#virtual circuits | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

be4chywritez · 4 months ago

Text

matchmaker | oscar piastri

oscar piastri x fem!reader

You needed a date for a wedding, and somehow, Oscar Piastri ended up in the role. It was supposed to be pretend—just for the weekend…

"Please," you’re quite literally gripping Lando’s arm, borderline begging. He shrugs you off like you’re a minor inconvenience. “No.”

You groan, throwing yourself back against the couch in his driver’s room, where you’ve been holed up, waiting for his PR manager to call him. "Lando, do you want me to die?"

His eyes flicker up from his phone, unimpressed. “Hmm.”

You straighten up, determined. “So let me get this straight,” Lando says, finally putting his phone down to actually look at you. There’s a flicker of amusement in his expression, which gives you hope. “Your bum of a boyfriend dumped you last week, but your cousin still expects you to bring a plus one.”

You tuck your hair behind your ear and nod.

“So you decided to recruit me as your fake boyfriend for…” He holds his hand out, and you quickly place your phone in his palm, the virtual wedding invitation already open. His brows lift as he scans it. “Three days in the Maldives?”

You nod again, putting on your best “Please do this, or I’ll die” face.

Lando gives you a flat look. “Absolutely not.” He shoves your phone back at you like you just asked him to commit a felony.

You let out a strangled groan, throwing your head back. “Why not?”

“Because, one, I have better things to do than play house with you in a five-star resort.”

“Rude.”

“Two,” he continues, ignoring you, “I’m not an asshole like all the muppets you’ve dated. Which means I have self-respect.”

You narrow your eyes. “That feels like a personal attack.”

He grins. “That’s because it is.”

You groan, flopping against the couch dramatically. “Come on, Lando! You know my family—they’ll rip me to shreds if I show up alone. And my ex is going to be there.”

That gets his attention. His lips curl like he just smelled something bad. “That dickhead? Why?”

“Because he’s the groom’s best friend,” you mutter, rubbing your temples. “So not only will I be subjected to my cousin’s judgmental stares, but I’ll also have to watch my ex parade around, acting like breaking up with me was the best decision of his life.”

Lando leans back, arms crossed. “Yeah… still not seeing how that’s my problem.”

You glare. “Wow. Remind me why we’re best friends?”

He grins. “Because I’m incredibly charming and bring joy to your life.”

You grab a pillow and chuck it at his face. He dodges it effortlessly, still smirking.

“Fine,” he says, stretching out his legs. “I won’t go. But I have a better idea.”

You blink, wary. “…I’m listening.”

Lando’s grin turns absolutely devious. “Entice Oscar.”

Your brain short-circuits. “I—excuse me?”

He shrugs. “You’re hot. Oscar’s a guy. Use your powers.”

You gape at him. “Lando—”

“He’s got the personality of a brick, but he’s a good guy. And more importantly, he’s free.” Lando pauses, then grins. “Probably.”

You groan. “You think I can just bat my lashes at Oscar, and he’ll agree to drop everything and play my fake boyfriend?”

Lando looks at you like it’s obvious. “Yes.”

You stare at Lando like he’s grown a second head. “You want me to seduce Oscar into coming to my cousin’s wedding?”

“No, no,” he says, waving a hand. “I want you to persuade him. The seduction is just a bonus.”

You groan, rubbing your temples. “Lando, be serious.”

“I am! You’re underestimating the power you have. Oscar is a man—he’s not immune to a gorgeous woman asking for a favor.” Lando leans in like he’s telling you the secret to life. “You just have to be a little… convincing.”

You roll your eyes so hard you almost see your brain. “Oscar doesn’t even like me like that.”

Lando snorts. “He doesn’t have to like you like that. He just has to like you enough to say yes.”

You open your mouth to argue but stop because, annoyingly, Lando has a point. You and Oscar have always been friendly—he’s quiet, polite, and unbothered by your chaotic energy. You wouldn’t say you’re close, but there’s mutual respect.

…Would he say yes?

Lando must see the wheels turning in your head because he grins. “So, you’ll ask him?”

You sigh dramatically. “Do I even have a choice?”

“Nope.” Lando pops the ‘p.’

You glare, but he just stretches lazily, reaching for his phone again, looking very pleased with himself. “You better pray he agrees, Norris. If he says no, I’m coming back and making your life hell.”

Lando doesn’t even look up. “Yeah, yeah. Go work your magic, bombshell.” he chuckles to himself, “Use your assets,” his finger wiggles towards your chest you give him a shove before getting up.

You flip him off as you grab your bag and storm out.

—

You’re not sure why you ever listen to your idiot best friend.

Sitting at some semi-fancy restaurant, you adjust the hem of your dress, cursing Lando under your breath. He had insisted you wear something “enticing,” which meant your neckline was just a little lower than usual, and the dress hugged your figure in a way that was definitely deliberate. You had rolled your eyes at him, but you still wore it. Because, unfortunately, he had a point—if you were going to convince Oscar Piastri to drop everything and play pretend with you in the Maldives, you needed to come prepared.

Oscar sits across from you, looking painfully neutral as he stirs his drink. He’s dressed casually, his posture relaxed but his expression unreadable. You can’t tell if he’s amused, confused, or simply waiting for you to get to the point. Probably all three.

You clear your throat. "So, Oscar."

His eyes flick up from his glass. "So, you."

You flash your most charming smile. "How do you feel about tropical destinations? Luxurious resorts? The opportunity to make me eternally grateful?"

Oscar blinks, then exhales through his nose like he already regrets being here. "Lando put you up to this, didn’t he?"

You scoff, feigning offense. "Excuse me? I am a grown woman fully capable of making my own questionable decisions."

Oscar’s lips twitch. "Uh-huh. And this questionable decision is... what exactly?"

You lean forward slightly, resting your elbows on the table. "My cousin’s wedding. Three days in the Maldives. I need a date."

Oscar stares at you like you just told him you need a kidney. "...And you’re asking me?"

"Lando said no," you admit. "But! He also said—and I quote—'Oscar’s a good guy, probably free, and susceptible to a pretty face.'"

Oscar shakes his head, muttering, "I’m going to kill him."

"Join the club." You sigh, shifting in your seat. "Look, I know this is random, but I’m in a bit of a situation. My ex is going to be there, my family is impossible, and showing up alone is basically social suicide. You’re my best shot at making it through the weekend with my sanity intact."

Oscar tilts his head slightly. "I feel like I should be offended that I'm your second choice."

"Think of it this way—you’re my best choice now."

He exhales, running a hand through his hair. "And what exactly do I get out of this?"

You smile. "A free vacation. Fancy food. The satisfaction of knowing you single-handedly saved a poor, defenseless woman from familial humiliation."

Oscar arches a brow. "Defenseless?"

"Okay, maybe not defenseless," you concede. "But I am in distress."

He considers you for a long moment, eyes scanning your face like he's trying to decide just how much trouble you're about to be. Then he sighs, leaning back in his chair. "Fine. I'll do it."

Your eyes widen. "Wait, really?"

"Yes, really. Before I change my mind."

You break into a grin. "Oscar, you are officially my favorite person."

"Don't make me regret it," he mutters, but there’s the smallest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.

—

The reality of what just happened doesn’t fully sink in until you’re back in Lando’s apartment, flopping onto his couch with an exaggerated sigh. Lando, who’s mid-game, barely glances up from his controller.

“Mission accomplished?” he asks, lips twitching.

You groan, rubbing your temples. “Yes, but at what cost?”

Lando barks out a laugh. “What, he agreed? Just like that?”

“Not just like that,” you huff. “I had to work for it.”

Lando smirks. “Did you bat your lashes?”

“I—shut up.”

He grins. “See? Told you he wouldn’t say no.”

You groan, throwing a pillow at him, which he expertly dodges. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

Lando just laughs. “Oh, you’re definitely gonna fall for him.”

You roll your eyes so hard they nearly get stuck. “I am not.”

“Uh-huh.”

You ignore him, crossing your arms. “This is just a business arrangement.”

“Sure.”

A pause. Then, “...Do you think he likes me?”

Lando cackles. “Oh, this is going to be interesting.”

—

The next morning, you arrive at the private airport, where your cousin has so generously arranged a jet for you. Because, of course, she has—she wouldn't be caught dead flying commercial.

Oscar is already there when you arrive, leaning against the sleek black car that brought him. He’s in a plain white tee and jeans, looking effortlessly put together, while you, in your carefully curated “I woke up like this” airport outfit, feel like you’re trying way too hard.

You clear your throat as you approach. "Ready to be my fake boyfriend?"

He pushes off the car, giving you a once-over. "Not sure I’m prepared for the mental toll, but sure."

You flash a grin. "Too late to back out now."

Minutes later, you’re settled inside the jet, the flight crew making final preparations. Oscar takes the seat across from you, stretching out like this is just another day at the office.

“So,” you say, breaking the silence, “we should probably set some ground rules.”

Oscar raises a brow. “Ground rules?”

“Yeah, you know. Boundaries. Expectations. What we need to do to sell this.”

He nods, intrigued. “Alright. Lay it on me.”

You tap a manicured finger against your chin. “Obviously, we have to be affectionate. Hold hands, sit close, the occasional casual touch.”

Oscar hums. “Got it.”

You hesitate for a split second before adding, “Kissing might be necessary.”

His expression doesn’t change, but you swear you see his fingers twitch against his knee. “Necessary, huh?”

You lean forward, resting your chin on your hand. “Can’t half-ass it, Piastri. If we’re going to be convincing, we have to be all in.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then he nods, a little slower this time. “All in.”

You smirk. “Good. Now, pet names. Do you have a preference?”

For the first time, Oscar looks mildly flustered. “A preference?”

“Yeah. Babe, honey, love—what feels natural to you?”

His ears turn pink. “I—uh—does it matter?”

You grin, victorious. “Of course, it matters. We have to sell this.”

Oscar clears his throat. “I’ll—uh—defer to you on that.”

You tilt your head playfully. “You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

His jaw tenses as he looks away. “This is going to be a long trip.”

You smile to yourself. Oh, this is going to be fun.

