#sorting machine for dates

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[petpetpinixy]

on what fucking planet is this organized by name

[lvrclerc]

✶ THE EX EFFECT

summary: being oscar piastri's pr manager is... uneventful, to say the least. that is, until your most recent ex winds up the mclaren garage. in an attempt to prove him something, the arm you end up grabbing is oscar's. now the word is spreading around the paddock that you're his (fake) girlfriend and it turns into a beneficial pr opportunity for him and a perfect cover up for you. except oscar gets a little too good at it, and all the reminders in the world are not enough for you to keep in mind that this is fake.

F1 MASTERLIST | OP81 MASTERLIST

pairing: oscar piastri x pr manager!fake gf!reader

wc: 19.2k

cw: not proofread, past toxic relationship, annoyances/colleagues to lovers, fake dating, he falls first, sort of third act breakup, oscar is slightly ooc, very light angst, season timeline is fucked but who cares! romance! clichés! drama!

note: requested here, i know nothing about pr, this was supposed to be short but i couldn't stop myself so you have this monster of a fic! i kinda hate this. anyways, enjoy!

WHEN YOU FOUND out you’d aced your interview, you thought to yourself, the sleepless nights carrying group projects every other member had procrastinated were worth it. The number of social events you passed on to finish top of your class─valedictorian, Communications major with a Journalism minor─had paid off because you had just landed a job as PR manager in Formula One. Not just in any team, either: McLaren. You were ready to dive into the glamour, the glitz, and the hardships of the sport. To thrive in the pressure, the politics, the media storms. You were ready to shine.

Except you were managing Oscar ‘No Emotions’ Piastri, and nobody thought about telling you that.

Oscar Piastri, a quiet semi-rookie when you first crossed the headquarters’ threshold, who gave you five words max per interview, had a sarcastic comment to every command the team social media manager threw his way, and disappeared at every media opportunity like a ghost, deadpanning instead of showing enthusiasm. Needless to say, there wasn’t much for you to manage.

It’s not like you didn’t try. You nudged him gently at first: helpful suggestions, friendly reminders to loosen up a little. Be more engaging. Play the game. But every time you did, he looked at you as if you'd sprouted a second head and proceeded to swiftly ignore you. The first time it happened, you were offended, and maybe a little concerned. You complained to Charlotte, Lando’s PR manager at the time, and she gave you the wisdom of a woman who had seen some things: “Assert yourself,” she’d said.

It was your first month on the job. You were fresh out of university. You didn’t even know where the best coffee machine was. How were you even supposed to do that?

Still, you decided to try again.

During a long and taxing car drive to the McLarens’ HQ, one you were sharing with Oscar after a last-minute driver swap and a logistical disaster, you figured it was now or never. Assert yourself, Charlotte had said. Be firm. Be confident.

You went for humor instead. A joke. 

Terrible idea, in hindsight.

“You know,” you said lightly, breaking the silence that had stretched across three roundabouts, “you’re kind of boring.”

Oscar simply glanced at you, expressionless, so you clarified. “I mean, you’re not even letting me do my job. Throw me a bone here.”

And it was supposed to be playful. Oscar was supposed to quietly snort, asking how he could finally help you, and boom, you’d finally get to apply all that polished knowledge you’d studied for years.

Instead, he tilted his head slightly, puzzled, as if you’d just spoken in Morse code aloud, and said, “Imagine being boring and still more interesting than your ex.”

“What?” You blinked. Saying you’d been taken aback would have been a euphemism.

He didn’t even look away from the road.

“You talk in your sleep. Don’t nap in the common room again.”

Silence fell again, but this time it wasn’t peaceful. It was personal.

That was the moment you decided, with startling clarity, that you very much disliked Oscar Piastri.

You didn’t know you talked in your sleep. You didn’t even know he’d stumbled upon you squeezing a thirty-minute nap in the common room of McLaren’s headquarters. And you certainly didn’t remember the dream you’d had─ or why exactly it had featured your ex out of all people. All you knew was that, no matter what he heard, it was a low blow.

Especially when it came to the one man who somehow slithered his way into your heart just to shatter it from the inside out.

Disliking the person you were assigned to manage wasn’t unheard of in the world of public relations. It was practically a rite of passage. Most of the time, it came with celebrities who were a walking headline: strippers, drugs, arrests, rumors of twins with three different people. That, you could’ve handled.

Oscar wasn’t like that at all. Oscar was just… rude.

Not loud rude, or messy rude. Just… quietly, unbotheredly rude. He was unreadable, dry, and too clever. Not a PR nightmare, just a PR black hole. Just to you.

And if there was one thing you happened to be very good at─besides the job you weren’t even getting the chance to do─it was holding a grudge.

After that episode, you kept your interactions with Oscar to the bare minimum, or as much as you could without being fired. The paycheck was just too good, especially as a fresh grad still recovering from student debt.

Any advice or directions you had for him came during team meetings, always surrounded by enough people that he couldn’t hit you with his usual blank stare. When he messed up during interviews, which was sometimes inevitable, and you followed up with a politely scathing email, bullet points and all. Face-to-face convos were reserved strictly for emergencies… or if you happened to be seated beside him, in which case you communicated via foot. Strategic, silent, and sharp. You’d step on his sneaker under the eyes of all, and he’d keep smiling at the camera like nothing happened. Except for the tiny, throbbing vein on his temple─ oh, you lived for it. 

It was a perfect arrangement. Passive-aggressive peace, mutually tolerated detachment. It worked for both of you.

Sometimes, you caught him glancing your way, wondering why you were still here. But you didn’t care. You had a system, and it was stable. It would’ve stayed that way for a long time, until your or his contract expired, whichever came first.

But then your ex decided to show up, and that messed everything up.

It was a very nice Thursday, dare you say. The kind of morning that made you think the season wouldn't be so bad.

You’d expected Bahrain to be hotter, considering the furnace it had been last year during the start of your first season with McLaren. But today, the air was warm without being unbearable, a soft breeze threading through the paddock and playing with the loose strands of your hair. Your cardigan slipped off one shoulder, but it didn’t cling or suffocate─ just draped like it was meant to be styled that way.

Oscar had just rolled out of the garage, off to log laps and data and whatever mysterious things drivers did during testing, which meant you were officially off-duty for the next three hours. You had time for yourself, maybe for a proper coffee and a chocolate croissant. Eventually, a little conversation with Lando, if you ran into him.

Yeah. This was a good morning.

You should have known it wouldn’t last.

It should have hit you when the coffee machine didn’t work, so you had to walk all the way to Lando’s side of the garage to fetch yourself a cup. It should have hit you when you didn’t even see Lando, and they were out of your favorite chocolate croissant. It should have hit you when you passed by grown men in their forties gossiping like schoolgirls about the new additions to Oscar’s car engineering team, you never heard anything about. It should have hit you when the feelings in your gut made you hesitate near the orange-colored walls.

But it really, really hit you when he grabbed your elbow.

“Y/N?”

Your body locked up like someone had flipped your off switch. The voice was familiar in the worst way─ like a nightmare you thought you’d finally grown out of. You didn’t even need to turn around. Your body already knew. Still, you did, as if asking the universe for confirmation.

And there he was. Theodore Silva, in full McLaren uniform, lanyard slung around his neck. Dark brown hair, messy, tied up in a bun, with his characteristic three o’clock shadow. Your ex-boyfriend. Your heartbreak origin story that, somehow, had the nerve to smile.

You would have backhanded him if the shock didn’t make your mind go blank.

“Wow,” he said, and you felt like a funny coincidence. “Didn’t expect to see you there. Always knew you were the ambitious one.”

Oh, you knew that tone. That patronizing little tone he used when he wanted to seem impressed while reminding you he could always do better. As if you hadn’t told him a million times about your fascination with motorsports and all of its scandals. You weren’t 19 and easily diminished anymore.

You slapped on a polite, seething smile. “I could say the same. I wouldn’t have guessed they hired people with so little… experience. Or the grades to back it up.”

Theodore Silva wasn’t the richest man alive. No, that title was reserved for his father, who owned a few businesses that took off in the early 2010s and left him with an outrageous amount of money and too much to do with it─ including sending his incompetent son to a prestigious business school even though he could barely manage to keep up half of the average required. Even his father’s money couldn’t get him to graduate the same year as you.

But after another year, it could apparently get him a job at McLaren.

Yet, Theodore still chuckled, brushing off your remark as if it were just another inside joke you two shared. “They just brought me on- engineering for Piastri’s car. Funny how life works out, huh?”

He was on Oscar’s team. You’d be obligated to see him, be near him, every day. You didn’t answer, just stared at him blankly, too busy cataloguing every sharp object in the vicinity, trying to ignore the twist of your heart.

“Small world,” he added to your silence.

You tried to smile again, but you knew it came out weird when the words that came out of your mouth sounded more like a screech than anything else. “Smaller than I’d like.”

Theodore tilted his head, studying you with calm eyes, as if he hadn’t watched you, arms dangling near his side, as you broke down in his apartment’s parking lot. “You look good,” he said softly. “I’m glad you’re doing well.”

You stared at him.

Hell no. He had that voice, wearing guilt like an optional accessory, looking at you like he was the one that got away. The nerves. You hated how your chest tightened, the smell of his cologne, and how he thought he could just waltz in, throw some compliments around, hoping to win you back.

Fuck him. “I’m doing very well, Theodore. Loving my job. How’s Anna?”

That landed. He physically winced, scratching his neck. “We, uh─ We broke up, actually.”

How surprising.

“So─”

You weren’t about to let him finish. You weren’t about to let him think he even had the sliver of a chance. He wasn’t about to wreck the life you built for yourself by simply being here, no. Instead, you did the sanest thing anyone would have done in your place.

You lied.

“I have a boyfriend, actually.” The words came out so fast you almost flinched, not registering them yourself.

Theodore paused, eyebrows lifting. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” you smiled, wildly too sharp for the context. “He’s great. Amazing, supportive. Emotionally available. You know─ faithful.”

He blinked, and his fake-casual mask slipped for a second. “What’s his name?” He asked, all lightness gone from his expression. 

That’s when it hit you. Unspoken panic rose in your throat because, believe it or not, you didn’t have a boyfriend. You barely even had a social life─ you spent most nights in bed with a sheet mask and Youtube videos. If you hesitated now, even for a second, Theodore would know. And he’d never let go, flashing you his smug little grin of his, strutting around the garage for a season, thinking he had a chance.

Not today, Satan.

The garage door behind you creaked open and footsteps echoed in your direction.

You didn’t look, didn’t think. You just grabbed the first arm that brushed against yours.

“This is him!” You said, an octave too high. “My boyfriend.”

And Oscar Piastri, your emotionally repressed, sarcasm-saturated PR headache of a driver, froze mid-step. As much as you wanted it, there wasn’t any way to back out now. His eyes dropped to your grip, white-knuckled, around his bicep. Then to you. Then to Theodore.

“... Sorry, what?” He said under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear.

“Babe,” you hissed between your teeth, eyes still set on Theodore and smiling like your life depended on it. “Go with it.”

Finally, your ex managed to speak up. He was frozen, mouth half-opened in shock. “This is your─ You’re dating─ Oscar Piastri is your boyfriend?”

Oscar opened his mouth, definitely to ask what was going on, but you beat him to it. “Yes! Yep. It’s, um─ it’s very new. A few months.”

You finally turned to face him fully.

His brown eyes, sharp and unreadable as ever, flicked across your face─ first your eyes, then your mouth, then down to where your fingers were still digging into his arm. There was confusion there, definitely, but also a kind of calculation unique to him.

“This is Theodore,” you added, swallowing thickly. “He’s one of your new engineers.” You hesitated. “... and my ex.”

That’s when something clicked.

You felt it. The subtle shift in Oscar’s expression─ the way his shoulders straightened or the brief flicker of understanding behind his eyes. He glanced at Theodore just once before looking back at you. You pleaded silently. With your eyes, with your fingers brushing lightly over the sleeve of his fireproof top, even with the part of your lips that whispered please without making a sound.

But the longer you stood there, the more the panic crept up your spine. Oscar didn’t owe you anything. The man barely liked you. He could’ve thrown you under the bus without blinking, called you out right there and made your life ten times harder.

Which is why you almost jumped when his hand, much larger, reached up and gently settled above yours.

“Ah, Theodore,” Oscar said, like the name physically bored him. “Nice to meet you. Sorry about my reaction,” he added, fingers tightening just slightly over yours. “I just didn’t expect… this.”

He turned to glance at you. An innocent smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth.

“Y/N’s told me a lot about you.”

Theodore snapped out of the shock that froze him into place, and his smile flickered. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Oscar said casually. “All the highlights.”

You blinked up at him, heart in your throat, unsure whether to laugh or sob. Was Oscar Piastri helping you?

“The highlights?” Theodore asked, dumbfounded.

Oscar hummed, thumb absentmindedly brushing over your hand─ just once, like punctuation. You weren’t dreaming, he was playing along. And the look on Theodore’s face was worth every single of it.

“Funny, she never mentioned you, or the fact she was dating an… F1 driver, as a whole.” As if you even talked to him anymore!

Oscar shrugged, way too relaxed. “That’s all right. We’re keeping it on the down low for now, I’m sure you understand. And we don’t do much… talking, anyways.”

Your jaw nearly hit the tarmac. You stepped on Oscar’s foot, a habit by now, and he barely flinched. Apparently, that was enough for Theodore. “Well,” he said slowly, eyes narrowing. “Guess I’ll see you two around the garage.”

“Guess I’ll see you around my car,” Oscar answered, a little too quickly.

Theodore just glanced at him before muttering, “Small world.”

“So small,” you nodded stiffly.

The second he was out of sight, you yanked Oscar by the wrist like a woman possessed, dragging him to the nearest utility alleyway─ dim, slightly greasy smelling, and blessedly empty. For how long, though? You didn’t know. “Okay,” you hissed. “Wow, what the hell was that line?! We don’t do much talking?!”

Oscar raised a condescendent eyebrow, arms crossed on his chest. “I don’t know, you tell me, Mrs. This Is My Boyfriend. I just followed along. You’re welcome, by the way.”

You groaned so loud it echoed, looking up to the ceiling, hoping answers will fall off it and solve your life, simultaneously pacing a short line across the floor. “I know what I did, alright? I just─ I panicked! That guy─ he… he cheated on me. With my best friend. In my own bed. And I just─ he looked so smug and self-satisfied standing here like I’d run back to him. I needed to shove something in his face, show him I’m fine. Better. And I didn’t look and you were there and your arm was right there and now I’m going to have an aneurysm─”

Oscar blinked. “Wow. Okay. That’s… a lot of information, considering we barely know each other.”

“Thank you so much for the support, Oscar. I wonder whose fault that is, exactly!”

“I’m just saying. That was a whole soap opera act in thirty seconds,” he snapped back, rolling his eyes.

You exhaled harshly. “Whatever. I didn’t actually mean to drag you into this, okay? I’ll fix it. I’ll… tell him it was a misunderstanding or… I’ll figure it out. I’ll PR my way out of this, because whether you like it or not, it’s actually my job─”

“It’s fine,” he said, cutting you off, eyes closing briefly like he needed to reboot.

You paused. “Huh?”

“I said it’s fine.” His eyes opened again, locking onto yours. “Now that he thinks you’re dating someone, his delusional ego’s going to spiral and he’ll leave you alone. Especially if it’s someone… above in station, let’s say. Not to stroke my own ego.” He tilted his head, tone flat. “He looks like the insecure type.”

“He is,” you aggressively agreed, pointing at him like he’d just cracked the Da Vinci code, and you swore you saw his lips pull up. “So we just… leave it alone?”

“Let it die down,” Oscar continued with a casualness you could only hope to replicate. “Maybe have a conversation here and there for consistency, but that's about it. It’s not like he’s going to go around bragging that his ex-girlfriend is dating the guy he’s working for.”

You snorted. “I think he’d rather die.”

Oscar’s mouth twitched, trying not to smile. “Exactly.”

You sighed, finally letting your shoulders drop as the tension bled out of you. The adrenaline was still rushing through your veins, waterfall-like, but slowly softening, giving way to a quiet panic that you could make do with until the end of the day. It’s fine, you told yourself, it’ll be fine. “Okay,” you murmured, giving him a small nod. “Thank you. Seriously.”

“Don’t mention it,” Oscar replied, already turning away. “Literally.”

“Deal,” you said. “Never again.”

The plan was to return to your regularly scheduled programming─ distant and professional. With the way Theodore worked (or more accurately, didn’t), you were pretty sure he wouldn’t last long in the McLaren garage anyway. Life would go back to normal soon enough. You were sure of it.

Rule number one of PR management: never assume anything. Certainty was a myth. Because as long as there was even a sliver of doubt, it could all go wrong. Maybe you’d gotten complacent in your ways, Oscar never gave you anything to work with after all, but you really thought that this time, it would be fine. You slept like a rock that night, the kind of sleep where your mind recharged so hard it forgot you had responsibilities in the morning.

That’s probably the reason it took you so long to notice. First, it was the way people lingered as you passed. How engineers muttered behind their coffee cups and went dead silent when you got too close. You weren’t used to this level of attention─ as a whole, you were a pretty discreet presence in the paddock, so when the smiles came and the knowing smirks got thrown your way, you started becoming suspicious.

“Morningggg,” Lando sing-songed as you entered the McLaren hospitality tent.

“Good… morning?” You muttered, narrowing your eyes as you plopped down next to him. “What’s got you in such a good mood today?” You asked as you bite into the chocolate croissant you’d been craving since yesterday.

Lando studied you. Waiting.

“Do I have to guess, or…?”

The curly-haired man sighed dramatically, as if your question alone had aged him. “No, but I thought we were friends. Guess I was wrong, since I had to hear it from my race engineer. During briefing.”

You blinked. “Okay, what the hell are you on?” you admitted. “Have you been doing crack? Is that it?”

“Whatever, keep your secrets, Y/N,” Lando conceded, a smug little grin on his lips. “You’ll talk to me when you’re ready. Or I’ll just get the truth from Osc’. He seems… chatty, lately.” 

You couldn’t imagine Oscar Piastri being chatty to save your life. “What? What does Oscar have to do with anything?” But Lando was already up and walking off.

Alone with your chocolate croissant and your detonated sense of peace, you scanned the room, eyes darting in panic.

Across the tent, Oscar stood by the coffee station, talking to a staff member with his hands-in-pockets casual disinterest. His eyes met yours, and he paused mid-sentence, one eyebrow raised in that really? kind of way that made you want to slap him. There was a silent question in it. 

One you didn’t have an answer to.

The answer actually came knocking that night─ quite literally. Loud, incessant, unforgiving knocks at your hotel room door.

You were in the middle of taking off your makeup, cotton pad in one hand and dabbing at your under-eye concealer like it personally offended you. “Seriously?” You audibly commented, exhausted. It was nearly 10 PM. You’d done your job, answered more emails than anyone should in one day. The very least the universe could offer was twenty-four uninterrupted minutes of peace.

But the knocking didn’t stop, so you opened the door with a groan and a complaint on your tongue, only for the sound to die the moment you registered who was standing on the other side.

Oscar Piastri. In a hoodie, track pants, socks that did not match, and looking far too calm for someone who’d just banged on your door as if the apocalypse was tracking him down. You stared in confusion, words refusing to come out of your mouth no matter how hard you tried.

“Sooo… we might have a problem,” Oscar finally spoke in the silence stretching between you.

He walked in your room with no hesitation, without you even inviting him in─ the audacity! Sure, yeah, come on in, ruin my night, you thought. He glanced around, sizing your room and seemingly expecting paparazzis behind the mini-bar, before turning to face you with a flat look.

“What’s this problem that has you acting so dramatic for─”

“You’re trending on F1 Twitter. Well, we are,” he said simply, tone measured. “Someone took a photo. You holding my arm next to your ex. In the garage. And the caption is─”

He pulled out his phone. A screencap of big, red, capital letters: IS OSCAR PIASTRI SOFT-LAUNCHING HIS PR MANAGER?

It took a while for reality to set in. 

You stared at the screen blankly, eyes flicking from Oscar to the headline, erratic. Soft-launching. Soft-launching. You tasted blood in your mouth. Oh, no─ it was actually just your soul leaving your body. “This is not happening,” you mumbled, blinking rapidly. “It’s fake. This is fake. I’m hallucinating.”

Oscar hummed. “Want me to read you the quote tweets?”

You pointed a finger at him. “Don’t you dare.”

He shrugged and put his phone down. You sat down on your bed, hands flying to your temple. “Okay, okay. No big deal. I’ll just tell the team we were talking about… a car issue. A steering problem. Brake pedal feedback. That sounds fake, right? Like, real-enough fake.”

Oscar gave you a look. “You could try that,” he said slowly, “but your ex has apparently been sniffing around the garage asking people if we’re actually dating.”

“No way.”

“I overheard Lando’s race engineer telling him. He asked five different people.” A beat. “He’s not subtle.”

You could feel your eyes twitch. “Jesus Christ.”

Oscar crossed his arms, leaning back against the mini-bar, staring at you. “So I don’t think your little oh it was just a brake issue! excuse is going to cut it.”

“I’m going to end it all,” you said, dropping your face in your hands. “I’m going to crawl into my media kit and live there forever.”

He raised an eyebrow at you. “I’ll bring you snacks.”

“How are you not freaking out? Like, at all? It’s your face on every headline, and my job on the line!” You didn’t want to think about the repercussions this would have on any future jobs you might want, or your actual one. Future employers were going to Google you and find dating rumors about a fake relationship with a driver you were managing.

“Oh, I freaked out,” Oscar cut in smoothly, walking toward you. “Trust me, I had a whole mini-existential crisis in the elevator.”

“That’s good for you, Oscar. Why aren’t you still freaking out?”

“Because I figured this might be a job for my PR manager,” he said, toned laced with sarcasm. “Who also happens to be the cause of the PR disaster in the first place.”

You opened your mouth just to close it, and to open it again. “That’s fair.”

“And you said I was too boring.” Oscar gave you a dry smile, and weirdly, that was the moment it clicked.

You were his PR manager. This─whatever mess the universe had decided to dump in your lap─wasn’t just a disaster. It was an opportunity. A viral, narrative-controlling opportunity. The kind of chaos you could work with. You’d complained that Oscar gave you nothing: too quiet and acidic. Well, he certainly wasn’t that anymore, or almost.

You straightened up, the panic slowly morphing into focus. Your heart was still pounding, but now to the rhythm of the plan puzzling itself in your head. No one had trained you for what to do when you were the story but if anyone could improvise, it was. Your idea was wild, unhinged, even. But you knew better than anyone that the line between unhinged and brilliant was just the execution. And if you played this right, it could be exactly what the both of you needed.

You turned to Oscar slowly, the corner of your lips twitching into something almost insane. “Oscar,” you said carefully. “What if we didn’t let this go to waste?”

“Come again?”

“I mean, this,” you gestured vaguely toward his phone, screen down on the counter. “Oscar Piastri’s mystery romance unveiled, blah blah blah. It’s a mess, but it doesn’t have to be.”

Oscar’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “... You’re about to say something crazy.”

You got up from your spot on the bed to face him fully. “Fake dating.”

“There it is.”

“No, seriously, hear me out,” When he started taking a few steps back, you rushed toward him, hands animated. “People are already talking. We can’t undo the articles or stop the whispers, but we can own the story. It’s simple PR strategy: if the narrative’s out of our hands, we grab it back, shift the focus and make it work for us.”

“And what, exactly, would we be gaining from this?” Oscar looked deeply, deeply unconvinced.

You got closer to him and his eyes widened discreetly, quickly shifting from your eyes to your lips, and to the one finger you were holding up in front of his face. “One, you get press engagement. You’ve been called the human spreadsheet by more than one person─”

“Never heard of that.”

“Okay, maybe it’s only me, but my point still stands. This? It gives you dimension. Warmth. Personality. More people of all age groups rooting for you.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “Because I’m dating you?”

“Don’t flatter yourself too much. Two,” you continued without missing a beat, “I get a break from Theodore. He’s more likely to leave me alone if he thinks you’re in the picture long-term, or as close as we can get to it.”

“Isn’t that the reason you picked me in the first place?”

“I was desperate. You were here and tall.”

Oscar shrugged at your words, quietly agreeing with you, which egged you on for the last point of your argument. “Three, if this all goes up in flames, we just say we broke up. That wouldn’t be the ideal outcome until Theodore’s out of the picture, but if push comes to shove, we do this quietly. Classic ‘we ask for privacy during this time’, then ghost the media. End of story, and we go back to our ways.”

The silence stretching between the walls of your hotel room seemed to last a lifetime too long as the Australian studied you carefully, arms crossed on his chest. “You’ve really thought about this.”

“Actually, I just did. I’m that good.”

He exhaled loudly at your comment, dragging a hand down his face in exasperation, and you tried your best not to let a little quip past your lips. “And how long would this have to last?” Oscar asked, voice muffled by his palm.

“Until Theodore goes away, which shouldn’t be more than a few weeks knowing his talents. Enough to let the story peak and settle and it would include a couple public appearances, some social media crumbs─ low effort, maximum payoff for you.”

Hope swirled in your chest with the intensity of a storm when he dropped his hands, his dark eyes locked onto yours.

“And your ex leaving you alone would be the only thing you’d gain out of all this?”

You didn’t hesitate a single second when you answered. “That, and peace. Maybe a little petty revenge over him and honestly? A challenge.” Because this is what you’ve been dying to do ever since you stepped foot in the paddock a year ago.

And maybe Oscar saw the hellfire of determination in your eyes as he scanned you, either that or you sold your reckless idea with the confidence of a politician, because after long, skeptical minutes. He held out his hand, and the overwhelming weight pressing against your shoulders seemed to evaporate in the flight of a hundred butterflies.

“Fine, count me in,” he said, voice a little hoarse, “but if it all goes to shit, you’re taking the blame.”

You hastily took his hand, his rough palm fitting into yours, and you blamed the electricity rushing in your spine and the powdery pink of his cheeks on the ridiculous situation and the relief coursing through your body. “Deal, but it won’t go to shit if you keep up with me.”

The ghost of a smirk pulled at his lips, which made you smile. Your heartbeat was thundering in your chest and the heaviness of what you’d just agreed upon settled over you like a second skin.

Fake dating Oscar Piastri. How hard could it be?

First thing you did the next morning was to warn a handful of team members: there was no world in which running a fake dating scheme in secret wouldn’t come back to bite you and frankly, your job and reputation were already hanging by a thread due to yesterday’s PR earthquake. You and Oscar pulled Lando, Zak, and a few key staff members─social media, comms, and PR support─into the smallest available hospitality room you could find, locking the door behind you.

You explained the situation as fast as you could, hands raised in surrender under their gazes. How the rumors were technically true but not real, what conclusions you came to in such little time, and the thought process behind your idea, carefully excluding Theodore’s implication.

“Wouldn’t lying to the public make it worse?” Someone from comms piped up, deadpan.

You winced. “Damage control isn’t always about truth. It’s about optics, controlling the narrative before it controls us. We’ve assessed the risk, this buys us time to refocus headlines onto the cars, not the garage drama all while boosting Oscar’s popularity.”

