and you start laughing with him, face hidden behind your hands in embarrassment. Owning a bookshop doesn’t come for free. Your particularities when it comes to your literary treasures are enough to scare any sane person away. “You know, there are worse sounds than a book’s spine breaking,” He mused, closing the book before walking to your counter. His nimble fingers drum a soft rhythm as he waits for you to go around and charge him for the book. It’s a symphony, almost; so loud in your quiet store that, for a second, your heart is tuning in, thumping as his fingers do, beating to the song he creates. 

“You don’t have to buy it,” It’s a little ridiculous how airy your voice sounds then. Aren’t you a little too old to have a crush? “It’s okay if–“ But he doesn’t even let you finish, rattling off some facts about the writer. Most of the time, actually, he is rattling off some fact about something, and some you know, some you don’t, but you never interrupt him. You like hearing him talk. 

You miss hearing him talk. Whenever Spencer leaves, you miss him. You miss the knock on your shop’s door at 8AM. You miss the shy little chuckles. You miss the purple– the constant, always there purple. A wave of sadness hits you then, looking around the apartment with a longing expression. 

The first time he calls you over, it’s not really an invitation. A week before it happens, he doesn’t show up for your Tuesday unboxing and you have to carry all the new orders inside by yourself. It takes double the time and despite the effort it takes you, it’s the absence of his coy chuckles and snarky commentary that leaves you breathless. When you open the boxes, checking inventory to make sure there had been no issues with your order, you find the book Spencer asked you to get him. It’s one of those special books, so old and unique that you could only get your hands on it because you had contacts in the space. “Huh,” You frown at that– it isn’t like Spencer to forget something. Hell, it isn’t like Spencer to forget anything. Before you can cower away from doing it, you send him a text. You have his number saved in the system, and this feels wrong, it really does. Using his personal information that he gave to you as a client felt wrong. But for a second, it makes you stop biting your nails in anxiety. 

Your book is here. 

It’s Y/N, by the way. 

He doesn’t answer right away and you wallow in your regret for as long as you can. Your shoulders hunch forward as you line up the new arrivals in the shelves. Your frown sits on your forehead all day while you help other passing customers. Your hands brush against the book, all ready and wrapped up and sitting on top of the counter. You hate waiting; you hate waiting for someone or for something to happen as if you’re praying for a miracle. Literature has taught you many lessons in life. It has shown you countless of love stories that could’ve been resolved with a simple conversation. It has told you about people that waited and waited and waited until time passed them away. It has taught you that waiting is simply delaying the inevitable. 

But what literature has not taught you is that, sometimes, waiting truly is all you can do. 

That day, you don’t get a message back. 

You get a call instead. 

“Y/N?” The familiar voice on the other side speaks before you can and your shoulders tense up. Something is wrong. He sounds hoarser than usual, airier, too. 

“Spencer,” You say back, clearing your throat of any remnants or indicators of how nervous you are. “Spencer, are you okay? You sound rough.”

Even his laugh sounds weak and a zap of worry rushes through you. “I’m fine,” He mumbles, and you know he’s saying it out of politeness. “I just got sick. I think I have a cold, it’s nothing much, really.”

The relief that washed over you in crashing waves is almost embarrassing. Even though he is not there to witness it, your face still flushes in a dramatic red. “Oh. I see. Sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you–“

“It’s not a bother,” The way his voice interrupts you, so strong and concise, makes you chuckle. “You’re not a bother. I uh, I’m glad to hear my book arrived.”

For a moment, you both stay quiet. You, on your end of the line, are nodding like he can see you. Except he can’t. Except he is waiting, probably, for you to say something. Do something. “I can bring it to you. If you want.”

This time, there is no pause. “Yes. I mean, yes, please. I– I don’t have anything new to read and–” Spencer pauses to cough and you start moving immediately. There is no one in the store and you quickly change the sign to ‘closed’, grabbing his book and your bag before locking the door behind you. There is a pharmacy at the end of the block and you keep your cellphone balanced between your shoulder and ear while your hands make sure you have your wallet with you. “Sorry.”

“No problem at all,” You cross the street in such a hurry that you don’t notice the traffic, getting a symphony of horns calling you out as you run to the other side of the street. “Shit…”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” You tease, laughing a little and entering the pharmacy with purpose. “So just a cold, right?”

“Y/N, where are you?”

“Out,” There is no need to be vague, but you don’t want to give him a chance to protest. “I should be at yours in fifteen minutes with the book.”

“Just the book?” He asks in such a suspicious tone that you can’t hold back a laugher. 

“What else?” Thank god for automatic cashiers speeding up this entire process. You are in an out in less than five minutes and before he can even answer, you are almost at his door. Admittedly, you are speed walking, almost running, in a futile attempt to get there sooner. “Which apartment do I buzz?”

“Apartment 23.” And that is the end of the call. 

By the time you make it to his floor, panting just as you hike the last step upwards, he is already waiting for you, and you can’t say you’re terribly bothered to have a man like Spencer Reid waiting for you by the door. “Spencer,” You still admonish, a small smile playing on your lips. “You shouldn’t be out and about like this.” 

“Then who would let you in?” The mischief in his expression, much like that of a child making an innocent joke, makes you giggle, nodding in agreement. “Do you want to come inside? I promise everything is clean, I’m not a slob or anything.”

“Yeah, let me come in so I can give you your stuff.” 

“I knew it wasn’t just the book,” The coughing fit that followed has you rushing your hands, pulling things out of your bag in a desperate attempt to get him the medicine you bought. This had always been your curse, the flustering anxiety of wanting to help but being unable to take your time. Shaky hands push the book towards him, with the medication and some old receipts stuck to it. 

“Oh shit, sorry!” You squeak, grabbing the receipts and shoving it back in your bag. One of these days, you’d have to close the store early to clean this thing. “But uh, yeah, I got you some cold medicine and your book. I’m sure you know this with your big brain and all, but you need to take this before bed, cause it makes you drowsy, and this other one in the morning since it has caffeine! And you should be good in no time… hopefully!”

In life, a pause is not always a bad thing. It’s a time to think. A time to appreciate, to enjoy. It’s a time to be. A pause, however, from the man whose brain worked a thousand miles an hour, doesn’t feel like something to be thankful for. “Is… Do you not like that brand? I didn’t want to get the generic thing, I don’t know why, I–“

“Thank you.”

At first, you barely hear it. For someone whose voice is so rough and hoarse, you’re surprised he can still sound so smooth and airy. Your reaction is obvious; he can see the blush in your cheeks and the way you bite back a smile. “Y/N, thank you, I really appreciate it,” He says it again and now you think he just wants to get a rise of you. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know,” You shrug, faking humbleness while you keen at his praise. “I wanted to.”

“I know.” 

There is a dance that happens after that, one that you find yourself enjoying quite a bit. Spencer is more present than ever, and you’re getting used to having him around. It’s like you two broke the glass wall the kept you at a safe distance, and now is when you two discover each other a bit better. Like how you find out that, when Spencer’s hand lays on the cashier counter, just an inch or less away from yours, you feel the heath that it emanates. Like how your fingers curl and your palms itch at the sight of his shaggy curls falling on top of his beautiful eyes. Like how his laughter is deep when it’s true and dry when it’s forced. Like how he can read 20,000 words per minute, but he chooses to read 183 instead just so he can read you passages out loud.

You are not sure what he has learned about you, or if he even cares to learn something about you, but the thought still makes you smile. “What’s gotten you so smiley so early in the morning?” 