—

Oscar shifts in his seat, clearly uncomfortable with the sudden deep dive into fake relationship logistics. He scratches the back of his neck. "I don't know... whatever you usually use?"

You hum, tapping your chin. "I feel like 'babe' is a safe bet. It’s cute, casual, and doesn’t sound forced. Thoughts?"

He shrugs. "Babe works."

You squint at him. "That was suspiciously easy."

Oscar raises a brow. "Would you rather I argue?"

You consider it for a second, then shake your head. "No, actually. Let’s keep this cooperation going."

The flight attendant swings by to offer drinks, and you order champagne—because if you're going to be fake engaged in the Maldives, you might as well start indulging now. Oscar, ever the responsible one, sticks with water.

As you sip your drink, you eye him over the rim. "We should probably come up with a backstory."

Oscar exhales. "A backstory?"

"Yeah, like, how did we meet? How did you fall madly in love with me? What’s our adorable, rom-com-worthy relationship story?"

He gives you a look. "Can’t we just tell the truth?"

You scoff. "Oscar, the truth is that we vaguely tolerate each other, and Lando bribed you into this."

His lips twitch. "He didn’t bribe me."

"He used me as bait," you correct, waving a hand. "Which, frankly, makes me feel like a sacrificial lamb."

Oscar finally cracks a small grin. "Fine. What’s our story?"

You think for a moment, then snap your fingers. "We met at a race. Lando introduced us. You were immediately obsessed with me."

Oscar’s brows lift. "Obsessed?"

"Enamored," you say dramatically. "Hopelessly in love. Couldn’t take your eyes off me."

He leans back, arms crossed. "Right. And you?"

You smirk. "Oh, I thought you were hot, obviously."

Oscar blinks, and you swear you see the ghost of a smirk. "Obviously."

You wave a dismissive hand. "But I made you work for it. You had to woo me. Beg me to go on a date with you. You sent flowers, love letters—"

"Now it’s just getting unrealistic," he interjects, shaking his head.

"Excuse you," you gasp. "I am 100 percent love-letter worthy."

"I don’t doubt it," Oscar says, amused. "But I’m not a love-letter guy."

You narrow your eyes. "What kind of guy are you then, Piastri?"

He thinks for a second, then shrugs. "I just say what I mean."

Something about that answer makes your stomach flip, but you shove the feeling down, refusing to analyze it.

"Fine," you say, shifting in your seat. "No love letters. But you were still the one who chased me. That’s non-negotiable."

Oscar hums. "We’ll see."

You squint at him. "What does that mean?"

But he just reaches for his water, eyes twinkling with something unreadable. "Guess we’ll find out."

The flight settles into a comfortable lull. You lean back in your seat, stretching your legs out as the cabin lights dim to a soft glow. The hum of the engine, the occasional clink of glasses from the flight attendants—everything feels oddly serene.

You glance at Oscar, who’s scrolling through his phone, his fingers moving idly over the screen.

"Okay," you say, breaking the silence. "We’ve got the basics down, but we need details. What’s my favorite thing about you?"

Oscar looks up, clearly unimpressed. "You’re making this more complicated than it needs to be."

"This is called preparation," you counter. "What if someone asks me? I can’t just sit there and say, ‘Uhh… he drives really fast for a living?’ That’s boring."

He sighs, setting his phone down. "Fine. What is your favorite thing about me?"

You purse your lips, pretending to think. "Your freckles."

Oscar blinks. "My freckles?"

You nod, fully committing now. "Yeah. It’s cute. Gives you that whole boy-next-door thing. Makes you seem less… stoic."

His expression remains neutral, but you don’t miss the way his fingers twitch slightly against the armrest.

"Alright," he concedes. "Your laugh."

Your brows lift in surprise. "What about it?"

Oscar shrugs. "It’s loud."

You huff. "That’s not exactly a compliment, Piastri."

"It is," he insists, a small smirk playing on his lips. "It’s loud in a way that makes people turn their heads. Infectious, I guess."

You stare at him for a second, thrown off by the sincerity of it. He doesn’t look away, just meets your gaze like it’s no big deal. Like he didn’t just say something that made your stomach do an actual somersault.

You clear your throat. "Not bad. We’ll go with that."

Oscar simply nods and goes back to his phone, as if the moment didn’t just knock you slightly off balance.

You shake it off, taking another sip of your champagne. You need to keep this light. Playful.

"Okay, next question," you say, regaining composure. "Do we have pet names for each other, or do we stick to babe?"

Oscar sighs like you’re exhausting him, but you catch the flicker of amusement in his eyes. "You can call me whatever you want. Just not ‘Oskie.’"

Your grin is immediate. "Oskie, huh?"

"I said not ‘Oskie,’" he warns.

"Which means I absolutely have to call you that now," you tease. "Oskie, my love, my darling, my sweet baby angel—"

Oscar groans, tilting his head back against the seat. "I regret everything."

You giggle, nudging him with your knee. "Relax, Oskie. It’s just for show."

He levels you with a look, but there’s a reluctant twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Yeah. This might actually be fun.

The moment you and Oscar step into the grand hotel lobby, the air shifts—opulent chandeliers, the distant hum of chatter, and a lingering scent of fresh lilies. You barely have time to admire the luxury before a voice cuts through.

“There you are!"

You turn to find your cousin, Jaime, impeccably dressed, exuding the kind of politeness that borders on distant. You force a smile, the kind reserved for family obligations rather than genuine excitement.

"Hey!" You feign warmth as she pulls you into a quick, stiff hug. "Long flight, but we made it."

Her eyes flicker to Oscar, assessing. "And this must be...?"

"Oscar," you introduce smoothly, feeling his presence steady beside you. "My date." The word feels foreign, like you’re testing it out.

Your cousin nods approvingly but doesn't press. "Well, everyone's eager to see you. Welcome dinner’s in an hour. Dress formal."

With a parting nod, they’re gone, leaving you to exhale sharply.

Oscar leans in slightly. "That was... efficient."

You snort. "That was warm, for them."

—

The dining hall is grand, but the atmosphere is stiff. Soft clinking of silverware, murmured conversations, and a painfully polite undercurrent. You navigate it with the ease of someone used to playing a part. Oscar, ever composed, fits right in—but you notice his occasional side-glances, quietly observing the interactions around him.

Dinner is a blur of introductions, pleasantries, and forced smiles. Your cousin’s polite but detached, and other family members either fawn over Oscar’s "charm" or barely acknowledge him. You catch yourself watching him too much—how effortlessly he handles conversation, how his fingers drum lightly against his wine glass, how his eyes flick to you in between bites like he's making sure you're okay.

And then, mid-conversation, your stomach twists.

Across the table—your ex.

Oscar follows your gaze, his expression unreadable. He doesn’t ask, but something in his posture shifts, a subtle straightening of his shoulders. You force yourself to look away, laughing at something someone else said, even if you didn’t quite hear it.

Oscar leans in slightly. "You alright?" His voice is low, just for you.

You nod quickly. "Yeah. Just—family stuff."

He doesn’t push, but his presence alone steadies you.

—

By the time you make it to your shared room, exhaustion settles in. The suite is beautiful—large windows, a sprawling view of the ocean, and... one bed.

Of course.

You stare at it for a second too long. Oscar, setting his bag down, follows your gaze and huffs a soft laugh. "Guess we’re really committing to this."

You roll your eyes, flopping onto the edge of the mattress. "I’ll build a pillow wall."

"You do that," he says, smirking as he pulls out clothes from his bag.

—

After the long day, a hot shower sounds like heaven. You grab your toiletries and slip into the bathroom, closing the door behind you—at least, you think you did.

Steam fills the space as you let the water wash away the tension. You take your time, fingers combing through your hair, mind drifting—until a sharp intake of breath jolts you.

You whip around.

Oscar stands frozen in the doorway, eyes wide, mouth slightly open—because, oh god, the door wasn’t shut.

For a split second, neither of you move. Then—

"Jesus—!"

"Oh my god—!"

Oscar spins on his heel so fast he nearly crashes into the doorframe. "I didn’t— You didn’t— The door—"

"OUT!"

"Yep, leaving—" He slams the door shut behind him, making the walls rattle.

You stand there, naked and fuming, heart pounding.

He saw you.

Oscar Piastri just saw you in all your glory.

And somehow, that’s not even the worst part. The worst part is the fact that you are still fuming about it while he’s probably out there pacing in distress.

So naturally—because you are you—you decide to make it his problem.

You grab your towel, wrap it around yourself with maximum dramatic aggression, and storm out of the bathroom, still damp and seething.

Oscar, who is currently standing in the middle of the room looking like he’s processing war flashbacks, snaps his head toward you.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he mutters.

“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!” You throw your arms out, the towel barely hanging on.

Oscar rubs a hand down his face, still looking vaguely traumatized. “I DIDN’T KNOW THE DOOR WAS OPEN! Why are you yelling at me?”

“Because you just got a full view of me! And you—you stood there!”

“I DIDN’T MEAN TO!” Oscar yells, exasperated. “Do you think I wanted to walk in and just—just—” He gestures wildly, face bright red.

“Oh, so now you’re disgusted by me?” You slap a hand on your chest, gasping dramatically. “Wow. Wow, Oscar. First, you see me naked against my will, and now I’m offensive to look at?”

“That is not what I said!”

“Fine,” you huff. “You’ve seen mine—show me yours.”

A beat.

Oscar just stares at you.

The room goes dead silent.

Then—

“WHAT?!” His voice cracks so hard it’s almost impressive.

You cross your arms. “I’m just saying—it’s only fair.”

“NO, IT IS NOT.” He takes a full step back, looking at you like you’ve lost your mind. “Are you—are you actually insane?”

“You’re not even a little bit sorry,” you accuse.

“I AM EXTREMELY SORRY,” Oscar says, voice still too high-pitched. “But that does not mean I’m about to just—just whip it out for fairness' sake!”

You narrow your eyes. “Coward.”

Oscar looks like he’s going to pass away on the spot. “You need to calm down.”

“I am calm.”