Zak blinked at you as if you’d grown a second head. “You assessed the risk?”

“With me,” Oscar added from his chair, facing you. “I see the strategic upside. I’ll blow over in a few weeks, it’s fine. No harm done.” You sent him a silent thank you, holding his eyes just long enough for him to notice.

“Soo, when’s the wedding?” Lando piped up, leaning forward. “Or do we just have the break-up arc planned?”

You ignored him, preferring to explain the conditions of you and Oscar’s little agreement: no posts unless you greenlit them, no press comments and if anyone asked, yes, you were together. Happy. In love, but still casual. Social media staff were already scribbling notes or rapidly typing on their keyboards, and Zak looked like he might die of a heart attack.

So were you. Still, when you glanced at Oscar during one of McLaren’s CEO's silent breakdowns, you couldn’t help but share a silent laugh.

The following days were catastrophic, to say the least. Navigating the Bahrain paddock for the last of testing and media obligations for the first Grand Prix of the season the week after had turned into a minefield of knowing looks and suspicious stares. You and Oscar were learning how to walk the tightrope of fake affection with the grace of two toddlers. A few shared smiles, a shoulder brush, but every interaction felt rehearsed, taken off a badly written script. By some given miracle, it did work on some people but not all, and especially not Theodore. You could feel his eyes on you everytime you walked through the garage, narrowed as if waiting for a slip-up, but you’d rather die than prove him right.

By the end of the first few days, Oscar’s social media manager handed you a photo of the both of you to approve for Instagram─ one where Oscar had his arm slung around your shoulder awkwardly while you stood next to the car, all too aware of the massive lens pointed right at you. It was…

“It looks like we lost a bet,” you muttered, horrified.

Oscar leaned in over your shoulder to look at the picture. “Oh. Yeah, that’s bad.”

You threw your hands in the air, movements more powerful than words to transcribe the frustration elevating your blood pressure. Before a flurry of complaints and insults could slip past your lips, Oscar spoke.

“Okay, maybe it’s not very convincing, but it’s also because we haven’t figured out how to sell it correctly.”

“What a revolutionary thought.” He shrugged your comment off. 

“Well, I figured since we skipped the whole dating part and went straight to the whole madly-in-love thing, maybe it’s time we… backtrack?”

You felt the lightbulb switch on in your mind, eyes widening in realization. “Backtrack… like a backstory?”

Oscar nodded solemnly. “A timeline, yeah. How it started, how it’s going, first dates and everything. The whole fake fairytale.”

You couldn’t argue with that. You hated to admit he was currently beating you at your job, but Oscar was right. People were already speculating about the two of you a week in your fake relationship; everyone, including you, needed some foundations to be settled and fast. “Okay, alright. We can figure this out tonight, preferably in my hotel room since it apparently became the headquarters of this,” you made circle hand gesture between the two of you, “operation. Also because nobody will bust us in there.”

Oscar showed up at an ungodly hour of the evening─ the clock showcased numbers that hurt your sleep cycle, but nothing made the press talk more than going to your girlfriend’s room in the middle of the night, right? He knocked once before letting himself in, dressed in the same sweats and hoodie as a week ago, and holding a suspiciously large energy drink. “I come bearing poison,” Oscar announced, lifting the can.

You squinted at him from your spot on the bed-your hotel room lacking a desk-surrounded by a battlefield of notebooks and your wheezing laptop that was one short breath away from the grave. “Perfect, that’ll keep us up. We have work to do. Welcome to the Ted-talk-slash-lie-building meetup.”

Oscar kicked off his shoes, walking toward you. He eyed the chaos with a low whistle. “Oh wow, you weren’t kidding.”

You handed him a purple glitter pen without even glancing in his direction. “Sit your ass down and write with honor, Piastri.”

“Glitter? Really?”

“Don’t patronize me. I love glitter gel pens. Better memorize that if you want to be a good fake boyfriend.”

Oscar snorted but didn’t protest as he took the pen, sitting down next to an open notebook on the edge of your bed. He cracked the energy drink open with a hiss, and you took it from his hands before he had the time to bring it to his lips. “Jesus, you’re bossy.” You shot him a look. “Alright, alright. Where do we begin?”

You exhaled, eyes settling on your computer screen. A bright, pink page was showcasing Date Idea: Where To Take Your Beloved For A First Date? “With the basics. When we started dating, how we met, how many fake months we’ve been in fake love, which side of the bed you sleep in for continuity purposes.”

“Right side.”

“Wrong answer. It’s mine.”

You gradually settled in a surprisingly comfortable rhythm. Between the quiet clicking of the keyboard, the buzzing of Chinese nightlife outside your window, and the rhythmic scratch of the glittery ink on paper, you and Oscar brainstormed.

Ideas came slowly at first, awkward and stilted the way two kids forced together in a group project would work─ which it was, in a way. It didn’t take you long to realize you didn’t know Oscar at all, and he didn’t know you either, and the recognition of that fact put a certain strain on your interactions, as much as there already was. Yet, the tension softened as the minutes from midnight trickled away. You found yourself building a history out of thin air, questions after questions and jokes after jokes─ inside jokes that didn’t exist and justified why you laughed so hard at ‘soft tyres’, a first date that involved a tragically undercooked lasagna which Oscar and you had to fight over because neither of you wanted to look like a bad cook. You chose May 21st as the anniversary date because it sounded cute. Oscar protested, “How can a date even be cute? It doesn’t make sense.” He still settled on it.

Snorts, teasing looks as you drew a clumsy timeline in the middle of your designated ‘Relationship Basics’ notebook. “What about our first kiss?”

“Mmh, that’s a good one. People are going to ask.”

“Duh,” you fought the smile on your lips with little effort. “C’mon. You were wearing that hideous orange puffer, it was raining, and I was mad because you didn’t share your umbrella.”

“Oh right, and you were soaked and… okay, you said I owed you a kiss for compensation. Sounds like something you’d do,” Oscar replied, leaning forward in mock seriousness.

You made a sound, halfway between a gasp and a laugh. “You do remember!”

He laughed. A real one, warm and easy, going right through your chest. You quickly joined him, and his eyes lingered on you a second too long after the joke faded. “I made it up with hot chocolate later, though,” he added with a lazy smile that didn’t belong in any scenarios.

You scribbled that in your notebook. “Ew. We are sickeningly cute.”

And somewhere between a fabricated ski trip and the great debate of who said ‘I love you’ first, something shifted, just a little. Oscar had moved from the edge of the bed to sit beside you, arms behind his head against the headrest, legs stretched on the covers. His knees bumped yours every now and then, but you didn’t flinch away. The notebooks laid abandoned now, pens scattered across the duvet. Your laptop screen dimmed after an hour of neglect and your limbs were heavy with the sweet stickiness of fatigue that only came when you laughed too much and too hard.

You glanced over at Oscar and his hair was a little messy, eyes a little sleepy, softened by the light of the space. He was already watching you. “You know,” he spoke up. “For a so-called meeting, it suspiciously looks like a sleepover.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at that, tiredness winning over your resolve. “It’s almost four,” he continued,  voice lower in the hush of your hotel room. “We’ve officially survived our first week of fake dating. Well, we did four hours ago, but…”

“And we haven’t accidentally gotten married in Vegas like they do in movies. I’d call that a win.”

“Oh yeah, that’s definitely not because of our amazing chemistry.”

A huff escaped you again, and your head fell back against the pillows. Shanghai still hummed outside the window, quieter this time, and the city lights threaded through the thin curtains you pulled. The room was just as still, if warmer─ you could feel the tired blush on your cheeks and the heat of Oscar’s thigh against yours. “You know, you’re not as annoying as I thought,” you said, a lazy sigh curling into your words.

It came out like an offhand casual observation, but you didn’t meet his eyes. Truth be told, you were ashamed. The whole year you’d convinced yourself Oscar Piastri was a nuisance and a stain on your work life had been shattered in the shine of glitter pens and the drafting of a romance novel-worthy story. Because he was actually kind of funny, and even though he delivered his jokes like he was bored half the time which you used to interpret as condescance, they still made you laugh. He listened when you spoke. He had a dry, understated charm you were starting to recognize as very authentic.

And he hadn’t complained once tonight. Not when you made him pick an anniversary date for the third time, or reenact a fake first meeting with your best friend. He was just… there.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” he replied, but his voice melted at his usual edges. “You’re alright too. Surprisingly.”

When you turned your head, you found he was already looking at you for the second time, and a moment passed. You gave him a smile, barely there, and he looked away. “Guess we do make a decent team,” Oscar mumbled.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” you mimicked him. He snorted.

You walked him to your door after an exchange of soft chuckles and breathy goodnights. Fake dating Oscar would be harder than you thought, but it definitely wouldn’t be as bad as you made it out to be.

You weren’t sure what it was between the sleep deprivation, the amateur acting, or the emotional whiplash of building an entire relationship with a guy you were only acquainted with, but something about it shifted the rhythm you’d gotten used to. Whatever happened during that night, being Oscar Piastri’s fake girlfriend became easier after it.

It started with texts. You couldn’t remember which one of you sent the first non-work related one, but it became a daily occurrence of linking the other pictures the press took of the both of you.Oscar would often comment something along the lines of Do I look like a man held hostage or a man in love? Be honest. You’d roll your eyes everytime, answering: All I can say is that I’m not flattered. At first, it was mostly logistical�� scheduling photo ops, making sure neither of you veered your scheme off the track. But somewhere between sarcastic captions and oddly flattering candids, the conversations grew longer. It became a way to kill time, a habit.

Oscar was easy to talk to, which was a thought that would’ve originally terrified you. Except the conversations carried off screen, and you found yourself enjoying them an awful lot.

Along the lines of your ruse, you started saving seats beside each other during lunch breaks or waiting up for the other to go back to the hotel together─ not for the cameras or Theodore’s heinous stare, but for a reason as simple as the enjoyment of the other’s company. Oscar was more than a colleague by that point, he became something else that you couldn’t quite call a friend the way you called Lando one. You stopped overthinking every step you took beside him, every glance and sentence. You had your script, sure. But more than that, you had a quiet kind of understanding. He knew when to press his hand to the small of your back when it was needed, and you knew when to lean in just enough to sell the look of something intimate. 

It wasn’t perfect, but it was practiced. Comfortable, even. Maybe, just maybe, a little fun. Which is why you couldn’t tell when the little things started to feel not as little anymore.

Rare were the times you arrived late to a team briefing, but a late-night spiral reviewing articles about your little charade had stolen more sleep than you’d expected, and for the first time since you started out at McLaren, your alarms lost the battle. You slipped in your seat next to Oscar, a movement you barely thought about anymore, breathless, cheeks warm from your run across the paddock and the drizzle misting your hair. Your pants were drenched, there was a pounding behind your eyes and you were thirty minutes away from biting someone’s head off if they even dared mention your tardiness.

Oscar didn’t say anything at first, just glanced your way as he often did, eyes flicking up and down once. You braced for a comment, a joke, preparing to hold yourself back from doing something you’ll regret doing to your fake boyfriend in public.

Instead, he leaned down, reaching for a paper bag next to him, from where he pulled out a steaming paper cup and a chocolate croissant that he slid toward you without a word. Your name was scribbled across the side of the wrapper along with your very specific order, down to the temperature.

You looked at Oscar. At your breakfast. Then at Oscar again. “How─”

“You weren’t answering my texts,” he said, still looking forward. “Figured you’d be late, so I got you this. You get cranky with no sleep or caffeine in your system.”

“I don’t get cranky,” you muttered, wrapping your cold hands around the hot beverage. “You get sassy when you don’t sleep.”

“Sure,” Oscar said casually, meeting your eyes for the first time since you sat down. “There’s extra vanilla, by the way.”

You didn’t answer, just rolled your eyes, but his gaze was still on you when Zak burst through the door. The fact he remembered that you took extra vanilla syrup in your extra hot latte and that your favorite pastry was a chocolate croissant should be nothing, because you’re sure you told him at some point during your many one-on-one briefings. Except it wasn't. Not really.

Then, there was the flight. There was nothing the fans and the media loved more, and Theodore despised just as much, than couple apparitions at airports, which led to Oscar’s social media manager to nudge you into the believable. That’s how you found yourself catching the same flight as Oscar, Lando and a few others on their jet. It had become recurrent in the past few weeks and you’d never admit it out loud, but there were non-neglectable perks: fewer crying babies, more space, and the occasional poker game where you absolutely obliterated Lando’s ego. You know I’m just that good at acting, you’d said, throwing a cheeky smile at Oscar that he gave you right back.

This time, though, none of you had the energy to talk, let alone play cards. It had been an exhausting and emotional race weekend─ back-to-back media obligations underneath the fire of reignited on-track rivalries, rain delays, and disputes amid the team you couldn’t legally disclose. The jet was unusually quiet as it took off into the night sky, everyone slipping into their respective silence.

You hadn’t meant to fall asleep. You usually didn’t in airplanes, they stressed you out too much─ you’d just leaned against the window for a little moment, eyes fluttering closed. The buzz of the engine and the soft cabin light blurred the world into static and you drifted away in a split second, as soon as the city was turned to insignificant holes in the black tapestry underneath you.

After a while, you felt a warmth, subtle at first. There was something solid against your shoulder, enough to make you crack one eye open.

Oscar’s head was resting against yours, and you were tucked comfortably against him. At some point, he’d dozed off too, and the both of you had slumped toward each other in your sleep. You could’ve moved, you know you would have a few weeks back, but you didn’t. You let your eyes close again and let yourself drift in and out of sleep along the quiet sync of your breath. His arms wrapped around your waist, your legs rested on his knees, and you weren’t quite sure how long you stayed like that─ten minutes, an hour─but when you finally woke up again, it was to the obnoxious flick of Lando’s phone camera and his barely contained laughter.

It was the accumulation of those little things, the seemingly insignificant moments that, piled together, made them bigger than they should have been. It was when Oscar took the habit of sleeping in your hotel room after qualifications to watch a movie under the pretense of simulating ‘passionate encounters’. It was when, one morning, bleary-eyed, you accidentally threw on his hoodie with his number printed on the back, and his hands lingered on the small of your back a little more possessively that day. It was when you were running low on your orange glitter gel pen and a full set was mysteriously delivered to your door, even if you didn’t need one. In the way his pupils dilated ever so slightly when you caught him staring, when he pointed right at you after his podiums, how your skin fizzed with heat for hours after he kissed your cheek in front of the cameras.

But what really blurred the line was the night in Spain.

It hadn’t been a particularly thrilling race─ tame from lights out to chequered flag. Oscar had finished P3, Lando snagged P2, both holding their qualifying positions with sharp determination. But the crowd had been wild, the champagne flowing and before you knew it, Lando dragged you and Oscar into Carlos’ plans for the night. All that happened after was a blur of neon lights and ear-shattering singing.

The walk back to the hotel was your idea- just a short stroll through warm cobblestone streets, the air sweet with late night chatter and the slow beginning of summer. You and Oscar snuck out the back entrance of the club, the latter clearly not fitting in the Spanish nightlife, your heels dangling from your fingers and his cap pulled low to hide the flush of his cheeks. Both of you were just tipsy enough to feel invincible, shoulders brushing as you exchanged anecdotes and very real inside jokes, something about not-much-talking, laughter echoing against the dead of the night.

It was quiet for a moment after that, the comfortable kind that sometimes settled between you. Oscar decided to break it.

“You know,” he started, softer than usual. “I’ve been meaning to ask─ why didn’t you like me at first?”

You turned your head up slowly, the reality of the question dawning on you. You raised an eyebrow. “What made you think I didn’t like you?”

“Come on.” Oscar gave you a look, and in the dark of his eyes you swore you saw the polite, Shakespearean insults you sneaked in your emails, the harsh tap on your foot on his, flashing in the quarter of a second. You couldn’t help but laugh.

“Okay, maybe I didn’t. At first.” 

He kept his eyes on you, waiting. You sighed, tipping your head back to look at the night sky─ no stars were visible, but it didn’t take away from the beauty of it. “You were just─” You paused, choosing your words carefully. “Honestly, you were rude, smug and condescending. I felt like you were trying to make my job harder than it should be by just- not doing anything. People were talking about you as this nice, quiet boy and I secretly wanted to bash your head against a wall.”

A beat. “Wow. That’s brutal,” he simply answered. “I don’t get how I gave that impression. I always thought you were the one being rude to me.”

Your head whipped in his direction and you could physically feel the disbelief splashed across your features. “Me? You started it!”

“How?”

“That one car ride in my third month,” you deadpanned. “You made a very snobbish comment about a dream I had about my ex. You said, and I quote─” you cleared your throat dramatically, dropping your voice to the flattest Oscar impression known to man, “‘Imagine being boring and still more interesting than your ex.’” Oscar was half-laughing by that point. “Oh, don’t you dare! You also said something about how I shouldn’t sleep in the HQ again, but for the record? It was my first triple-head─”

He held a hand up in mock surrender, mouth agape in stupor. “Is this what started this whole… passive-aggressiveness?”

“Uh… yeah? It was unnecessarily arrogant!”

Oscar made a face. “Unnecessary, sure. I get it. But you know what was also unnecessary? The intimidating, pretty new girl at McLaren─who also happened to be my new PR Manager─calling me boring to my face.”

The words hung in the air between the two of you. Your froze, caught off-guard by the ease with which the compliment slipped out. Oscar was continuing with his rant, either completely oblivious or choosing not to care. You cut him off. “... You thought I was pretty?”

That’s when he faltered, his lips parted in a half-word as if he hadn’t realized what he said before you pointed it out. Oscar’s gaze flicked to yours, then away, suddenly far more interested in the cracks of the sidewalk than anything else. “Well, yeah,” he took off his cap and brushed a hand through his hair like it might undo the sentence. “I mean, you still are. It’s not like that changed.”

It would be lying to say you had considered the possibility that you caused the tension between you and Oscar in the first place. While your sad attempt at humor might have been the catalyst, something must’ve already been simmering under the surface for things to go cold so quickly after it. Your heart gave the tiniest, traitorous jump, chest pulling in a reluctant way, at the thought he’d noticed you then. You despised how easy it was to smile, to fall into the warmth of the possibility.

“Oh,” you said softly, and it explained everything and nothing all at once.

“I’m just saying,” Oscar added quickly, flustered, “it didn’t feel great.”

You couldn’t tell if the red of his cheeks was from the heat, the alcohol, or the embarrassment, but what you could tell was how hopelessly cute you found him in this moment. You tried to play it cool, despite the fact your heartbeat had skipped a full chord. “Noted. And for the record, now I know you aren’t boring,” you added, teasing, playfully nudging your shoulder with his. “You’re just… private. Or mysterious. A sardonic brick wall, if you will.”

It successfully had him looking up, a light-hearted scoff slipping past his lips - you could see the relief in his facial traits. “I’ll take mysterious. It’s better than boring.”

When you got into your hotel room, Oscar slipped past your door as he normally would, and you collapsed onto the bed with your legs tangled together like always─ but something was different now. The air around the mattress was slower, stuck in time, warm in the way his breath ghosted over the nape of your neck when he settled beside you, eyes already fluttering shut.

For the first time since this whole agreement began, you had to consciously remind yourself that it wasn’t real. The comfort in your chest wasn’t made to stay. The steady rhythm of his breathing next to yours, the way your body naturally molded into the other─ it was all pretend. 

At least, that’s what it was supposed to be.

Like silk curtains flowing with the breeze, the change was discreet but there nonetheless, in the shared silences that felt less like pauses and more like instances captured with a polaroid. There was hesitation, once again, but unlike the one you chased away before─ in how you touched, how you laughed, how you glanced at each other and closed the gap under the bright flashes. You were both tiptoeing around something fragile and new.

Neither of you said anything, but it was something too heavy not to notice─ at least, you hoped Oscar did as well: the reluctant awareness of how hazy the lines had started to get and the stunned realization that maybe they’d never really been that straight to begin with after Oscar’s tipsy confession in Spain. You were still doing everything to showcase your relationship to the media, Theodore’s presence in the paddock still overwhelmingly present and Oscar’s popularity sky-rocketing. You were still holding hands and tucking yourself to his side in the garage between two meetings, carefully weaving the continuation of the story you made up together. Yet, when no one was watching, it didn’t feel as plastic. Not when Oscar whispered in the crevice of your ear in a crowded room, or when your heart jumped at the sound of his laugh. When it started to hurt, just a little, when he pulled away.

The day he called you at five in the morning from Canada was confirmation enough. The switch from the heat of Spain to the rainy weather of the United Kingdom for work had taken its toll on you, and you had to call in sick for the Montreal race weekend. Tucked in your covers with a cup of coffee and an inability to sleep due to your clogged nose, you watched your phone screen lit up with his name. You answered with a hoarse, “Why are you awake?”

Oscar chuckled, his voice slightly muffled by the hotel air conditioning in the background. “Why are you?”

“Respiratory betrayal,” you said, dragging your blanket further up your chin. “What’s your excuse? The race’s tomorrow.”

You talked about everything and nothing for a little while. Oscar told you how the track felt a little underwhelming, how the social media team messed up with their main Instagram account, and of Lando’s endless complaining about the lack of your presence─ apparently, the paddock was too quiet now. You nodded in your pillow with a smile like he could see you.

Eventually, the conversation drifted away, like it always did now. Oscar asked what you were listening to lately and you told him of a song that sounded like spring and reminded you of long drives at night, especially the instance when he drove you home after Monaco. He said it sounded like something you’d play to get out of your own head. You said it was. He told you about this stupid childhood habit he had of organizing cereal boxes in alphabetical order and you laughed so hard it triggered a coughing fit.

Oscar’s voice dropped. “I wish you were here.”

It wasn’t dramatic or purposeful in the slightest. He said it as if he was realizing it at the same time he pronounced the words. It was your case too when you answered, “Yeah, me too.”

Your chest ached, because there was no camera to capture the softness of the moment and you just found out you preferred it that way.

And then you came back for the Austrian Grand Prix. You didn’t see Oscar much that weekend. You’d barely touched the ground before you were swallowed whole by emails, debriefs, documents you missed during your sick leave and Theodore side-eyeing you every time you so much as coughed next to him. There was no time for soft moments, not even time to stop and just glance at Oscar even if you wanted to.

He crossed the line in P1 that day. You were mid-conversation with Zak, animated with excitement even during your lengthy talk about the following media duties, when arms pulled you in so strongly you lost track of what you were saying. You recognized him by touch alone: Oscar was wrapped around you, body sweaty and warm from his maddened laps. He held the helmet in his hand, still catching his breath when his head dropped on your shoulder. 

“You’re back,” he said, voiced laced with something a lot like relief.

“Of course I’m back,” you whispered back, fingers twitching on the back of his race suit. He sounded like you were gone for years and somehow, it really did feel like it. You could’ve stayed there for hours, you thought, until Zak obnoxiously cleared his throat next to you.

Oscar pulled back, eyes brighter than his usual post-race exhaustion, the glint of something you couldn’t name just yet dancing in his pupils. His hands came to rest on your wrist, barely brushing your hands. “Stay with me?” He asked, and your heart might have stopped just there. Realizing how it sounded, Oscar quickly corrected, “For the interviews. I’ve been dodging the media since you weren’t there.”

“I will,” you smiled. Your feet were already moving anyway.

He kept glancing sideways everytime the journalists asked about strategy and pace, and the little tug in your guts told your mind you were enjoying it, even though shamefully missing the feeling of the circle his thumb drew on the inside of your hand. When the interviewer asked about the less than discreet glances, making a comment on the obvious chemistry you two shared and how well you worked together─as colleagues and as a couple─Oscar didn’t laugh it off like you always practiced. He nodded, bashful and sure.

The sentence kept blinking in the back of your head like a warning sign: this was all fake. But even telling yourself that wasn’t enough anymore because your heart apparently didn’t get the memo. The touches and the sleepovers made your dreams spiral and your cheeks warm. You became his phone wallpaper for authenticity and his picture became yours as well without as much as a second thought, every little attention as natural as the cycle of seasons.

You were falling for your own fake dating ruse. Which meant you were quietly, miserably falling for Oscar Piastri in the process, in the realest and most literal way known to man. That was terrifying.

Never, in your short but hectic PR career, had you ever experienced that.

Not the newfound feelings you were harboring for your fake boyfriend, no. You tried your best to think about that as little as possible─ if you didn’t look at them, maybe they wouldn’t look back. Right now, you were talking about the diplomatic ambush you and the F1 grid and staff just walked into. The hotel hosting the drivers and half the sport’s staff for the Silverstone weekend had decided to organize a charity gala. Last minute. Mandatory, if you had any desire to keep your reputation intact.

It was a smart move─ brilliant, even: Host a fancy event for a cause, pick a night when the entire motorsport world is under your roof, and leak just enough information to the press so no one can afford to skip it. Declining? Not donating? Refusing to schmooze with the hotel owners? You’d be crucified online by breakfast. Genius, really. You respected the play. 

But damn, give a girl some warning. You didn’t have anything to wear.

Apparently it was the case of everyone else as well, which made you feel less self-conscious. When you walked out your hotel room the morning of FP3 and qualifying, the hallway wasn’t buzzing with race talk but with chaotic murmurs about last-minute outfits, shoes emergency and the drama of Max Verstappen only packing team merch─ which, much to his dismay, was absolutely excluded from the dress code.

You were promptly swept away by a group of female staff members from different teams, mostly working in comms or PR, determined to save you from showing up in jeans and a prayer after a heated conversation around the breakfast table. It turned into a surprisingly wholesome mission: shared complaints, budding friendships, and a chorus of tender laughter when you found the dress. “Your boyfriend’s going to be a happy man!” one of the older women teased, earning cackles from the others and a fiery blush from you.

You were, admittedly, very lucky─ as much as someone in a fake relationship could be.

Especially when Oscar knocked on your hotel door later that evening, fresh from his post-quali shower, hair a little messy, still buttoning up the blazer of his suit and eyes flickering with something unreadable when you opened the door, ready.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t expecting a reaction. When you were tearing down your skin with your scented body scrub and carefully smoking out your eyeliner in the mirror, you told yourself it was for you only─ but faced with Oscar’s eyes roaming over you, you knew you were clearly lying to yourself.

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. He silently took you in, and you feared that maybe you didn’t achieve the effect you hoped for. Maybe a hair was out of place, or the dress looked awkward on you. But Oscar’s lips parted in a discreet intake of breath and the way his mind blanked out was painfully visible on his features. Quietly, “You look…” He trailed off, clearing his throat and rubbing the back of his neck as if he could try to scrub off the red climbing out of his collar. “You look really nice.”

Really nice. That wasn’t quite what you expected, but his reaction was telling enough for you and knowing Oscar, you knew you weren’t getting anything more unless he was under a copious amount of alcohol or sleep-deprivation. You rolled your eyes at him, biting back a satisfied smile. “You don’t look half bad either.”