Ah, yes; another thing you’ve learned about Spencer Reid– he is as quiet as mouse when he wants, and as loud as an elephant when he doesn’t. “My god!” You jump, hand immediately going to your heart to try and keep it from beating our of your chest from the shock. “Spence! You scared me!”

“I’m so sorry,” He laughs, raising his hands in the air, shaking the two cups of coffee he is holding. “I come in peace.”

“And with bribery, I like your style.” 

His style doesn’t change, still haven’t. For ages, you think he buys you coffee at the nearby cafe. You don’t really know the name of the place, some cliche Cafe something something, but the one time you’ve been in there the coffee was terrible and the music too loud. It’s hard picturing your shy, smiley book-lover in there, trying to order something without raising his voice. It’s only when you see the go-to paper cups on his counter, on the fourth or fifth time you come around, that you realise Spencer has never gone to that cafe to begin with. 

The cups are still there. You make a point in spotting them every time you come over– next to the microwave, close to the paper towels. The reminder that this man has, in fact, been making you coffee most mornings validates the fluttery feeling you have whenever you think of it. It makes it somewhat logical. “I must be spending too much time with him,” You mumble to yourself, pushing your sleeves up and getting to work. You are there for a reason, and if those wilting plants die on you, you fear that you might just never be invited back. “Why does he even have plants?” 

You don’t know much about Spencer’s job. He hasn’t told you anything about it except that he travels a lot for it, but you can imagine it is something of importance– a man like Spencer was someone of importance, after all. In your mind, you can imagine him walking into an office down by the Financial District, working with big corporations as an advisor. Yes, you can absolutely see him as some sort of advisor or consultant, but something about him working in finances doesn’t sit right with you– he is yet to talk to you about crypto investments and how to better implement a payment system into the store. Shaking your head, you switch it up. Financial services, aren’t quite right, but maybe an editor, working in a publishing house. With the way he devours books and how well-rounded his personal library was, you could see him as a Publishing Director instead, reading manuscript after manuscript. 

The thought of him reading brings a smile to your face. In his living room, there is an armchair that sits next to the large window on the west wall of his apartment– he says he likes how the sunset hits and makes the pages look warm and golden, turning words into a burning fire of knowledge– and you can practically see him there, blanket over his legs, books and books pilled next to it. It’s your own little secret, how every time you come over, you grab a book, any book, and you sit there for thirty minutes, forty, fifty, an hour; until the sun has completely set and you have to get up to turn the lights on. 

Today, when you sit down, when you bring your knees up, when you drape the blanket over you, something feels incredibly right and incredibly wrong. On the pile of books next to you, right at the top, lays a copy of Gulliver’s Travels. If you remember correctly, which you usually do, last time you sat down at that spot you managed to read up to chapter five before the sun was gone. When you grab the book and you see the bookmark you gave Spencer the second time he visited the store, and you frown– usually, he’d pick up from where you left off. “How long has it been since you last came home, Spencer?” You muttered out loud, grabbing the book regardless. Because even when it breaks your heart to know something has been keeping him away from his precious nook, it fuels your heart to know he leaves your book where you can easily pick it up. To know he doesn’t mind you sitting on his armchair, to know he doesn’t mind you reading his books, to know he doesn’t mind you settling, somehow, in his house. 

A knock on his door, however, breaks you away from your precious moment of rest and relaxation. For a moment, you can’t move, frozen in place light a kid that has been caught doing something wrong. It’s only when they knock again that you move, shuffling to the door to look through the peephole. “Who is it?” You ask, voice weak and shaky. 

“I have a delivery for Spencer Reid.”

How silly you feel in that moment, hand over your heart as you take a deep breath in relief. Unlocking the door, you smile to the USPS guy. “Sorry, he isn’t home right now. I can take it for him.” All you have to do is sign it and close the door, but once you put the package on the counter and your eyes catch sight of a note scribbled on top of the box, all those butterflies inside of you slow down. And find perch. And for a second, make you miss them just like you miss him. 

The first time you think Spencer might have a girlfriend is when he comes into the store with a certain look in his face. He is practically glowing and his eyes don’t leave his phone for a second. “What has you smiling like that?” You two are close enough to ask these kind of things now, making jokes about each other as if you have been friends for ages. “Or uh, who?” Even though you started the conversation, you want to end it now. There is a sour aftertaste in your mouth when you suggest another person to be cause of his happiness, and you know, right there and then, that that is just your jealousy speaking. At this point, you’ve been harbouring a crush on Spencer for the almost two months and there’s only so much a girl can take before exploding. 

“Oh, it’s just a friend.” Somehow, this answer doesn’t settle you as much as you hoped it would. 

The second time is when he brings a woman around. She is blonde, and loud, and colourful, and you eye her carefully. They are matching costumes, and for a second, without even saying, you already feel left out. It’s stupid, being this green over someone so pink. If Spencer was purple, and if you are green, than that woman was pink– she is happy and light and exciting. Next to her, you… well, you are as muted as his green walls. “Y/N!” He calls for you with such a big smile and you just don’t have it in you to pretend to be busy anymore. 

“Hey Spencer,” It comes out quiet and a bit distant, but he doesn’t seem to notice, not with the way he is going back and forth on the ball of his heels. “And hello, ma’am. Welcome, I’m Y/N Y/L/N, the owner. Please let me know if you need any help.”

That day, you two barely talk, but that’s okay, because Penelope, as she introduced herself to you after you help her find a specific book on coding, speaks for both of you. She says that it’s lovely to finally meet you, and mentions how much she has heard about you, and you think this is a very cruel thing to do to your poor, squeezing heart. But you push through. You pretend you’re tired, you apologise for the distance, and you lie about a cough. It’s better if they stay away, you say, but Spencer doesn’t buy it. Instead, he buys Penelope her book and leaves with promises of coming back the next day with your usual coffee. 

After that, you don’t see Spencer for two weeks.

It’s a bittersweet feeling when you get the text that he is back. After almost a week and a half without seeing him, you miss Spencer. He created a space for himself in your life and in your store, and when he is gone, it’s just not the same. But just like how he did, you created a space for yourself in his apartment. Suddenly, the muted green walls aren’t claustrophobic or smothering, but comforting. They are safe. Familiar. They are Spencer. And just like you said, you miss Spencer.

“Y/N!” 

You should be happier to hear his voice, but it’s not the same. The fluttering in your stomach is still there, like a slow buzz trying to come alive, but it’s not the same. Not when the note on the box, flashing like neon signs behind your close lids, has been tormenting you and your poor heart ever since you made the mistake of opening the door. “Y/N? Are you here? The door says open…” At one point or another, you have to come out of hiding and face him. Delaying the moment, though, is the best defence plan you’re able to come up with– if you look into Spencer’s eyes, if you see that pretty smile he has every time he comes back from a work trip… you’re fucked. 

“Y/N, I need you to tell me if you’re here!” It’s not the same. 

His voice. It’s not the same.

Usually mellow and undulating, Spencer sounds stiff, like he’s holding something back. Something new. Something… heavy. There is an edge to him right now, so sharp and cutting that it has you stepping out from behind the Science shelf in pure curiosity. And just like people say, curiosity killed the cat. In this case, however, it almost kills you. 

When you turn the corner to find him by the door, the first thing you see is a man. He is tall and handsome and oddly serious. The way his brows are pulled together make you falter, steps slowing down and mouth opening to ask if he needs help.

That’s when you see it. 