“You are not calm.”

You huff, throwing yourself onto the bed in frustration. “Fine. Do whatever you want.”

“I will,” he says, still clearly panicked. “And what I want is to go on a walk before I lose my mind.”

You wave a dismissive hand. “Enjoy your guilt walk.”

He lets out the most exasperated sigh and grabs his jacket, throwing the door open. “Unbelievable,” he mutters as he steps out, slamming it shut behind him.

You flop onto your pillow.

Oscar Piastri has seen you naked.

This weekend just keeps getting better

.You’re already in bed when the door creaks open again. You don’t move, pretending to be asleep, but you feel him hesitating near the doorway.

A beat.

Then—

“…Are you still mad?”

You peek one eye open. Oscar is standing there, hands shoved in his pockets, looking a little less mortified but still deeply uncomfortable.

“I mean,” you say flatly. “I did offer you the chance to make things even.”

Oscar groans, dragging a hand over his face. “Can we never speak of that again?”

You roll onto your side, watching him. “You gonna apologize properly?”

Oscar exhales through his nose, looking pained. “I’m sorry for walking in on you.”

You raise an eyebrow.

His jaw clenches. “And for… standing there… like a stunned idiot.”

You nod, satisfied. “Good. Now, was it at least a nice view?”

Oscar makes a strangled sound, turning bright red. “I hate you.”

You grin. “Goodnight, Oscar.”

“Unbelievable,” he mutters under his breath, flipping off the light before climbing into bed.

There’s a very obvious space between you both.

But you swear, in the silence, you hear him exhale a quiet, amused chuckle

The sun hung high in the sky, casting a golden glow over the gentle waves lapping against the side of the yacht. The rest of the wedding party was scattered across the deck—some lounging, others chatting, a few already a little tipsy off midday champagne. It was the kind of scene that should have felt easy, carefree. And yet, you found yourself standing near the railing, swirling a mimosa in your hand, more caught up in your own thoughts than the view.

Oscar stood beside you, arms folded as he stared out at the horizon. He wasn’t much of a talker in group settings, but you could tell he was at least trying. Making the occasional polite comment, responding when spoken to. But right now, with just the two of you tucked away in your own little corner, the silence stretched comfortably between you.

You turned slightly, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. The sun had deepened the color of his skin, freckles even more pronounced, and a few strands of his hair stuck out from the salty wind. He looked good—too good.

God, this was bad.

"You okay?" Oscar’s voice broke through your spiraling thoughts, eyes flicking toward you.

You forced a small smile. "Yeah, just… taking it all in."

He hummed, nodding toward the water. "It’s nice out."

You exhaled, your grip tightening on your glass. You weren’t sure what it was—the warmth, the soft lull of the boat, the way he stood just a little too close—but something in the air shifted. You should have backed away. Should have made some sarcastic comment, broken whatever was lingering between you. But instead, you found yourself tilting your head, eyes tracing the sharp edge of his jaw, the way the sun kissed his cheekbones.

He turned toward you slightly, and for a second—just a second—you thought he might say something. But instead, his gaze dropped to your lips, lingering there, before quickly darting away.

Your heart did something stupid in response.

Stop it. He’s pretending.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to look away, to focus on the horizon instead of the way your skin burned under his proximity. This was a game. A favor. Oscar wasn’t yours.

But God, in moments like this, he sure felt like it.

Slipping out onto the balcony of your hotel room, you pulled your phone out and hit Lando’s contact, bringing it up to your ear. It barely rang twice before he picked up.

"Well, well, well," Lando greeted, amusement dripping from his voice. "If it isn’t my favorite wedding guest. Tell me, how’s fake married life treating you?"

You groaned, leaning against the railing. "Lando, I’m freaking out."

"Freaking out how?" he asked, clearly entertained.

You hesitated, running a hand through your hair. "I think—I think I might actually like him."

There was a pause. And then, Lando burst out laughing.

You scowled. "I’m serious!"

"Oh, I know you are," he wheezed. "Which is why this is even better."

"It’s not funny!"

"It’s hilarious," Lando corrected. "You—Miss ‘I Only Fall for Walking Red Flags’—are catching feelings for Oscar Piastri. Do you know how ironic that is?"

You groaned again, slumping against the railing. "It’s not ironic, it’s a crisis. I need to shut this down."

"Uh-huh. And how exactly do you plan on doing that?"

"I don’t know! Ignore him? Avoid eye contact? Wear a chastity belt?"

Lando snorted. "Or, and hear me out, you could just bone him and get it over with."

You gasped. "Lando!"

"What?" he said, feigning innocence. "I’m just saying, you’re obviously into him. And unless I’m reading this wrong, he’s clearly into you, too."

Your stomach flipped at that. "He’s not."

Lando scoffed. "Please. The man looks at you like he’s one second away from writing poetry about your existence."

You went silent, chewing on your lip.

Lando sighed dramatically. "Look, I love you, but I also know you. And you overthink everything. Just—don’t let your brain ruin this, okay?"

You exhaled slowly, closing your eyes.

It was easier said than done.

If your family wanted to see you madly in love, you were going to give them madly in love.

Oscar played along seamlessly. His arm stayed wrapped around your waist, his lips brushed your temple whenever someone was watching, and he let you intertwine your fingers with his under the table. The whole thing was a production, and your family ate it up.

Your cousin grinned at you over the table. "I’ve never seen you like this."

"Like what?" you asked, taking a sip of wine.

"In love," she said, nudging your arm. "I mean, I always knew it’d take someone special to tie you down, but I have to say—Oscar’s a good one."

You nearly choked. Across from you, Oscar raised a brow, clearly amused.

"She’s right, you know," Oscar said, his voice just smooth enough to be believable. "I am a catch."

You gave him a look. "Don’t push it."

He smirked, and God help you, you almost smiled back.

The wine had made you bold. Which is why, when you and Oscar got back to the room, you turned to him with a wicked grin.

"I wanna go swimming."

Oscar frowned. "Right now?"

"Yes, now," you said, already reaching for the zipper of your dress.

Oscar’s eyes widened. "Okay—hold on—"

Too late. The dress hit the floor, and you were already reaching behind your back, unclasping your bra.

"Jesus Christ," Oscar muttered, immediately looking away.

"You’re so dramatic," you giggled, stepping out of your underwear.

"I cannot believe this is happening," Oscar groaned.

You shot him a grin over your shoulder before sprinting toward the water.

"Oh, for fuck’s sake," he muttered before stripping off his shoes and following you in.

The water is warmer than expected, but the chill of the night air still prickles over your bare skin. You drift further out, arms moving lazily through the gentle waves, laughter spilling from your lips as you spin in the water. The world feels hazy, edges blurred by the wine humming in your bloodstream.

Oscar stands at the shoreline, arms crossed, shoes abandoned somewhere in the sand. His tie is loosened, top buttons undone, and he looks… worried.

"You've had your fun," he calls out, voice edged with both amusement and exasperation. "Come back before you float off to sea."

You giggle, flicking water in his direction even though he’s too far for it to reach. "I’m a great swimmer, thank you very much."

He sighs, running a hand down his face. "That’s not the point."

"Then what is the point, Piastri?" you tease, bobbing in the water, eyes glinting under the moonlight.

"The point is you’re naked, in the ocean, while very, very drunk," he deadpans. "And I’d rather not be responsible for fishing you out when you inevitably start shivering and regretting all your life choices."

"Such a fun-sucker," you pout, but as you kick your legs, you realize he’s right—your body is starting to feel the cold. You open your mouth to say something snarky but, before you can, a wave rolls under you, pushing you forward. You yelp, momentarily losing your balance, and in an instant, Oscar is in the water.

The splash is sudden, and you blink as he surfaces, suit pants soaked, dress shirt clinging to his frame. "Oh my God," you laugh, "you didn’t have to—"

"Let’s go," he interrupts, tone firm but gentle. He reaches for you, steady hands finding your waist, and for a moment, you forget how to breathe. His grip is warm, solid, and when your eyes meet his, something flickers there—something unspoken.

"You’re always saving me," you murmur.

"Yeah," he says, voice quieter now. "And you’re always making me."

His hands skim your arms, guiding you closer, and before you can stop yourself, before you can think—

You kiss him.

It’s clumsy, tasting of wine and saltwater, but it’s real. For a second, just a second, he doesn’t pull away. But then—

"Not now."

His words break through the haze, his hands steadying you as he gently leans back. His breathing is uneven, eyes darker than usual, and his grip lingers longer than it should.

"Not now?" you repeat, heart hammering.

He exhales, thumb brushing over your wrist before he shakes his head. "You’re drunk."

"So?"

"So, no."

You stare at him, something aching in your chest, but before you can argue, he’s already peeling off his soaked dress shirt, draping it over your shoulders. "Come on," he says, softer this time. "Let’s get you back."

—

The walk to the hotel room is quieter than expected. Your head is buzzing, but not from the alcohol anymore. Oscar’s hand is on your back, steady but cautious, and you swear he’s holding his breath the entire time.

Inside the room, he sighs, running a towel through his damp hair. "You should change before you freeze."

You glance down at yourself—shirt clinging to your skin, legs still damp. "Right," you mumble, fingers fumbling with the buttons.

He clears his throat. "I’ll turn around."

You roll your eyes but don’t argue. As you reach for your pajamas, the moment lingers—charged, unspoken. He stays at the door, hand gripping the handle like he’s holding himself back.

Before you climb into bed, you glance at him. "Are we gonna talk about it?"

His jaw tenses. "Go to sleep."

You scoff, flopping onto the mattress with a huff. "You’re annoying."

"And you’re drunk," he mutters.

Silence settles. The air between you feels heavier now, something shifting in the space that wasn’t there before.

As you close your eyes, you hear him exhale sharply. Then, softer—almost hesitant—

"Goodnight."

—

Oscar is already up, standing near the window, arms crossed over his chest. His posture is stiff, tense in a way that makes your stomach twist.

"Morning," you mumble, voice hoarse from sleep.

"How are you feeling?" His voice is controlled—too controlled.