And he did. Devastatingly so. His suit was tailored within an inch of its life, cinched right at the waist and the lapels hugging his chest, his frame striking in the color. It was all very James Bond of him, minus the reckless charm─ though tonight, he seemed to be toeing the line. Your gaze dropped to his tie, and your fingers twitched at your side when you realized the shade was an exact match to your dress. You hadn’t said anything about your outfit ahead of time so you didn’t believe it was on purpose, but when your eyes met his again, there was a flash of something knowing and boyish─ almost proud that you noticed.

“Come on,” Oscar finally broke the silence. “You’re setting the bar too high. Everyone’s going to think I’m the lucky one tonight.”

“That’s because you are.”

The hallway was quiet as you two walked down together. You could feel it again─ that invisible thread pulling tighter, a weightless tension lodging in your chest and the incessant smile pulling at your lips. This was fake. Totally fake, you repeated to yourself again as you stepped with Oscar in the elevator, arm slithering around his bicep, ready to make your entrance.

The hotel hall was drenched in gaudy decorations, shimmering chandeliers and overly sparkly dresses, the kind of excessive elegance that only made sense in photoshoots and unnecessarily overpriced galas. Everywhere you looked, sequins caught the light and laughter echoed over the clink of crystal glasses. You weren’t in your element at all, Oscar wasn’t either and clearly, none of the drivers or the team principals who showed up wanted to be there. But in the name of keeping up appearances, you spent the evening with Oscar and a glass of champagne, stepping on his foot from time to time for old time’s sake. You knew how to mingle, after all it was everything you studied for four years.

You drifted through conversations in tandem. His hand stayed on the small of your back, occasionally brushing lower in ways that felt more unconscious than performative, or maybe it was just wishful thinking. When you’d lean into him to talk, he always dipped his head to hear you better on instinct. When Lando started tagging along, he was quick to complain about third-wheeling.

The whole evening was spent like that: finding amusement where you could in the middle of obligations, which was often spent sending sharp comments Oscar’s way, which amused him greatly, or Lando’s with Oscar’s help, which definitely amused him less. But gossiping could only get you so far, and soon enough the height of the heels you chose and the weighty ambience was enough to uncomfortably tighten your ribcage. You were quick to excuse yourself to the empty entry of the hotel, where you collapsed on a chair with a sigh.

You took a slow sip of your almost empty glass, letting the fizz of the bubbles distract you from the uncomfortable twist in your chest. Oscar would have followed you if you didn’t ask for some alone time, and God knows you needed some away from him. You were trying to find a distraction, anything to make you stop thinking about the brush of his fingertips or how you could have sworn his gaze lingered a second too long on your lips when you laughed at one of his jokes.

You didn’t expect, and especially didn’t want, Theodore to be that distraction.

His voice cut through the fog. “Tired?”

The glass nearly slipped from your fingers. Your body tensed, and you jumped to your feet out of reflex, ready to leave at any given moment. “Oh wow, didn’t mean to scare you like that,” he raised his hand in mock surrender. You rolled your eyes.

Theodore had the same haircut, same smug face, same cologne that lingered like melted plastic. The longer you looked at him, the longer of an eyesore he became─ nothing about him stood out: not his suit, the false casual way he was holding his blazer in his hands, and certainly not his demeanor. You couldn’t help but draw a silent comparison to Oscar.

That’s when you realized: you hadn’t seen much of Theodore the past week around the paddock. You hadn’t paid a lot of attention to his presence in general, too caught up in Oscar and the torment of your own conflicting feelings to even grace him with acknowledgement. You voiced the first part of your thought, casually sipping your drink.

His expression tightened as he forced a smile. “Ah. Yeah, well, they… they let me go. Budget cuts, you see.”

It took all your will and decency not to explode in laughter. Budget cuts. Ah, yes. Incompetence must have had a change of definition in the Oxford Dictionary recently. “So… why are you here?”

“My dad knows the hotel owner. I got an invite last minute.”

“Oh,” you said with a mocking tilt of the head. “So nepotism and unemployment. Got it.” The fake niceness you sported on during your first interaction at the start of the season had vanished out of thin air─ you weren’t going to put up with this pathetic excuse of a man any longer than you had to, precisely now that you had no reason to anymore.

Theodore laughed. Your hand prickled with the need to punch him in the nose. “You know, it’s not even that important that I lost my job at McLaren.” Said no one ever, you thought. How far did his privileges go? “I─ well, I only took it up because I learned you were working there. I thought… maybe if I was around again, we could fix things.”

You must have hit your head, this had to be a fever dream. The words reaching your ears made no sense to you whatsoever. 

“Fix─?” You scoffed, eyes widening. “That job was supposed to be your redemption arc? Is that it? Oh my god, Theo. You slept with my best friend and you thought I’d fall back in your arms because you barged into my career?”

“I made a mistake─”

“You made a choice,” you spat.

“I didn’t think it would matter this much to you!”

“Did I not cry enough the first time or do you want me to reenact it? Were you really hoping I’ll welcome you with open arms, open legs and a memory loss?”

“Well─”

“Don’t answer that. Actually, stop talking.”

Theodore threw his arms in the air, taking a step forward as he hurled his jacket on the chair you sat on a few minutes ago. “I just thought maybe seeing me again would remind you of what we’ve had!”

Rage and indignation alike rose in your throat like vomit, and your hands shook imperceptibly as you answered. “It did. It reminded me that what we had was never good enough to keep me from building something better. So thanks for the little nostalgia trip, but I’ll pass.”

Something in Theodore’s gaze darkened, dangerous and petulant, and before you could step back, he leaned in. “Oh, I get it now,” he snarled at you, voice dropping into something bitter. “It’s because of Piastri, isn’t it?”

“Back off, Theodore.” Your back had straightened instinctively. Discomfort crept under your skin like cold water─ you didn’t like the way he hissed his name and how close he was getting.

He didn’t back away. Instead, he took another step. “Didn’t realize you’d fall for the first man who gave you attention after me. Guess I underestimated how lonely you─”

“Everything alright there?”

His voice, warm and familiar, sliced through the tension and your shoulders slumped in relief. Oscar.

He was standing just behind Theodore, who turned around comically slow. Oscar’s expression was unreadable. You never saw him angry, but you did know how to recognize the calm before a storm.

“Yeah,” Theodore answered, too fast. “Just… catching up.”

Oscar’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Well, I think you’ve done enough catching up for tonight.”

He walked toward you, and you subtly stepped to his side, his heat grounding in the absurdity of the situation. He didn’t look at you─ his eyes were locked on Theodore’s, cold and measured. “If you’ve said your piece,” he started, “I think you should head back to whatever table your father pulled strings to get you to.”

Theodore scoffed, his features twisting into something ugly, but he didn’t push his luck. He wouldn’t be winning this fight. After a beat of tense silence, he turned and stormed off the entry hall, muttering something beneath his breath you didn’t bother catching.

The moment he was out of sight, you could feel the rigidity in your body melt away. You hadn’t even realized how tightly you’d been wound until now, standing frozen in place. You reached out instinctively, gripping Oscar’s sleeve in order to keep you on your feet. “Shit,” you whispered. “I didn’t expect him.”

Oscar’s hand closed gently over yours and how thumb drew slow circles across your knuckles. You could feel his eyes on you attentively. “You okay?”

You sniffled, breathing fast as a breathy, nervous laugh slipped past your lips. “God.” You wiped your cheek, pausing when you saw the glint of moisture on your fingers, “I didn’t even realize I was crying.”

Oscar didn’t say anything right away─ he reached up with his other hand and brushed your tear track, cradling your cheek with the gentlest touch, like you’d break if he pressed too hard. “He’s a real dick,” he murmured, brows drawing together. “Trust me, he’s never coming near you again.”

That made you laugh─ quiet, and undeniably tired, but real. You looked up at him, something vulnerable sitting openly between you now. “Thanks for stepping in,” you breathed out. “You know, you’re awfully good at being a fake boyfriend. You nailed the attitude down.” You tried to make light of the situation, but the words stung when you got them out. You regretted uttering them as soon as you felt the frail openness in the air retract. Something in Oscar’s eyes dimmed a little, but they didn’t move from yours. 

“Always, that’s my job,” his tone dripped with a strange kind of acerbity. “Now, let’s get you to your room. I think we’re done for the night.”

You couldn’t agree more.

The way to your room was spent in silence, apart from the click of your heels on the carpet and the faint sound of breathing. The quiet was now oppressing, seeping with an anxiety that took you back to when he shook your hand in a similar hotel room a few months ago. When you released his arm as you reached your door, you half-expected him to mutter a polite goodnight and disappear at the end of the hallway.

Instead, Oscar leaned against the doorframe, hands shoved in his pockets. “Can I ask you something?”

You gave a small nod.

“What made you say yes to him?” He asked. Faced with your confused expression, he clarified, gaze flicking down. “Theodore. Why did you date him?”

There wasn’t a trace of judgment in his voice, just a searching sort of curiosity. The answer sat heavy on your tongue, unfamiliar and painful, but still, the question pulled something sharp through your chest─ you didn’t know why you were suddenly so self-conscious about it. 

“I’d like to say I don’t know but…,” you leaned back against the wall next to him, folding your arms to hold yourself together and eyes fixed on a point somewhere past his figure. “I think… I was tired. I used to put everything into school, so much that I skipped out on everything else. I didn’t even know who I was beside the pressure and achievements, and Theodore… just happened to be there during that confusing time of my life. My roommate’s, and ex-best friend’s, friend. I thought he was charming, in his own sort of way. He was persistent, used to leave flowers by my dorm room every morning.” You chuckled sadly. “They weren’t even my favorite - turns out they were hers.”

You heard Oscar exhale. “It still made me feel noticed, like I mattered to something outside of studies. Like someone actually saw me, you know? So I fell in love. And turns out he didn’t see me at all─ he sure as hell doesn’t now either, if he thought showering Zak with dollar bills and side-eyeing me across the paddock would be enough to win me back. That’s without mentioning the cheating.”

The silence of the hallway was deafening, your words echoing against the walls. It wasn’t uncomfortable, just dense. Until Oscar broke it.

“I don’t get it,” he murmured, “how anyone could cheat on you. It doesn’t make sense.”

It made you look at him. You’ve gotten used to turning around and finding his eyes already on you; it shouldn’t have been much of a surprise, but your chest still tightened when you met the darkness of his irises. You waited for him to reply, lacking any explanation yourself of why it couldn’t meet the simple principles of logic in his head, why he couldn’t find the flaws in you that lead Theodore to another woman.

Oscar’s answer came under a different form. “For what it’s worth,” he said, gaze steady. “I like to think I see you.”

You blinked. “Do you?”

The question slipped out before you could stop it, and the moment it did, the answer came rushing in. He did. You knew it in the way his head tilted slightly to the side, like he was still trying to see more of you, even now.

Oscar knew your coffee order by heart, the temperature and how much milk to ask for when you were too tired to speak it aloud. He knew which bakery carried your favorite pastry and what time he had to sneak away from media duties to grab it for you─ especially when the paddock version tasted like cardboard. He noticed when your hands got cold before you did, kept spare hand warmers in his bag in colder countries because “you’re always freezing.” He sent you stupid memes during long flights because he knew take offs made it hard for you to sit still. He carried spare glitter gel pens in his bag, and never teased you about it─ just handed you another one when you absentmindedly noticed yours was running out.

He remembered that you always got motion sick if you sat in the backseat of a car for too long. That you needed silence when thinking. That you hummed when you were concentrating and tapped your pen when you weren’t.

And suddenly, you weren’t just asking if he saw you the way you’d always wanted to. You were asking if he’d always been seeing you, even when you weren’t looking.

“I do,” he answered, barely above a whisper.

You nodded. There couldn’t be anything more true than that.

Just like that, the air tilted. Toward him, engulfing you both in a fragile, sacred space. Everything narrowed down to Oscar and the small buzz between your two bodies─ dense and electric, full of every feeling that had been lurking beneath the surface. His eyes flickered to your lips for the briefest of seconds. Back to your eyes. 

He moved subtly, like he wasn’t sure you’d let him, the idea of losing the moment scarier than not having it at all. Your body was still, breath hitching and heart racing, as his hand reached up to cup the side of your face, thumb brushing softly over your cheekbone, memorizing the shape.

And when he finally leaned in, he hesitated just inches from your lips, close enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath and the tremble in yours. “Is this okay?” He whispered.

You closed the space.

The kiss was gentle at first─ careful and tentative. The gentle, kind sweep of two people trying to find their footing, but the electric shock of the feeling brought everything back to you: the months of tension, the stolen glances, the fumbled excuses to stay close. Your mouths crashed over each other, deepening in the split of a second, slow and aching in the pants you let out and the touch of roaming, curious hands. You breathed into his mouth, seeking his air to make it yours.

Oscar’s other hand slid to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer and your back flush against the wall as your fingers curled into the lapels of his jacket. You could feel his heart hammering under your palm, fast and desperate, mirroring yours. His tongue demandingly slipped past your lips, and he kissed you like he had wanted to for a long time, and there was no denying he had. Raw and needy, you felt stripped bare by the small whine he let out when you bit down on his bottom lip.

You thought, the world could fall apart tomorrow and this would have been everything you needed to go peacefully.

When you finally pulled apart, both breathless, he didn’t move far. You wouldn’t have let him anyways, the heat of his body too comfortable, the weight of his mouth branded on your own. His forehead rested against yours, eyes closed and lips swollen.

“You have no idea how long I wanted to do that,” he whispered, voice hoarse and rough with honesty.

You fingers tightened in his jacket, and you brushed a strand of hair off his forehead. “Trust me, I think I do.” He laughed against your lips and you kissed him again. Because after all of it─all the pretending, the teasing, the overthinking─you didn’t have to lie to yourself anymore, to convince yourself. You couldn’t make up the way he was kissing you back.

Yet, you still went to bed alone.

You hadn't planned on it─ well, not exactly. After the emotional whirlwind of the evening, the kiss, the honesty, the confession, you’d invited Oscar into your room without really thinking. It had been an instinct, comfort-driven by the nights already spent together, even if everything was entirely different─ including your intentions and his. But Lando had to barge in, clumsily looking for his room next to yours, doing a double-take at the sight of you tucked into Oscar’s side, your makeup smudged from tears and kisses like a hormonal teenager, Oscar looking all too rumpled and embarrassed next to you.

“Jesus,” Lando muttered. “I’m just─ you know what, we’ll unpack that later. Good night. Please don’t make too much noise.”

Oscar laughed, arms wrapping tighter around your waist when your friend disappeared, whispering, “I’ll come back tomorrow. After I take you out on a date. A real one, this time.”

You’d smiled. “You better.” He kissed you again, quick and soft and annoyingly perfect, more than your dreams made it out to be, and you went to bed glowing, with his name lighting your phone screen with sweet nothings and promises of conversations tomorrow.

But tomorrow never came, because the knocks that woke you up were giving you a sickening déjà-vu. They were urgent, a trumpet announcing the complete turning of your world just like they had done a few months back, in February, and loud enough to slice through the sleepiness in your bones along with the drowsy haze of your mind.

You got up with difficulty and barely had the time to wrap a blanket around yourself before answering the door. You half-expected to find the Grim Reaper himself waiting on the other side with how early it was for anyone else to be knocking. Instead, you were faced with Oscar. Your heart gave a small, automatic jolt when you saw him. After how last night ended, he should have been the best thing possible to wake up to.

The expression on his face stopped you cold.

Oscar, who rarely wore his emotions so plainly, looked visibly shaken. The sharp lines of his face were pulled tight with worry, brows furrowed and jaw clenched. And that─more than the hour, more than the knocks─was what stopped you from throwing yourself into his arms.

You opened the door wider to let him in, which he did with hurried steps. “What’s happening?”

“Can you close the door first?” You did without much of a question.

Oscar sat on the edge of your bed, phone cradled in hand. He looked up at you, and distressed wasn’t enough to describe it─ he looked wrecked. “Have you checked your phone this morning?” He asked.

Dread pooled in your stomach. “No, I─ I just woke up,” you answered. “Oscar, I─”

“Someone leaked it. Our agreement, the fake dating. It’s all out.”

The world tipped.

The air in your lungs vanished and, for a moment, all you could hear was the blood rushing in your ears. His words repeated like static, a taunting echo getting louder and louder the more you realized what it meant. “What?” You whispered, eyes locked on his. The truth could have looked different there, but didn’t.

You sat down next to him, every limb leaden, cinching the blanket tighter around your shoulders. “How─? Who even─? We were so careful and─”

“Nobody knows, they’re searching for it right now,” Oscar replied, but it came out strained. “Everyone's trying to trace it now, but it landed on DeuxMoi and basically everywhere after that. They’ve got… receipts. Pictures, testimonies, photos- and a very incriminating audio recording.”

His throat bobbed with a swallow. “Of you. Saying something like… how good of a fake boyfriend I am. From last night, before we went up.”

Your stomach flipped. “But─ we were alone.”

Different scenarios flashed in your mind, engulfing you both in a spiral of questions and worry. Someone could have been filming you, and the lights were too low to spot the silhouette. Maybe Theodore’s jacket, draped over the chair you’d sat on, had a recording device on it in an attempt to prove himself something, or to get revenge on you. But how would he have guessed? There were so many possibilities, and Oscar’s silence didn’t help you feel any better about any of them─ not knowing burned hotter than the betrayal itself.

He took your hand in his, your intertwined fingers resting between the two of you. The contact made you flinch.

Your breath came out in a shaky exhale. “I mean… it was going to end anyways, right?” Oscar’s frown deepened, so you pushed forward. “The whole relationship. Theodore left. That was the plan, wasn’t it? It wasn’t supposed to last past him. It’s a very shitty way to end, sure, but… you can work with it.” You were tearing up by the time the last word left your lips.

Oscar winced. His grip on your hand tightened. “Don’t say it like that.”

“But it’s true, isn’t it?” You let out a wet, pathetic laugh. “It’s over.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” he said, and it sounded a lot like a plea. “We can figure something out─ Zak, the rest of the PR team-someone will know what to do, there-”

You scoffed─ not at him, never, but at the cruel absurdity of it all. Your incapability of keeping something good for yourself. “You don’t get it, Oscar.” Your voice wavered. “Apparently, we’re everywhere. There’s an audio recording. People feel like they’ve been made fools of. They won’t forgive that so easily─ they’ll turn on you. They won’t believe in something that’s already been exposed as fake, even if─”

You couldn’t finish your sentence. Because that was the worst part, wasn't it? You weren’t faking it anymore. Neither of you were, and hadn’t been for a really long time. You could have stumbled around, trying to figure out what it meant, searching his mouth and holding on to the feeling long enough to put a name on it, but the headlines didn’t give you that chance. They took it from you, carved it out of your hands before you even got to claim it as yours.

A beat.

“It was real for me,” Oscar said. “It is.”

You looked at him, the details of his eyes that made promises you were sure he could have kept under different circumstances. You tried to smile, but your face cracked under the weight of it, tear tracks shining under the early morning light. “They don’t know that,” you whispered. “They won’t care.”

Oscar’s gaze fell on the floor, and you shook your head gently. “You still have a career to protect. Just say it was my idea, you were helping me out and I got you into all of this─ which is the truth, technically. You just got too caught up. They’ll forgive you eventually, they’re here for the racing.”

“And what about you?”

The silence spoke for itself, heavy with the undeflectable nature of the situation. Carefully, as to not startle him, you took back the hand he was holding and folded both of them on your lap. There would be no other outcome to this story. “I’ll figure it out. It’s my job.”

He didn’t believe you, you could see it in the lopsided curve of his mouth, the prominent vein near his temple you traced with your eyes before falling asleep. You realized you never had the opportunity to pass a night in his arms.

“You go get ready for your race, Oscar. Don’t worry about me.” Your chest ached as your mouth shaped the words, barely hearing them yourself. The only thing that mattered was the low lights in the Australians’ eyes, how his mouth opened and closed around something. He never said whatever was pending at the edge of his tongue, but he closed his eyes when you put your lips on the skin of his cheek.

Oscar just left quietly, in the imperceptible click of a hotel door. You couldn’t watch him go─ if you did, you might not have had the strength to let him.

You were let go by McLaren before the race even began.

The decision had been clear from the get-go. Still, it didn’t make sitting in that sterile room any easier knowing the lanyard around your neck would be up to grab for someone else in seconds. It wasn’t cruel or personal─ it was just business.

You spent over three hours with members of staff, going over the facts and projected damage. You nodded along and asked questions you could predict the answers to, but the conclusion was written into the walls: the scandal was too loud, and you weren’t quiet enough to survive it─ at least, not with a badge that read McLaren on your chest.

You gave it back, sliding it over the table to the chief of staff. They booked you a flight home as discreetly as they could manage and it wasn’t until you stepped in your apartment, suitcase dropped by the door and keys shaking in your hand, that the overwhelming silence caught up with you.

And with it, everything else.

Your face was headlining the front pages of multiple websites and you’d just lost the best job you’ll ever have─ if not the only one, because a simple search would now lead every possible employer to the failed scheme you tried to put up.

You collapsed onto your bed, entirely dressed and only one shoe off, still wrapped in the airport chill. They made you hand-over your team-issued phone, along with the contacts of everyone that mattered back at Silverstone. You didn’t even have a chance to explain yourself or to say goodbye.

Oscar would finish the race and find out you vanished, and you had no way of telling him 

You let the weight of it all crash down on you.

If you had to estimate, you’d say you let yourself rot in your own misery for about a week, give or take. You weren't counting the days, but you knew you hadn’t opened your curtains since you got home. Your eyes were red, rubbed raw every time another wave of emotion struck you, and you hadn’t so much as looked in a mirror. Instead, you moved through your apartment like a ghost, sidestepping your own reflection as if it might reach out and confirm what you already knew─ you’d lost something you didn’t realize mattered this much until it was gone.

The past year had been everything. You successfully worked your way into a world that worked too fast for second chances where you found a rhythm, built friendships and connections. As tiresome as the lifestyle could sometimes be, you fell in love with what you were doing and what you came to be. In the past months, your life had mirrored the tracks─ swift and brutal, with enough turns to break a few wheels. Now, you were left with nothing but the emptiness in your stomach and for someone who always strived for more, the bitter aftertaste in your mouth was enough to keep you from wanting.

Your wake-up call came in the form of your rent.

Turns out heartbreak didn’t pause rent or the cost of groceries rising due to inflation. McLaren paid well, but not well enough so that you could afford to disappear off the grid and wallow in self pity with your last check. So you did what you always did, reminiscent of your past college superhuman efforts: you opened your laptop and got to work.

You applied to everything you set your eyes on─ LinkedIn, obscure websites, Facebook Ads, no one was safe. You didn’t dare touch anything remotely F1 related, or even F2, F3 or F4, the wound was still fresh and your name was probably too much of a touchy subject for you to be accepted anywhere near. You stuck to motorsports-adjacent companies, agencies, development programs, even local circuits. Just… something, anything that would let you keep your toes in the world you loved.

Eventually, it came.

A small karting company in the Netherlands, of all places. Barely enough to fill a spreadsheet on a good day, but they had promising talents and were expanding, so in need of someone to help build their communications structure from the ground up. Preferably someone who knew how to handle press and build narratives, connect people to stories. They were desperate, which means they probably didn’t even look you up when they interviewed you. You took the opportunity with your first real smile in a minute.

It wasn’t as glamorous. The office had flickering lights, and you hadn’t come with the most adapted wardrobe. But it was something─ so you got to work.

You were surprised by how much you ended up loving it.

The people were awkward but nice, you went out with a few of your colleagues by the end of your first week, and the kids racing under your name were awfully sweet and their parents just as kind. The work wasn’t overbearing, but you put every ounce of your attention in building its perfect image with your team. Your new apartment was small and comfortable, and the city you settled in a neverending discovery of wonders. You felt fine─ which was a step away from the state you had been in not so long ago.

But even though you tried to build yourself another life, you still couldn’t shake the memory of Oscar. He was still there─ not in person, but in every memory you were not capable of erasing just yet. You caught yourself ordering his coffee order alongside yours as a force of habit, and accidentally took the notebooks with the overly precise details of your fallacious history with you to work. There was so much of him in you now, you had trouble picking apart the pieces. You scanned articles for his face but skipped race reports in case his name hurt more to see.

You tried to bury the ache in your schedule and the excitement of the company’s mediatic expansion, you wrote press releases, attended networking events with a tight smile and let small wins feel bigger than they were. Yet you knew your heart was sitting in his hands, thousands miles away- and you refused to wonder if, without knowing, you were still holding his. It was a hope you couldn’t entertain, all in the name of letting go. It was an act of healing of some sorts. Putting Oscar behind you was growth, not grief, and letting go of something that had no chance of being anymore was the most adult thing you’d ever do.

Except you have a history of your past catching up with you─ deep down, you should’ve known this time wouldn’t be any different.

It happened when you bumped into someone on your way out the café, hands full with the Communications team’s comically large coffee order. It was the end of August, and your mind was anywhere but on the street─ mostly focused on not spilling anything. Of course, that’s what made the crash even more cinematic.

Cold drinks flew in the air, splattering across the pavement and down your pants in dramatic, sticky rivulets. You were halfway into a curse when someone said your name in an all-too-familiar voice.

“Y/N?” You looked up from your drenched legs, and there he was.

Lando Norris in the flesh, unruly mullet and all. “Oh my god,” you muttered, halfway between disbelief and horror. “Hi?”

He stared at you like he was trying to convince himself he wasn’t hallucinating. You’d feel offended if you couldn’t understand where he was coming from- you did disappear suddenly, those two months ago. “You’re─ holy shit, what are you doing here?”

You awkwardly wiped your hands on the napkin that came with the order, glancing at the wasted money on the ground. “Clearly failing my duties. I work for a karting company just outside the city. Communications consultant.”

“No way, seriously? In the Netherlands?” Lando asked, eyebrows shooting up. “That’s… kind of awesome.”

You gave him an awkward smile. “Yeah. It’s not McLaren, sure, but I like it there.”

The mention of the team brought an icy breeze to the conversation and had Lando shuffling on his feet before you changed the subject. “And what are you doing here?” You asked, too enthusiastic for it to be spontaneous.

“Zandvoort race this weekend,” he answered with a slight grin.

“Oh, true.” With the drastic changes in your life and the newfound popularity the company had gained, you’d forgotten all about the fast-paced calendar you had become so accustomed with. The fact there was even a race taking place in the Netherlands, despite Max Verstappen being Dutch, had completely slipped your mind.

It should feel like a win, but your heart twisted to punish you.

Faced with another silence, Lando spoke up again. “You know, it’s not the same without you there, Oscar’s new PR manager is an old man.” That made you chuckle, although bittersweet. “We miss you. A lot.”

You didn’t miss the implication in his words. The air suddenly felt a bit thinner in your lungs than it did a few minutes ago. “He shouldn’t,” was all you could manage to reply in the tightening of your throat.

“Why not?”

You shrugged, forcing your voice to stay level. “It doesn’t matter anymore. It ended. He has to focus on his career.”

Lando opened his mouth, then seemed to think better of it, only giving you an hesitant smile in return. “Well… I’ll tell him I saw you. If you want.”

“No,” You shook your head with a soft laugh. “No. Just… good luck, alright? For the Grand Prix.”