More like you catch a quick glimpse of it, the shinning spark of metal to your side, and you do a double take. You have to do a double take. It’s like your brain doesn’t believe what you’re seeing, and you move your head so fast you feel your neck tensing up in that way that makes your eyes water. “WHAT THE FU– OH MY GOD!” There is no way to throw yourself against a wall graciously, arms over your head and fear written all over face. You land in an awkward angle and your shoulder takes the brunt of the shock, making you gasp in pain while your legs give our under you. 

Of all the ways you’ve imagined Spencer, him holding a gun up to your head was never one of them. “Y/N!”

“Oh my god!” You think you might pass out– you’re breathing too fast and your chest is squeezing, squeezing, squeezing to the point of physical pain. There is a ringing in your ears, muffling the entire conversation between Spencer and the other man and even though you try, you can’t look up; you’re frozen in a state of distress. For the first time since you met him, you’re scared of Spencer Reid. “I– I– Oh my god, I c-can’t– I can’t b-breathe, I can’t–“

“Y/N, look at me! Look at me, you’re okay, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry,” The moment his hand touches your shoulder, you’re shrinking away. 

“Who are you?!” You manage to gasp enough air into your lungs to scream at him. One shake hand moves to the back of your neck, pressing down on the sore nape as you finally move to look at him, crying and all. “Spencer, who are you? Who is he? What is happening? Why do you have a gun in my bookshop, why–“

“Ma’am, I need you to take deep breaths,” The other man quickly holsters his gun and you actually think you might be going insane when flashes you a badge. “I’m SSA Derek Morgan, I work with Spencer. We are with the FBI.”

Federal Bureau of Investigation. Spencer is a fed. And he never told you. 

“The FBI…?” You whisper, eyes going wide and breath hiccuped in your throat. “S-Spencer, you work for the FBI?” Nothing about this makes sense to you. The gun, forgotten in his left hand and now pointing down and away from you, is all you can look at. The gun that looked heavy and cold. The gun that those hands hold– the same hands you’ve wished and, admittedly, dreamed of holding yours instead. The gun, the gun, the gun.

The gun. You’ve never seen a gun before, not this close. In museums, of course, and in movies and shows, but never in real life. You don’t have interest in it either, having voted, without fail, for anti-gun laws and representatives. Anything and everything about this, about seeing him with that deadly weapon, feels wrong, and you really think you might be sick soon.

“Kid, put it away, you’re freaking her out.” 

Then is when you catch sight of the Spencer you know. It’s the clumsy actions, looking almost freaked out himself– his hands fumble with the holster and it takes him a couple of tries to fit the gun properly. That’s when you know for sure– you are going to be sick. “Trash,” You mumble, trying to get up but falling again and again. “Trash, pass me the–“ But there is no time and you throw up right there and then, between the cashier and the nonfiction section. 

“What just happened?” 

“Morgan, get her some water– there, over the counter,” The rapid successions of words make you feel a bit better, a cadence of tone and rhythm that has your hands finally stabilising. “Y/N, you’re in shock. Adrenaline kicked in and left, and you pressured crashed, which is what made you nauseous. You need water, and to come sit by the counter.”

It’s funny, how in any other circumstance, you’d be ashamed and embarrassed to have gotten ill in front of him. As far as you know, Spencer is a germaphobe and this surely counts as germs. But as he grabs your hands, gentler than you’ve ever seen him grab any book in your store, and brings you to your chair behind the counter, you wonder if he forgot or simply doesn’t care. Both options don’t make sense. “Spence, what is going on?” Your voice comes out winey and rough, and there is no way to hold back the pained wince when you feel the sting spreading through your throat. Sip by sip, you try your best to drink the water and soothe yourself, but nothing seems to help. 

Nothing until you hear him next to you, small and quiet and, dare you say, meek. “I’m sorry.”

As much as you’d like to tell him he has nothing to be sorry for, he does. “I see…”

“It was just… it was new, having someone not know I’m FBI,” His thumbs play with each other and you’ve known him long enough to recognise that Spencer is nervous. “And we started getting closer and I just didn’t find an opportunity to tell you.”

“There were plenty,” You clarify, feeling a bit of a bitch for the bite in your voice making him gulp. “But it’s okay. I’m not… I’m not anything of yours, I guess, so it’s okay. You don’t owe me anything.”

“Don’t say that. You’re my friend.” That hurt.

“Do you point a gun at all your friends or am I just special, Spence?” It is supposed to be a joke, but the memory makes your bottom lip start wobbling again and you feel stupid. You feel so, so incredibly stupid right now that you can’t even begin to explain why. “Sorry, I’m just– I’m not okay.”

“I know, and we’re sorry,” There is such raw honesty in his words and he manages to make you smile a little. Your hand is still shaking, but you stretch it out towards him regardless. It’s a conscious decision to hold onto his wrist, covered by his jacket, than to reach out for his palm, and from the way he looks at you, you know he recognises the effort. “But you need to come with us.”

“Why?” You cry out, a single tear coming out of the corner of your eye. At this point, the shock is going away and you’re more overwhelmed than anything else. You’re scared and confused and overwhelmed and it’s his pulse, beating again and again, that brings you back to Earth. “Why do I need to go with you? What is going on?”

“Y/N, when you were housesitting for me, you received a package, right?”

In the midst of everything, the memory of that day, that box, that note, all fade. Frowning, you shrugged. “The delivery man knocked and said he had a package for you… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude, I–“

“No, no, no, you didn’t, you didn’t. Please.”

“Ma’am, when you signed for the package, did you use your name?” The man, Morgan, ask, and all you do is nod. Of course you signed with your name. “Kid, we need to take her to the office now.”

“I am not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on!”

Finally, some energy in you. Some strength. Your voice echoes in the empty shop, and the chair tips back when you stand up on stiff legs. Looking at Spencer is hard, when you feel the burning of your rage inside, but you still do; you still meet those pretty brown eyes, you still stare him down until you practically force the answers off of him. “The package… did you see who it was from?” 

“Spencer, are you insinuating you’ve pointed a gun at me because I read a message your girlfriend wrote on the package she sent you?! Because I didn’t mean to– I didn’t! It just… It was there, right at the top and I–“

“She is not my girlfriend,” He immediately cut you off, hands waving in front of him in a visual demonstration of desperate denial. “Not at all! I don’t have a girlfriend! I was–“

“We can deal with this later,” Morgan is quick to interrupt, sighing as he looked at you. “Y/N, we re really sorry to disrupt you like this, but this is for your own protection. Please lock the store and let’s go.”

It takes time for you to gather everything you need. You are not a disorganised person by any means, but suddenly, you can’t remember where you put what. Your bag is thrown under the cashier, and your keys are, for some reason, in the Fiction shelf. Your glasses are in your head the entire time, and Morgan has to point that out to you. The more you look, the more flustered you get, yet somehow, you make it to the car. Morgan is driving and Spencer is on the passenger seat, and the way they keep talking to each other using words that make no sense to you make you want to scream. “Spencer.”

The heaviness of his name, said with such emotion,, lingered in the air. His eyes meet yours through the rearview mirror, and he nods. “Yeah?"

“Spencer,” You whisper again, eyes wide in shock as reality starts to dawn. “Spencer, if she’s not your girlfriend, then who the fuck is Cat Adams?”

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AAAAAhhhhh I'm trying something new >.< I've been a massive criminal minds fan for a long, long time and Dr. Spencer Reid has my heart <3

Please let me know what you think, this is my first Spencer fic and I'd love if it got to turn into a series!

[felinecyan]

Reality of Realizations

[Shoto Todoroki x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: After the Sports Festival, Shoto comes to realize just how awful his behavior was, and he’s determined to make things right.