You stretch, groaning. "Like I got hit by a truck. A truck full of wine." A dry chuckle escapes him, but it’s short-lived. The weight in the air hasn’t lifted. He’s not looking at you, and it’s driving you insane.

You sit up, rubbing your face. "Okay, what’s with the whole brooding thing? You’ve barely looked at me."

His jaw tightens. "We should probably just… move past last night." You blink, caught off guard.

"Move past it?”

"It was a mistake." The words sting.

You swing your legs over the side of the bed, suddenly much more awake. "A mistake?" you echo, trying to keep your voice even.

"You were drunk."

"And?"

"And I don’t want it to mean something to you when you weren’t thinking clearly."

A bitter laugh bubbles up.

"Right. Because I obviously wouldn’t want you sober.

He finally looks at you then, and for a split second, you see it—hesitation, conflict. But it’s gone as quickly as it appears.

"Let’s just get ready," he says. "It’s your cousin’s wedding day."

You watch as he disappears into the bathroom, the door shutting with a little too much finality. Your chest feels tight.

So, that’s how it’s going to be.

Fine. If Oscar Piastri wants to pretend like last night didn’t happen, then you can play that game too.

—

The ceremony is beautiful, but you barely register it. You go through the motions—smiling, clapping, taking pictures—but your mind is elsewhere.

Or rather, on someone else.

Oscar is right beside you, ever the perfect fake date, but there’s a difference now. Last night changed something. His touches are still there—his hand resting on your lower back, the way he leans in when someone asks about your “relationship”—but they’re measured.

Restrained.

It drives you insane. Dinner stretches long, speeches are made, and the wine is poured generously.

You lose track of how many times someone toasts to love. Somewhere between courses, you lean into Oscar, letting your hand linger on his thigh, just to see if he’ll react. He does. His muscles tense under your touch, but his expression remains neutral.

You tilt your head, voice saccharine. "You’re acting weird."

"I’m acting normal," he replies, sipping his drink.

"No, you’re acting like I’m going to pounce on you at any second." His lips press into a thin line.

"You’re drunk again." You scoff, swirling the wine in your glass.

"Not drunk, just… enjoying myself."

"Yeah, well," he exhales, setting his drink down. "Try not to enjoy yourself into another late-night swim."

You smirk. "Would you come save me again?" His gaze flickers to yours, and for a moment, you swear you see something crack in his resolve. But then he shakes his head, amusement ghosting over his lips.

"You’re insufferable."

"And you love it," you counter, grinning.

But he doesn’t answer. Instead, he looks away, fingers curling against his knee. Something in your stomach flips.

—

The flight home is silent. Not awkward, but not easy either.

You sit beside Oscar, arms crossed, staring out the window as the plane hums beneath you.

Last night, after too much wine, you had curled into bed, still in your dress, and barely registered Oscar pulling the blanket over you before he turned off the lights.

Now, in the harsh light of day, everything feels… off. You glance at him.

He’s focused on something in his hands, jaw tight, lost in thought.

You shift. "So… are we gonna talk about it?" He doesn’t look up. "There’s nothing to talk about."

A sharp laugh escapes you.

"Right. Of course. Because nothing happened."

His fingers twitch. You lean in slightly. "You kissed me back." His eyes snap to yours, sharp and unreadable.

"You were drunk," he repeats, but there’s something strained in his voice now.

You shake your head. "I know what I felt."

"Look, we had fun," he says, voice measured, like he’s carefully constructing each word before it leaves his mouth. "Let’s not make it something it wasn’t."

Something tightens in your chest.

"Something it wasn’t," you repeat, more to yourself than to him.

Oscar sighs, shifting in his seat. He’s trying to be logical. Practical. But all it does is make you want to shake him.

You lean in closer, lowering your voice. "You can lie to yourself all you want, Oscar, but don’t sit here and lie to me."

His eyes flicker to yours, something unreadable in his expression. "I’m not lying."

You huff out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. "Right. Sure."

Silence.

The cabin hums around you, the quiet murmur of other passengers filling the space between you both. You grip your armrest, fingers drumming against the plastic.

Then, barely above a whisper, he mutters, "I don’t want to be just another guy you move on from."

The words hit you like a slap.

Your breath catches in your throat. "What?"

Oscar’s jaw is clenched, his knuckles white where they grip his knee. He won’t look at you.

You stare at him, feeling the weight of what he just admitted settle deep in your bones.

He thinks you’ll move on. That he’s just another name to add to your list of failed romances.

Your lips part, but no words come out. Because if you say it—if you tell him he’s wrong, that he’s different—then you’ll have to admit what you already know deep down.

That this isn’t just fun for you. That he’s not just a placeholder in your life.

And that terrifies you.

So instead, you turn away, staring out the window, swallowing the words that sit heavy on your tongue.

And Oscar doesn’t push.

Because maybe he’s just as scared as you are.

—

The apartment is eerily quiet when you get back.

You toss your suitcase into the corner, kicking off your shoes with more force than necessary. You don’t even bother unpacking.

The second you flop onto your bed, your phone buzzes.

Lando.

You stare at the screen before sighing and answering.

"You sound like shit," he greets.

"Good to hear your voice too," you deadpan.

"Okay, spill. What happened?"

"Nothing."

"Liar."

You close your eyes, pressing the heel of your palm to your forehead. "Oscar’s just—"

"A dumbass?"

A small, exhausted laugh escapes you. "Something like that."

Lando hums. "Yeah, well. He’s probably overthinking everything, as usual."

You groan. "Why do I even like him?"

"Oh, so you do like him?"

You freeze.

Shit.

Lando cackles. "Wow, that was too easy. You’re down bad, huh?"

"Goodbye, Lando."

"Wait, wait—"

You hang up, throwing your phone onto the bed.

You don’t want to talk about it. Not with Lando, not with yourself.

But that doesn’t stop you from replaying every moment in your head. The way Oscar had looked at you. The way he had pulled away. The way he had felt—warm, solid, real—before he decided to shove it all aside.

You groan, rolling onto your stomach, willing yourself to stop thinking about it.

Then—

A knock at the door.

Your heart jumps.

You already know who it is before you even open it.

And when you do, Oscar is standing there, looking like he’s been battling himself the entire way over. His hair is damp from a run, his hands shoved deep in his pockets.

Neither of you speak for a moment.

Then, finally, he exhales. "Can we talk?"

You stare at him, pulse hammering in your ears. His face is flushed—whether from the run or something else, you’re not sure—but his eyes are fixed on you, searching, hesitant.

A thousand responses run through your mind. You could tell him to leave. You could pretend like you don’t care. You could close the door and shut him out the way he’s been shutting you out since the wedding.

Instead, you step aside.

He takes the silent invitation, brushing past you into the apartment. You close the door behind him, arms crossed over your chest as you turn to face him.

Oscar runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “I shouldn’t have said that on the plane.”

Your jaw tightens. “Which part? The part where you called last night a mistake, or the part where you assumed I’d just move on like none of it mattered?”

He flinches.

“Yeah,” you say bitterly. “Thought so.”

He looks away, shaking his head. “That’s not what I meant.”

You scoff. “Then what did you mean, Oscar? Because from where I’m standing, it sounds a lot like you’re trying to push me away before I can do it first.”

His silence is answer enough.

You let out a humorless laugh, throwing your hands up. “Jesus, do you even hear yourself? You act like I just bounce from guy to guy, like I don’t—” You stop yourself, shaking your head.

His eyes snap to yours. “Like you don’t what?”

Your breath catches.

This is it.

The moment you either tell him the truth or let him walk away.

You swallow hard. “Like I don’t feel anything for you.”

The air between you shifts, thick with unspoken words. Oscar’s expression falters—just slightly—but enough for you to see it. The cracks. The hesitation. The part of him that wants this just as much as you do but is terrified of it.

Then, quietly, he murmurs, “Do you?”

Your chest tightens. “Do you?”

Oscar exhales sharply, his shoulders slumping. He takes a step closer, eyes flickering between yours. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

The confession is barely above a whisper, but it’s enough to send your heart into overdrive.

You search his face, trying to find any trace of doubt, but all you see is exhaustion. Hope. Something deeper than either of you are willing to name just yet.

Slowly, you take a step forward, closing the distance. “Then why are you running from it?”

He swallows hard. “Because if I start… I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop.”

Your breath catches.

And then, before you can overthink it, you reach for him.

Oscar doesn’t hesitate.

His hands find your waist as your lips crash into his, months of pent-up tension unraveling between you. It’s not soft, not tentative—it’s messy and desperate and real. His fingers dig into your hips, pulling you flush against him, and you tangle your hands in his hair, grounding yourself in the way he feels, the way he moves against you like he’s been waiting for this just as much as you have.

He backs you up until you hit the wall, his body pressing into yours. His lips move from your mouth to your jaw, down to the curve of your neck, and you tilt your head to give him more room, exhaling a shaky breath.

“Oscar,” you murmur.

He stills, his forehead resting against yours, breath heavy.

You don’t realize how hard your heart is pounding until there’s a beat of silence, both of you just standing there, catching your breath.

Then, softly, he says, “Not a mistake?”

You shake your head, fingers tightening in his shirt. “Not even close.”

His lips brush against yours again, slower this time, as if committing this moment to memory.

And for the first time in days, everything finally makes sense.

—

The paddock is a blur of movement—mechanics rushing between garages, team personnel checking final details, and the distant hum of engines roaring to life. It’s race day, and the energy in the air is electric.

You’re standing outside McLaren’s hospitality, wearing Oscar’s team shirt—his number printed on the back, the fabric slightly oversized but comfortable. Sunglasses perch on your nose, shielding your eyes from the midday sun as you scroll through your phone, waiting.

Then, an arm slings around your shoulders.

“Ah, there she is.”

You don’t even need to look up to know who it is.

“Lando.”

“Missed me?” he asks, squeezing your shoulder before dramatically sighing. “Probably not, considering you’ve been suspiciously unavailable for the past month.”

You roll your eyes, prying his arm off you. “Sorry for not prioritizing you over my boyfriend.”