It got Lando to smile wider, at least, something warm in the spreading of his lips. “Thanks. And Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m really glad I bumped into you. Let me make up for the spilled coffee.”

He did. Brought the entire order again and handed it over with a sheepish shrug, reminiscent of the friend you had two months ago, before disappearing down the cobblestone street. You stood there a bit too long, dazed by the improbability of it all. The universe decided to shake you a little, but somehow it had to be just when you made peace with the fact it had moved on without you.

You went back to the karting center where reality demanded your full attention. The rest of the day passed in a blur of last-minute adjustments─ tomorrow, you were hosting a little event in order to showcase the rising talents driving in your colors, which needed your immediate attention, no matter how divided by the episode this morning. You didn’t even notice everyone else leaving until the sun dipped below the horizon, painting gold across the windows and casting long shadows on the now-empty space.

You exhaled slowly, closing your computer and feeling the soreness in your back from being hunched over too long. The cons of being a workaholic, you guessed, but you’d done your part. You gathered your things, slid your jackets over your shoulders, and stepped out into the cooling evening.

You could have missed him if you hadn’t hesitated a second too long in the doorway, but you could also recognize Oscar anywhere, eyes closed or blindfolded.

He was leaning against a car, parked a few meters away from the entrance, hoodie loose around his shoulders and hair tousled by the breeze. His gaze was distant, unfocused as he was watching the distance. The second the door thudded shut behind you, the sound cutting through the quiet evening, his eyes snapped up, finding yours.

He looked lost, beautifully so. It froze you in your tracks. It didn’t seem to have the same effect on Oscar, as he pushed off the car and took careful steps forward.

“Hi,” was all he said, soft and steady.

You hadn't realized how much you missed the silken casualness of his voice before it reached your ears. It hit you harder than you’d expected. “How─?”

“Lando,” Oscar cut in gently. “He said you worked at a karting company near the city. I… looked it up. Thought maybe, with a little chance, you’d still be here.” He scratched the back of his neck and he looked away for a second, just one, before his eyes snapped back to yours.

Neither of you moved, unsure how to cross the canyon that had cracked open between you.

“I wasn’t expecting…” You trailed off.

“Yeah,” Oscar breathed out a humorless laugh, rubbing a hand over his mouth. “Me neither. It was, uh, pretty impulsive. But I couldn’t just…” He trailed off too, shaking his head.

You nodded, even though you didn’t understand. This whole conversation made no sense. “How’s it going? Life, I mean. At McLaren?” you asked, desperate to ignore your heart clawing at your ribs.

Oscar’s lips thinned. “Fine. Busy.”

“That’s good.”

He took a step closer, so very little you could have missed, and so slow it gave you the opportunity to step back. You didn’t take it. “And you? How’s─ all this?”

“It’s… something. I like it. I do.” You laughed, and it came out wrong.

“I’m glad.”

Silence fell, weighty on your shoulders. You didn’t know what to do, and you couldn’t guess how to act when Oscar looked so closed off, out of reach─ something he hadn’t been to you in a long while. You chose to let it stretch, unsure of what else.

Finally, it came down to Oscar. “You left.”

The words stung with the strength of a slap, and heartbreaking enough to put you back in front of your apartment door, two months back. You gripped the hem of your jacket, bringing it closer to your body in hope to substitute for the warmth his tone lacked. You inhaled sharply, fighting the sting behind your eyes.

“I didn’t have a choice. They made it very clear there was no place for me anymore, and it would be the better option for one of us to come out unscathed.” Your voice faltered despite your best efforts. “I didn’t want to leave that way, Oscar. Not without saying goodbye.”

You couldn’t help the comment that bordered on your lips. “But I figured you weren’t too concerned. You didn’t look too hard to reach me either.” Not an e-mail, no nothing. You were deprived of his contact information due to your work phone being taken away, but he wasn’t. 

Oscar’s hands curled into fists at his side. “I couldn’t. If I did, they assured me it could make everything worse if someone leaked it again, for the both of us.” A scoff escaped him. “Told me I had to wait until they found the person who took the audio recording in the first place before I could try anything.”

“And did they?”

“No,” he admitted. “But I don’t really care.”

Again, he took a step forward. Oscar was close, not overly, but close enough for you to see the wild and desperate edge etched in his delicate traits, regardless of how much he tried to hide it. “I wanted to reach out. Every day. I just─” He ran a hand through his hair. “I guess I thought that’s what you wanted. I kept thinking that maybe you hated me for how it ended, or─ maybe you regretted it.”

Your laugh broke out sharp and ugly, more hurt than anything else. “Hated you? Regretted it?” You shook your head in disbelief. “Oscar, how could you even think-?”

He didn’t interrupt you. You had to do it yourself, because Oscar just watched as if waiting for a confirmation between the lines. “You really think I’d regret you?”

He still didn’t move. “I mean…,” he finally rasped out, barely carrying over the wind, “it cost you your career in F1. I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”

“I cost me my career, Oscar. Not you. The fake relationship was my idea. I told you from the beginning I’d take the fall if it came to it. You were just helping me.”

You watched his jaw contract with the need to argue back, but you wouldn’t let him. Oscar was wrong on all accounts in his reasoning, blinded by whatever had been clouding his mind during your disappearance, and you were making sure it stopped there.

“I couldn’t hate you even if I tried. Well, not now at least- you were pretty insufferable at first.” His shoulders shook in the semblance of a laugh. “And if there’s anything I regret, it’s not realizing that it stopped being fake a lot sooner.”

There it was, the hefty topic you had been dancing around─ the kiss, gentle in its unearthing, and the whispered promises of explanations in the morning. Something that had been stolen from you and was now coming back to the surface for a last gasp of air. You could either take it or let it drown.

Oscar’s eyes searched yours, and for a second you believed he’d apologize and leave.

But that’s not what he did.

“It was never fake for me,” he said. “When- When you walked in and introduced yourself as my PR manager, and you were all smiles and nerves and─” he huffed, breathless, shaking his head, “and I was gone. I didn’t know how to act around you or what to do with myself.”

He got so close, you had to tilt your head to look up at him. “I kept thinking it would pass,” he continued. “That it was just a stupid fixation. But you kept being you, and you got close to Lando, and you stuck around. It just kept getting worse. Or better, I guess, depending on how you looked at it.”

“Then there was your ex,” He said, breaking into a soft laugh. “You took my arm and called me your boyfriend and all I could think was, yeah. I’d like to hear that again.” His fingers grazed the inside of your wrists, a ponctuation in his confession. “I didn’t fake a single thing. Not once. It’s been real from the beginning.”

Almost delirious, you broke into a cackle that had your hand flying to your mouth─ a half-sob, half-choke ripped from your chest. “So you were a douchebag… because you liked me?”

Oscar’s mouth quipped, sheepish. “Yeah.”

“And you acted like an idiot because you didn’t know how to show it?”

“... Yeah.” Now he sounded embarrassed.

Another watery laugh bubbled out of you, and you wiped at your eyes with the sleeve of your jacket. “Oh my god, you’re such a man,” you said, voice wobbling between amusement and heartbreak, and Oscar’s smile cracked wider at the sound of it. You sniffled, rolling your eyes to try and hide the hopeful pain in your chest as you asked, intertwining your hand with his. 

“So… what do we do now?”

The pad of his fingers trailed up your arm, sending shivers down your spine. He cupped your elbows gently, steadying you like you were at risk of breaking at any minute. “Well,” Oscar murmured, the ghost of a demand parting his mouth. “Now that we got everything out of the way, I’m here for a reason. Only if you’ll have me.”

You didn’t need any more convincing, the days spent in his company during the tired mornings  and warm nights gave you ample amounts of reasons not to deny him.

As if you had the strength to even think about it.

You surged up, and your mouth caught up with his in the same way a puzzle piece would fit into another. It felt like homecoming, how the weight of his lips balanced against yours. Oscar hands went up your sides, painfully slow, wrapped around your waist and pulled your body flushed against him. You curled your fingers in the air at the nape of his nec, tugging slightly, and he sighed into your mouth─ broken and hopelessly in love.

The world shrank to just this: the press of his chest to yours, the warmth of his skin and how intensely Oscar Piastri kissed you back.

When you broke off contact for air, Oscar chased after your mouth. You tried to contain a giggle, unsuccessfully. “I can’t believe it took a whole fake relationship, messy break up and all, for you to do and say all that,” you teased.

He rolled his eyes and before you could react, the hands resting on your hips pinched your sides. You yelped, stepping on his foot. Old habits die hard, apparently, no matter what may have transpired in between.

“Well, I think you wouldn’t have liked me as much without that fake relationship.”

“I wonder whose fault it is, Oscar.”

“I’m just saying, I─”

You kissed him again. And again, and again, until the sun was well gone and stars were the only witnesses.

That night, you made sure to take Oscar back to your apartment. There was no awkwardness in the small talk made in the car, no hesitation in your movements. It was a slow series of quiet laughs against skin, not rushed or frantic in the slightest, whispered confessions tangled between languid kisses. You were curled up against him, a blanket thrown haphazardly on your legs and you talked. The way you wanted and needed to.

He murmured you might need to lay low for a while into your hair, eyes already closing with tiredness, in order to let everything die down and you agreed, brushing his knuckles with the featherlight touch of your lips. You could always come out with the truth later on, and you were content with your life in the Netherlands─ even more so if Oscar could share it with you in some hidden place in his heart. Your palm rested over his heart, feeling his heartbeat slowing down by sleep and lulling you into Morpheus’ arms just the same.

He kissed you one more time. The taste of home and future lingered in your mouth. Oscar will be there in the morning, when the sunlight will shine through the window. And then you could discuss it, about you, more in detail around a cup of coffee, when he’ll drive you to work before disappearing in his orange car, feelings less raw and more authentic.

Real didn’t have an expiration date. You had all the time in the world to figure it out.

©LVRCLERC 2025 ━ do not copy, steal, post somewhere else or translate my work without my permission.

[choso-ish]

You’ve worn Caleb's things before: hoodies when you forgot yours, old shirts during late-night movies, his flight jacket once during a storm. He never mentioned it. Never made it weird. 

But now that you’re dating? 

It’s different. 

He walks in—still half-tired from a morning run, headphones looped around his neck—and sees you in one of his old academy tees, one that you definitely weren’t wearing when he left. It’s soft, old, and hangs off your frame like it belongs there. 

“Whoa, hold on,” He pauses mid-step, blinking once. Then again, like it’ll make a difference. 

You glance up, confused. “What?” 

He gestures vaguely. “That’s my shirt.”

“Yeah,” you shrug. “It was clean. Sort of.” 

He tilts his head, eyes flickering over you slowly. 

“Okay,” he says, voice steady. “See, that’s not fair.” 

“What isn’t?”

“You. In that.” he motions aimlessly, as if the sight of you short-circuited his vocabulary. 

“It’s just your shirt.” 

“Yeah, and this is exactly how people end up late to work.” he mutters, dragging a hand down his face like it might cool him off. “I was supposed to be productive today.” 

You raise a brow. “And you can’t be… because of a t-shirt?” 

“Because it’s my t-shirt. And you’re walking around in it like that’s not a weapon.” 

You laugh, turning back towards the coffee machine—but he keeps watching you, arms crossed, jaw working like he’s debating something. 

Then, quieter: “You gonna give it back?” 

“Why? You feeling territorial now?” you tease. 

His mouth twitches into a smirk. “Nah. I just wanna know if I should keep it under my pillow for later.” 

You pause. 

“...You mean to wear it again?” 

He shrugs casually. “Sure. That too.”

[okwonyo]

CUFFING SEASON 𓂃 gymrat!enhypen 𓈒

𝗜𝗦𝗣𝗜𝗥𝗔𝗭𝗜𝗢𝗡𝗘 ✶ ────── 𝗂𝗍’𝗌 𝖼𝗎𝖿𝖿𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗈𝗇 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝗂𝗋𝗅𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝖺 𝖻𝗂𝗀 𝖻𝗈𝗒. 𝗂 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽 𝖺 𝖻𝗂𝗀 𝖻𝗈𝗒.

엔하이픈 & fem!rea 14OO fluff established relationship cautions kissing skinship ˊᯅˋ altero

❛ 姫　❜ thanks to danipie for the heeseung prompt and tam for jakes >< plus to jenn, tam and pockemonz for being my emotional support 🎀

reblogs⠀⠀ꢾ꣒⠀ feedbacks please

HEESEUNG ｡｡ ever since you moved in together, your boyfriend likes to walk around with a tank top embracing his upper body, showcasing his biceps and making you daydream about his chest.

frankly, this habit of his isn’t new to you— back when you lived in different apartments, he would always open the door while dressed in that sort of clothes.

you admired his arms for a while during the long times whereas you were together. gaze dragging over his hands to reach his biceps, you always wondered if the ribbon you put in your hair could fit around his big muscles.

“do you think it’d fit?” the ribbon is held between your index finger and your thumb as you question your boyfriend.

he looks at his biceps then at the pink hair accessory in your hand. seeing the sheer happiness on your face, he smiles “we can always try, sweetheart.”

wiping the grin off his face as he watches you wrap the thing around his flexed bicep is impossible. it is fun and you find it irresistibly hot— wrapping his arm is like marking him as yours. and you both love it.

JAY ｡｡ honestly, you think you are dreaming even now, deep in doze still, when you step into the kitchen and are met with a heaven-sent view in front of you.

with a mouth agape and eyes growing wide, you admire the back of your boyfriend. you want to thank whoever created gyms and thank your fortune for making your boyfriend such an addict.

his muscular and defined back shines, stares back at you as he is focused on making breakfast. the laces of the pink apron he wears on top of his naked torso wraps his waist perfectly.

it feels like heaven when your cheek collapses on his hot naked skin. you hug his waist like a teddy bear— almost melting into his skin. and god, he smells too good.

it’s dreamy when he kisses the top of your head, “good morning, baby,” he greets you, but you are too enamored by the vision of his broad shoulders a few moments ago to respond just yet.

you only hum, thinking that today will be a great day.

JAKE ｡｡ your phone rings as you are making yourself lunch. upon picking it up, a breathy voice reaches you through the phone. given the hour of the day, you don’t need to double check to know who it is.

“hi, princess, you good?” he greets you and you can hear the grin in his tone. a groan comes quick after— proving his current physical effort and confirming that he is at the gym, as he always is.

“yes, i’m good, jake,” the deep breath you take makes you able to respond after a few seconds. the next question is automatic, “how are you?”

“’m good, babe, i’m on the lat pulldown machine right now.” it would have been better, way better, if he hadn’t said that. or if he never showed you what a lat pulldown looks like.

but he did, and you cannot wipe the image of him sitting, his wide shoulders flexing alongside his back as he pulls the lat down. it makes you feel dizzy, him groaning again doesn’t help.

due to your silence, he continues. his voice is whiny, your knees get weaker, “i’ll finish my set quickly and take you on a date, alright?”

imagining him at the gym makes your whole behind fragile. your voice is locked in your throat and you tongue won’t move. but you’d let that man take you anywhere he’d like— the frail sounds of agreement you make are a confirmation of it.

SUNGHOON ｡｡ “stop moving around,” he commands, rather gently. his smile is too big for his words to be an order, he is so close to you that you can’t stop giggling. but you do stop moving.

the man’s beauty hits you one more time as your eyes focus on him. your boyfriend has his hands either side of your torso, next to your arms while you lay down on the floor.

he lower himself slowly, his lips brush over yours ever so gently, a quick kiss before he pushes on his arms and gets in his initial position. he is the one who got that idea, claiming that it’ll motivate him more.

it is in the privacy of your living room that he does another push up, his chest presses against yours when he lowers himself. this time, the kiss linger a little more than the last one.

you should have known that this exercise wouldn’t last long. it takes him less than three pushups to start focusing on your lips a little too much. “you know what? nevermind.”

his weight drops on you, a little ‘oof’ escapes from his mouth and a gentle ‘sorry, darling’ does the same from his. you kiss him back quickly when his mouth gets on yours.

SUNOO ｡｡ when you first met, his gym journey wasn’t as long as it is currently. therefore, you were used to his old, already quite muscular build. when he started going more regularly to the point where it was almost everyday, the changes weren’t very obvious to you.

of course, you knew he was getting more buffed every passing day but you didn’t realize how much until now. when your head is resting on his chest, covered by the thin fabric of his t-shirt.

it takes you a bit to realize how firm his chest feels under your resting head. you stay still for a moment, then your eyebrows furrow as you rub your cheek against his chest.

his arms tighten around your form, and you realize that his pecks are not the only parts that got more muscular. his chest vibrates as he laughs, “what are you doing?”

taken out of your examination, your gaze shoots up. it’s absurd how his natural cute face is on top of that kind of build. “since when are you hulk?”

JUNGWON ｡｡ during the time when he isn’t getting on your nerves or teasing you, he spends his energy on lifting weights at the gym and working on his muscles.

therefore, you know how well his body is built. you can tell, honestly, whenever you surreptitiously peek at him while he takes off his shirt to put on a hoodie instead. his big shoulders and small waist looks back at you, his beceps flex as he folds the clothing piece.

his muscles might be one of his greatest assets, to both send you into a spiral and irritate you the most. because being manhandled everywhere by your boyfriend creates an eruption of butterflies in your stomach but not being able to fight back makes you want to bite him.

“leave me alone!” you laugh when he lifts you off the floor in a swift mention. you are unable to move your arms as he jailed them in his embrace when he rushed to you.

the man quite literally throws you on your shared bed, making your body bounce against the mattress. you are breathless from both laughing, running away from him— even more when you find him on top of you.

you try to push him away when he leans closer. well, not really trying, because you don’t put any strength in the process. he ends up getting his kiss at the end, and he is quite content about it.

RIKI ｡｡ after occupying your room more than you do, even when you are not here, it is natural for him to have a place in your dressing where he can put his clothes.

the first time you thought about it, there wasn’t any big deal or issue related to it. it is the natural course of things, and you love that he is always there with you.

but it gets harder for you when he actually changes. when he takes off his shirt right before your eyes, letting you have a look of the creation he worked hard to have.

embarrassment becomes a prominent emotion in your head whenever you catch yourself staring at his defined abs. it is torture, you cannot yake your eyes off of them.

only a short amount of time passes before he notices it. soon enough , your boyfriend is smirking at you with his shirt in his hand, “like what you see?”

it’s a shame that you actually do. rather very much than not.

taglist open + net— @sgz-net

[fairestwriting]

sorry if you’ve done something like this-

What about Jade, Leona, Jamil and Vil with a S/O that somebody tried to love potion?

…warning for minor book/chapter 4 spoilers in the jamil one? in case anyone is a newcomer here. there was just No way i could write this without mentioning his lore. like. come on

𐙚 Leona Kingscholar

Honestly, it’d take anyone some serious guts to try to do this. Or serious ignorance. Or straight up hubris, or maybe all of the above at the same time— Since your first few friendlier hangouts with Leona, it was pretty much known to most people who knew you that you were completely off-limits. Even if you just stayed friends, no sane person was going to mess with anyone who’s close to him. It’s almost an unspoken, pretty much school wide rule.

It was an especially bad choice for that perpetrator to try to slip you the potion during lunchtime. Maybe they’re a classmate you barely know, maybe they pretend to be a friend, it’d definitely have to be someone who could get away with approaching you to pretend to want some casual conversation. This privilege was soon to end, however, since you had agreed with Leona to meet up with him at the greenhouse after you ate.

The second you step inside, he can smell that something is off. By then you can already feel it starting to take effect, your head feeling foggy and suddenly occupied with thoughts of that person, which just feels confusing for now. You walk up to him, he’s sitting up with a frown on his face, asking you to come closer. Hazy, you step forward, and through your clouded vision you see him leaning in to smell you. It feels weird at the moment, you’re not sure if you’re comfortable with this— Even though that’s your boyfriend, you think, maybe you’d rather be this close with someone else…

He can’t tell it’s a love potion exactly, at least not just by smelling you, but he knows something is off. “Have you been up to anything weird lately, Herbivore?” He asks, his voice full of suspicion. You just shake your head, mention your classes today were all unremarkable, then so was lunch, you just met up with your friend, while you were eating. Somehow you can’t stop yourself from letting the subject linger on them, even though it puzzles you on the inside. He quickly picks up on what must have happened.

Really, anyone who even considers trying this has some nerve. He even says that out loud to them, after dragging you out of the greenhouse into a hunt for this specific person. You won’t even get the chance to remember much about the incident. Next thing you know, you’re in one of the potions lab, with an emptied vial of antidote in your hands. Leona is standing next to you with crossed arms and a death glare, and your “friend” is shaking behind a cauldron, having prepared that in record time. Even if notice of the incident spreads, Leona definitely won’t want you to leave his side anytime soon…

𐙚 Jade Leech

Another case in which attempting anything with you is definitely a feat of courage. Even though there’s a higher chance they wouldn’t know you’re dating Jade in the first place, because of how private he is, he’s clearly fond of you. And that’s without even taking into consideration how often he’s around. Jade doesn’t have the sort of infamy Leona dows, but it’s not any less intimidating of a situation, anyone with eyes can tell he’s watching every person around him very closely…

They’d really have to get lucky to get you to consume even a single drop of anything. They might have even tried multiple times, in multiple different ways. Spiking your food or drink is not an option at all with him, because he’s sitting with you while you eat, and who would want to take that chance? If they got you, it was probably by offering you an “extra drink they got from the vending machine”, which might as well have been attempted before, with Jade successfully distracting you from the drink every time.

”My, how kind of you. I’ve heard that soda is very popular, is that true?” Somehow, he shows up just in time to strike up conversation with the person, placing a hand on the can they tampered with. ”I don’t recall seeing this brand back home. Would you mind if I had a small sip first?” He looks at them, then at you, with a strange menacing smile. Once again, that person is taking the can back and stammering excuses that make less and less sense as time passes…

If they’re brave/stupid enough, and you’re oblivious enough, Jade will just sneakily make himself your bodyguard, ready to catch any new attempts and stop them right before you could get the spiked drink anywhere near your lips. He’ll do it as many times as he has to— And if it goes on for long enough, and one day they decide to not take their little trap back, he will literally just open it and drink the whole thing. He’ll do it while making eye contact with them, even. “Oh, I’m sorry, my hand slipped. It’s really unfortunate when that happens, isn’t it? It’s very easy to forget, since most of the time it doesn’t cause any harm… But the wrong ‘slip’ could really cost you your hand, you know… It’s important to be careful.” He doesn’t look away from them for even one second.

You’re confused as hell, Jade is weird a lot of the time, but just what’s going on right now? He hands them back the can, and just waves his hand at your question, telling you he’ll explain on the way as he walks off to get some antidote. From the nurse, specifically. And it’s not because he can’t make his own, because he could probably do it before the dizziness even hit— It’s to get your little “friend” in trouble with the staff, he’ll even play up the symptoms to make sure they get a nasty suspension… Even if they’re not expelled, you somehow never see them again.

𐙚 Jamil Viper

Not happening. At all. You have no “off limits” fame, no one knows you’re dating (Upon Jamil’s own request) and even if they did, they wouldn’t be that intimidated to try to make a move on you normally. He’s too busy to be lingering around you too much, plus he just wants you to have your own independence in general… everything is seemingly stacked in the favor of that person who wants to slip you the potion, but it’s nowhere near enough to get past Jamil. It just could never be.

…So you’d think it’d be easy for someone to catch you off guard, try to slip something in your food or drink. But there’s just no way that potion isn’t even making it into the vial. Really, with the upbringing Jamil had, could any fellow teenager manage to fly under his radar when trying to tamper with your things? Not a chance. He’s learned to spot real, professional assassins going after Kalim. Catching on to some other student’s creepy behavior is nothing to him.

He knew it before he even heard that person’s name, or saw them talk to you with his own eyes. It just takes a few conversations about this weird classmate of yours who you started suspecting might like you for him to be able to tell they don’t have good intentions. ”...I know I might sound paranoid, but I think you should be careful around them.” Is all he says, when you two talk about it the first time. You know him well enough to be aware of how serious that warning is.

Nothing is said after that, but he’s watching them closely too. You don’t eat lunch together that often, but Jamil always watches your table from afar when he’s not there. At first it’s just out of habit, but now that he’s got an eye on this person, their every move has your full attention. And it’s all just too familiar, the way they seem to also watch your table, or more specifically, watch you while you eat. He can even sense their frustration at how guarded you’ve gotten since his warning.

You’ll never even hear about a possible poisoning attempt because he catches them in the middle of their potion brewing— With a good chance he wasn’t even trying to do that. He just happened to spot them acting weird in the hallways, and decided to investigate. Following them to the laboratory, standing outside of the door to see what’s happening, maybe take a video or two. He then walks inside, no notable expression on his face, and speaks to them. ”I wouldn’t do this if I were you. Even making this potion outside of class could get you in serious trouble.” Nothing else is said, he shows them the video on his phone screen, and walks off. Next thing you hear, they got suspended, an when they come back, they won’t even dare to meet your eyes.

𐙚 Vil Schoenheit

The day you two agreed you’d make your relationship official, you also had a very long talk about the things that it might entail—The worries had been stewing in his mind for a while now, at first regarding his own reputation, but eventually they turned their focus to you. He’s had people interacting strangely with people who were just his dormmates, so one could only wonder how they’d treat someone they suspect is his partner…You’re warned at the very start that it’s a good idea to be cautious of others. But because it’s Vil, and he has all those vocal, sometimes fanatic admirers that are seemingly just everywhere, it can be kind of sadly easy to forget that this type of person could fixate on you too.

It becomes a bit of a dilemma for him, when he hears about this classmate of yours you’ve been talking to occasionally. On one hand, of course he wants you to have friends, he’s not crazy. On the other, he already has a weird feeling from the interactions you describe. Then under all his common sense, he just feels sort of jealous in general. You might notice he suddenly looks alarmed, and he might even remind you it’s important to be careful with others. But even if you take it to heart, would you really outright assume they were planning anything so creepy?

It’s a thankful coincidence that dating Vil also means learning a lot about potions. You often sit around in the Pomefiore dorm laboratory while he’s doing something, and he’s happy to explain the process to you however many times you need. Ironically, the specific subject of attempted love potion slips might come up. It happens to celebrities often, after all, it’s not crazy to think someone would try to get to him— ”They teach you to not eat or drink anything a fan gives you. You accept it if they’re handing it out, but you don’t touch it. And it’s not just for the sake of keeping up with your diet.” He retells you what he was taught. ”You don’t even donate it, since it could be tampered with. Usually, there are tells, but not always…”

Then question becomes, how skilled could another student get, specifically when compared to how observant you can be? It could go either way here. It’s easy to be alarmed by anyone offering you snacks or drinks after Vil tells you these stories, but you’re not a celebrity, so would that really happen to you? What if you’re just forgetful, or they really manage to get you at a moment when you’re vulnerable? Luckily, no matter how sneaky someone is, they can’t hide the effects of the potion forever. On the color of your drink, the smell, the taste… or, in a worst case scenario, in the way it feels when it starts to kick in.