WC: 3559

Category: Mega Fluff, Awkward!Shoto

This idea smacked me to my keyboard at 3 am and took me hostage until I finished it… I hope you enjoy it!! ☺️🫶

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In the beginning, Shoto didn’t feel guilty. He felt indifference. To him, U.A. was about succeeding his father without his father’s side of his bloodline, the fire part of his quirk. Everything was about becoming a hero that wasn't like Endeavor. Everything was about getting stronger without using fire.

Friendships weren’t his concern. In fact, he didn't give them much thought at all. He didn’t feel like they would be beneficial to his cause.

For some reason, though, you wanted to be around him. Maybe it was because you saw something in him, some type of potential that even he didn’t recognize. Or maybe you just had a lot of energy that needed to be spent, and being around him was your only means of releasing it. Either way, you never left him alone. You followed him, sat next to him in class, and asked him about his quirk.

And with his current mindset, he was rather annoyed with your persistence. He knew he could handle it himself. He could do well in school and become a great hero without any help. You were a distraction to his goal, and he was not having it.

When you first tried to start a conversation, Shoto looked straight ahead. His gaze remained fixed on the whiteboard. If you continued to be persistent, he would snap at you. It was a guarantee.

As much as he wouldn’t like to admit, sometimes the father-son resemblance would shine through.

You tried again, asking him what his favorite food was. When he didn’t answer, you shrugged and turned your head toward the window—another failed attempt.

Your attempts only increasingly became more annoying as time went on. The same questions, the same responses, and the same outcome:

An angry Todoroki who just wanted to be left alone.

But it wasn't until the Sports Festival that things changed for him. Midoriya helped him realize that his father wouldn’t define him, but his own choices would. It was enlightening, and after their fight, he felt a strong sense of respect for the green-haired boy.

And due to that awakening, he realized just how absolutely rude he had been toward you.

You were one of his classmates, a person who was in the same school as him, training to be a hero just like him. You were someone who deserved respect, and he didn’t treat you the way you should have been.

That guilt settled in.

He was a horrible person.

He had to make up for it.

And, no, a simple apology would not be enough. He needed to go the extra mile and show you that he meant what he said and that he was truly sorry.

The question was, how?

He knew little about you. He never spoke to you, not in the way you had tried speaking to him, so how would he know your favorite food, your favorite color, your favorite animal? How would he know what kind of flowers or sweets you liked?

How could he make you happy when he was the one who hurt you in the first place?

He thought long and hard. He pondered and pondered, trying to think of what you could possibly enjoy, but his mind would draw a blank.

So, he did the only thing he could think of: he asked Midoriya for help. The green-haired boy had that entire notebook dedicated to all the quirks every classmate had, so surely it could give him some insight into how to approach you.

Surely, it would help.

After class, Todoroki went over to Midoriya. He kept his hands in his pockets, and he looked the other way, not quite wanting to see Midoriya's expression.

Needless to say, he was absolutely surprised when Todoroki asked him for help. Surprised and absolutely delighted. The way he started bouncing in his seat with the biggest smile on his face made Todoroki want to reconsider the offer. But before he could retract, Midoriya already had his notebook out.

He flipped through a few pages, his finger stopping when he found your name. Honestly, it was unnerving just how many notes were dedicated to each individual.

Midoriya read your likes and dislikes; apparently, they were all through observation and not from you telling him. Maybe if Todoroki wasn’t so mean to you, then he would‘ve known what you liked, too.

He figured you had to make it obvious for Midoriya to write it down, right? There’s no way Midoriya would be able to figure out that information from just watching.

Then again, his analysis was pretty spot on. He knew what your personality was; he dealt with it firsthand. Of course, at the time, he didn't think too much about it. All he thought was how much he wanted you to leave him alone. Now, however, he wanted you to ask him those questions.

He wanted to be your friend.

He learned that you loved reading books. Not only that, but you loved flowers. Not the typical roses or sunflowers, but the less popular flowers. The type of flower that not a lot of people would think of when thinking about the beauty of a flower.

You also loved sweets, mostly anything with the word "chocolate" in the name. You had a sweet tooth, and it was very apparent.

Todoroki didn’t know why, but he found himself smiling. Finding out your likes and dislikes and learning about your personality was interesting. He wished he hadn’t been so blind before. Maybe then, he could've been friends with you earlier.

But it was okay. He could still become your friend. He could still fix things.

Midoriya had written down a list of things that you would appreciate the most, and then it was on the planning portion.

Gift-giving was still a relatively new concept for Shoto. He never had any real reason to give someone a gift before, and when he did give gifts, it was mostly for his siblings on special occasions.

He never really had the opportunity to buy a gift for a friend.

Midoriya told him that the best gifts were meaningful and came from the heart.

"Think of a memory you have with them. Think of something that they would really enjoy."

But the issue was, he had no memories with you. No good ones, anyhow. They were all trash because he never gave you the chance to have a good memory with him.

"Hey, Todoroki, if you were—"

You always sounded so genuine when asking him those foolish questions, but the moment he turned his head, his glare could have killed you.

"Do you always have to bother me? Doesn’t it get tiring asking the same things, day in and day out?" His tone was harsh, and he didn't mean for it to sound that way, but it was the only tone he ever used on you.

"No wonder your parents sent you to boarding school in America before applying here. I wouldn’t be able to deal with you either."

Yeah, those were his words. Those were his exact words. Not the nicest, were they?

The sentence was completely laced with poison, and even Shoto knew it then. He truly didn’t mean to bring that up; it was a low blow, but the damage was done, and the second it was said, your expression fell.

Shame, really. You were only trying to be nice. You didn’t deserve his spiteful attitude. You were kind and thoughtful, and you were a very good person, but he couldn’t bring himself to accept your kindness.

So, how the hell was he going to be able to apologize to you? How was he going to give you a present that meant something when all his memories of you were filled with his hate?

He sat on his bed, his legs crossed as he held his head. He needed an idea, but his mind drew a blank. What the hell was he supposed to do?

Midoriya told him that a homemade gift was probably the best among a couple of special items. If he made something himself, he could show how much effort he put into it. He could make something meaningful and show just how sorry he was.

But... he wasn't the most creative person. In fact, his creativity was nonexistent. He didn’t know the first thing about making something from scratch.

He knew how to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a tasty soba, but other than that, he was lost.

And it wasn't like he could ask for his siblings' help. He took that as a sign of not owning up to his mistakes. If he couldn’t figure this out, then he didn't deserve your friendship.

His eyes were fixated on his desk. His textbooks were sprawled out, and a couple of papers were scattered across the table. He was currently studying for the next exam, and his phone was off to the side, plugged into the wall to charge.

His mind should’ve been on schoolwork, but the only thing he could think of was you. He needed an idea, and soon, because if he didn't do anything, his guilt would eat him alive.

His mind continued to wander.

Flowers, chocolate, a book, a teddy bear.

None of these would be enough. None of these were personal; none of these would mean something.

His eyes wandered from his desk to the window. The sky was orange, a beautiful sunset. He watched as the clouds passed and the birds flew by.

Birds.

Why does that remind him of something?

What do birds have to do with a gift?

He closed his eyes, trying to remember a moment. Any moment, whether good or bad, anything that could help him get a hint as to what to do.

And then, a memory flashed.

It was a rainy day, and you were late.

You were walking and running, but the rain was coming down pretty hard. You weren’t an idiot, so you weren't wearing the U.A. uniform. Instead, you wore a jacket. But even then, you were still soaked.

You didn’t have an umbrella, a raincoat, or any protective gear. You were running through the rain, trying to get to the school before the bell rang.