Lando fake gags. “Ugh, don’t say it like that. Makes me feel like I’ve lost you forever.”

You smirk. “You have.”

“Pain,” he mutters, clutching his chest like he’s physically wounded.

Before you can retaliate, another familiar presence appears beside you.

“Are you harassing her already?”

You turn, smiling as Oscar steps up, looking effortlessly cool in his race suit, sunglasses on, and a drink bottle in hand. His free arm loops around your waist instinctively, pulling you against him.

Lando makes a disgusted noise. “Oh, this is repulsive.”

You tilt your head. “What is?”

“That,” he gestures vaguely at you and Oscar. “The… the couple-y standing. The arm thing. The way he’s looking at you like you hung the damn stars in the sky.”

Oscar raises a brow. “Would you rather I not look at my girlfriend?”

“Correct.”

You laugh, leaning into Oscar slightly, just to be extra. “I think someone’s just mad he’s the third wheel now.”

Lando scoffs. “I am not—”

“You absolutely are,” Oscar cuts in, smirking.

Lando glares between the two of you. “I hate this. I hate whatever is happening here.”

Oscar just shrugs, looking smug as hell. “You’ll get used to it.”

Lando grumbles something under his breath, kicking at the ground like a child. You swear you hear him mutter disgusting as he dramatically turns away.

Oscar chuckles, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. “I think he’s struggling.”

You grin, watching Lando dramatically flop onto a nearby bench. “Oh, he definitely is.”

But hey, you were enjoying every second of it.

#be4chywrites #f1 x reader #oscar #osc #oscar piastri x fem!reader #oscar piastri smau #oscar piastri angst #oscar piastri x y/n #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri imagine #oscar x reader #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri

1K notes · View notes

requiemforthepoets · 8 months ago

Text

you just pulled a verstappen! 𖦹 LN4

PAIRINGS: lando norris x female!reader

SUMMARY: you played a sim racing before, but not really on an actual sim racing setup like lando’s. so when you had the chance, you decided to try it out.

REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WARNINGS: no use of y/n, fluff, and a little bit of cursing

WORD COUNT: 820

AUTHOR’S NOTE: found this on my drafts. i have a lot of lando one shots, but never really posted it bc i think it was poorly written, so i decided to fix this one up and post it. i hope you’ll enjoy this one!

Your and Lando’s apartment was unusually quiet. Lando had been out all day, caught up in a string of meetings, and being alone in a big apartment, the boredom had started to creep in. You sighed, glancing over at Lando’s pristine sim racing setup, which sat there like a tempting invitation calling out for you. It wasn’t like you had not played sim racing before, but using his rig, specifically with Lando’s custom settings and all his tweaks? That was something else entirely.

“Eh, why the hell not?” You muttered to yourself with a mischievous grin.

You quickly booted-up Lando’s setup, and you were off. You found yourself in the middle of a tense Grand Prix, the roaring of the virtual engines filling up the headphones as you become very absorbed with the race. Time flew by, and you were too focused to even notice when Lando came home.

“Hey, baby! I’m back!” Lando’s voice echoed faintly from the hallways as he called back to you, and you never responded. All you could hear and think about was the hairpin turn coming up on the circuit, and nailing the turn. “Babe, where are you?” He called out to you again, but you were still glued to the screen, the intensity of the race drawing all of your attention.

A few seconds later, Lando still got no answer from you. So when he checked every room in the apartment, and saw that you were inside his gaming room all along, he entered immediately, but when he saw you, he stopped dead in his tracks. There you were, fully immersed in sim racing, eyes locked on the screen with his headphones on and hand deftly handling the steering wheel. He blinked, half in disbelief, before grinning like a little kid on christmas morning.

“Are you on my sim setup right now?” He asked, voice full of shock, but you were too busy overtaking another car to reply.

“Okay, that was a decent corner,” Lando said with a playful smirk as he walked over to you, leaning against the back of the chair. “Not bad at all.” He added, folding his arms, and watching in awe as you navigated through the pack of cars.

You heard him, of course, but you were in the zone. The next thing you knew, you pulled off a move that would have made Max proud, sliding past two cars with precision that even caught Lando off guard.

“Whoa, that was a Verstappen move!” Lando exclaimed, wide-eyed. “You just did a Verstappen! Are you sure you don’t want to join F1? Because honestly, what the hell was that?!”

A smirk just tugged at the corner of your lips, definitely proud of yourself, but you remained focused, determined to finish the race without breaking concentration. Lando couldn’t help but laugh at your intense expression.

“Alright, I need to record this one,” Lando chuckled, pulling out his phone. “No one’s gonna believe me if I told everyone on Thread that my girl just pulled a Verstappen move, unless I post it.”

“Look at this! My girl’s out here stealing my setup and driving like she’s been on F1!” Lando began as he started filming, making sure to capture the moment as you powered through the final lap, and zooming in on your face, grinning the whole time. “Guys, I’m telling you, I’m not really making this up. She’s actually faster than me on some of these corners!”

You barely heard him as you crossed the finish line, finishing in P1, and the sound of the crowd roaring through the headphones as you finally relaxed in the chair. You let out a squeal of happiness and looked over at Lando, who was still recording and shaking his head in disbelief.

“Okay, what was that?” He laughed at you, turning off the camera. “I leave for a few hours, and suddenly you’re doing Verstappen-level moves on my rig? Are you secretly practicing whenever I’m not home?”

“Maybe I’m just naturally talented, ever think of that?” You looked at him smugly, and wiggled your eyebrows as you teased him.

“You know what?” Lando grinned at you, gently pulling you out of the seat and wrapping his arms around you. “I believe it. I’m just saying, if McLaren ever needs a backup driver, you should really think about it.”

“Babe, that’s Pato’s job, and I won’t take that away from him,” you joked, causing Lando to laugh, and you leaned into his embrace. “I’m just kidding! But…I might steal your sim setup more often.”

“Deal,” Lando chuckled, kissing your forehead. “Just don’t make me look too bad, alright?”

“No promises.” You said cheekily, then grinning up at him.

“Alright, alright,” he smiled at you. “Now where’s my kiss.” You leaned in, and kissed him softly on the lips.

1K notes · View notes

aeniiverse · 2 months ago

Text

ENEMIES IRL, GIRLFRIENDS ONLINE

Synopsis — You can't stand Karina. She's your worst enemy. But in the virtual world, she’s your perfect girlfriend, your confidante, and your sweet escape. The only problem? Neither of you knows that the other is secretly behind the screen. Now, with two worlds about to collide, how long can you keep up the charade?

Contains — fluff, enemies to lovers, online dating, light cursing, minor physical contact (hand grabbing/kissing), secondhand embarrassment (karina tripping over a chair), mutual pinning, rushed

WORD COUNT — 3.6k

A/N — this has been in my drafts for a while, bull dozing with fics today 😭🗣️ for context they were a bit suspicious when their girlfriends had the same name as their enemy (I’m just too lazy to write those extra stuff >3<

Karina wasn’t even trying today.

Well, that wasn’t totally true. She was trying, trying to ruin your day, the way she usually did, because it was practically tradition by now.

It didn’t even take effort anymore. She just showed up, said something obnoxious, and you immediately looked at her like you wanted to punch a hole through the floor. Easy. Natural.

Today’s opportunity came when she spotted you at your locker, shoving notebooks into your bag with a frustrated scowl. God, you made it so easy for her sometimes.

"You know," Karina drawled, sauntering up with all the arrogance of someone who thought the hallway was their personal runway, "for someone who acts like they have their life together, you have the organization skills of a dying goldfish."

You whipped your head around, ready to fire back something scathing but then she glanced down at your planner.

Her brain short-circuited.

Because the truth was... your notes weren’t a disaster. They were actually stupidly neat. Color-coded. Perfectly labeled. Pages full of careful handwriting, clean lines, tiny sticky notes poking out like little tabs of responsibility.

Karina opened her mouth, intending to keep roasting you.

Instead, she heard herself blurt:

"Ugh, I hate that you’re actually good at that. It’s... impressive, I guess."

The second the words tumbled out, she felt the ground disappear from under her.

You stared at her like she’d just confessed to murder in the middle of the hallway.

Karina could practically see the confusion flicker across your face the way your brows lifted slightly, the way your mouth opened like you wanted to say something but didn’t know where to start.

Panic took over.

"I mean," Karina said hastily, flapping her hands around like a malfunctioning robot, "it’s not that great. Like. Barely acceptable. Whatever."

You rolled your eyes with an exaggerated groan and slammed your locker shut. "Jesus Christ. You’re exhausting."

And then you brushed past her without another word, your backpack swinging dangerously close to her side as you walked off down the hall.

Karina stood there, frozen like a statue, brain absolutely screaming inside her skull.

"What the hell was that," Karina muttered under her breath, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes like she could physically erase the last two minutes from existence.

Complimenting you? She complimented you? That was basically treason against herself. Against everything she stood for.

She wasn’t supposed to notice things like your handwriting. Or how focused you looked when you were organizing your things. Or how your stupid hair caught the light when you turned your head.

None of that. Absolutely not.

Karina stomped off down the hall, nearly mowing down a group of freshmen, her mind stuck in an endless screaming loop.

"I can’t have feelings for her," she hissed under her breath, dragging her fingers through her hair. "That would be cheating. I have a girlfriend. Online. A very real, very important girlfriend."

A girlfriend who she texted every night before bed. Who called her "babe" and sent her dumb memes and told her she was cute.

Someone who didn’t make her want to rip her own hair out in rage and confusion every time they interacted.

...Right?

Karina shook her head like she could physically knock the thoughts out.

No. No. No.

She didn’t like you. She hated you. That was the foundation of the universe. If she started liking you now, the world would probably implode.

Maybe she was just malfunctioning. A temporary brain glitch.

Maybe if she ignored it hard enough, it would go away

She tried to focus during her next class, but her brain had other plans.

The teacher was explaining something about chemical bonds, and Karina was busy reliving the scene in her head, cringing harder with every second.

Your face when she said it.

The way you paused, almost like you didn’t know if you should be flattered or insulted.