You’ll know something is wrong, and he’s lectured you enough you know to get an antidote from the nurse if needed, and you know to report it to school staff. It’s dealt with quickly enough, but no matter when he finds out, he’s outraged all the same. ”How does a student get away with even trying to brew something like this? Staff shouldn’t allow just anybody to use laboratories unsupervised…” Vil fusses over you, smoothing your clothes just so his hands have something to do. Even if you didn’t swallow any of the potion, he tells you to take the day off to rest and stays nearby. Of course he wouldn’t just let the situation be solved without reacting, but first, he has to be sure you’re safe.

if you like my work you can support me by commissioning me or tipping me on ko-fi ── ᵎᵎ ✦

[mickandmusings]

you’re losing me

pairing: tyler owens x f! reader

word count: 5.2k

summary:

when tyler, yet again, forgets an important date while he's caught up in chasing, y/n is at her wits end. their relationship feels like it's dying, and he just might have dealt the final blow. after a series of rather unfortunate happenings, it's up to the rest of the wranglers to set them free from the disaster they created.

warnings: ANGST with a capital a; tyler is kind of an ass; halfway edited (sorry); forced proximity; not my most favorite thing i've ever written; sort of suggestive but not explicit

-

The ticking of the clock on the kitchen wall taunts her, reminding her that time was continuing to pass by. She taps her fingers against the table, her patience fleeting.

Y/N picks up her phone to check it for nearly the twentieth time in the past half hour. She had hoped to look down and see a missed call or an apologetic message from her boyfriend, who, at present, is an hour and a half late for their anniversary dinner. She had the table set for two some time ago: a home cooked meal in the oven, a bottle of white wine to split, and a candle lit in the center of the table. She sported a flowy sundress that tapered off mid-calf-Tyler's favorite dress on her-one that she just knew was going to end up on the floor of their bedroom by now.

Clearly, she'd been mistaken.

She presses the button on the side and the screen illuminates the dimly-lit room. The only thing that greets her is an empty lockscreen- a picture of Tyler smiling down at her as she looks up at him, taken over a year ago. She sighs in annoyance, putting the phone back down as the tear in her heart only grows bigger and bigger. She'd known this would happen, and despite all her efforts to avoid it, he had still forgotten.

She'd started two weeks beforehand, by telling him that she wanted to spend the night of their anniversary with him, alone. He'd agreed, claiming it was a great idea. That night, she put the reminder in his phone calendar and wrote it into the paper one that lived on his fridge. A week before, she'd mentioned it a thousand times: over dinner, during grocery shopping, and even during post-bliss pillow talk. He'd pull her into his arms and kiss her head, assuring her every time that he'd be there with bells on. Naively, she had believed him. Now, she was sitting alone at his dinner table in her prettiest sundress, feeling like a complete fool.

Her phone dings, and she feels the rip in her heart stitch itself back together for a slight moment. When she notices it's not Tyler, her shoulders slump.

The Tornado Wranglers are LIVE! Click here to watch now!

She's quick to click it, watching as it loads before she sees Boone's face in the frame, the top of Tyler's hat visible. Her heart shatters, watching as her boyfriend smiles and hollers for the camera, chasing a storm. She'd known there was a big storm forming for the past few days: when Tyler went out on a chase, she watched the weather as if it were a nail-biting thriller. Hearing him on the livestream had been the first time she'd seen or heard from him all day, despite his promises to be next to her this very moment.

She exits the live and stands from the dinner table, already knowing her boyfriend wouldn't be home any time soon. She blows out the candle and puts the unopened wine back in the kitchen, wrapping the dinner she'd made in tin foil and tossing it into the fridge. Despite her simmering anger, she knew Tyler would come home drenched, so she set out a dry change of clothes and a towel on the washing machine for him to see. Shaking her head, she bit her lip and swallowed thickly as she moved to the en suite bathroom and changed out of the dress, her perfectly curled hair wasted. She throws on her pajamas and her (intentionally not Tyler's) hoodie, climbing into her side of their shared bed. She plugs her phone into the charger and switches on the silent function, not wanting to be bothered as she wallows. Finally, she plops down onto her pillow and curls under the blankets, her annoyance slowly fading into disappointment. She tries to push the tears back, feeling stupid for crying over something so trivial, but it had hurt that he'd forgotten something that was supposed to be important to both of them. She feels asinine, like a dog with a bird at his door, only to be shut out. A choked sob slips past her lips, and she's done for. She curls in on herself, legs to her chest as she cries until her body could no longer take it, and lets her eyes shut for sleep.

-

Hours later, Tyler stumbles into his house, plopping off his soaking wet boots on the rug at the garage door. He's slightly dry from his ride home, but his clothes still cling to his skin, making him shiver when he walks into the house. He turns to lock the door behind him, shuffling into the laundry room that connected the garage and the house. He puts his wet hat on the hook, peeling out of his sopping shirt and jeans, finding a change of clothes and towel set out for him. He smiled, knowing he'd likely find his girlfriend passed out on the couch with the weather forecast still playing on the screen. He changed quickly, hands itching to pull her into his hold and fall into a deep sleep. As he leaves the laundry room and heads to the kitchen, he notes the dinner table set with placemats and silverware next to them. He gives the set up a confused look before shrugging, tossing back a glass of water before walking towards the living room.

The empty room stops him in his tracks completely. The TV had been shut off, only a black screen staring back at him. There had been no indication that Y/N had been here at all-the blankets were folded neatly into the basket, pillows still upright and straight. He looked for anything-a charger plugged into the wall, her current read on the coffee table, an empty mug-but found no signs of the girl he loved. 'Maybe she had an early night,' his mind tried to grasp an explanation of why she wasn't where she always was when he was out on a chase.

Tyler's hand wipes his face, rubbing his tired eyes as he stomps up the stairs to their shared bedroom. The hallway is cloaked in darkness, and he has to use his phone's flashlight just to make his way to the door. He turns it off when he turns the knob and pushes the door open, not wanting the blinding light to disturb her. He makes out her figure curled into her side of the bed, looking small. He frowns again, it was always guaranteed she'd be curled into his pillow if he was gone, often wrapped in some article of his clothing, if not completely dressed in only his clothes.

Wordlessly, he comes to her side of the bed to kiss her head, checking in to make sure she was okay. Moonlight from the window illuminates her face, and he finds his chest tightening as he looks at her. Tears had dried to her skin, and a frown was etched onto her face, even in her slumber. He pushes hair from her face, finding the strand curled, and kisses her forehead lightly. He pulls the covers over her more, making sure she was entirely tucked in. With a worried frown now marking his own face, he shuffles to the bathroom to brush his teeth. He opens the door and flicks on the light, the sight in front of him bringing his confusion to new heights.

A white sundress stares back at him, sitting crumpled on the counter. The puffy sleeves are deflated, and the slit on the leg had flopped over, exposing the other side of the fabric. This dress only made an appearance for special occasions, mainly because he couldn't keep his hands off of her when she wore it. She'd talked about it for weeks, she was going to wear it on their anniver-he stills-no. Tyler's heart sinks to his feet, hammering against his chest so loudly it rattles his eardrums. There is no way he'd forgotten. The unusual things in his home began to add up, and, with shaking hands, he reaches for his phone and stares down at the photo of her smiling back at him. She's standing in a poncho, drenched, but smiling as she uses her hand to point towards a barreling storm in the distance. Sure enough, in the slew of notifications he'd ignored, sits a calendar reminder:

'Our anniversary date ;) <3'

He plops down on the side of the tub and scrolls through the messages and calls Y/N had left, clicking on the voicemail she'd left, her sweet voice filling his ears:

'Hey Ty, it's almost nine, I just...um, just checking on you. I-I don't know if you're just running late or you forgot, but...I love you, see you soon. Be careful, please. Call me when you get this.'

He pieces it together quickly-the table set up for two, his favorite dress she'd been wearing, her hair curled just to look nice for him-the realization guts him. He had been stupid, so caught up in the thrill of the chase he completely forgot about the one thing that always brought him home. His brain recalls her excitement over the dinner she would cook, and he had planned on bringing flowers and her favorite sweets from that bakery downtown, hoping to charm that dress right off of her. He pushes his damp hair back with his hands, he had fucked up, and royally. The reason she hadn't done the things she normally did when he was gone was because he wasn't supposed to be gone at all.

He breaths deeply before brushing his teeth, sliding into the bed next to her and pulling her close. He'd hold her while he could, because he'd spend the next few days groveling for her forgiveness. He'd wake up early-clean up the dishes from last night, cook her breakfast, do the laundry, pick up groceries for the week. Hell, he'd kiss her fucking feet if it meant she'd forgive him. His eyes shut closed with sleep, and night quickly fades into morning.

-

Y/N is the first to wake, her skin burning under Tyler's touch. She immediately rolls away from his grasp, and the content look on his sleeping face makes her flame with anger. She rolls her eyes and stomps out of the room, purposefully slamming the door to the bedroom enough to rattle the frames on the walls. The noise jostles Tyler from his sleep, and he sits up in his bed, allowing himself only a minute of solitude before he realizes he's under the dog house.

Quietly, he stomps down the stairs, finding Y/N already standing at the sink, sleeves pushed up as she scrubs at a pot hastily. Her face is drawn into an angry frown, and the air is thick with tension. There's none of her music filtering through the tiny speaker in the window, none of her humming as she works. She's angry, she's hurt, and all she really wants is an apology.

"Mornin'," his voice is raspy, and he awkwardly hovers behind her, watching from a distance as she ignores him. He comes over and lightly grabs her arm, attempting to take over the task. "I can do that, darlin', you go sit at the bar and I'll cook you breakfast, yeah?"

She snatches her arm from his grasp and gives him an unpleasant look, only returning to the dishes in front of her as she shakes her head. He gives a deep sigh, stepping away from her to give her space.

Her silent treatment was always the worst.

"Baby, please, I-I know I fucked up, I'm just trying to make it up to you, let me-"

She lets out an angry laugh, dropping the pot back into the soapy sink with a shake of her head. Her veins fill with a fury she can't control, and she's almost blinded by her rage.

"Fucked up is an understatement, Tyler."

Her angry words were piercing, but at least she was talking.

"Y/N/N, I know, I'm going to make this up to you. I'll-"

"I don't want to hear your lies that I hear every time you mess up, Tyler. You're not going to take time away from chasing, so you can stop feeding me that same lie."

Her honesty stops him in his tracks. He starts to feel defensive, his own anger rising to the surface.

"Just listen-"

The bowl she's cleaning clamors against the other dishes in a loud fashion, making him jump slightly as she turns to face him. Fury is written across her face completely.

"No! You listen! I planned this for weeks, Tyler, weeks! I did everything, the cooking, the cleaning, the waiting around for four fucking hours! All you had to do was show up, and you couldn't even do that."

She swallows thickly, the anger beginning to fester into the sadness she'd been shoving down. Her chest moves in short breaths, and she tries to control her breathing as she looks up at him. He notes her teary eyes-she's not really angry, she's hurting.

"It would've been fine if this was a one off thing, but it isn't. You and I both know that." Her voice is lacking the fire it once had, replaced with a wave of vulnerability she rarely lets show. She pauses and wipes her hands with the kitchen towel in her hands. Her eyes dart across the room in thought, never meeting his. "First it was my birthday, and then not just one, but two dates, and now this. Every other time I just let it go, not wanting to start anything, but I can't anymore, because it just keeps happening. Tyler, I love you, but you're breaking my heart."

Her bottom lip wobbles as she takes a deep breath and straightens her shoulders, trying to have a conversation with the man she was begging to love her the way she loved him.

"I'm not asking you to give it up, I'm just asking for one day, maybe every couple weeks? I feel like I sleep next to you but I never see you, and-," her eyebrows furrow before she takes a defensive step back, crossing her arms over her chest. "I just don't want to have to beg you to want to spend time with me."

Tyler's heart shatters. He fumbles to come up with the right words, knowing the wrong ones could ruin everything. He loved her immeasurably, and he'd been so goddamn blind. His mind raced with the dozens of things she does for him without being asked-making sure he had dry clothes after chasing, ensuring he had a decent meal every time he came home, tens upon hundreds of tiny actions that he had taken for granted. When was the last time he'd done something like that for her? The one time she had asked him, weeks in advance, to save a day for her, he had neglected it completely, unintentionally or not.

She looks down at her feet, feeling so incredibly small, invisible, like the man in front of her can't see her at all. She was tired of trying to keep their relationship alive all on her own. She wasn't in denial that Tyler loved her, she knew he did, but the last few months had felt as if he hardly remembered she was there. Her anxiety spirals-did he really love her, or was she just convenient for him?

"I know that chasing is important to you, and I love seeing you do it, but it always comes before me. I just want to know, will I ever come first?" Her voice is so, so hurt, and the girl he knows has withered away. The only thing that remains is the shell of her in front of him, pleading for him to just notice her. "It's okay if not, I-I just need to know. Because I can't keep having this fight, just tell me the truth so if the answer is no, I can move on."

Tyler's heart hammers, his own insecurity flaring.

"W-What? No, no, chasin' doesn't come before you, ever. Y-You know that."

She gives him a doubtful look.

"You do know that right?"

"Tyler, name one time that you've dropped everything from chasing a storm to do something for me?"

She stands leaned against the counter, arms crossed in front of her. His mind cannot conjure one situation, and he knows she's right, he'd never put her first. Not once. He had missed her birthday party just last month for a big storm over in Kansas, on his own. The rest of the Wranglers had even cancelled to be there for her. Both Boone and Lilly both had called him from the party to reprimand him, and he'd stayed anyways. Then he'd done it again, twice, just two weeks later. Each time, she'd forgiven him with open arms, never fighting him on it, simply accepting his lie that he'd never do it again.

She simply nods, waiting to see how long it would take Tyler to realize just how miserable this had been for her. He grows defensive, trying to make excuses for his actions.

"That storm in Kansas, w-we haven't seen a storm that scale since-"

"Tyler, save it," she starts, her voice growing an edge. "You answered my question, that's all I needed to know."

He watches as she literally and metaphorically throws in the towel, a somber look written across her face.

“I-I need some air.”

She says nothing else, only sliding on her shoes and slipping out the garage door. He expects to hear the jangling of her keys and then the roar of her car’s engine, but neither come-she’d taken out on foot.

Tyler ignores the rush of tears that threatened to spill from behind his eyes, his chest so full of guilt it feels like he might combust from one single sob. He stews in his emotions as he resumes the task she'd started-at least when she got back, the dishes would be one less thing for her to worry about. As his hands scrubbed at various pots and pans, he thought about the thousands of things he wanted to do to show her that he was serious. He wanted to run after her, to pull her back into his house, but he knew she needed her space, time away from him to think. Tyler wrestles with his emotions, knowing this could very well be the end of them, and it'd be his fault entirely. He'd let the best thing in his life slip entirely out of his grasp, all because he'd had his head in the clouds. It had been obvious to everyone around him, except him. How had he been so blind to her anguish?

He moves around the kitchen in complete silence, only the rattle of the dishes he's putting away filling his ears. He ponders over the dark hue forming across the sky, wishing Y/N had taken a jacket or an umbrella with her. He wonders if he should call her, just to tell her that he could leave while she stayed here, he didn't want her in the rain. He doesn't overthink it and pulls up her contact, letting it ring before he hears vibrating. His eyes turn to the direction of the noise.

Shit.

She'd left her phone here.

He turns his attention to the slew of missed messages on his own phone. Just twenty minutes ago, Dexter had texted him about a storm forming just miles from his home. The messages after were from Dani, Boone, and Lilly, all asking if he and Y/N were okay. His eyebrows pinched and he frowned, about to respond with a question mark before he heard the shrill ring of the tornado siren outside his window. His eyes glance up to see a darkening sky, heavy clouds sitting low in the sky.

He tosses his phone into his pocket before he's pulling on his still-wet boots and bolting out his garage door. A tornado was minutes from hitting here, and his girlfriend was wandering around aimlessly. She couldn't have gone far, his house sat miles from town, the only neighbors being a relatively empty home the next street over-the family only visited during the winter months, they paid him handsomely to keep their grass cut when they weren't in town-so he knew that she wouldn't have anyone to look out for her. His boots clicked on asphalt, his voice hoarse as he yelled after her, her name falling desperately from his lips as the wind whipped around his face.

With no signs of her appearing, his heart began to hammer against his chest. Rain began to pelt his clothes and it only urged his aching legs to move faster. His mind conjures images he fears-her stuck under a collapsed tree or shed, left for dead because he'd been stupid. They urged him to the neighbor's house, chest searing with anxiety as he heaved, still not seeing anything-no flashes of the simple dress she'd been wearing, or the cardigan she'd wore over it tossed somewhere. Before his brain could stop him, he was pulling the spare key from under the mat, all but trespassing into his neighbor's home, shouting her name. Nothing.

He slams the door, running a hand through his hair as he begins to panic. His chest feels tight, his mind growing fuzzy with the thought of her being out in this storm alone. The air only grows more thick, and a crack of lightning startles him. It sends him into taking off on foot in their backyard, even slinging open the door of the storm shelter to see if she'd hid there. It was empty, making him let out a string of curses to the sky.

Then, he hears her voice. He almost thinks he's imagining it, her tone is sweet and gentle, and he thinks he's losing his mind.

"Hey, it's okay little guy."

It's the voice he knows well-the voice she uses for animals and babies. His jade eyes turn to see her hair blowing in the wind, her dress wet from the weather. She's crouched down and attempting to move a stack of firewood from the neighbors yard, her eyes on alert she hears Tyler's footsteps crunch the ground behind her. She whips around, looking at him.

"Tyler, help me, there's a rabbit, he's stuck."

Tyler looks at her with wide eyes. His voice is loud over the sirens blaring in the air and the wind whipping.

"Darlin', there's a big ass storm coming right for us! Leave it! We gotta get down, now!"

Her eyes are fiery when she turns back to look at him.

"Then leave, but I'm not leaving him here!"

Her hands hastily moved large pieces of firewood, getting more and more drenched. She lifts a particularly heavy one and throws it across the grass.

"If you're just going to stand there and not help, then go! I don't need you hovering because you care all of a sudden!"

Tyler's heart shatters, she thought he didn't care? Of course he cared, but he was more concerned with keeping her safe. He sighs at her stubbornness, moving to help lift the firewood at a faster pace. She lifts a particularly stubborn piece, drawing her hand back quickly with a soft 'fuck!' He tosses her a concerned look but moves on working to get the firewood moved. His muscle flexes as Tyler throws the piece caging the animal in and watches as it bolts towards the treeline. He slings an arm around her shoulder as the roar of the storm grows closer, all but manhandling her into the storm shelter he'd just looked in. It wasn't shabby by any means, well stocked and clean, but small. He shuts the door with a grunt, turning to face her and watching as she digs through a first aid kit.

"What're you doin'?"

She says nothing, only sticking out her right hand for him to see. It's bleeding from a cut, tiny pieces of wood protruding from around it.

"Shit, baby," he moves to grab the kit from her. "Stop, just stop tryin' to do it on your own, it's only going to get worse."

She stills, looking up at him with dagger-like eyes.

"Look, you did your job. I'm safe here, you can go."

Go? Where the hell did she think he was going?

"I know you're itching to go chase it, it's probably going to be a big one."

Oh.

"You think I'm going to leave you here alone to go chase this thing?"

She shrugs. "Wouldn't be the first time."

It's his turn to look offended, even though he shouldn't be. She was only speaking the truth. He knows he would be quick to defend himself, but he doesn't, knowing the hurt he'd bestowed upon her just hours beforehand. He lightly tugs the kit away from her, giving the soft, sympathetic eyes that had her hardened heart melting. He makes quiet work of removing the shards of wood, and moves to clean it with the tiny bottle of rubbing alcohol. She winces when it makes contact with the open wound, but a sweet kiss to her temple has her distracted as he finishes bandaging it. When he looks down at her, he finds her eyes already looking up at him. The look she gives him begs him to say something, to just apologize and say he'd do better, and actually mean it this time. He opens his mouth to speak, but it's cut off by a boisterous slam to the shelter door, one that startles Y/N, and she slides into his hold without thinking.

"What the hell was that?!" Her voice trembles.

"I don't know." He doesn't want to move her from his arms, but he needs to see what's going on. He kisses her temple again, setting her on the twin sized mattress that sat on the ground. He makes his way up the stairs of the shelter, moving to push the door open. He knows it's a stupid, risky move, but he does it anyway.

He pushes it forward, the door not even budging. He frowns, moving positions to put his entire body weight on the door, and the door remains shut. He pushes with his entire strength multiple times, before his mind draws a conclusion.

"It's probably a tree or somethin'," He sighs as he steps away from the door. "Probably got knocked down by the wind, fell over on top of the door."

"So we're trapped here?"

"For the time being, yes," He starts, coming to sit down next to her, her head resting on his shoulder. "But I'll get in touch with Dexter and Dani, maybe Boone too. See if one of them can get a truck out here and move it. We'll have to wait for this storm to pass though."

He fishes out his phone and begins to type, his eyes darting across the screen before Dexter's typing bubble finally forms into a message.

'We'll be there as soon as this storm settles!'

Y/N nods when he shows her the message, moving to rest her head on his chest, her heart racing. Without a word, he pulls her into his lap, his eyes now focused on her bandaged hand. She notes his concern quickly.

"It's fine, doesn't even really hurt. Just stings."

He shakes his head.

"Doesn't matter. You got hurt, again, because I did somethin' dumb as hell. Seems like all I've done for the past few months is hurt you. M'sorry, I really am. I fucked up, and I'm prepared to grovel for it."

She nods, biting her lip as she pushes a section of wet hair out of his face.

"You did, but that doesn't mean you can't fix it. Just, this time, promise you'll actually do what you say you will. Don't let it be empty words."

He makes an 'X' motion over the center of his chest-cross my heart-and watches as a small smile forms across her face. He notes it's genuine nature and it forms a smile of his own across his face.

He pulls her head softly under his chin, moving his face to where he's whispering directly into her ear. She leans into his warmth, still shivering from her damp clothes.

"I love you," his voice is a sincere whisper, laced with every ounce of emotion he can muster. She kisses the underside of his jaw, making him close his eyes and sigh.

"I know. I love you too, even when you really piss me off."

He lets out a chuckle, kissing behind her ear, a spot that makes her entire frame stiffen in his hold. He places another one just under it, making her pull away for a moment.

"You're playing with fire, Owens. What are you gonna do, take me on this twin mattress on the floor?"

Her voice is laced with sarcasm and humor, completely joking. One look in his now emerald green irises tells her he wasn't joking, not one ounce of him thought it was a joke.

"Well, might as well start my grovelin' as quickly as possible, got a lot to catch up on." He kisses the spot again, making her hand fly to his damp hair. "And I haven't done this in far too long."

His hands come to her hips, pulling her in even closer in his lap. His calloused hands land on her ass, and she yelps.

“Ty, you can’t be serious.”

He sends her a raised eyebrow. His hand squeezes the supple skin of her bottom.

“Baby,” his voice is just above a whisper, deathly serious, his gaze darkening. “When have I ever joked about taking you any time, any place?"

Y/N shudders. "Never."

"That's what I thought."

His lips connect with hers in a rough manner, effectively shutting her up.

-

A few hours later, as Y/N lies across Tyler's chest, her dress tossed somewhere, she's awoken by a sharp knock at the shelter door.

"T? Y/N/N? Hey, we're here. We're gonna get this tree off of y'all!" Boone's voice fills her ears and she all but scrambles up, face flushed red with embarrassment at the thought of them walking into the shelter to see her and Tyler both bare. Tyler only snoozes and turns over, and she rolls her eyes, he'd sleep through a hurricane-literally. She grabs his shirt and lightly pops him with it.

"Tyler!" She whispers-shouts, quickly buttoning up the front of her dress she'd found on the floor. His jade eyes pop open, shuffling off the blanket that had been draped across him for his modesty.

"Hm, what?" His voice comes out groggy.

"Get up, get dressed, they're here!" She throws her cardigan back on her shoulders as she tosses his jeans over to him, his belt buckle just missing his head. Tyler rubs his eyes tiredly, not quite awake enough for him to care about being completely naked.

Y/N turns to him to fuss, but she's cut off at the creaking of the storm shelter's door opening. She stills, face burning from a hot blush. From above ground, Boone, Dani and Dexter look down at them, the latter two jaws dropping and darting their eyes away. Boone clocks Tyler and swallows thickly.

"Ty, man, I am seein' entirely way too much of you right now."

-

taglist:

@fraaaaankiiiiieee

@rebel-ezra

@fanboysfangirl

@mbioooo0000

[cheriladycl01]

Kinktober 19/10/2024 Franco Colapinto - Panty Kink

Plot: Franco is absolutely obsessed with any and all of your underwear…

Warnings: Kinktober, SMUT, panty sniffing, panty licking, panty stealing, anything and all things panties, eating out, dry hump etc

Since you and Franco started dating it was a sweet and unproblematic relationship. But you couldn’t help but notice some … stranger things the longer you guys were together.

The first time he’d ever stayed over, he just slept in the bed with you after you guys ate loads of junk food and snacks.

A week after he left when you were doing a load of washing you noticed that some of your underwear, specifically your panties and lace ones at that had gone missing.

“Franco baby?” You asked over the phone when you decided to call him to see if he’d accidentally added them to the rucksack he’d brought his clothes in.

“Hi baby, argh god I miss you” you groans happily into the phone and you can’t help the butterflies that rise in your stomach.

“I miss you too. I was just wondering if you accidentally took any of my underwear with you when you left. I know I stripped off and left some at the edge of my wash basket because it was kind of full, but I can’t find them” you say and you hear a little shuffling as if he had gone to his bag to double check.

Little did you know, he had in fact taken them. Right out your dirty laundry basket before using them as he gave himself a hand job using the lace material against his dick for that added sensation.

But of course he wouldn’t admit that.

“Erm let me check the wash coz they aren’t in my bag” he says and he was just making up time to make it all seem more plausible. He had in fact chucked them in the wash after he’d come all over them and wanted them clean for his next time. However now that you were on to them he’d have to give them back.

“Thank you. They’re the only pair that go with the dress I’m supposed to wear this weekend” you tell him.

“Oh yeah they’re here in the washing machine with my stuff from that night” he says and they were mixed in with his washing, now your panties smell like him.

He couldn’t tell what he preferred, your sent on them from wearing them all day and being a little musky from your natural aroma that was driving him crazy and he couldn’t wait to get his first taste. Or his sent on them, making an item of yours smell so much like him which also made his brain a little haywire.

“Thanks baby, you wanna come over tonight?” You ask hoping that he would considering you felt like you hadn’t seen him in ages.

After that, it was a while before anything else bizarre happened. Until you guys were first having sex, he was obsessed with your panties, he’d dragged them down your legs with his teeth and pocketed them in his jeans before he went down on you like a starved man.

You didn’t think anything off it, if anything you found it kind of hot.

And after that, whenever you guys when to races together he’d always dip his hands into your jeans or skirt, whatever you were wearing and running his fingers up and down the hand of the thongs you were wearing that rested nicely on your curved hips.