Luckily, it wasn't too far away.

Shoto remembered seeing you run, and for a brief second, he thought you were an idiot. He wondered why you didn't just take the bus or the train. If you lived near the school, you would've had plenty of time.

And still, even being as late as you were, you were still determined to have your daily conversations with Shoto.

You were definitely an odd ball, but in that moment, a certain memory came to mind.

When you finally made it to class, you were absolutely soaked. Your hair was sticking to your face, and your shoes were squishing with every step you took.

You sat down, understandably grumpy, but you weren’t upset that you were late, wet, or even sick the next day. No, what was upsetting you was the fact that you had lost something.

A hairclip, to be specific.

You lost a hairclip.

It was a clip that had a hummingbird attached to it. The clip itself was silver, but the hummingbird was painted green. He knows this because you wouldn’t stop talking about it.

He remembered you saying that it was a gift from a family member. He didn’t know who, nor did he care at the time, but you cared.

You really cared.

You spent the majority of the day searching for the hairclip. You searched the hallways, the bathroom, the cafeteria, everywhere you could think of, but it wasn’t there. It was nowhere to be found.

And for a week, you wore your hair down, which was the complete opposite of what you normally did.

If only Shoto realized this at the time, then he would've helped you look for it. He was good at finding things, ironically, but the thought didn’t cross his mind, and neither did the memory.

Until now.

In a split second, he bolted up. He rushed downstairs, not caring if he was loud. He didn’t care if his family could hear him; he didn’t care if he was disturbing their peace.

He had an idea, a good one, and it was perfect.

It was the most personal gift he could think of. Throw in a couple of your favorites, and it would be perfect.

He would make you a gift basket, but he would add his own touch to it. Again, he wasn’t that creative, but he had a basic idea. You’d like ribbons, right? Why not a nice bow?

Unfortunately, your specific hummingbird hair clip was long gone, but the internet seemed to have everything. He searched for hours, ignoring his study guide for the upcoming exam, and finally, after what seemed like forever, he found a silver hummingbird. It wasn’t painted green, but it was the same model as your old one.

It was the best he could do. And fortunately, due to the one-day shipping, he would have it by the time Monday rolled around.

He ordered it, and when it came in, he put the basket together. He bought you a book based on your favorite genre, some chocolate, a bouquet of some of your favorite flowers, and then, he added the ribbon.

The clip he put in a special case, away from the basket. He would be giving this separately because it would mean more, and he felt like this was something that shouldn’t be touched by anything else.

And, well, he wanted to see your reaction to his apology. It would be easier to read your expression if he didn't give you both the gift at the same time.

Oh, right, the apology.

He didn’t really think about that, and honestly, he didn’t know how to start.

But the best way to do anything is with practice, right?

Screw that upcoming test. He had something much more important to deal with, and knowing him, he’d probably still ace the test anyway.

He cleared his throat, standing in the middle of his room.

Okay, how would he start?

Hi? No, that was too casual.

Hello? No, it's not formal enough.

Greetings?

No, no, he shouldn’t sound like a robot.

He needed something more genuine, more real.

Maybe... maybe he should start by telling you how sorry he was. Yeah, that would be the best.

He cleared his throat again.

"Hey," his voice cracked, and his eyes widened. He sounded so awkward. That was so not smooth.

He started over.

"I know we haven't spoken in a while," he started. "I'm... I'm sorry for everything I've done. For everything I've said. You didn't deserve any of that."

This felt like a speech. Maybe he should tone it down.

"I… I was a horrible person, and I wish I could take back all the things I said, but I can't, and I'm sorry. I'm truly sorry. And I know a simple sorry won't fix everything, so..."

He went over to the desk and picked up the box with the silver hummingbird inside.

"I want to give you this. I hope you like it."

Okay, practice over. He’s better off winging it. He truly regretted how he acted, so regardless of how the apology goes, hopefully, you can see that he's being genuine.

He sighed.

Hopefully.

The next day came quicker than expected. He spent the entire night preparing, and by the time the morning came, he was exhausted.

But it was okay because soon, he'd be able to see you and, hopefully, make amends.

Panic didn’t set in until he caught sight of you at your locker, picking out your books.

The moment his eyes landed on you, his heart started to race. His throat went dry, and his hands got clammy.

This is it, he thought—all or nothing.

He took a deep breath.

Here goes.

"Excuse me," he started. His voice sounded shaky, but he ignored it. He had to stay confident and pretend he wasn’t nervous.

You turned to him, and the moment your eyes met his, he swore he could feel his heart stop.

Those eyes… full of utter shock and surprise. You were really caught off guard. And he was, too, because not a single word was uttered from his lips.

"Um," you cleared your throat. "Hey, Todoroki," you smiled at him. You seemed hesitant, and honestly, who could blame you? He had never really been nice to you.

"I was just heading to class, but uh," you rubbed the back of your neck. "Did you… did you need something?"

The question made him snap back into reality.

He was still speechless, so to fix the awkward atmosphere, he decided just to hand you the basket.

You were obviously confused. Your brows were furrowed, and you stared at the present like it was some foreign object.

"What's this?"

"It's a gift."

Your confusion didn't fade. In fact, it was almost replaced with concern.

"For... me?"

Oh, for the love of…, snap out of it, Shoto!

He shook his head.

"Yes, for you," he handed you the gift, and when you held it, he couldn’t stop his heart from skipping a beat. "I…"

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Look, I'm... I'm sorry. For everything."

You just stared at him blankly, and for a moment, Shoto felt the panic rise. What if you didn’t forgive him?

You were quiet for a while, and his nervousness only grew. He decided to try again.

"You were just trying to be friends, and all I did was push you away. I was so… rude and cold, and you didn’t deserve any of that. You were just trying to be kind. So, I wanted to make it up to you. I wanted to do something nice and show you how deeply apologetic I am."

Silence.

He didn't know what to say anymore, so he continued, hoping he wasn't making a bigger mess than what it was.

"I also, uh, got you this," he pulled out the case from inside his uniform. With the way you were silent the entire time, he was starting to think you wouldn’t accept the gift.

So, the moment your hand reached out to grab the box, he was relieved to know you were willing to listen.

"I know it’s not your original, but it's the closest I could find. And, well, it's the least I could do, considering how I acted."

When you opened the box, he could see the way your eyes lit up. He was so nervous about this, so scared that you wouldn’t like it, but the way you smiled proved him wrong.

And that smile. Oh, that smile.

He caused that smile. Instead of stealing it away or making it go away, he made it appear.

"Todoroki, I," you were speechless. Utterly speechless, he could tell by the way you looked up at him.

You were trying to find the right words, and honestly, he didn’t blame you. He was in a similar situation.

"You didn’t have to get me this," you said, a bright smile on your face. You were holding the hummingbird gently like it was a precious object. "I probably would've forgiven you even if you didn’t get me anything."

Wait, was that a yes?

Was that a yes?!

Shoto could feel the corners of his lips twitch. He felt himself smiling.

"Thank you," you continued, still holding the hummingbird carefully. "It means a lot to me. I appreciate the effort you put into this. And, um, thank you for the apology. I really needed to hear it. Honestly, I thought I did something wrong, so I'm glad that wasn’t the case."

You laughed a bit, and even if he was confused about why you were laughing at all, he was relieved that you were accepting his apology.

"You did nothing wrong," he told you. "I was the one who messed up. I have issues, but that's not an excuse to be a jerk."

You smiled again, and he noticed the way you fiddled with the box. It was clear you wanted to attach the hairclip.

"I can… um, help you with that if you want."