The way you looked back at her, suspicious but... curious.

Karina slumped down in her seat, letting her forehead hit the desk with a soft thunk.

Her lab partner side-eyed her but wisely said nothing.

Lunch was somehow even worse.

She sat with her usual friends, poking at her food without any real appetite, zoning out so badly that Ningning had to physically throw a grape at her forehead to get her attention.

"Earth to Karina," Ningning said, leaning forward with a mischievous glint in her eye. "You’ve been staring at your mashed potatoes for ten minutes.

What’s up? Secretly plotting murder?"

Karina grimaced. "No. Worse."

"Spill."

Karina considered lying. For about three seconds.

Then she groaned and dropped her head onto the table. "I accidentally complimented her."

There was a beat of silence.

Then laughter. Loud, unrelenting, evil laughter from all sides of the table.

"You what?" Ningning choked out between cackles.

"It wasn’t even a good compliment," Karina grumbled into the table. "It just slipped out. I said she was... impressive or something. I don’t know. I blacked out."

Giselle wiped tears from her eyes, still giggling. "Bro, you’re doomed."

"I know," Karina groaned. "I can’t believe I said it. I can’t believe I think—"

She cut herself off before the words “I think she’s actually really pretty when she’s mad” could escape her mouth.

God.

She was so doomed.

After lunch, Karina wandered through the rest of her classes in a zombie-like daze.

Every time she tried to focus on her work, her brain betrayed her replaying your face, your stupid confused frown, the way your voice sounded when you called her an idiot and walked away like you weren’t secretly a little flustered too.

By the end of the day, she was ready to drop out of school and join a traveling circus. Anything to escape the mortifying reality of her existence.

Karina kicked a pebble down the sidewalk as she trudged home, hoodie pulled up over her head to hide from the world.

Maybe she could just ghost you from now on. Avoid you until the end of time. Sure, it would make school life incredibly inconvenient, but it was either that or risk accidentally flirting with you again. (And she was terrifyingly aware of how close she already was.)

Karina shoved her hands deep into her pockets, scowling at the ground.

She couldn’t have a crush on you. She had a girlfriend. She was in a relationship.

Even if it was just online... it still counted.

Right?

But then her mind, evil and traitorous, whispered:

But what if she’s even better in real life?

Karina groaned out loud and picked up the pace, practically speed-walking down the street like she could outrun her feelings.

Tomorrow would be a new day.

Tomorrow she’d go back to being normal.

Tomorrow she’d totally not think about how you looked when you rolled your eyes or how her heart had stuttered a little when you brushed past her.

Tomorrow.

(Probably.)

The night was quiet, the kind of calm that only a late evening could bring. You sat on your bed, phone in hand, still feeling the lingering awkwardness from earlier that day. Karina had complimented you sort of but then she immediately tried to backtrack. “I hate that you’re actually good at that. It’s... impressive, I guess,” she had said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. But there was a weird hesitation before she scrambled to cover it up with, “I mean, it’s not that great.”

You had rolled your eyes, annoyed, but also confused. Karina was always sarcastic, always throwing out jabs like she was trying to keep her distance. But something about that moment didn’t sit right. She didn’t usually throw compliments like that, and it stuck with you more than you cared to admit.

Now, as you scrolled through your phone, you tapped out a message to Karina, who had no idea you were talking about her. You leaned back against the headboard, trying to shake off the unease that had settled in your chest.

“Ugh, this girl I hate acted super weird today. It was lowkey suspicious. One minute she’s all sarcastic, and the next she’s complimenting me like we’re friends or something. Is that normal?”

The little typing bubble popped up almost instantly. “You won’t believe what happened today. I accidentally complimented the devil incarnate,” Karina's message read. You snorted. Of course, she was ranting about you, and you had no idea.

Karina took a bit longer to Send another message and you imagined her pacing around her room like she always did when she was annoyed or deep in thought. “Ugh, don’t remind me. I honestly don’t know what came over me. I can’t have feelings for her. Not when I have a girlfriend online... That would be cheating, right?”

You chuckled at her dramatic tone, even though you had no idea she was talking about you. “It’s almost like you’re losing your touch, Karina. You used to be so good at pretending you didn’t care. Now you’re out here giving compliments like some softy.”

Her reply came quickly, as if she’d been waiting for the chance to snap back. “Shut up. I don't even like her. She’s... annoying. But you’re right. I shouldn’t be nice to her. That’s how she wins.”

“Yeah, exactly. She probably thinks you’re all buddy-buddy now.” You rolled your eyes.

You set your phone down for a second, thinking about your day. Karina’s weird compliment, the way it felt like she’d almost meant it... It stuck with you more than it should have. It was annoying. She was just Karina, the girl you couldn’t stand, and you couldn’t let her get to you.

But then your phone buzzed again, pulling you out of your thoughts. You looked at the screen. Karina had sent another message.

“I feel like we’d get along better in person, y’know? It’s been two months...” Her message made you pause, and you leaned forward, rereading it.

“What do you mean?” you typed back, even though you already had a guess. “Are you saying we should actually meet up?”

You could almost feel her hesitation from the words that followed. “I mean, why not? We’ve been talking for two months now. Isn’t that enough? We could just... grab coffee or something.” She sounded almost nervous, a little unsure of herself. You liked that side of her.

You had to admit, the idea of seeing her in person, after all this time, was tempting. But you didn’t want to seem too eager.

“Well, it might be nice. I’ve been wondering what you’re like in real life. Maybe we’d actually get along even better in person,” you texted. “No pressure though.”

You were lying to yourself a little. The truth was, you were dying to meet her, to finally see who she really was. After all this time, you felt like you knew a lot about her, but at the same time, nothing about her was as real as the image you’d built in your mind.

Her typing bubble popped up, and you waited, heart pounding a little faster than it should. “Yeah, maybe you’re right. I could actually use a break from all the... online stuff. It feels a little weird talking like this all the time and never meeting. But, uh, how would we even meet?”

You thought for a moment, trying to keep the suggestion light. “What if we just met at a café or something? It’s no big deal, just a chill hangout. We’ve been talking for so long... I don’t know, seems like it’s time to finally meet.”

You waited for her response, tapping your fingers on the screen, pretending to be casual when your heart was racing. What was she going to say? What if she backed out? Or worse, what if you saw her and didn’t feel the same connection?

You didn’t have to wait long. “Yeah, okay. Let’s do it. Just... don’t expect anything too crazy, alright? It’s just a meetup, not a date, or whatever.”

You smirked at her message. Of course, she’d try to play it cool. “Sure, sure. It’s just coffee. No big deal.”

“Right. Just coffee,” she replied, and then added, “But, uh, can we not exchange real names or photos? We’re mystery girlfriends for a reason, right?”

You laughed out loud at that. She was right, of course. You had both spent two months carefully hiding behind the anonymity of the internet. Neither of you had shared real names, pictures, or anything too personal. It had been part of the fun.

“Yeah, I’m not about to break the mystery girlfriend vibe,” you typed back. “But I’ll see you at the café, then?”

“Yep. See you there. Just don’t be weird about it.”

You chuckled and put your phone down, your heart still racing a little. The idea of finally seeing Karina in person was both terrifying and exciting, and you weren’t sure what you were more nervous about. But it didn’t matter, because the date was set. Tomorrow after school, you would meet her, and things would never be the same.

The next day felt like it dragged on forever. You couldn’t focus in class, couldn’t stop thinking about the upcoming meet-up. Would Karina be just as snarky in person? Would she look the way you imagined her? Or would she be totally different from the version of her you’d built in your head?

When the bell finally rang, you grabbed your things and rushed to the café. The anticipation built with every step. You reached the door and paused for a moment, taking a deep breath before walking inside.

The cafe was quiet for a moment, the soft hum of background chatter filling the air as you approached the table. Your heart was pounding in your chest, your nerves making you jittery. You hadn’t expected to actually feel this nervous about meeting her. But as your eyes landed on Karina sitting at the corner, scrolling through her phone, everything froze. Then it all clicked. The same Karina online was the same Karina in real life. The one you thought you absolutely hated with your heart.

She looked up and for the briefest second, you saw the color drain from her face. Her eyes widened, and before you could even say anything, she bolted.

It all happened so fast. One second, she was there, and the next, the chair at her table was knocked over, hitting the ground with a loud crash. The customers around you glanced up in confusion, some trying to stifle their giggles. You just sat there, stunned, processing what had just happened. Did Karina really just... run out of the café?

Before you could think it through, your feet were already moving. you dashed out of the cafe, your pulse racing. You barely registered the cold air hitting your face as you pushed open the door, eyes scanning the street for her.

She was fast, but so were you, and soon enough, you spotted her just ahead, her back to you, her movements stiff and hurried. Without thinking, you quickened your pace, reaching out to grab her wrist and stop her in her tracks.

Karina flinched at the touch, pulling her arm back in a hurry, her eyes darting around, not daring to meet yours. You stepped in front of her, blocking her way, your breath coming out in short bursts. “Karina, what the hell? Why did you run?”

She refused to look at you, her voice barely a whisper. “You weren’t supposed to be you...”

The words made no sense. You were confused, genuinely concerned, and yet there was this strange vulnerability in her posture that made your chest tighten. This wasn’t the Karina you knew the sarcastic, confident girl who never showed an ounce of weakness. This was different.

“Karina,” you said, softer this time, trying to get her to meet your eyes. “What’s going on?”

But she just shook her head, her shoulders stiff. Whatever this was, she wasn’t ready to talk about it yet. And for the first time, you weren’t sure whether you should push her or let her have the space she clearly needed.

The silence between you both stretched on, and you stood there, wondering what would happen next.

You stood there in the street, the tension between you and Karina thick enough to cut with a knife. Her back was still turned to you, her shoulders rigid, and every moment she remained silent only made the confusion swell inside you. What the hell had just happened? She’d literally run out of the café, and now she was acting like she was too embarrassed to even face you.

“Karina,” you called again, your voice firm. “Why did you run?”