It wasn’t until you caught him in the act. It was a race weekend and he’d just been promoted from F2 to F1 in a Williams seat. You were insanely proud of him and took the last few days of your working week to travel to Italy with him when you heard.

You’d gone out for dinner with the other wags, Lily becoming your older sister role model in the paddock. Of course neither you nor Franco were media trained so you had been caught on camera being rather chaotic together, and everyone already seemed to adore you.

However when you come back to the hotel room, earlier than the others who were going out clubbing instead and you didn’t really feel like going you decided to go back.

What you didn’t expect was as you got to the hotel room door to open it to here a sort of whimper. You went in as to you from the outside it sounded like he could have been in pain.

As you walked in you saw a sight you never expected.

It was your boyfriend with your sexy pink underwear wrapped in his hand around his dick that was rubbing up and down his shaft releasing moans from deep in the back of his throat.

“Franco?” You asked shocked he hasn’t heard you open the door. His hand dropped and he looked at you in shock before grabbing a pillow to cover himself up.

“Baby! What are you doing back your early” he gulps out looking at you with wide eyes. Full of lust and need.

“All the girls were going clubbing, I didn’t want to go- are you using my underwear?” You ask looking at him shocked and confused. In seconds he’s up and coming up to you, tears building in his eyes as he puts both his hands on your cheeks.

Worry was all that you could see in his eyes now.

“I-I’m so sorry I should have told you but” and ends up rambling about your panties and his kink for anything to do with the provocative underwear, even if it wasn’t provocative he still loved it.

“Baby baby baby, shush it’s okay” you chuckle not bothered about the fact he was using your stuff to help him get off.

“W-what? You just came back to find me using your stuff to get off. Aren’t you mad?” He asks, sniffing a little bit.

“No, you’re my boyfriend. I think it’s sweet you like my panties. But you really couldn’t wait for me to come back? Or were you too embarrassed to ask for my panties” you ask, and he looks down.

“I-“ he starts but you pull him into a kiss, shushing him immediately.

“How about this. I’m here to help now, and you can do whatever you want with the panties I’m in now?” You grin, hoping he wouldn’t feel as embarrassed and open up to you.

“Thank you mi amor” he says before lifting you up and putting you on the bed. He doesn’t waste anytime hitching your dress up. His head immediately dived in between your legs, his nose hitting your clothed clit as he inhales a breath of you.

“Franco” you moan looking down in confusion to see what he’s doing.

“Smell so good. Could just stay here forever” he groans as he kicked a strip up your panties nudging his nose in a little more making a moan come from you.

“Baby…” you moan, your hand coming down into his hair gripping him in closer. He pulls the panties just to the side. Wanting to keep them there as his tongue dove into your deep and wet cavern. His groan vibrated around you making you gasp and your eyes squint shut at the feeling.

Franco had a thing for eating you out. All of your previous relationships, didn’t really do that but my god Franco wasn’t scared to have his chin dripping with your juices by then end.

His nose hit the perfect spot making your hips buck up as that feeling inside you released right into his awaiting mouth.

“Oh my god, so fucking good” you moan as he pulls your panties back across. They were gray and him seeing that little wet spot now building on them made him sit at the edge of the bed. He kept his boxers on and pulled you off the bed so you were stood in front of me.

“Want you on me” he points to his dick making a tent in his boxers and you immediately know he wants you to ride him with your panties on. Both you being clothed and just having that friction.

You turn yourself around so your facing away from him before you balance against his lowered lap, perfect height for your to run your clothed pussy against his restrained dick.

“Fuck baby, that’s it” he says, his hands on your hips snapping the edging of your panties against your hips making you moan out. You swivel your hips a little quicker making him thrust up into you trying to get as much out of it as he can.

“Oh fuck baby I’m gonna cum, gonna cum” he moans his thrusts becoming wild as his dick as the roughness of both sets of underwear rubbing against him. Before he knows it, his white strings of cum are being forced out of his own gray boxers and staining the back of your own panties as you keep moving to reach your own high, which isn’t too much longer after him.

“Fuck that was so good” you say gripping his thighs as you slow down. You turn round to see him, a fucked out expression on his face.

“This… this is why you tell me your kinks” you laugh at him, before getting up to get cleaning supplies from the bathroom. The last thing he sees is the wet spots on your panties from his own cum and your own sweet release.

While your in the bathroom he hears some movement and russling and before he knows it a gray fabric is launched at him.

In his hands was your damp underwear.

And at the moment seeing you grinning, watching him to see his reaction and he knew at that moment you were the one for him.

Taglist:

@littlebitchsposts @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @eiraethh @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount

[catssluvr]

dating nerdy/loser natalie scatorccio <3

⭑.ᐟ Straight up just obsessed with your existence, Nat’s blindly in love with you and would do anything to make you happy - probably loves you tons more than playing video games and that’s a compliment.

⭑.ᐟ Makes you watch all of her favorite movies, not so subtly looking over to catch your reactions to her favorite parts and also yapping about little details that no one else notices.

⭑.ᐟ Takes the gameboy she bought on second hand everywhere with her, pulling out in public whenever she’s on a line or even at school when she’s bored. She plays the games you find most interesting so you’re also entertained.

⭑.ᐟ Drags you to the arcade and makes you play the duo games with her, then plays the other ones while you sit close to her eating some snacks she got from a vending machine.

⭑.ᐟ Tank tops and pajama checkered pants are her go to outfit - not that you could ever complain. Also likes graphic tees with a long sleeved under them and sometimes the infamous leather jacket she wears just for you.

⭑.ᐟ Absolutely tears up whenever you give her flowers or anything of the sort, mostly just overwhelmed with how nice she thinks you are to her.

“Baby, are you crying?”

“What- no! I just had hot cheetos and they were extra spicy.” Meanwhile pouting with trembling lips.

⭑.ᐟ Talking of pouting, it’s probably Nat’s top one reaction to you being mad at her. She’d never make you feel anger towards her on purpose so most of all it makes her panic right there. Tries to solve it as quickly as possible because all she wants is to see your frown dissolve into a sweet smile so she can finally hug your bones out.

⭑.ᐟ Loves to sleep in and will not let go of you until she’s fully ready to get up, nuzzling into your neck and practically whining when you make move to take off the covers.

⭑.ᐟ The biggest cuddle bug and particularly adores being the little spoon. Have her lay her head on your chest while playing with her hair and she’ll be purring like a cat in seconds.

⭑.ᐟ Is an absolute tease who wants your attention 24/7, will pinch your cheeks and arms until you finally look at her.

⭑.ᐟ This girl gets the zoomies randomly, giggling about stupid things and jumping on top of you to tickle your life out and cover your pretty face in wet & very sloppy pecks.

⭑.ᐟ Never having to be scared of her cheating cause realistically she’s a big loser who can barely talk to a girl without stuttering and wears shirts that say ‘i love my gf’ every other day.

⭑.ᐟ Is so freaking clumsy, keeps on hitting her toes on wall corners and breaking cups because she trips on literal air. It’s all worth it for her though because she gets to have you as her personal nurse, putting a band aid over where she’s hurt before placing a kiss over it.

⭑.ᐟ Paints your nails while you tell her about the latest gossip going on, listening attentively and gasping dramatically when she thinks something is particularly shocking.

“He did what!? :0”

⭑.ᐟ Genuinely leaves hickeys on you sometimes without even noticing. She’ll be kissing your neck without any second intentions and before she can stop herself there will be a whole bruise on it.

⭑.ᐟ Has a lego collection with spaceships from star wars and some geeky video games. Gets sooo giddy when you buy her new ones and prepares a whole date night for you to build it with her.

⭑.ᐟ When you’re sitting together in class she draws silly doodles on your notebook, making very bad drawings of both of you holding hands with hearts around you.

“Look, that’s us :)”

⭑.ᐟ Sometimes gets a bit insecure and doesn’t understand what you see in her, it’s hard to believe you actually love her for who she is. But once you call her over when you’re with your friends in public and literally show her off she knows there was never a reason to doubt it.

[spencersmopbucket]

Behind the Ribcage | Spencer Reid

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader Summary: You're Spencer's best friend & his case partner — but things get weirdly distant after you begin dating a local cop. Themes & Warnings: jealous!Spence, violence, angst with happy ending really. This is very self indulgent tbh, theres a reference to Toby Cavanaugh from PLL bc he's my favorite hot cop

When you'd joined the BAU, you'd taken the place by storm. You were a new agent — smart, strong, calculating, charismatic, feisty — everything that the ideal agent had. You were immediately wrapped into the crazy world that was profiling, fitting in like the missing puzzle piece.

Despite being a lot different than him, you clicked almost instantly with the BAU's Spencer Reid, boy genius.

You were fire, and he was water — fast mouth and fast fists when needed, where he was all statistics and careful dissection. But somehow, it worked. You’d been paired together almost from the start, assigned as partners on cases, and over the months it became second nature. If he moved, you moved. If you spoke, he listened. And you always had his six.

Hotch had done it perfectly, just as he'd figured. When he paired you together, he'd created an unstoppable duo. Someone to ground Spencer, to make him stronger, and someone to rationalize you and introduce you more to critical thinking and less to impulse.

Spencer would never admit to how much he’d grown dependent on that rhythm — on you. On knowing you’d be at his side in every hotel, briefing, and takedown. On the way you’d toss him a protein bar when he forgot to eat or let your fingers linger on his wrist a little too long after passing him a file.

And you would never acknowledge how right Aaron Hotchner had been. Spencer taught you not to always rush in, not to fight fire with fire. Sometimes it took calculation, plotting, manipulation. He was also just a comforting presence, someone to run cold water over a wound or to have your back when talking down an unsub. He was your constant. Consistently there for you. You never had to guess if you'd have Spencer.

When you met Cavanaugh, it was almost as if the feelings of comfort amplified. But they weren't about just Spencer anymore.

Toby Cavanaugh was a local cop the team had partnered with during a particularly brutal serial assault case in Pennsylvania. Handsome in a carved-from-stone kind of way, quiet but not shy, with this protective edge that felt so familiar to you — like an echo of everything you thought you wanted.

He was solid. Calm. Confident in a way that didn’t feel arrogant. He treated you like an equal, didn’t flinch when you challenged him in a briefing, and didn’t blink when you barked orders during a takedown. You respected him immediately — and, more dangerously, you liked him too. You liked him so much.

He had these blue eyes that could read right through you. He was broad and muscular. Any woman had to admit that Detective Cavanaugh was easy on the eyes.

You liked the way his hand always brushed your lower back when he walked past. The way he called you “agent” like it was some sort of nickname. You liked that he offered to drive you to the hotel when the case wrapped, and you liked the way his voice dropped when he asked, “Can I see you again?”

And you didn’t think twice about saying yes.

From there on out, Toby, not Cavanaugh, was showing up everywhere for you. On the job, he protected you ruthlessly, shoving back any threat that came within 10 feet. Outside of the job, he picked you up from work if he wasn't on shift. He cooked you dinner and ran you baths to relax you. He held you while you slept, warding off nightmares about awful cases you'd seen.

It was good. Maybe too good. The universe probably sensed that you were too happy and too content.

Because slowly — almost imperceptibly — the patterns began to change.

Spencer changed.

At first, it was small things. He stopped joining you at the coffee machine in the mornings, where you'd usually trade quiet smiles and inside jokes while everyone else wiped sleep from their eyes. He stopped waiting for you after briefings, letting you catch up instead of walking with you in perfect sync like he always had.

Then it got worse.

He started volunteering for assignments without you — walking into Hotch’s office before you had a chance to speak. He’d take files from JJ without passing them to you first. On one occasion, he even snapped at you during a suspect interview, interrupting mid-question to redirect.

You blinked at him across the table, stunned.

He didn’t even look at you after.

That night, you got home late. Your body ached, your brain burned, and as you stepped into the familiar warmth of your apartment, you saw Toby in the kitchen with his sleeves rolled up, plating pasta and pouring wine like he was some domestic god.

He took one look at your face and said, “Rough day?”

You wanted to say Spencer.

Instead, you said, “Yeah. Long.”

But Spencer was the undercurrent of it all. The constant ringing tension in your ribs.

You weren’t blind. You’d seen the way his jaw clenched when you answered your phone and smiled at the sound of your boyfriend’s voice. You noticed the way he walked away now instead of waiting for you to finish calls. You noticed the way he didn’t laugh anymore — not when you teased him, not when Morgan did. He was quiet. Sharp-edged.

And cold.

Cold in a way you never thought he could be — not with you.

Toby hummed, walking around the island in the kitchen to press a soft kiss to your cheek.

"Wanna talk about it? I'm no stranger to long days, you know."

You knew you could be honest with Toby. You always could. So you did.

You let out a long breath and leaned back against the counter, arms crossed tightly over your chest like it would hold the frustration in. Toby stepped closer, waiting — patient and steady, like always.

“It’s Spencer,” you said finally, the name heavy on your tongue.

Toby raised his brows slightly, but didn’t interrupt.

“He’s been… off. Ever since we got together. It’s like he’s trying to distance himself. I mean, we’ve always been a team, Toby. He’s my partner, my best friend. But now? He won’t even look at me. Won’t talk unless it’s strictly case-related.”

Toby nodded slowly, processing. “You think it’s about me?”

“I don’t want it to be,” you admitted. “But yeah. I think it is.”

You expected a flicker of jealousy, maybe defensiveness. But Toby just tilted his head, giving you a knowing look.

“Sometimes guys don’t realize what they have until they think they’re losing it,” he said, gently. “And it sounds like, for Spencer, you’ve always been… his partner. Maybe in more ways than what you realize.”

You blinked at him, caught off guard by the kindness in his tone.

“That doesn’t make it okay,” he added. “You don’t deserve to be iced out because someone else can’t deal with their feelings.”

You nodded, and for a moment, the silence was thick with unspoken things. Guilt. Confusion. Hurt.

Toby reached for your hand.

“You want me to talk to him?”

Your eyes widened slightly. “No. God, no. That’d make it worse.”

He chuckled lightly. “Fair enough.”

And you appreciated that — how he didn’t press, didn’t push. Just stood beside you, solid as ever.

But even as you sat across from him at dinner and tried to focus on the warmth of his hand over yours and the smell of garlic and basil, your mind wandered.

To Spencer.

To the way he used to look at you when he thought you weren’t watching. To how he always sat beside you on the plane, even when the seat was cramped. To how his fingers would brush yours when you passed him notes during briefings. How his voice would soften when he said your name.

You chewed slowly, heart too full and too confused.

Because it was good with Toby. Safe. Easy. Healthy.

But Spencer Reid was a different kind of ache. A different kind of want.

And the way he was pulling away was starting to feel like losing a part of yourself.

The next case was local. Joint operation. Which meant — of course — local cops. Which meant Toby.

You hadn’t seen Spencer’s jaw lock that hard since the last time he got shot.

It started subtly. Spencer barely acknowledged Toby’s greeting at the precinct, opting instead for a clipped nod and a murmured “Detective.” No handshake. No eye contact. No warmth.

Toby had noticed.

So had Morgan.

“You wanna tell me what’s got pretty boy wound so tight?” Morgan murmured as you prepped in the conference room.

You only shrugged, feeling the storm brewing before the first thunder cracked.

Things really started to spiral when the team and local PD were combing through suspect profiles — a list of men matching a violent pattern across multiple counties. Spencer sat at one end of the table, you next to him, and Toby leaned over your other side, reading over your shoulder. His hand lightly rested on the back of your chair.

“Your unsub’s MO escalated recently,” Toby said. “Blunt force trauma now, not strangulation. Means he’s getting sloppy, impulsive.”

Spencer scoffed — an uncharacteristic, biting sound.

“Or it means he’s adapting,” he cut in, not looking up. “You’re assuming he’s losing control when there’s nothing to suggest that yet. Impulsivity is a subjective label when you don’t understand the baseline pattern.”

The air in the room shifted.

Toby raised a brow. “Pretty sure I’m allowed to draw from experience here, Doctor.”

“I’m sure you are,” Spencer said coolly, flipping a page in the file. “Though we tend to prefer evidence-based analysis over gut feelings.”

You blinked between them. “Okay, let’s just—”

“Right. Because feelings aren’t useful in profiling?” Toby asked, standing straighter. “That’s rich coming from someone who clearly can’t separate his own from the job.”

Silence.

A beat.

Then Morgan muttered under his breath, “Damn.”

“Toby,” you warned quietly, heart lurching.

But Spencer didn’t back down. His tone dropped a note colder.

“I’m not the one who started dating a federal agent while assisting on a case.”

That hit.

You stood so fast your chair screeched back. “Enough. Both of you.”

Spencer finally looked at you, and it was the worst part — his eyes were hard, yes, but underneath? They looked hurt. Like he hated everything he’d just said but didn’t know how to stop himself.

You excused yourself quickly and walked out into the hallway, needing space to breathe. Toby followed first, hand brushing your arm.

“Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to drag it out like that. He just — he gets under my skin.”

You turned to him. “He’s always under your skin, Toby. And you’re always in his. And I’m stuck in the middle of it.”

He frowned. “You’re not stuck.”

You hesitated. “Aren’t I?”

Toby stepped closer. “Are you telling me you’d rather be on his side?”

You opened your mouth. Closed it again. The answer came slower than you expected.

“No, Toby, but—”

The door opened behind you both. Spencer walked past without a word, his shoulder brushing yours like static.

He didn’t look back.

And suddenly, for the first time since meeting Toby Cavanaugh, your heart wasn’t where it used to be.

The rest of the case went slowly. You slowly got closer to leads, but the tension between Spencer and Toby made everything feel ten times heavier.

Every time they were in the same room, it was a minefield. Spencer was clinical, detached — he didn't so much as glance at you unless it was absolutely necessary. Toby, on the other hand, stayed close. Too close. Like he was trying to claim territory Spencer had already been silently living in.

You and Toby laid side by side in a hotel room the night before confronting the unsub. The bed was cold, different than normal. The tension had escalated from just between Spencer and Toby.

Now, it affected Toby and you.

You heard him sigh, shifting slightly. He had turned towards you, his blue eyes analyzing you. You couldn't bare to look at them.

"I know what you're thinking. And I'm not mad at you, Name." He said, a hand coming over to rest comfortingly on your knee.

You didn’t respond right away. You stared at the ceiling, the cheap fan clicking above you like a metronome, keeping time with the awkward silence stretching between you.

“I’m not mad,” Toby repeated, softer this time. “But I know you’re thinking about him.”

Your stomach twisted.

You turned your head slowly to meet his eyes — those same gentle, ocean-colored eyes that had once made you feel calm and sure. But now, all they did was make you feel guilty.

“I’m trying not to,” you admitted. Your voice was quiet, honest and shaky. “But it’s like I don’t even know how to not think about him. He’s just... always there.”

Toby gave you a sad smile, thumb brushing gently over your knee. “That’s what makes it harder. He was there first.”

Your throat tightened. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

“I know,” he said. “I didn’t plan on falling for you either. But I did. And maybe I’m just now realizing that I’ve been fighting a losing battle since day one.”

You sat up then, wrapping your arms around your legs. “Toby…”

“I love you,” he said, steady and sure. “But I’m not going to ask you to choose between us. Because that's not fair.. And I think that your heart chose before your head did.”

Your eyes began to well up with tears, lip wobbling.

"I love you too. So much."

"I know you do. But you love him too."

"I don't know--"

Toby smiled sadly, shushing you.

"You do know, baby. You just aren't ready to admit it."

He kissed your forehead softly, like he was sealing a memory more than showing affection. “You’re going to be okay,” he said gently. “Even if it’s not with me. It's a choice you need to make. I'm here if you want me — and if its not me you want, that's okay too.”

You closed your eyes at his words, tears slipping down your cheeks. The finality in his voice wasn’t cruel — it was kind, too kind, and it made it hurt worse.

Toby didn’t leave. He just laid back down beside you, quiet, respectful of your silence. He wrapped his arms around you tightly, like he was trying to convince you that he was the right decision. He stayed — like someone waiting for the scenes that come on after the credits roll.

The next morning, you didn’t speak much. Toby offered you coffee with a soft “Here,” but nothing more. When you entered the precinct for the takedown briefing, the air between you and Spencer was as taut as a wire. He glanced at you — not coldly this time, but cautiously, like he didn’t trust himself to look too long.

When Garcia patched in the last lead, you split up into the new normal pairs: you with Toby, Spencer with Morgan.

The tension never left. Not during the briefing. Not during the gear-up. Not even when you were sliding into the passenger seat of the SUV beside Toby, your eyes catching Spencer’s just once across the lot.

And then the operation started.

The unsub had gone mobile — a panicked attempt to flee the pressure closing in. Garcia’s last location ping had led your team to an abandoned warehouse on the edge of the city. Cold. Echoing. Smelling of rust and dust and adrenaline.

You and Toby cleared the left wing. Morgan and Spencer swept right. Everyone moved with precision — voices low, steps practiced, hearts pounding just beneath Kevlar and clipped radios.

The unsub came out of nowhere.

One moment you were rounding the corner with your weapon raised, the next you were on the ground, a white-hot pain ripping through your side as the knife wedged between your ribcage and your heart. You choked, panicked, your fingers immediately reaching for where you felt pain. You pulled them back, thick crimson covering them.

Toby was screaming your name. You couldn’t answer.

Your hand pressed instinctively to your side again, feeling the sticky warmth bloom beneath your fingers. You tried to stay upright, to aim, to breathe, but your body folded against the concrete floor.

Everything was muffled after that — shouts, more gunfire, boots pounding, someone yelling “SUSPECT DOWN!”

And then —

“Name!” Spencer’s voice, panicked. Raw.

He was kneeling beside you before you could process it, gloved hands replacing yours on your wound. Blood soaked through them anyway.

“Stay with me,” he said, voice cracking. “Come on, stay with me, look at me.”

Your vision blurred. You blinked slowly, heavy, dazed. “Spence…?”

“I’ve got you. Okay? Just — just don’t close your eyes. You’re going to be fine. You’re going to be fine.” He kept pressure on your side, his hands trembling as he did it. “Why weren’t you behind cover — god, I should’ve—” He shook his head. “I should've been there.”

Toby dropped to your other side, face pale and stricken. “She’s losing too much—Spencer, we need an ambulance now.”

“I already called it!” Spencer snapped. Not at Toby — not really — just at the situation, at the horror of watching someone you love bleed out in front of you. “She’s going to be okay. You’re going to be okay, do you hear me?”

You wanted to nod. Instead, your eyes fluttered.

Spencer leaned closer, forehead nearly touching yours, voice breaking. “Don’t you dare give up. Not now. Stay awake.” He begged, breath hitching. “You can't leave me alone. Not when I haven't—” he cut himself off, tears welling up in his eyes.

Your blood was warm against his hands, soaking through the sleeves of his FBI jacket. Spencer barely noticed. His world had narrowed to you — your paling face, your shallow breaths, your barely-there grip on consciousness.

Toby hovered just as close, voice cracking. “Come on, baby. Just hold on, okay? The ambulance is close. You just gotta hold on a little longer.”

Your lips moved. No sound came at first — then, the faintest whisper: “I’m… I’m trying.”

Spencer broke. A sob escaped him as he leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours. “That’s it. Just keep fighting. For me. For us. Please.”

Red and blue lights strobed faintly from outside the warehouse windows. Sirens howled in the distance, drawing closer.

Toby reached out and gripped Spencer’s forearm tightly, grounding them both. “We’ve got her. We’ve got her.”

Spencer nodded shakily, eyes locked to yours, never once looking away. “I’m right here,” he promised. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And when the EMTs burst in moments later, rushing toward you, it took two agents to pull Spencer away. He didn’t stop talking to you the entire time — even as they lifted you onto the stretcher, even as your eyes finally slid shut from the blood loss.

In the waiting room, there was pacing, crying, panicked phone calls. Toby sat in a chair with his head in his hands. Spencer paced back and forth. Garcia and Morgan sat side by side, Garcia's manicured hand held tightly by Derek.

The hospital’s fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, far too bright for the weight of what hung in the air. Spencer’s footsteps echoed through the near-empty waiting room — back and forth, back and forth, like if he stopped moving, the fear would crush him.

Toby hadn’t moved in nearly fifteen minutes. He sat hunched forward, elbows on his knees, his hands tangled in his hair. His shoulders trembled every so often, silently, like the grief and helplessness were leaking out in waves too heavy to contain.

Garcia whispered something to Morgan, who just shook his head, his grip on her hand tightening. This was a pain even he couldn’t fix.

Finally, Spencer stopped moving.

He stared at Toby, chest heaving with the force of his unshed emotion. “She didn’t have to be out there. She wasn’t supposed to be in that position.”

Toby looked up slowly. His face was blotchy, raw, but his voice was steady when he said, “Don’t you think I know that?”

“She was my partner,” Spencer snapped, not out of cruelty — just exhaustion and pain. “She was my partner before she was yours. I should’ve—” He cut himself off, fists clenching. “I should’ve been there.”

Toby stood, eyes flaring. “And what? You think I didn’t want to switch places with her the second I saw her go down? You think I haven’t been dying inside knowing I couldn’t stop it?”

Spencer stepped closer, voice sharp. “Then why the hell didn’t you keep her behind cover?”

Toby surged forward, their chests nearly brushing. “Because she’s not a goddamn pawn, Spencer! She made the call. And if you knew her like you think you do, you’d know she’d never let someone else go in alone.”

That hit too close. Spencer’s jaw flexed, his breathing uneven. “Don’t talk to me like I don’t know her.”

“Then maybe act like it,” Toby hissed. “This isn’t about who’s hurting more. It’s about her.”

Spencer’s voice broke. “Everything is about her.”

And just like that, the fight drained out of both of them. The fire turned to ash. Toby sank back into the chair, elbows on his knees again, but this time he looked up.

“I love her, man,” he said hoarsely. "She's the easiest woman in the world to love."

Spencer swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah. She is.”

The two men sat in the quiet aftermath of their clash — the rawness between them not hatred, but shared devastation. The truth had stripped them both down to nothing but the ache they carried for the same person.

“She used to talk about you,” Spencer added after a moment, eyes distant. “Back when you first joined the team. I’d ask her how it was going, and she’d smile — that kind of smile that’s more in her eyes than her mouth — and say you were ‘solid.’ That’s what she called you. Solid.”

Toby let out a soft, broken laugh. “She said that to me once, too. I thought it meant she didn’t really like me. Turns out, it meant I mattered.”

Spencer nodded slowly. “She’s careful with her words. When she says something like that... it sticks.”

Toby let out a shaky breath, a few tears slipping from his bloodshot blue eyes.

"She loves me, yeah. I know she does. But she really, really loves you, Reid. And all I want is for her to be happy."

Spencer’s throat tightened at the words. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had said that about him — or rather, about them. Toby’s words weren’t laced with jealousy, but a raw truth that broke Spencer’s heart more than anything.

Spencer laughed humorlessly, his voice tinged with frustration.

"I might be the smartest man in the world, but with her, all I do is screw up. It's like trying to solve a Riemann Hypothesis without knowing the fundamental theorem of algebra — I keep missing the point, no matter how hard I try."