The instant nod from you was enough for him to grab it delicately from the box, and when he did, you turned around.

It was a really pretty clip, and it suited you. Whoever originally gave it to you clearly had great taste.

It took a second, but he finally placed it into your hair. When you turned back around, he nodded in approval.

"You look nice," he told you.

"Thank you."

There was a pause.

"Um, did you, uh, want to sit together during lunch? I mean, you don't have to if you don't want to, but I thought I'd ask."

The amount of joy he suddenly felt was unexplainable. You were accepting him, and it was the most amazing thing he had ever experienced.

"Yeah, sure," he nodded. "That sounds nice."

Mission make up with you: success.

The guilt of everything still lingered, and he would have to apologize to everyone else as well, but that could be done later.

Right now, all that mattered was his new friend. A friend that should’ve been his a long time ago.

[mattybsgroupie]

tape | matt sturniolo

contents: cursing, fighting; established relationship; oral (m receiving); spanking (f receiving); degradation; p in v; creampie; use of “y/n”; dom!matt

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notes: posting this and another one later this week in celebration of almost 600 followers. so thankful for this community and for every single person that enjoys my writing (but if one gets more likes than the other im KILLING MYSELF) <3 not proofread blablabla hope you enjoy i love y’all so so much

- ♡ -

“y/n!” matt slammed the door shut, loud voice taking over the kitchen, where i was peacefully sitting. “are you fucking dumb?!” he hissed at me, throwing his phone on the table.

“wow, chill” i said, frowning my eyebrows, confused look in my face. “what are you talking about?”

“what did you do with our camera’s flashcard?” matt crossed his arms, impatiently tapping his foot on the ground. my mouth hung open, but no words came out of it. matt looked so angry, and i knew i had cause us trouble. as i kept searching on my mind, he screamed once again “fucking tell me!”

“i don’t fucking know!” i hissed back at him, throwing my hands in the air. “i changed it the last time, i told you we were out of memory but i don’t remember where i put the other one!”

“oh you don’t?” he narrowed his eyes, stepping closer to me and removing a tiny object from his pocket. he showed me the flashcard, holding it with his thumb and index right at my face. “what about leaving it on this fucking table next to nick’s work stuff?”

my eyes widened. “matt i-i’m so sorry, fuck” i stuttered, realizing what i had done.

“you’re sorry now? after nick saw everything? we have so much shit here y/n, for christ’s sake!” matt kept holding the memory card, free hand running through his hair as he tried to calm himself down. “he saw your naked pictures, he saw mine! there are compromising videos in here y/n, can you imagine if he had uploaded any of them by mistake?”

“matt, please” i got up, walking closer to matt and resting my hand on his chest. “babe, i didn’t mean it, i’m really fucking sorry.” he looked away, scratching his freshly shaved beard.

“sometimes i think you’re asking for it, you know?” he said grabbing my wrist. “you fucking want our pics to get leaked, so that way everyone can know how much of a slut you are”. matt finished, pulling me to his room as he walked, grip in my skin getting stronger.

he slammed the door once again and pushed me on his bed, my breath turning heavy from his sudden change of behavior. matt went next to his computer, grabbing our camera. it was one of the first cameras the boys ever used to record their youtube videos, and nick gifted it matt after they changed to a new, more modern equipment. matt opened the video screen and turned it on, green light signaling he had started recording.

“take your shorts off” he demanded and i knew i could no longer run from my punishment. i kept sitting, slowly removing the cloth down my legs, kicking it away with my foot. i was wearing pink panties and a t-shirt i borrowed from him, not looking my best.

“you wanted this so bad, didn't you?” he asked, positioning the camera on the nightstand. matt sat next to me, but only to pull my legs over him. he turned me over, my belly now resting on his thighs and my head falling down, only my left arm resting on the mattress. i opened my mouth in disbelief, my calves trying to move away from him somehow.

“what are you doing?” i asked, trying to at least get a bit more comfortable in that position.

“giving you what you wanted” matt said, his arm locking my legs together while the other one held me by my breasts - at least my head wouldn’t be spinning. one of his cold hands smacked my ass, the sudden contact making me choke on a moan. i could feel matt’s grin growing wide as he palmed my skin, preparing me for another slap.

“fuck!” i groaned as the burning sensation started. i knew matt didn’t actually want to hurt me, he rubbed my butt after each smack, soothing the tingles i felt as my blood started to run faster.

“matt- please” i tried to speak, but another spank interrupted me. “behave, yeah?” matt whispered in my ear and pointed to the camera. “everyone’s gonna see how much of a fucking slut you are. can’t even take a punishment, right?” he teased, long fingers now travelling between my buttcheeks, brushing lightly over my panties. matt pressed his digits harder over my cunt, feeling the wetness there “soaked already?”

i looked away, trying to cover my embarrassment with my hands - it was humiliating, my ass in the air being spanked by matt after a mistake i didn’t even mean to make. “you’re fucking embarassed? can you imagine how i was after nick gave this to me? my brother saw everything, your dirty whore” he didn’t stop the slaps, and i couldn’t stop whimpering as his hand kept on marking my skin.

“ah!” i cried once more, until he two other spanks were enough. matt gave a kiss on each of my senstive buttcheeks and tossed me out of his lap, getting up and standing in front of me. he grabbed the camera once again, turning the screen so that only him could see what he was filming. my face was burning red and i was already exhausted. matt looked at me, rising his eyebrows, wide grin on his face.

“come on” he said, zooming the lenses on me. “you’re gonna look so pretty with your mouth wrapped around my cock”.

i gulped, quickly nodding and moving my hands to his belt. i had barely unbuckled it, but i could feel matthew’s impatience growing. i pulled matt’s pants down along with his underwear, revealing his hardened dick. matt moved the camera to show off his own length, eager for me to touch him, even when he was the one in charge.

i wrapped my fingers around his shaft, veins pulsing in my palm. i brought my mouth closer to his tip, lips wrapping around the sensitive area as i received a groan in response, matt finally getting some relief to his aching cock. i couldn’t fit him entirely - matt was huge - so both of my hands started pumping the missing part as i moved my head down.

i heard matt chuckling, delighted with the view of my teary eyes begging for him. he started to slowly move his hips forward, trying to thrust his leaking dick inside of my throat. one of his hands went to my hair, already messy and tangled, in order to set my pace as he pleased.

i mumbled on his cock, asking if i could please, please, please, take a breath. of course, no words came out, my muffled voice only sent vibrations and warmth to his length which made him push his cock forward in my mouth, making me gag.

i could feel the saliva running down the sides of my lips when i softly tapped matt’s thigh and he slowly removed his cock, realizing he might have been a little too rough. i coughed, catching my breath as he pouted at me, faux sympathy showing by the lust in his eyes.

“can’t you take anything?” he asked, tugging the hem of my - his - shirt. “you cry when i spank you, you can’t even blow me properly… weren’t you supposed to act like a good slut?” matt said, helping me remove the white cloth, exposing my breasts. my nipples had been poking through the shirt from a long while, but only now matt decided to zoom in on my nubs. i caught him licking his lips as i positioned myself further on the bed, showing off my body to him. my fingers around as his followed from my neck to my collarbones and down to my tits as i teased my hardened nipples with my own digits.