The words came out of her mouth before she could even think, rushed and raw, almost like they were coming from somewhere deep inside her, a place she’d tried to bury for far too long. “I thought... I thought I hated you,” she blurted out, her tone shaky and uncertain. “But I liked you online. I liked you so much it made me feel guilty because I thought I was starting to like you in real life too and now you’re the same person, and I don’t know what to do.”

Her words hit you like a punch to the gut. You stood there, completely stunned by her admission. Karina was spiraling, completely embarrassed by what she’d said, and in that moment, she tried to step around you again, as if she could just walk away from it all and pretend it hadn’t happened.

But you weren’t going to let her. Not this time.

You reached out to her again, grabbing her wrist gently but firmly to stop her from walking away. Her body tensed under your touch, but she didn’t pull away. “Hey,” you said, a soft laugh escaping your lips. It wasn’t mocking, just overwhelmed by the absurdity of the situation. “You’re such an idiot.”

Her eyes shot to yours, wide and confused, as if she hadn’t expected you to respond like that. “What?” she murmured, still avoiding your gaze.

“I liked you too,” you said, your words coming out easily now, like you’d been wanting to say them for longer than you realized. “Even before I knew it was you. And yeah, I guess I hated you a little too, but it was more like I hated how much I... liked you.”

Karina’s breath caught in her throat, her face flushing a deep red as her eyes locked onto yours for the first time since she’d run out of the café. She opened her mouth to say something, but the words never came. Instead, there was a long, charged pause, one where neither of you knew exactly what to do or say next. Her chest rose and fell quickly as if she were still struggling to breathe, and in that moment, you both felt it the weight of everything unspoken between you, the tension, the closeness.

Before either of you could chicken out or let the awkwardness swallow you, you leaned in. It was almost instinctive, like your body had made the decision for you, and you couldn’t stop it. You pressed your lips to hers, the kiss soft at first, like a question, a testing of waters neither of you had dared to explore.

Karina froze for a split second, her body stiff, before she finally relaxed into it, kissing you back with a desperation that you hadn’t expected. It wasn’t perfect. It was messy, uncoordinated, but it felt... right. Like this was the thing both of you had been waiting for, but hadn’t known how to take the first step. It was raw and full of feelings neither of you could articulate in words. Every second of it was electric, and as you pulled away, you both stood there, breathless and flushed, staring at each other.

Karina was the first to speak, her voice uncharacteristically small as she mumbled, “This doesn’t mean I like you at school.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound light and carefree as you teased her, nudging her shoulder with yours. “Come on, girlfriend,” you said, a grin tugging at your lips as you grabbed her hand and started walking down the street, your fingers intertwined in a way that felt surprisingly natural.

Karina huffed in protest, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she gave you a sideways glance, her face still flushed and a little sheepish. “I don’t know if I’m ready for this,” she muttered, but there was no conviction in her words. Her fingers tightened around yours, betraying the soft smile on her face.

“You don’t have to be ready,” you said with a shrug, pulling her along a little faster. “We’ve been doing this ‘I like you’ thing for two months now. No going back.”

She gave you a half-hearted glare, but there was a hint of amusement in her eyes. “You’re lucky I like you too,” she said, her voice quiet but soft.

You squeezed her hand, grinning like an idiot as you walked down the street together. It was awkward, sure, but it was also... exactly what you both needed. And even though Karina still had that slightly uncomfortable look on her face, you could tell she was starting to relax, starting to let herself enjoy this new chapter with you. You weren’t enemies anymore, not in the same way at least. And who knows? Maybe this whole thing was just the beginning of something more than either of you had expected.

But for now, as you walked side by side, both of you awkwardly giddy and still trying to process everything that had just happened.

#aespa x reader #aespa fluff #aespa x fem reader #aespa #aespa fanfic #aespa x you #aespa karina x reader #aespa karina #karina x you #karina x reader #karina fluff #karina fanfic #yu jimin x you #yu jimin x reader #yu jimin #yu jimin fluff

359 notes · View notes

luv4arinn · 4 months ago

Text

Bayverse!Donnie headcanons bc his my bbg

Okay, lol, I really needed to let all of this out and just vomit all the ideas I’ve been hoarding about this man. I love him. I’ve adored him ever since the 2012 series, and that made me realize—I definitely have a thing for nerds. And glasses. Dear god.

I hope you guys like this!! Do you think I should do the same for the other brothers? Or maybe for the other characters? (I wouldn’t mind taking the risk and making headcanons like this for Rocksteady, hehe.)

Alright, bye!!

warnings: sfw & nsfw ( but not so explicit?) :p

- He’s a genius with confidence… until he isn’t.

Donnie is incredibly self-assured when it comes to his intellect and skills. He knows his worth and never doubts his ability to solve problems. Jumping out of a plane without a parachute? Easy. Hacking government security systems? A piece of cake. But confessing his feelings to you? That’s a whole different challenge.

This is where his anxious side kicks in. His brain, used to solving any equation, completely short-circuits when it comes to emotions. What if he misinterprets your signals? What if he ruins the friendship? What if you like someone else? Sure, he can design an exoskeleton in less than 24 hours, but love is a field where variables don’t always make sense.

If you think you can hide something from him, think again. Donnie notices everything. From the slight shift in your expression when you’re tired to the pattern of songs you repeat when you’re feeling down. (And no, he absolutely did not hack your Spotify, ahem—)

- That’s why, when you start falling for him, he already knows. In fact, he probably figured it out before you did.

He won’t tell you right away. Inside his head, there’s a storm of chaotic thoughts, organizing themselves into an ultra-detailed data table with every relevant piece of information. Give him a few days, and once his mind has fully processed everything, he’ll come back to you as a renewed Donnie—determined, confident, and ready to make you his.

- Donnie doesn’t just plan things; he breaks them down into a thousand strategies of action. His trash bin is living proof of the number of ideas he discards and reworks over and over.

Gifts? He’s not the type to grab something generic at the last minute. His gifts are so deeply personalized that they’ll make you feel like he knows you better than you know yourself.

Example: If you ever casually mentioned that you’d love to learn to play an instrument, he’ll build one for you—customized with enhancements. If you said you love the stars, he’ll create an interactive star map with the exact alignment of the sky on the day you were born.

Your birthdays, anniversaries, and any special dates are planned years in advance. It doesn’t matter if you’re not officially together yet—he already has ideas saved for when you are.

- Romance in his brain is an equation far too complex.

Donnie isn’t clumsy because he lacks intelligence; it’s because his brain moves too fast. His emotions and logic are in constant conflict, creating an ongoing battle between Confident Donnie and Nervous Donnie.

You’ll see him go from saying something with complete confidence to, “Uh, well… what I meant to say is… no, wait, forget it—” and then getting frustrated with himself because that definitely wasn’t what he had in mind.

But when he manages to organize his thoughts, he’s one of the most direct people you’ll ever meet. Once he crosses the mental line of “I’m doing this,” there’s no turning back.

- Gifts

He doesn’t believe in generic presents. Everything he gives you has a specific purpose. A bracelet that’s actually a disguised tracker (“For safety. Just for safety.”), or a stuffed animal that can record voice messages.

One day, you wake up and find a new app on your phone with your name on it. You open it, and it’s a virtual assistant designed specifically for you, complete with personalized reminders for the little things Donnie knows you always forget.

- Once he has you, you are his priority.

Once Donnie accepts his feelings and takes the step to be with you, he becomes the most devoted boyfriend.

He’s not excessively clingy or jealous like Raph, but his love is obvious in the time and effort he invests in you.

No matter how many projects he’s juggling, if you truly need his attention, he’ll give it to you without hesitation.

- Donnie needs physical contact, but his intellectual pride won’t let him admit it outright. Instead, he prefers to justify it with overly precise scientific explanations.

“Well, you see… my body temperature tends to drop faster than that of the average human, so it’s biologically beneficial for me to share contact with an external heat source.”

Translation: “Hug me. Now.”

If you confront him with something like, “Why don’t you just say you want cuddles?” he’ll turn bright red and start stammering, scrambling for excuses.

Don’t listen. Just climb onto him.

- Donnie can plan everything, but he cannot predict your spontaneous displays of affection.

If you surprise him with a kiss, his brain completely shuts down for 3-5 seconds before he can process it.

Unexpected gestures—hugging him from behind while he’s working, cupping his face in your hands, or kissing his cheek out of nowhere—leave him frozen, recalculating.

Sometimes, his first reflex is to adjust his glasses, only to realize that they have nothing to do with the fact that his vision just blurred from sheer shock.

NSFW

- He’s patient… but only to a point. Donnie will never pressure you. He’ll wait as long as you need, always making sure you feel safe and comfortable.

However… he’s already undressed you with his eyes a million times.

His mind is a machine of ideas and theories, and when it comes to you, he has imagined everything. Everything.

He tells himself he can be rational and controlled… but if you take too long, his thoughts will become a little more persistent.

- He’s not innocent. Don’t even think it for a second.

He may seem shy or awkward about relationships, but when it comes to this, his mind is a laboratory of hypotheses he’s dying to test.

He has analyzed you with surgical precision. He knows exactly how you blush, how you react to certain touches, which words make you tremble.

Do not underestimate him. He has read, he has researched, he has learned.

But nothing compares to the real thing. With you.

When he finally has you in his hands, his brain short-circuits.

No matter how many times he imagined this moment, nothing could have prepared him for the feeling of your skin beneath his fingers.

His jaw clenches, he exhales sharply, and his pupils dilate as if he’s just been electrocuted.

His entire expression changes—from his usual nervousness to something darker, more intense, starving.

- He becomes obsessive about memorizing every single reaction of yours.

He’s analytical. He will learn what you love and make sure to do it better every single time.

Eye contact and sounds. His drug.

Look at him. Don’t look away. Don’t ignore him.

If you dare to hold his gaze while he’s above you, he will completely lose himself in you.

Your voice, your moans, your gasps—they ruin him.

He needs you vocal. He needs to know he’s doing a good job.

If you get shy and try to cover your mouth, he will ask (or demand) that you don’t.

Kinky? Oh, absolutely.

Donnie lives to experiment. It’s in his nature.