Toby raised an eyebrow, clearly lost. "A... Riemann Hypothesis?"

Spencer shook his head, a rueful smile tugging at his lips. "Never mind," he muttered. "It’s just a math thing. The point is, I screwed up. I hate seeing her with you, no offense."

Toby's eyes softened, but his posture remained guarded. "None taken," he said quietly, his voice rough with understanding. He sat back in the chair, arms crossed, looking down at his hands for a moment before meeting Spencer's gaze. "I know who she's going to choose. And if she's happy, I'll gladly walk away knowing that the woman I love is being taken care of. Even if it isn't me taking care of her."

Spencer stared at his feet, going silent for a few moments before speaking.

"That's the most unselfish thing I've ever heard. Somehow it just makes me hate you more, Cavanaugh."

Toby chuckled softly, shaking his head as he leaned back in his chair. The tension between them remained, but there was something in his eyes — a softness, a recognition that this wasn’t just about rivalry or competition. It was about something bigger than both of them.

"You really know how to throw a compliment, don’t you?" Toby teased, the bitterness in his voice softened by a hint of humor.

"And you know how to make a man feel appreciated. You showed me up at my job, which is what I'm known for, and then stole the girl I love."

Toby’s grin faded into something more genuine, a tinge of sadness behind his eyes. He looked at Spencer for a moment, his fingers tapping absently on his knee.

"Sorry."

Spencer rolled his eyes, crossing his arms.

"You're not. But it's alright."

The nurse stepped into the quiet room, her crisp white uniform a stark contrast to the tension that still hung in the air between Spencer and Toby. She looked at them both with a professional yet empathetic expression, taking in their somber faces.

"Gentlemen," she said gently, "you can see her now. She's stable, but still unconscious. We're monitoring her closely, but... it's a good sign. One at a time, please."

Toby stands, wiping his hands on his knees.

"Reid.. You can go ahead. When she wakes up, tell her I was here. And tell her I love her. Please. I gotta go."

Spencer noted the look in Toby's eyes. Glazed with tears, with a tint of 'goodbye.' Toby was letting go.

Spencer stood frozen for a moment, taking in the sincerity in Toby's words, the weight of them settling in his chest. He had expected bitterness, resentment — anything but the quiet acceptance that hung in the air now. Toby wasn’t fighting anymore.

The silence between them stretched, thick with the unspoken understanding that neither man was going to win this. The tension had been replaced by something far heavier, a grief that mirrored the one in Spencer’s heart.

Toby’s shoulders sagged slightly, his eyes avoiding Spencer’s gaze. But before Spencer could respond, Toby turned and made his way toward the door, not looking back.

Spencer watched him go, a flicker of guilt catching in his chest, but he pushed it down. Toby’s selflessness had made it all the more complicated. He didn't know what was right, what he could offer you that would make things better. What if he wasn’t enough?

Shaking his head, Spencer exhaled sharply, trying to push the thoughts aside.

Taking a step forward, he walked into the room where you lay, the sterile hospital smell overwhelming as he approached your bedside. The sound of the heart monitor was steady, the beeping a reminder of the fragility of life.

You were still unconscious, pale, and bruised, the faintest of scrapes lining your skin, but at least you were breathing.

Spencer sat beside you, his hand hovering above yours before he finally reached out, gently resting it on top of your cold fingers.

His lips wobbled. A tear fell.

"Still beautiful, somehow."

Spencer's gaze lingered on your face, the familiar features now shadowed by the bruises and cuts, the signs of the struggle you’d endured. The world seemed so fragile in moments like this, everything around him holding its breath as he did. His heart ached with the weight of what had happened, with the fear that he'd lost you before he could ever make things right.

His fingers tightened gently around yours, grounding him in the present. It felt surreal, sitting there next to you, waiting for a sign that you would wake up, that you would open your eyes and return to him.

"I’m sorry," Spencer whispered hoarsely, his voice breaking slightly as the tears continued to fall, betraying the stoic facade he tried so hard to maintain. "I don’t know how I let it get this far... but I’ll fix this. I swear, I’ll fix it."

He plopped down in the chair beside you, leaning over the railing of the bed and hiding his head in his arms. He tried to fight it, he really did. But he wept. Sniffles filled the room, silent cries. His shoulders shook, but he made no sound, as if the tears were the only release he could allow himself.

He almost didn't notice the gentle weight on his head, fingers threading through his tousled hair.

Spencer tensed at the touch, unsure if it was real or if his mind was playing tricks on him in the haze of exhaustion and grief. But then, a soft, familiar voice broke through the fog, like a beacon pulling him back to reality.

"Spence..." Your voice was barely a whisper, hoarse and fragile, but it was enough to make his heart skip a beat. The warmth of your fingers in his hair was unmistakable. It was you. You were awake.

His head snapped up, eyes wide with disbelief, his breath caught in his throat. He looked down at your face, still marked by the violence you’d endured, but the flicker of recognition in your eyes made everything else fade into the background.

"You’re awake," Spencer stammered, his voice thick with emotion, barely able to grasp the reality of it. "I thought... Oh my god." His hand reached for yours again, holding it more firmly this time, like he never wanted to let go.

You blinked up at him, your gaze swimming in confusion, but there was something reassuring in your touch, something grounding.

"Of course I'm awake." you murmured weakly, a small, tired smile tugging at your lips, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. "But... you’re really going to have to stop crying, Reid. You’ll ruin that genius face of yours. Make it all snotty."

Spencer’s breath caught in his throat, the lump in his chest threatening to choke him as he laughed softly, his smile breaking through the tension for the first time in what felt like forever.

"I’m... I’m just glad you're okay," he choked out, his voice trembling. "I don’t care about my face."

You squeezed his hand lightly, your thumb brushing over his knuckles in a gesture of comfort. It was almost like you were trying to reassure him, as if the roles had been reversed.

"I'm not going anywhere, Spence," you said softly, your voice steadying as you tried to sit up, but your strength failed you, and you collapsed back against the pillows.

Spencer was immediately at your side, his hand gently urging you to rest. "Take it easy. You’ve been through enough."

You nodded, eyes half-lidded, still recovering from the ordeal. The silence between you two felt different now, more comforting, like the storm had passed, at least for the moment.

"Not very nice to stick knives in people's ribs. Did we get him?" You asked weakly.

Spencer's expression darkened at the mention of the attack, but he quickly pushed it down, not wanting to bring more worry into the room. His thumb lightly stroked the back of your hand, offering comfort as you struggled to sit up.

"Yeah," he said quietly, his voice a little rough. "He's been dealt with. You don't need to worry about him anymore." He paused for a moment, the weight of the situation hitting him again. "You’re safe now."

You let out a soft sigh, relief flooding through you at his words. Despite how weak you felt, you managed to offer him a small, tired smile.

"I missed you. You're done being mean to me?"

Spencer’s chest tightened at your words, his heart ached, and for a moment, it felt like the world around him paused. He had been so caught up in the fear of losing you that he hadn't fully realized how much he missed you, how much he had missed this — being close to you, sharing moments like this without the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air.

His thumb continued to trace the back of your hand as he leaned in a little closer, his voice gentle yet full of sincerity.

"Never again. Never."

You smiled again.

Spencer remembered what he'd agreed to tell you.

"Toby was here. Until you got out of surgery and the nurse let us see you. He told me to tell you.. he loves you."

Your expression softened at Spencer's words, the mention of Toby a bittersweet reminder of everything that had unfolded. For a moment, you didn’t say anything, just took in a slow, steady breath, trying to process everything.

"I... I never meant for any of this to happen," you murmured, looking down at your hand in Spencer's, the weight of the situation pressing down on you. "I never wanted to hurt him."

Spencer squeezed your hand, his thumb brushing over your skin in a silent gesture of comfort. "You didn’t," he said softly, his voice unwavering. "You never meant for any of it. But what matters now is that you’re here. And Toby... well, as much as I hate his existence, he's completely unselfish. He's okay with whatever you do, as long as you're happy."

"Seems kind of like a brown-noser to me, but what would I know?" He muttered to himself.

A soft, tired laugh escaped your lips, the sound cracking slightly but genuine nonetheless. It was the first real laugh you'd let out in what felt like forever, and it made Spencer’s chest swell with something warm and fragile.

You gave his hand a weak squeeze. "Just because he's not the jealous type doesn't make him a brown-noser," you scold with a wry smile. "He’s a good guy. Just... not my guy."

Spencer’s eyes flicked up to meet yours, something unreadable in his gaze. Hope. Fear. Relief. All tangled into one.

"I’m not good at this," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I say the wrong things. I push people away. But I never stopped—" he stopped himself, cleared his throat. "I never stopped caring about you. Even when I was too proud or too angry to show it."

Your fingers found his again. "You're doing just fine, Spence."

He exhaled, slowly, like the weight of your forgiveness let him breathe again for the first time.

"You’re really not allowed to almost die again," he said, a small smile returning to his lips. "I don’t handle it well."

"Yeah?" you whispered, eyes fluttering closed. "Then I guess I’ll stick around."

He played with your fingers for a moment, gathering the courage to say what he wanted to say. To do what he wanted to do. He was tired of being a coward. Tired of never getting what he wanted because he couldn't speak up unless it was something venomous coming out of his mouth.

Spencer's gaze drifted to your joined hands, watching as his thumb traced absent circles on your skin. His mind was racing, heart pounding against his ribcage like it was trying to escape. You were here. You were alive. And for once, the world had given him a second chance.

He swallowed hard, then leaned in, his voice quiet but firm, like he didn’t want to lose the nerve halfway through.

"I don’t want to pretend anymore," he said, barely above a whisper. "I don’t want to act like I don’t care, or like it didn’t kill me to see you with someone else. I messed things up — God, I know I did — but if there’s even the smallest chance… that you still feel something for me, I want to try. For real. No more walls. No more pride."

Your eyes fluttered open, hazy but focused on him. He looked wrecked — eyes rimmed red, lips trembling, jaw clenched in restraint — but honest. So achingly honest.

"I love you," he added, the words rushing out before he could second-guess them. "I’ve been in love with you for longer than I want to admit. And if you’ll let me… I want to earn you back."

Your eyes softened impossibly, pupils blown wide.

You didn’t speak right away—how could you, when your heart was pounding louder than the monitor beside you? His words echoed in your chest, tearing down the last defenses you’d held up between you.

You blinked slowly, tears beginning to gather at the corners of your eyes, not from pain, but from the sheer, overwhelming relief of finally hearing the thing you’d needed most.

"Spence…" you breathed, your voice catching, raw. "You never lost me. I just didn’t think you wanted me anymore."

His face crumpled, that fractured look of disbelief giving way to something closer to joy — quiet, tentative, but real. He leaned forward, forehead resting gently against yours, so careful not to hurt you.

"I love you so much. I always have. You've been so close yet so far. And now," you took a shaky breath. "Now I'm ready to admit that it's you."

Spencer closed his eyes, and you felt the faintest shiver pass through him — not from cold, but from the overwhelming emotion that trembled in his chest.

He didn’t speak at first. He couldn’t. The words lodged somewhere in his throat, too swollen by the enormity of what you’d just said. Instead, he let the silence hold the moment, let the press of your foreheads be the vow neither of you had been brave enough to make before.

“You don’t know what that means to me,” he whispered. “To hear you say that. After everything.”

You cupped the side of his face with the little strength you had, your fingers brushing the tear that had fallen down his cheek.

“I do,” you said, soft but certain. “Because I mean it.”

Spencer kissed your hand. Once. Then again. Like he couldn’t help himself.

“I’m yours,” he said simply, earnestly. “If you’ll still have me.”

And even though you were bruised and broken, you smiled — wide, real, and with more love than words could carry.

“Always.”

[g0j0g00ner]

Clingy Sylus

Sylus was always a bit clingy. Even before you two officially started dating he had always been more than enthusiastic to have you by his side. But now that you were official, his need to have you by his side was constant.

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

You were sitting at your desk finishing some work when your phone buzzed. Checking the caller ID you saw that it was none other than your boyfriend, Sylus.

“Shouldn’t you be asleep right now? It’s too early for you to be getting into trouble.” You teased.

“You always seem to think I’m up to no good kitten. Have you ever thought that I might be calling because I miss you?” He taunts back.

“Still, you’re usually in bed by now. Don’t you think it’s a bit late to be missing me?” You say while putting away some folders.

“I could say the same about you. I thought we agreed on fixing your sleep schedule, no more work or coffee after 8 pm. And if I’m guessing I’d have to say you’ve broken both those rules by now. ”

You eye the empty mug on your desk then hop up out of your seat to look out the window.

“Have you been sending Mephisto to spy on me again? And don’t turn this around on me, we were talking about you!”

Sylus chuckles, “Don’t worry sweetie, I haven’t been spying much, I just know you too well.”

You roll your eyes silently. “Anyway back to what I was saying, why are you awake?”

Silence fills the room for a moment before Sylus quietly mumbles, “I can’t sleep… without you.”

You softened at his words, but quickly regained composure as you knew where this was heading. “Sy, you know I cant-“

“Please come over kitten, I miss you.” He pleaded into the phone.

“I have work tomorrow! I can’t miss it and you know that.” You scolded.

“Come on sweetie, just tonight? I promise I’ll make it worth your while.” You could practically see the smirk he had on his face.

While the thought of having Sylus hold and caress you in all sorts of place excited you, you had a special mission tomorrow and Captain Jenna would surely have your head if you called off work again.

“I’m sorry Sy, you know I’d love to but this mission is really important and-“

“How much?”

Confused you questioned, “What?”

“How much kitten? I’ll pay anything to get over here and by my side tonight.” He was on the edge now. “We don’t have to do anything, all I want is to hold you close next to me and I’ll pay any amount of money to make that happen.”

“You know I’m not some thing you can rent whenever you please right? I have my own schedule too!” You reproached, slightly offended at his offer to “buy” your time.

He sighed, “I’m sorry Sweetie, I only meant that I’d do absolutely anything to hold you in my arms for a few hours.”

Feeling guilty for your small outburst you apologized, “Of course, I’m sorry. But I just can’t make it tonight Sy…”

“Not even if I won you all those plushies you wanted from the claw machine?”

“Not even if you won me all those plushies” you laughed

Another defeated sigh could be heard through the other side. “Alright alright. Could you at least grant me the pleasure of staying on the phone until I fall asleep though?”

You chuckled lightly, “Of course Sylus.”

[xoxojisu]

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐌𝐘 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐎 𝐀𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐀 "go beyond!"

BAKUGO KATSUKI

cuddling with katsuki <3

unofficialbf!katsuki

"we're not dating!" in which the 1a girls have a lot to say about you and katsuki's not-relationship.

secret language! in which you and katsuki have a... special way of communicating.

anyone but you in which there are certain things that katsuki wouldn't allow for anyone but you.

"lalalala" yapper reader x listener katsuki. in which you finally get to see katsuki!

"don't stop loving me." in which things were always easy between you and katsuki until suddenly, they weren't. (aka you pull back and katsuki notices and hates it) (more unofficialbf!katsuki hehe)

still holding you in which you've been scared of storms since you were a kid but katsuki's always got you. childhood katsuki storm comfort (pt 2 to that)

dicksuki. in which you seek out comfort from unofficialbf!katsuki and he says something mean and it's your final straw. + katsuki can't stand seeing you cry.

soft unofficialbf!katsuki

crashout central in which katsuki has no idea if you like him or not.

worrying abt being too clingy w katsuki drabble

so us in which watching damian and anya reminds you of katsuki and you. spy x family crossover ep!

say stay. in which you're hoping you can stay and sleep with katsuki tonight.

i don't even like you! in which katsuki destroys something he doesn't know how to hold. (aka he's a big fat meanie) fuck, i'm in love with you. (pt two) makeup fic for 'i dont even like you'

katsuki x reader texts

KIRISHIMA EIJIRO

justfriends!eijiro

does he like me? in which it's hard to tell whether kirishima is so nice that it's hard to tell whether he likes you or you're just #delusional.

playful pool day w unofficialbf!kirishima

TODOROKI TOUYA (DABI)

not too hot for you. in which touya thinks he's too hot. too fiery, too intense, too volatile. he's a war machine for killing. he's broken and unworthy of love. you show him otherwise.

𝐉𝐔𝐉𝐔𝐓𝐒𝐔 𝐊𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐍 "love is the most twisted curse of them all."

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI

pinning down the truth in which after a certain little incident during training, megumi starts avoiding you! you think he might be upset with you or not like you, but little do you know, it's the complete opposite. after lots of teasing and a lot of emotion, the truth finally gets pinned down.

justfriends!megumi

mama y papa in which you and megumi are practically married + nobara and itadori’s parents

𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊 "become the one who chooses, not the one waiting to be chosen."

CHIGIRI HYOMA

this is falling in love. in which falling in love with chigiri hyoma is slow. it's quiet. but it's sweet, and it's easier than you could ever imagine.

ITOSHI RIN

clingy in which in your relationship with rin, you've always been the affectionate one. the touchy one. the clingy one. so one day, you pull back from touching him so much, and it kills him.

MIKAGE REO

codependent!reo

NAGI SEISHIRO

undercover menace nagi in which people think that nagi seishiro is this cool, effortless, nonchalant guy. he's sort of emotionless and apathetic in a way that leaves everyone wondering. everything he does is easy for him, and he's just so cool and uncaring. he would never do something stupid like mess with his partner. they're WRONG.

𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐊𝐘𝐔𝐔 "because people don’t have wings, we look for ways to fly."

KOZUME KENMA

"i love you." in which kenma quietly realizes he's completely, utterly in love with you.

MIYA OSAMU

you're pregnant?! in which you're pregnant with osamu's baby and need to break the news to atsumu, but he somehow spoils it.. for himself?

IWAIZUMI HAJIME (27) athletic trainer

soft domesticity w/ him <33 in which hehehehehe shirtless iwaizumi hajime (27) athletic trainer

these are all female reader <3 sometimes gender is unspecified but i don't write for male reader sorry. i'm happy to take requests and ideas but i won't always write for them if i a) don't think i can or b) just don't wanna. i don't write smut (most you'll see is suggestive), incest, noncon, dark content, etc. thank you and happy reading!

old works dividers from @cursed-carmine and @enchanthings <3

[himasgod]

Can I request the Twst first years with an S/O who wears glasses? And one day while they're out her glasses fall and break so she asks the guy to be her "seeing-eye boyfriend" until she can get her replacement pair?

FIRST YEARS X READER

Where your glasses break

How would first years react if your glasses broke and you asked them to be your "seeing-eye boyfriend"?

The fall was almost cinematic—one second you're both walking through the courtyard with milkshakes in hand, and the next, your glasses clatter to the stone path with a crisp snap that silences your breath.

Ace blinks down at the broken frames.

“...Well. That sucks.”

Very helpful commentary.

You groan, squinting at the blurry world around you. Everything’s turned into a watercolor painting, pretty, but useless. You reach for your bag, already fumbling for a cleaning cloth or something that might do the impossible and fix them.

Ace crouches down beside you, holding up the broken arm of your glasses like a forensic detective.

“Yeah, no saving these. They're totally toast,” he says and grins.

“Guess you’re stuck with me now.”

You blink. “Huh?”

“Your seeing-eye boyfriend. Come on,” he says, puffing his chest.

“I volunteer as tribute.”

“You? You’d lead me into Crowley's office just for fun.”

“Bold of you to assume I’d wait for an excuse,” he shoots back, clearly enjoying this way too much. Still, he steps in beside you, grabbing your hand with more confidence than usual.

“Don’t worry, babe. I’ll be your noble guide through the treacherous lands of blurry hallways and evil staircases.”

Honestly? It’s kind of adorable.

Except…

“Ace,” you hiss as you walk face-first into a hedge, “that was definitely a bush.”

“Oh, oops.” He stifles a laugh. “My bad. I was looking at a crow that looked kinda like Riddle.”

You smack his arm, and he catches your hand before you can escape.

“Okay, okay, for real this time. I swear I’ll guide you”

And he does. Sort of.

Ace’s version of “guiding” includes narrating everything in dramatic tones (“A wild vending machine appears!”), making traffic beeping noises at crosswalks, and waving off student with

“Move aside! VIP coming through.”

But in between the jokes, he’s surprisingly attentive. He warns you about uneven pavement. He helps you down stairs. He gently turns you in the right direction when you start to wander. And when someone asks why he’s being so clingy, he just says:

“Can’t help it. Gotta take care of my favorite person, right?”

When your new glasses finally arrive a few days later, Ace squints at you dramatically.

“Huh. You were even cuter when you were blurry. Guess I’ll just have to date you all over again in HD.”

The moment your glasses fall, Deuce gasps like he just witnessed a crime. You tripped over a rock and fell to the ground. He scrambles to pick them up before you can even get up.

“Are you okay?! Did you hit your head? Oh no—your glasses…”

One look at the snapped arm, and he looks genuinely distressed.

“I can’t believe I didn’t catch you! If only I’d moved faster—”

“Deuce, it’s okay,” you laugh softly, reaching out to pat his shoulder.

“They’re just glasses. I’ve got a backup pair somewhere, I just need to find them later.”

“But you can’t see without them, right?” He holds the broken pair like he’s holding a wounded bird.

“Then—I’ll help. I mean, I’ll… um. Be your… your seeing-eye… boyfriend?”

The way he says it makes you smile.

“…Yeah,” you reply, slipping your hand into his. “That’d help a lot, actually.”

Deuce turns red immediately. His grip on your hand tightens just a little.

Walking with Deuce as your guide is like navigating with an overenthusiastic, overprotective golden retriever. He’s very serious about the job. He announces every step, every turn, every uneven stone like he's defusing a bomb.

“There’s a crack in the pavement coming up. And uh—three steps down. Careful. Okay, good. We’re clear.”

Sometimes you have to stop and remind him not to overthink it.

“You don’t need to call out every single pebble,” you tease.

“I just don’t want you to trip!” he insists, puffing up. “What if you fall and break something? What if I let go and you bump into a wall? What if—”

You gently squeeze his hand. “Deuce. I trust you.”

That short-circuits him for a few seconds.

“…I won’t let you down,” he says, a little softer. “I’ve got you.”

And he does.

He slows his pace to match yours. Offers his arm like a perfect gentleman. Even tries to describe the world around you so you don’t miss out.

“There’s this really pretty bird in the tree ahead—it’s blue and has this weird feather that sticks up—kinda looks like it has a cowlick…”

When you finally get your backup pair of glasses a few days later and slide them on, Deuce stares at you with wide eyes.

“You’re amazing no matter what, but seeing your eyes properly again is…” He stops himself, going bright red.

“I-I mean—you look beautiful. Always. I’m just glad I could help.”

You smile, reaching for his hand again.

“You were the best seeing-eye boyfriend I could’ve asked for.”

He beams. “Anytime.”

The second your glasses hit the ground, Jack’s ears twitch. He doesn’t even hesitate—just crouches and scoops them up, holding the broken frames in his hand like they might somehow fix themselves if he stares hard enough.

“You okay?” he asks, already checking you over for injuries like a concerned older brother. “Did they cut you or anything?”

You shake your head, though your squint makes Jack frown.

“Can’t see much now, though,” you admit, trying to hold the glasses up to judge if they’re wearable.

They’re not. One arm’s completely snapped off and the lens is scratched.

Jack stands straight, folding his arms.

“Alright. Then I’ll walk you back to Ramshackle. Or wherever else you need to go.”

You tilt your head. “You sure?”

"Of course. I can’t just leave you wandering around blind. That’d be irresponsible.”

“Then… can you be my seeing-eye boyfriend for a few days?”

His tail stops wagging. You can almost hear the reboot noise in his brain.

“I—uh. That’s… yeah. I can do that.”

True to form, Jack is efficient, steady, and very aware of his job. He walks at your pace, always slightly in front or to the side so you have an anchor. He doesn’t talk too much—just enough to say things like “step here,” “slippery patch coming up,” or “handrail’s on your left.”

At one point, you trip slightly on a slope and instinctively reach for him—and Jack immediately grabs your hand, pulling you against his side.

“You good?”

“…Yeah,” you mumble, flushed from the sudden proximity.

Jack doesn’t let go. In fact, he holds your hand the rest of the way. Quietly. Warmly. His fingers are a little calloused, but they’re gentle.

When you get your replacement glasses, Jack glances at you with this subtle but very "Jack" kind of softness.

“Glad you got them back. But… if they break again, I wouldn’t mind helping you. Just so you know.”

He turns his head to the side quickly.

“…It’s not a big deal or anything.”

But his tail is wagging again.

The crack of your glasses hitting the ground is followed by Epel’s immediate gasp of, “Whoa—shoot! You okay?!”

He’s already dropped his bag to inspect the damage like a concerned old farmhand looking over a busted tractor.

“Ahh, the frame’s toast,” he mutters. “This sucks, sugar…”

You blink through the blur. “Everything’s fuzzy.”

“You want me to… walk you back or something?”

“Actually, you’re my seeing-eye boyfriend now,” you say, holding out your hand like you expect it.

He stares at you, face going pink so fast it looks like he was just slapped by the wind.

“Y-you can’t just say stuff like that without warning!!” he sputters, but then his hand grabs yours with no hesitation.

“I mean—fine! I can do that. No big deal.”

Epel is really trying to act cool about it, but his grip is just a little tight, and his ears are red for the first ten minutes of walking.

Unlike the others, he talks a lot. But it’s cute.

“Okay, sidewalk dips here. Careful. And—hold on, lemme go first and check if this puddle’s too deep. You ever step in one’a those and get water all in your boots? It’s the worst.”

He occasionally grumbles at people for walking too close to you.

“Watch it, pal. She can’t see, alright?”

At one point, you misstep and bump your shoulder into a wall, and Epel whips around like he’s about to punch the brick.

“I should’ve warned you! Dangit—sorry, sugarplum. Here, lean on me more, I’ll walk closer.”

He does, too. He even lets you rest your hand on his arm like some kind of prince.

When your new glasses arrive and you slide them on, Epel tilts his head.

“…Yeah. Still just as pretty.”

He pretends he didn’t say that.

You don’t let him pretend.

Your glasses hit the ground. The arm snaps. The lens pops out. You sigh.

Sebek screams.

“DISASTER! UTTERLY UNACCEPTABLE! HOW COULD THIS HAPPEN—?!”

You cover his mouth.

“Sebek. Please. Breathe.”

When he finally calms down enough to form words that aren’t shouting, he immediately drops to one knee to inspect the glasses like they’re some ancient relic from Briar Valley.

“This is a serious matter,” he huffs, standing tall again.

“You cannot possibly navigate this campus with impaired vision. What if you trip? What if you run into an obstacle? What if—heaven forbid—you encounter a DISGRACEFUL STUDENF who knocks into you?!”

You blink at him. “So… wanna be my seeing-eye boyfriend?”

He short-circuits for a full five seconds. You could hear the error tone.

“SEEING—BOY—WHAT? I—!” His face is rapidly changing colors, caught between panic, pride...

“W-well! If you insist! Of course it would be my DUTY to assist you!”

And assist he does.

Sebek walks exactly half a step in front of you at all times, loudly narrating your surroundings like a royal town crier.