“so pretty” matt whispered so low i wouldn’t have heard it if i wasn’t paying attention to his lips. “on fours” he said in a serious tone, making my pussy clench.

i turned my body over, standing on my elbows and knees, sticking my ass out as he placed himself on the bed with his knees behind me. matt’s cold fingers touched the waistband of my panties, slowly pulling it down my legs as he filmed everything.

he grabbed his own cock and pumped a few times, spreading the pre-cum along his length before dragging his dick between my buttcheeks and moving it down my cunt, lazily rubbing my folds, not really trying to fuck me. after teasing me a bit more, matt quickly put the camera back on his nightstand, now filming both of us.

matt placed his digits on my entrance, pressing my wet hole with two fingers. he slowly started to push in, but didn’t go all the way, pulling out when he saw me biting my own lips. i whined in protest - i needed him to fill me up. “fucking shut up” he spoke in a lighter mood than in the beginning of the night, showing that he was now just as needy as me.

his hands rested on my hips, holding it tight as he gradually buried himself inside of me. his pre-cum and all of my juices made it easier for matt to slide in, quickly stretching my walls and not giving me time to adjust to his size before pounding into me. “gosh- matt!” i moaned, throwing my head back as my cunt throbbed.

“always so tight for me” he said, hovering his body over mine. his chest was almost glued to my back, one of matt’s hands holding my jaw so he could kiss me. “who owns that pretty cunt, huh?” matt asked, my mouth hanging open as i could no longer stop my gruntings “y-you! ah-”.

“my fucking slut” he kept on talking while jointing his hips forward, cock finally hitting my spot. “only mine”.

“yes matt, fuck!” i pleaded, feeling my cunt clench its own walls against his dick. “i’m gonna cum, please!”

“don’t you fucking dare coming before me” matt said as his thrusts turned sloppier, trying to reach his orgasm. “f-fuck, taking me so well” he groaned loudly, palm once again meeting my ass as he slapped my skin. suddenly, i felt matt’s release filling me up completely, his sticky spurt leaking down my thighs as he finally allowed me to cum as well. my whole body trembled as my orgasm washed over me, my chest panting heavily, letting my head fall on the mattress.

matt slowly pulled out of me, lying down by my side as he came back from his high.

“are you okay?” matt asked, his hand resting on my back while i still recovered. “was i too rough?” he caressed my skin and i could feel the concern in his voice starting to show as i didn’t say anything in response.

“i’m never” i started, still out of breath. “losing the fucking card again”. i heard matt chuckle as he moved his other arm further, trying to reach the nightstand. he grabbed the camera and placed it next to my face. “say hi, pretty”

“hi pretty” i joked, matt giggling before turning the lenses to himself and winking to the video, pressing the finish button and closing the video screen. “and yes, babe. i’m okay” i assured him. “im sorry for being irresponsible and-“ he cut me off with a kiss. as he pressed his lips against mine, i realized he was no longer mad at me, and i could finally let myself relax.

“by the way” he spoke, throwing the camera on his side of the bed “you can leak this one” i giggled, hugging him, both of us acknowledging we could never - ever - lose this flash card again.

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taglist (drop a 🌸!): @thepubeburgler @marselise @pearlzier @mattsfavbitchhh

[boowritess]

part 1 hehe

notsobaddasssoldier!reader that is so incredibly under prepared for everything. and the 141 really do forget that you're actually still very green - very new to this life.

especially with things like interrogation.

for once, price is putting you on the sideline BUT you have to interogate the person they have captive for valuable information.

they'll give you whatever things you need in order to pry out any sort of information from the captive. they don't even second guess you asking for a guitar. they get one then they continue on with the mission while you interrogate the person.

their expectation may have been very high. they were betting on all the little fun bloody pain you could potentially do to the captive. seriously,

"knife, they're a knife person" *ghost*

"definitely not. fire. they're definitely using a blowtorch on em as we speak." *soap*

"sod of the both of ya - waterboarding. for sure." *gaz*

"choking." *price shrugs*

obviously, they were excited to come back and see who was right...

it really humbled them to see they were all wrong.

"please make them stop. i'll tell you whatever you want"

*captive yelling that can be barely heard over reader.*

"AHHHHHHHHHH *strum strum* AHHHHHH AHHHHHHH *strum strum* AHHHHHH-"

*reader who is loudly strumming the guitar out of tune, screaming in the captives' face over and over again.*

the guys don't know if they should be impressed or concerned. they were gone for nearly 5 hours.

5 hours you had been screaming in the captives' face 'playing' the guitar.

later on you get a lesson from ghost about what interrogations are supposed to be like - it ends with you vomiting and price patting your back and gaz holding a bucket to your mouth.

"what did you think was gonna happen when ghost showed ye what to do?" *soap*

"i don't know... go boo?" *scarred reader*

yeah... you're not allowed to do interrogations anymore or be involved in interrogations- you are also most definitely not allowed to talk to captives or guard them because -

"why're you doing this?" *captive*

"honest to god, i ain't got much goin' for me and i had hella stu-"

*reader's mouth suddenly gets covered, gaz looking at you like an idiot*

"hm? what is your little task force plan, huh? go on and blow the place?" *captive*

"well actually no. they plan too-" *your mouth gets covered just in time and you're getting dragged out the room by a very frustrated price*

you very much get ANOTHER lesson about what NOT TO DO when in the same room as a captive - it's pointless though because you're still not ever allowed in the same room alone with a captive.

HAHAHA

i can't stop thinking of reader who is watching a captive be interrogated for information by getting choked and reader just piping up like

"i don't think they can breathe..."

*ghost, long exhale, continues choking captive*

"that's the point, kid" *price*

"oh..."

*they continue choking the captive, waiting for them to crack-*

"if they can't breathe how are they going to talk-?"

"out." *ghost snaps pointing at the door.*

maybe they do give you a second shot at attempting to interrogate the captive. the 'correct' way this time, though. giving you ALL the necessary tools...

and you are ready, you're pumped. you can do it. you're not going to vomit - you're going to do it right.

you grab the pliers and walk towards the captive who is obviously panicked, very much expecting you to do your worse. which you are.

you grab their mouth and force their mouth open, ready to pull their teeth out - sucking a deep breath in as the captive starts to cry and beg.

but then you start to cry and beg.

"please just tell me the information i don't wanna do this"

"you don't have too!" *captive, crying and begging too*

"i do! i'm sorry..."

"no." *captive*

"yes."

"no" *captive starts screaming, making you start screaming as you pull on their tooth both of you staring at eachother and screaming your heads off.*

"I'M SORRY!"

"STOP!" *captive*

"I CAN'T!" *pulls tooth with pliers* "EW EW EW EW-"

you don't even do it right. you're pulling at their tooth with pliers and you're not strong enough so you're awkwardly just tugging the captives head. but the both of you are too busy screaming and begging to notice...

but you actually manage to successfully get the information - you're still not allowed to do interrogations... only being the very last option.

it does mean that you have to go on missions... even if you're useless omg idea?

*gasp* someone claims reader is a traitor - oop?

more parts, perhaps?

a/n: wrote this while trying to work through an anxiety/panic attack !! xx honestly tho these would be my genuine reaction. btw drink water and try sleep cause i can't xx

[amongemeraldclouds]

love blooms in strange places

When Mattheo was assigned to help you tend to the greenhouse as punishment, he never expected detention could be so pleasant.

Mattheo Riddle x f!Reader | Based on this request

Warning: fluff, one use of y/n, used my creative license to come up with plant lore and magic to serve the plot.

✿ Masterlist | Event Masterlist | Tea Party | 1.7k words

When Mattheo Riddle started his day, the greenhouse was the last place he expected he would be. Yet that’s exactly where he was headed, kicking up dirt as he went.

Snape’s words haunted him as he slowed to the door. “Mr. Riddle, you had been in detention several times just this month alone. If you will not learn by reflection, you will learn by deed. As punishment, you will have to help y/n cultivate plants for a week.”