“WE ARE APPROACHING A SET OF STAIRS. I REPEAT—A STAIRCASE. DESCENT REQUIRED.”

You try not to laugh. “Sebek, I’m right here.”

“I AM MERELY ENSURING MAXIMUM AWARENESS!”

Honestly? For all his dramatics, he’s weirdly good at this.

He even swats someone’s backpack out of your way at one point and scolds them for “failing to consider the visually disadvantaged.”

You almost feel bad when your new glasses arrive and you don them again.

Sebek blinks. “…Ah. You can see again.”

“Yep! Thanks for helping me so much.”

He nods stiffly, trying to hide how flustered he is.

“It was nothing. Merely what any exceptional man would do in such a situation!”

You step closer and kiss his cheek.

He explodes.

[aeniiverse]

CO-PARENTING A CAT

Synopsis — You and Karina broke up three months ago. It was clean, it was adult, it was entirely her idea. But neither of you thought about what it would mean for Miso your shared, overly dramatic, tuna-obsessed cat who now requires joint custody and emotionally complicated drop-offs.

contains — fluff, angst (maybe a sprinkle), exes to lovers, miso is a bit sassy 😭 (I love her), not much warnings lol

WORD COUNT — 2.5k

A/N — Karina just wants to get back together with you and the cat is a perfect excuse 🙏, have this short fic while I start planning out a longer one

You don’t expect to see her when you open the door in your oversized hoodie and one sock missing, but there she is. Karina. Holding Miso in one arm like a prize she’s just won in a claw machine, lips pursed and eyes wide like she wasn’t planning on seeing you either. The cat meows bored, judgmental, as if she’s the one being inconvenienced and Karina finally speaks.

“She was at my door again,” she says, shifting her weight like the three seconds of silence have started to burn. “Scratched it too. I think she hates me.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Miso hates everyone. She’s fair like that.”

“She didn’t hate you when we were dating.”

You pause. And that’s the thing about Karina. She’s always been good at slipping the most dangerous sentences into the most harmless moments. Like she’s tossing grenades in with the groceries. You open the door wider, silently letting her in because fighting in the hallway would mean acknowledging to your neighbors that you’re still, sort of, accidentally, in each other’s lives.

Karina walks in like it’s still her place, like she remembers the way the floorboards creak near the fridge and where you keep the emergency Miso treats even though you moved them last month. Miso jumps out of her arms the second she spots the empty food bowl, trotting off like this whole “shared custody” arrangement isn’t ruining your peace.

“You cut your hair,” Karina says, and you swear her voice softens. You resist the urge to touch it, resist the part of you that wants to explain how post-breakup chaos spiraled into a salon visit where you panicked and said “surprise me.”

“You dyed yours,” you shoot back, because this is what the two of you do now, dodge real things with stupid observations. But then you see the way she smiles, just barely, and you hate how much you missed it. How much you still know it by heart.

Karina crouches to pet Miso, who rolls onto her side and purrs like she didn’t just abandon you two hours ago. “I think she’s manipulating us.”

“She’s a cat.”

“She’s your cat.”

You don’t say it, but that’s not true. Not anymore. Miso was a joint decision. She was an “our” cat. Back when you were an “our” instead of a weird arrangement involving Google calendar custody swaps and avoiding the third drawer in the kitchen because it still has Karina’s chopsticks in it. You don’t throw them out. You don’t know why.

“So,” Karina says, standing up and dusting her hands like she just did something heroic. “Should we talk about the scratching or…?”

“She’s probably just mad you don’t feed her the good stuff.”

“I literally bought that overpriced tuna mousse she likes.”

“You mean the one you used to say ‘smelled like ocean trash’?”

“I’ve grown. People grow.”

You snort, and you hate that it feels natural. You hate how she still makes you laugh in that stupid, knee-jerk way. Like your ribcage remembers her before your brain can stop it. She notices of course she notices and that smug, infuriating smile spreads across her face like it never left.

“I can leave,” she offers suddenly, even though she hasn’t moved an inch. “I just didn’t want her to get run over again. You remember last time—”

“I remember you crying harder than she did.”

“She had a cone! She looked like a furry UFO!”

You laugh. Really laugh. And for a second, it feels like you’re back in that strange little bubble you two built together. Where nothing made sense but it didn��t have to, because at least you had each other. But then the silence creeps in again, heavier this time. And you both know what’s missing.

Karina clears her throat. “Anyway. I can… take her back tonight if it’s too much.”

You want to say no. You want to say yes. You want to ask her if she still uses your Netflix profile and if she misses falling asleep next to you and if she meant it when she said it was better this way. But instead you say, “She’s already here. Might as well let her stay.”

And maybe you’re not just talking about the cat.

You’re halfway through a sad microwave dinner and a worse true crime documentary when your phone buzzes with a message from Karina: ”Miso’s acting weird. Like… really weird. Is she supposed to do that thing with her eye??” There’s a photo attached. Miso, mid-yawn. Not dead. Not dying. Just annoyed. You blink at the image for a long moment, then reread the text. Twice. Because it’s either an actual emergency or Karina being dramatic, and you’ve known her long enough to know those two things often look exactly the same.

Still, she said “really weird.” And that’s just enough to push you out the door.

When you show up at Karina’s apartment, you’re out of breath and slightly pissed, mostly because you didn’t have time to put on real pants. She opens the door in her stupid soft cardigan and even stupider wide eyes like she’s genuinely surprised you came. Which is insane. She knows you. She knows the second she says “Miso” and “weird” in the same sentence, you’ll drop everything.

“She stopped blinking for like twenty seconds,” Karina says as you step inside, voice hushed like Miso might hear her and take offense. “That’s not normal, right?”

You walk straight past her to the living room where Miso is perched like a smug little gremlin on the back of the couch. She looks up at you, unimpressed. You reach out a hand, and she immediately headbutts it, purring like an engine. Zero signs of trauma. No eye twitching. Just healthy, spoiled indifference.

“She’s fine,” you say, turning around slowly. “You made me run over here because she blinked weird?”

“I panicked!” Karina throws her arms up. “It was either call you or Google it, and I didn’t want to see something that said she had feline eye cancer or some shit.”

You want to be mad. You really do. But she’s doing that thing again wringing her hands in her sleeves, lips pressing into a guilty pout, eyes flickering everywhere but your face. Like she’s trying to look casual and failing spectacularly.

“You could’ve just said you wanted to see me,” you mutter before you can stop yourself.

The silence that follows is loud enough to make Miso flatten her ears.

Karina looks at you. Actually looks. And for a moment, it’s like you’re both back at the beginning, before the breakup, before the calendar swaps and cold distance and pretending you don’t miss each other. Her face softens, jaw unclenching just slightly. “I didn’t think I had the right.”

You sit on the edge of the couch, gently scooping Miso into your lap. “You gave her tuna mousse last week. I think you forfeited your moral high ground then.”

Karina groans and flops onto the other end of the couch like she’s been holding her drama in all day. “Okay, but have you seen her face when she eats it?.”

“She’s a cat.”

“She’s a tiny angel with expensive taste.”

You roll your eyes but don’t argue. Miso stretches luxuriously across your legs, clearly enjoying the attention. Karina glances at the two of you, then hugs a pillow to her chest like it might keep her from saying something stupid. It doesn’t.

“I thought I was over this,” she says quietly.

Your heart stutters. “Over what?”

“This. You. Wanting to make up reasons to text you. Sitting around hoping you’ll ask for a sleepover again just so I can pretend it’s not a big deal.”

You freeze. Because you weren’t expecting that. Not from her. the one who ended it. The one who said she needed space, clarity, whatever. You’d nodded, swallowed your hurt, let her go. But now she’s looking at you like none of it made her feel better. Like maybe walking away wasn’t some strong, mature decision but a mistake wrapped in fear.

“Then why’d you end it?” you ask. The question hangs in the air like smoke thin and choking.

Karina doesn’t answer right away. She picks at the edge of the pillow, lips tugging down. “Because I thought you deserved someone who wasn’t scared all the time. Who didn’t freeze every time things got serious. I didn’t want to ruin it.”

“You ruined it anyway.”

“I know.”

And that’s the part that stings the most, how calm she is about it. How she says it like she’s been carrying the guilt around every day, tucked inside all the moments where she played it cool and acted like she didn’t miss you. You shift under the weight of Miso and the truth pressing down on your chest.

“I kept your hoodie,” she says suddenly. “The blue one. It still smells like you.”

You blink.

“I didn’t mean to. I just… never gave it back. And now it’s like… this comfort thing? Is that weird? That’s probably weird.”

You stare at her. “Do you sleep in it?”

She shrinks into the pillow. “Sometimes.”

Your laugh is soft, disbelieving. “You fake a cat emergency and sleep in my clothes and you’re wondering if that’s the weird part?”

Karina groans and hides her face. “God, I sound so creepy.”

“No,” you say. “You sound like someone who didn’t want to let go.”

She peeks out, hopeful. “What if I don’t?”

You look down at Miso, who’s blissfully unaware of the emotional mess she’s caused. Then back at Karina, at the flush on her cheeks, the nervous curl of her fingers, the quiet hope in her voice. She doesn’t look like someone who’s moved on. She looks like someone who’s been waiting for a sign.

“You didn’t have to pretend,” you say softly. “You could’ve just said you missed me.”

Karina bites her lip. “I missed you so much it was pathetic.”

You smile. “Good.”

Her eyes widen. “Good?”

“Yeah,” you say, nudging Miso gently to the side as you shift closer. “Because I missed you too.”

There’s a pause, charged and soft at the same time. Then she leans in like gravity’s pulling her there, like she’s done waiting. Her voice drops just above a whisper. “So… does this mean I can stop inventing medical emergencies to see you?”

“No promises,” you tease. “But maybe next time, just say hi like a normal person.”

“Normal’s boring,” she murmurs, and then she kisses you.

It’s tentative at first. Careful. Like she’s afraid you might change your mind. But you don’t. You kiss her back, slow and sure, and when she exhales against your mouth like relief, you realize you’re both still in love. Just slightly less afraid now.

Miso meows loudly between you, possibly out of protest. Possibly because she’s no longer the center of attention.

Karina pulls back, grinning. “I think she’s jealous.”

“She’s just mad she can’t fake another crisis now that the truth’s out.”

You both laugh, leaning into each other, the tension finally breaking.

And maybe it took fake emergencies and tuna mousse and an emotionally manipulative cat to get here, but you’re here. Together. Again.

Sort of.

Almost.

Just enough.

You wake up to the sound of purring and something soft against your cheek. For a brief, disoriented second, you think it’s a dream the one of those warm, sugar-fogged ones where everything is right again and Karina’s still yours. But then you blink, and the ceiling isn’t yours, and the blanket smells like Karina’s detergent, and Miso is fully sprawled across your face like the world’s most possessive weighted blanket. You groan, gently shifting her to the side, and that’s when you feel it. Karina’s arm curled loosely around your waist, her breath steady against the back of your neck, like she never let go at all.

You don’t move. You don’t even breathe for a second. Just lie there, frozen in this strange, tender limbo where maybe you’re not exes, maybe you never were, maybe last night was the first step back to something you weren’t brave enough to fight for before.

Then her voice breaks the quiet, sleepy and rough at the edges. “You drool in your sleep.”

You reach back and smack her arm without turning around. “You kissed me last night.”

“Technically, you kissed me back.”

You finally roll over, careful not to disturb the ball of fur between you. Karina’s hair is a disaster, her eyeliner smudged, one cheek creased from the pillow and she still looks stupidly, unfairly pretty. You hate that it makes your heart do cartwheels. You hate that all it took was one dumb night of honesty and tuna mousse to unravel weeks of distance.

“You really missed me?” you ask, quieter this time. Not teasing. Not testing. Just needing.

Karina nods, eyes meeting yours. “I missed you so much I started naming my plants after you. Even the cactus.”

You stare. “Why the cactus?”

“Because it’s prickly and hard to take care of but it still makes me happy.”

You bury your face in the pillow to muffle the groan. “That’s the worst metaphor I’ve ever heard.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve been emotionally constipated for weeks. Let me live.”

There’s a beat of silence, just long enough to make both of you feel the shift. Like something fragile is settling between you, just out of reach. You lift your head and meet her gaze again, softer now.

“So what does this mean?” you ask. “Was last night a one-time makeout brought to you by guilt and cat anxiety, or…?”

Karina hesitates, then slowly, carefully, reaches for your hand beneath the blanket. Her fingers lace through yours, and her grip is warm. Steady. “It means I want to try again. If you’ll let me. No more running. No more hiding behind Miso.”

You glance down at the cat, who is now asleep with one paw dramatically draped over Karina’s stomach like she’s claiming her.

“She forgives you,” you say.

Karina smiles. “What about you?”

You think about the hoodie she kept, the look on her face when she kissed you, the way she’s holding your hand like she never wants to let go again.

“I think so.”

Karina squeezes your hand. “Good. That means I’ve got time to win you back properly.”

You arch an eyebrow. “Properly? Is that code for elaborate gestures or more fake cat emergencies?”

She grins. “Oh no. I’m done lying. Next time I want to see you, I’m just gonna show up with coffee and a tragic playlist and say, ‘I’m still in love with you, please let me in.’”

You snort. “That sounds terrifying.”

“Yeah, well,” she says, tugging you closer until your forehead brushes hers, “so is losing you again.”

And when you finally lean in, kissing her like you mean it this time no confusion, no fear. Miso lets out the most offended meow imaginable and storms off the bed like she wasn’t the reason you’re here in the first place.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Bridget Read’s ‘Little Bosses Everywhere’

I'm on a 20+ city book tour for my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me in PITTSBURGH on May 15 at WHITE WHALE BOOKS, and in PDX on Jun 20 at BARNES AND NOBLE with BUNNIE HUANG. More tour dates (London, Manchester) here.

Pyramid schemes are as American as apple pie. If you doubt it, just read Little Bosses Everywhere, Bridget Read's deeply researched, horrifying, amazing investigative book on the subject, which is out today from Crown:

https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/715421/little-bosses-everywhere-by-bridget-read/

Read, an investigative journalist at Curbed, takes us through the history of the "industry," which evolved out of Depression-era snake oil salesmen, Tupperware parties, and magical thinking cults built around books like Think and Grow Rich. This fetid swamp gives rise to a group of self-mythologizing scam artists who found companies like Amway and Mary Kay, claiming outlandish – and easily debunked – origin stories that the credulous press repeats, alongside their equally nonsensical claims about the "opportunities" they are creating for their victims.

In Read's telling, there's only two kinds of MLM participants: suckers (who lose lots of and lots of money) and predators (who rake in that money). MLMs pretend that they're doing "direct sales," cutting out the middleman to peddle vitamins, household cleaners, cosmetics, tights or jewelry. But the actual sales volume of these products rounds to zero. The money in the system – tens of billions of dollars per year in the US alone – is almost entirely being spent by "salespeople" who are required to buy a certain amount of "product" every month, either as a condition of membership, or in order to attain some kind of bonus or status.

The "salespeople" in these systems are effectively in a cult, and the high-pressure techniques that Read describes will be instantly recognizable to anyone familiar with cultic dynamics, or even just a casual listener to the Conspirituality podcast:

https://www.conspirituality.net/episodes

And, as with other cults, MLM members are tormented endlessly by other cult members into trying to recruit their friends and family-members. Sometimes, they succeed, and the cult grows a little – but usually not for very long. Most people who get recruited into an MLM quickly figure out that it's impossible to make any money – indeed, it's impossible to avoid losing a lot of money – and bail.

The meat-and-potatoes of the MLM industry are the minority who don't see through the scam. They believe that they are deficient, because everyone else is reporting such incredible returns from "the program." They charge more product to their credit cards, insisting to their "uplines" that they are selling machines (and not that they are filling their garages and attics and living rooms and kitchen cupboards with unsold, unsellable junk). What they don't understand is that all the "successes" in the cult are either scammers who are getting rich off people like them, or they are people like them, going deep into debt and desperately trying to pretend that they're selling as well as those uplines.

The US government and various law enforcement agencies have taken various runs at these cults, but they cults have always won. That's down to enforcers buying into the cult leader/scammers' essential lie: that, at the end of the day, MLM is a system for selling things to people. That isn't true, has never been true, and never will be true. But by crafting rules and tests that attempt to sort the "legitimate" MLMs from the "scam" MLMs, enforcers fall into the scammers' trap. The scammers welcome rules that distinguish "good" MLMs from "bad" MLMs, because it's trivial to create the superficial appearance of adherence to these rules while flouting them. For example, if the rule says that "independent sales representatives" must sell to at least ten outside customers, they can simply make up the names of ten people and charge it to their card. This happens routinely, but there's no auditing, and besides, the MLM victims are all "independent business owners," so if there were any penalties for these violations, they would fall to the victims, not the cult.

Meanwhile, the scammers know it's a scam, and the failure of their victims to sell the useless "product" the cult is nominally organized around is a feature, not a bug. The hordes of indebted, cost-sunk, self-castigating failures are suckers for yet another scam: selling victims "training" to improve their sales technique. After all, if everyone around you is selling this crap without breaking a sweat, the failing must be your own. You need coaching, training, seminars, cassettes, books, retreats, all of it piling debt on debt.

The internal operations of these cults are shrouded in mystery, but Read lifts the veil and makes masterful sense of the horrors lurking beneath. In this, she is somewhat aided by MLM cult leaders' propensity for suing one another, as various sub-bosses build up massive followings of their own and seek to usurp the cult leader by founding their own parallel cults or sub-cults. These lawsuits sometimes drag the cults' dirty laundry out in public, and Read sorts through these court filings very carefully. Unfortunately, the cults' propensity for suing also helps suppress a lot of dirty laundry, because MLM leaders love to sue ex-cult members who participate in online forums where they document their expenses, and they use these cult victims' own money to pay for the court cases that silence them.

MLMs aren't just cults, they're religious cults. Since the very earliest days, pyramid scheme runners have declared themselves to be engaged in an extension of their Christian (mostly Calvinist) faith. The engine of a pyramid scheme needs social capital for fuel: to bring in new recruits, a cult member has to draw on the bonds of trust, fellowship and solidarity in order to convince their targets that this is a bona fide enterprise (and not a cult). Faith groups – especially fringe faith groups – have this kind of capital in spades. This goes double for faiths that demand large families (which is why we see such deep penetration of MLMs into Mormonism and orthodox Judiasm). If your faith demands that you produce a "quiverfull" of mouths to feed, then the chances are that you will not be able to survive without being enmeshed in a mutual support network with your co-religionists. MLMs convert this trust, generosity and mutual dependency into cash (at a ruinous exchange rate) and then funnel it "upline" the cult leaders, who reap billions.

Of course, those kinds of bonds are not solely forged on the basis of faith: racialized people, women, and other groups who face systemic discrimination depend on one another for mutual aid, which makes them vulnerable to another MLM pitch: "predatory inclusion":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/27/predatory-inclusion/#equal-opportunity-scammers

Predatory inclusion is when scam artists adopt the language of social justice to pitch their cons – think of all the crypto bros who sold their ripoff schemes as a way to "achieve independence for women" or "build Black wealth" (thanks, Spike Lee):

https://www.vice.com/en/article/spike-lee-made-an-ad-for-cryptocurrency-atms-and-its-bizarre/

Predatory inclusion is parasitic upon the bonds of solidarity forged in adversity, and this goes double for the MLM variety. As MLMs cut away the strands of the web of mutual support, the cult leaders replace them with rabid anti-Communism, the kind of far-right rhetoric that brought Christian conservatives into the Reagan coalition and ultimately led to Trump's fascist takeover.

Here's how that move works: "You are a small, independent businessperson, the backbone of America. You will realize the American dream through your own backbone and work ethic (and therefore your current failure is due to your own lack of both). People who want to shut down pyramid schemes say they want to protect you, but really they want the government to decide who can and can't own a business. They're Communists, and in coming for MLMs, they're coming for America itself."

Some of America's richest family dynasties owe their wealth to pyramid schemes. They are dynasties of fraud, and they funneled their criminal gains into far right political projects. The Heritage Foundation – the authors of Project 2025 and Trump's master strategists – got their start with money from Rich DeVos (father in law of Betsy DeVos, who served as Secretary of Education in the first Trump cabinet). The far-right dark money machine runs on MLM money.

In fact, there's a good case to be made that everything rotten in today's world is built on the tactics of MLMs. Take the "gig economy." Companies like Uber promise drivers a high hourly wage. A small number of drivers are randomly allocated extremely large payouts by the system, in order to convert them into Judas goats, who fill gig-work message boards with tales of their good fortune. As Veena Dubal documents in her seminal work on "algorithmic wage discrimination," this tactic is devastatingly effective, convincing other Uber drivers to put in extremely long hours for sub-starvation wages, and then blame themselves for "being bad at Uber" – just like the downlines at Mary Kay and Amway who think the problem is with them:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/12/algorithmic-wage-discrimination/#fishers-of-men

Trump, of course, is the ultimate expression of the MLM grift – and not only because he licensed his name to two different pyramid schemes. Trump embodies the MLM ethic of lying about how rich you are so that marks send you their money to get in on the "opportunity" and then blame themselves when the promised riches never materialize.

Erik Baker once described MLMs as a kind of bizarro-world version of unions. In the world of labor organizing, success lies in finding the people with the most social capital, the ones who are trusted by their coworkers, and teaching them to have a structured organizing conversation. This is exactly what MLMs do – but the difference lies in the goal of that structured organizing conversation. For union organizers, the goal is build solidarity as a means to improving the lives of everyone in the community. For MLM organizers, the goal is to destroy solidarity, atomizing the community, shattering its bonds, leaving its members defenseless as they are fleeced by the cult's leaders and their henchmen:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/02/05/power-of-positive-thinking/#the-socialism-of-fools

Neoliberalism's war-cry is Thatcher's "There is no such thing as society." The past 40 years have been a long process of tearing us away from one another, teaching us to see one another as marks, to mistrust systems of mutual aid as Communism. Read's Little Bosses Everywhere is a brilliantly told, deeply researched history of the past and present of the ultimate business model for late-stage capitalism: destroying the lives of everyone around you while pretending to be a small businessperson.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/05/05/free-enterprise-system/#amway-or-the-highway

[rose24207]

hey! Can you make one which reader used to date Lando, but the broke up because Lando cheated on her, but the thing is that reader is Oscar's Piastri sister, and now in Aus the things are weird between them

Leave her alone

Summary: At the Australian Grand Prix, you’re forced to face Lando Norris—the ex who cheated on you and broke your heart—while trying to keep the peace as Oscar Piastri’s sister around the paddock

ex!Lando x Piastri!reader

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The Australian Grand Prix always felt like home. The air smelled like eucalyptus and hot tarmac, the sea breeze cutting through the dry heat, and the roar of the engines just beyond the paddock felt comforting in a way that nothing else did. Except this year, everything was different.

Because he was here.

You adjusted your McLaren pass and walked through the motorhome like you hadn’t spent a year trying to avoid this moment. The moment where you’d have to share the same air as Lando Norris again.

He was leaning against the espresso machine in the hospitality lounge, laughing with one of the engineers, and when his eyes met yours, the smile died mid-sentence.

Oscar wasn’t far behind you, practically bouncing after a great qualifying. He looked between the two of you and exhaled quietly through his nose.

“You okay?” he asked under his breath, leaning in so no one else could hear.

You offered a tight smile. “Peachy.”

Oscar gave Lando a sharp look, the kind that said I’m watching you. There was a time when your brother and Lando were like two peas in a pod—bonded by years of karting, junior formulas, and team banter. But after what happened last year, Oscar picked a side. And it wasn’t Lando’s.

“How’s the car feeling?” you asked Oscar, forcing a casual tone.

“Pretty good. Still getting some understeer in sector two, but we’ll sort it,” he said, then paused. “You sure you’re good to stick around today?”

You swallowed. “I can handle it.”

Oscar hesitated, then gave you a nod before heading off toward the engineering room.

The second he disappeared, you turned to walk away. But Lando stepped into your path, blocking your exit.

“Can we talk?” he asked softly.

You stared at him for a beat. “What’s there left to say?”

“I didn’t—” He lowered his voice. “It didn’t mean anything.”

You let out a short, bitter laugh. “Oh, that makes it better.”

He flinched. “It was a mistake.”

“You’re right,” you said coldly. “I was the mistake.”

Lando opened his mouth to protest, but you stepped around him before he could.

Later that evening, the drivers gathered for a press event by the harbor. Cameras flashed, fans screamed, and you kept your distance, standing off to the side near the McLaren PR team. Lando tried not to glance your way, but failed. Every time.

Oscar saw it too. He cornered Lando after the interviews, voice low and dangerous. “I told you to leave her alone.”

“I wasn’t trying to upset her,” Lando muttered.

“You already did that. Last year. When you went behind her back with some random girl in Monaco."

“I regret that—”

“Doesn’t matter if you do. She doesn’t owe you anything, and you don’t get to come here— our home—and stir things up.”

Lando’s jaw clenched, and he nodded once. “Got it.”

That night, you stepped outside the hotel for air, and found Lando sitting alone on the bench outside. The street was quiet, the city lights twinkling across the bay. He looked up when he saw you, startled.

“I can go,” he said quickly, standing up.

“Don’t,” you said tiredly. “I’m too tired to keep avoiding you.”

You both sat in silence for a minute before he finally said, “You look good.”

You laughed dryly. “I look tired.”

“You always looked good when you were tired. After long flights, or late races. I miss those days.”

You turned your head to look at him. “Why did you do it, Lando?”

He blinked. “I don’t know. I was stupid. I freaked out. Things were going so fast between us, and I thought… I don’t know. That I didn’t deserve it.”

You stared at him in disbelief. “So you sabotaged it?”

“I didn’t think I was enough for you. You were Oscar’s sister, the team loved you, he trusted me. And I blew all of it.”

You didn’t say anything for a while. Then: “You know what hurt the most? Not that you cheated. Not even the lying. It’s that you didn’t fight for me after. You let me walk away.”

Lando’s voice was hoarse. “I thought I lost the right to.”

You looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time in months. His eyes were sad, tired, and heavy with guilt. “Yeah. Maybe you did.”

You stood up, brushing your hands on your jacket. “But I’m still proud of you. I watched every race. Hated myself for it, but I did.”

Lando’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “I never stopped thinking about you.”

You didn’t respond. You just walked back inside, leaving him with his regrets and the sound of the ocean.

It’s race day. You stood in the garage, headset on, as Oscar lined up on the grid. Lando’s car wasn’t far behind. The tension was palpable.

After the race—a chaotic, tire-chewing drama with both McLarens in the top five—you met Oscar in the paddock, arms wide. He swept you into a sweaty hug.

“Top four, baby!” he yelled.

You grinned and ruffled his curls. “Killing it out there.”

Lando appeared nearby, eyes flicking between you and Oscar. This time, he didn’t come over.

Oscar leaned down. “You don’t have to forgive him, you know.”

“I know,” you said softly. “But maybe someday… I’ll stop hating him.”

Oscar smiled slightly. “That’s a start.”

Thank you for reading!

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