Before Mattheo could open his mouth, Snape raised his hand. “Any protests and we will make it a month.” He knew better than to talk.

He shook his head as he opened the door, eager to get it over with. He took in pots and plants of various shades of green, color sprouting sporadically where flowers and fruits blossomed. Then there was you.

You saw the curly haired boy approach, Mattheo Riddle, you recalled. Everything about him spelled trouble from the frown fixed on his face, to his askew tie, and the way he strut as if the entire world bent to his will.

You smiled and introduced yourself politely. Your mum after all had raised you to give others a chance. To look beyond first impressions.

Still, it didn’t surprise you when his frown stayed glued to his face. “Mattheo Riddle,” he just stated by way of introduction. “Here’s how this will work. I’m going to stay here,” he said, grabbing a chair at the side of the greenhouse and taking a seat. “I’ll stay out of your way, you stay out of mine. When the time is over, I’ll walk away. Nice and simple.”

“So you’ll just let me do all the work?” You huffed, your fists clenched by your side.

“Glad you’re catching on, darling. Go on. Some would say it’s a privilege to be around me but it’s okay if you don’t see that yet.” He flashed you a shit eating grin and propped his legs up the table across him. Such a shame. He’d probably be handsome if his personality weren’t so rotten.

You caught yourself and your expression turned livid. “No, being around you is punishment. I don’t know what I did to Snape to deserve this,” you mumbled to yourself.

Your mum may have raised you to be polite, but she also taught you to stand up against bullies. You strode over to the arrogant boy, plucking a bearded iris on your way. You crushed it beneath your fingers, muttering an incantation.

When you were close enough, you hurled the crushed petals at his feet. Upon impact, sparks burst. Bright searing sprays of light was accompanied by a loud bang.

Mattheo dodged it, losing his balance. His chair tipped backwards. He crashed to the floor.

The bearded iris was otherwise called the firebreather iris. He should have known better than to challenge you.

You towered over him. “You will help me as Snape intended. It’s bad enough I have to spend time with you. You will make yourself useful or that,” you pointed at the ashes of the firebreather iris, “is just the beginning of what I can do. There are poisonous plants around here like nightshade. I will not hesitate to use them and make it look like an accident.”

He looked at you as if he saw you for the first time. The fire was brighter in your eyes than the spark you had thrown. He was silent for a beat as he recalled what Theo warned him about nice girls. You never wanted to see them mad. They were always more clever and therefore more dangerous.

As much as he loved danger, he very much preferred to stay alive. Besides, things just got more interesting. He schooled his face to a bored expression. “Fine,” he said standing back up and dusting the dirt from his clothes and hair. “If you teach me that cool trick, I’ll help out.”

“Stick around and I’ll teach you a few things,” you nodded, satisfied. You tossed him a pair of gloves. “We’ll start here, plant boy.” He suppressed the smile that threatened to break across his features. It was fascinating how you snapped quickly back to your good natured self, as if you weren’t just threatening him moments earlier. If there was anything Mattheo loved, it was a challenge.

As he put on the gloves, he felt detention wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Threatened by the poison and lured in by the idea of learning plant magic, Mattheo had surprisingly been a helpful herbology partner.

Yes, he was stubborn and annoying. But at the end of the day, he was quick to pick up the steps, memorizing which fertilizer to use for what plant, and how much water each plant needed.

The weeks quickly passed and you found a comfortable rhythm. You just had to put up with those terrible lines.

“Are you a flower bed?” Mattheo asked, his face streaked with dirt as he hauled another bag of soil.

“What is it this time?” You rolled your eyes. You found it impossibly adorable and ridiculous how he managed to get dirt all over his face despite wearing gloves and other gardening gear.

“Let’s pretend you asked me why. ‘Cause I want to lay you down and get dirty,” Mattheo said with his signature smirk.

You tried not to laugh, but you couldn’t wipe the silly grin off your face. Mattheo considered it a win. “That seriously works for you?” You pointed in his general direction. “I’d rather choke on a cactus,” you beamed.

Mattheo chuckled, “then I want to be a cactus.”

“Oh why, because you’re a prick?” You retorted, shoveling more soil to the new pot.

“No, you can’t use these lines against me,” he said, narrowing his eyes, grabbing a handful of soil.

“Don’t be such a weeping willow about it,” you quipped. “And I swear if you throw that lump of soil, you’ll have to clean it up.”

“Why don’t we go straight to the cleaning part?” He teased instead, returning the soil. He grabbed the water hose nearby and turned it on, aiming it directly at you.

Before you could react, you felt a steady stream of water hit you, the cold shocking your entire system. “You really did it,” you muttered uselessly, releasing a string of curses as you gathered your wits about you.

You ran after him, but he was quick to deflect, running off the opposite direction, taking the hose with him. Five steps in, you slipped on the mud and landed on your back. The wind rushed out your lungs and you laid there recovering your breath.

“Salazar! Are you ok?” He asked, running towards you.

“Come here,” you spoke softly and he leaned in to hear you.

“My name is not Salazar,” you declared when he was close enough. “It’s an expressio—“ he tried to explain but in one swift motion, you grabbed the collar of his shirt. The surprise was enough to send him down the floor. He slipped in the mud and joined you. You grabbed the hose from him and sprayed him with water.

He flailed for a few seconds before he caught purchase and rolled over you, yanking the hose away and then switching it off. You both found yourselves in hysterics, bodies shaking from the cold and laughter.

“I can’t believe it. You really laid me down and got me dirty,” you managed to say in between laughter.

“This is not what I meant. But if you want to know what I mean,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. But he was rendered speechless, the words and laughter faded in his throat.

He didn’t think it was possible. But up close, you were even more beautiful with your captivating eyes and kissable lips.

His intense gaze stole the laughter and breath from your lungs. You felt his heartbeat drum against yours, your breaths mingled with one another.

It sunk in then that he was on top of you, gazing at you like he wanted to do a hundred and one sinful things to you. He had a forest full of desires and you wanted to explore every corner of it. To go on an adventure with him. So you did.

You weren’t sure who started it, but the next second you found yourselves kissing each other. It was better than any euphoria plants could induce. His lips felt surprisingly soft and he started off tentative, seeing if you were okay with it. You just needed more and he quickly matched your pace, taking in as much of you as he could.

He was no longer gentle and he ran his hand through your mud streaked hair, holding you just where he needed you, deepening the kiss. You tugged on his hair in return and he rewarded you with a groan, his chest rumbling against you. He licked your lower lip, prompting you to open your mouth as his tongue darted in, exploring until you both needed to come up for air. Panting against each other.

“Why are you looking at me like I just kicked a puppy?” He asked.

You shook your head. “You’re just a boy trying to get through detention,” you stated.

“Darling, my detention was only a week long,” he admitted.

Your eyes widened. “But this is your third week helping me.”

“You still haven’t taught me how to make fire with flowers yet,” he said, kissing you on the nose.

“You’re not afraid I’d poison you?” You narrowed your eyes, recalling your threat.

“I looked it up. The nightshade you mentioned that first week isn’t even poisonous. You never meant to poison me, dear.”

“But you fell for it, that’s what mattered,” you insisted.

“Maybe it’s you I’ve pollen for,” he quipped.

“You’re never gonna stop with the plant puns, aren’t you?”

“No, because you’re ivy and you’ve fully crept in my thoughts. Next, you can creep in my—” you kissed him then to shut him up. He didn’t seem to mind at all. You really had had enough of his silly plant puns, even though you couldn’t get enough of him.

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