Positions? All of them. But his favorites are the ones where you are on top of him.

He loves being dominated.

After spending his entire life controlling every aspect of his world, it’s a relief for his mind to surrender completely to you.

“Set the pace, beautiful. I’m in your hands.”

Toys? Oh, yes.

You can be sure he has researched every single thing about them.

But he won’t settle for the ones that already exist. No.

He will build his own. Upgraded. With precisely calibrated speeds and optimized materials.

“This one has five vibration levels, but if we increase the frequency by 15%, we could—”

May God help you if you walk into his lab at the wrong time.

May God help his brothers if they ever find out.

Dedicated and obsessed with you.

Donnie doesn’t do anything halfway. If he gives himself to you, it’s completely.

No matter how much time passes, he will always give his all to make you feel incredible.

He’s not a casual lover.

He is yours. And you are his.

“You are my greatest discovery.”

#tmntbayverse #bayverse tmnt #bayverse donnie #donnie x reader #bayverse donnie x reader #fluff #tmnt headcanons #reader #tmnt x reader

547 notes · View notes

hoiststowline · 3 months ago

Text

responses to their s/o falling asleep on them. [w/ ultra magnus, bluestreak, ratchet, hound, kup & sunstreaker]

isn't moving until you wake up, would rather stay like this all evening than risk moving at all. [ultra magnus, bluestreak]

something so harmless as falling asleep alongside ultra magnus is going to fry some circuits. the first time especially, he's mostly in subtle shock that you felt not only safe, but at peace enough to succumb to the temptation to shut your eyes. it's a trust thing for magnus, and while you may express it vocally, these subconscious actions translate loudly for him to which he treasures greatly. with that being said, if you fall asleep beside to him, he isn't moving until you wake up. of course, there may be emergencies or circumstances beyond his control that he would have to try and maneuver himself or his arm away from his s/o. but it is not necessarily a want, nor a desire to even attempt to wake you up. you look so calm. initially, thinking he would go very rigid and stiff if this occurred, i'm now perceiving the opposite. i think magnus would actually release some of the tension in his frame and sink a little deeper into his chair. it's almost like a deserved break, a gift that he wasn't expecting but appreciates significantly nonetheless.

on the other hand, bluestreak is the one that goes completely taut and inflexible upon realizing you've fallen asleep. it’s likely on his chassis so there is virtually nowhere else to look, mesmerized by your state of tranquility and terrified to disturb it. he doesn’t want to, particularly after he gently rests a servo across your back and you intuitively bundle deeper into his touch. then bluestreak is really not moving, not until you arise fully on your own. you evidently needed it, and he required this to shake free some of the stress that’s had him wound up very tight. if it’s the first time, he is so entranced with studying your face and how you hardly move. or on the other side, if you move around a lot, he let’s you do whatever you please, raising his hand until you become comfortable, lowering it once more atop your spine. if somebody needs him, they’re gonna have to come and get him because he isn’t getting up.

would test the limits to get both you and themselves into a more comfortable position, but would stop if it appeared as if you were going to wake up. [ratchet, hound]

ratchet probably recognizes the way you’re positioned will leave an ache in your neck or shoulders in the morning, so searches for a way to get you elevated but comfortable. he is the first mech who wants you to get the best rest possible, knowing that you likely haven't been getting enough or there's too much time in between your last round of shut-eye. he tries to guide you into laying down, but every time he moves away, you follow like a magnet. ratchet will give it a try three more times before giving up, realizing that you're beginning to rouse or are shuffling around too much. it isn't worth it then if you ultimately awake anyways, but in the end, he might as well join you. your cheek smushed up against his side isn't really doing him any favors in denying it, half-wondering when you even fell asleep. had he been talking to himself for the past fifteen minutes? the last thing he recalls you mumbling about is how warm he feels, though the recollection now has him ex-venting, silently but contentedly accepting defeat.

hound rather you sleep in your own bed, for the sole reason that it's far more enjoyable and comfortable than his cold berth or up against his boxy frame. of course, if he had his preference, snuggling up beside you would triumph over any other suggestion. but if you were to conk out underneath his arm, hound's only looking out for the fact you have work/school in the morning. he knows how exhausted you are after a long day, so while this isn't unfamiliar, he still tries to adjust you into a more satisfactory pose. every time he so much as touches you, you stir, even if he's so moderate with each brush of contact. the last thing hound wants is to accidentally wake you, knowing it's ten times harder to get back to sleep after being roused so abruptly. he's the first to give in, but he's a bit guilty about it, yielding to his own temptations rather than finding a better solution. though, the way your fingers rest along his plating is a really substantial distraction, enraptured by the feeling of your chest rising and falling against his side. a better idea would have to wait, because all he wants now is for this moment to last forever.

accidentally wakes you up trying to get you in a more comfortable and desirable resting position, feels bad but tells you to go back to sleep. [kup, sunstreaker]

similar to a deer in headlights, kup doesn't know what to with himself. you're sound asleep yet you're practically upside down tucked up against his neck, and this presents two immediate problems. one, if you move in your sleep you're gonna fall or get hurt, and two, he can hardly see you situated like that. kup falls still, but racks his processor for a better undertaking than waking you up. it's in vain, so gently, he'd tug on the bottom of your pants for two minutes until he realizes that you aren't going to respond to that, grumbling under his breath but it's all in good fun. eventually, he hushes your name, tilting his helm back to try and catch the expression on your face. if you're in a deep enough sleep, he slides a servo under your form to bring you to his front, waking you in the process. kup will instantly get you in a restful position that is better for the both of you, more than likely at his front so he can multitask [usually a lie, because he ends up falling asleep as well]. he generally kisses your temple and tells you that it's all alright, and that he's sorry for disturbing you. his gruffness is smothered when he whispers for you to try to go back to sleep, alongside that he'll be right here when you wake up.

sunstreaker stands conflicted for ten or so minutes, uncertain as to what the best response is to such a situation. you're more likely to fall asleep in the crook of his arm, leaning against his upper appendage as your fingers fight to interlock around his elbow. you've been mumbling sleepy nonsense for the last hour, but sunstreaker hadn't thought anything of it until you stopped talking in full. quickly, he finishes whatever he's working on and moves to gather you in his hands so he can nap with you, but he's jumped up too fast or the switching of positions startled you. he's mumbling apologies at the lowest level his voice box goes, trying to whisper until he can get you both back into his berth. it's a soft and drowsy sunstreaker that you are not quite overfamiliar with, but hope to meet when you regain full consciousness in the morning. he appreciates the quiet and would happily take any chance to embrace his s/o in such a devoted manner. he might feel a bit bad about fortuitously waking you up, but sunstreaker rather you be safe and comfy in his arms than try and get a good repose at his desk.

380 notes · View notes

rainrot4me · 17 days ago

Note

Yo I've been a fan of your art/writing for a while now and I am really excited to see more of your work!

So I was wondering (for I am a slut for angst/hurt with comfort) how you imagine the characters like Jeff (my fav), Toby, Jack, etc. to be when they hit that breaking point? Like tears, snot, can't breathe, can't talk, kind of breaking point. And how they would act once comforted (or on their own)?

P.s. What animal, alive or extinct, would you want to be and why?

WOOO, I’ve never really been the best at writing angst, but I’ve always loved consuming it letting it rip my soul apart, so here’s my take:

P.S. I’d love to be a timber wolf! They’re gorgeous, and I’ve always had a serious love for them!!

── .✦

✦ . jeff the killer

Breaking Point: It’s not loud, it’s violent, toward others and himself. Blood under his fingernails from clawing at his scalp, his mouth twitching in a broken grin he can’t stop. He laughs hysterically, wet and ugly as tears track down his scarred cheeks. But eventually, it cuts off. Just silence and trembling. He curls in on himself like a wounded animal, too proud to ask for help, too exhausted to push it away.

Response to Comfort: If you touch him, really touch him, gently, it short-circuits him. He jerks like he’s been struck. But if you don’t back off? If you just hold him? He breaks all over again, but softer this time. Barely whispers out,

“Don’t look at me.”

But he doesn’t move away.

✦ . ticci toby

Breaking Point: It starts with the stuttering, then the twitching worsens, hands shaking uncontrollably, gasping breaths like he’s choking on air. His mind overloads and the tics spiral into chaos. He’ll collapse into a corner, pounding fists into his legs or slamming his head back into the wall. He wants to scream but can’t form words. Just sobs through gritted teeth. He’s virtually seizing, absolutely at the mercy of his overworked body finally taking its toll on him.

Response to Comfort: He doesn’t know how to accept it. If you try, he’ll resist at first, flinch away, say,

“I’m fine! I’m fine, I’m—”

But if you stay, if you’re calm and quiet and real, he’ll eventually melt into you. He doesn’t speak, just grabs onto your sleeve like a lifeline and holds until his body is finally too tired to hurt itself any more.

✦ . eyeless jack

Breaking Point: It’s rare. But when it happens, it’s silent devastation. He hides it at first, locks himself away, curls up in the dark with blood on his hands and nothing left to justify it. There are no eyes to cry, but the tremor in his breath and the stillness of his body tell the story. Sometimes he tears off his mask, clutching it like a broken relic, like it’s the only thing left of his long-gone humanity.

“I’m not even human anymore…”

Response to Comfort: He won’t ask for it. But if you offer, not with pity, but with understanding and compassion, he’ll sit beside you in silence. Eventually, he’ll lean his head against your shoulder, and it’s the first time in years he lets himself believe someone might not flinch.

✦ . masky (tim wright)

Breaking Point: Explosive. Rage masks the grief. He yells, throws things, punches walls, and then just collapses, chest heaving, vision blurred. His mind loops between past trauma and the present until he hits the floor, crying so hard he can’t breathe. Hyperventilating. Only The Operator himself could handle the devastation he’d cause if he got around other people.

“Make it stop. Just make it—make it STOP.”

Response to Comfort: Physical touch works, but only if it’s steady. Too fast and he’ll lash out. He needs you to ground him, press a hand to his chest and say his name firmly (if you can derive which one is fronting at the time). If you can keep him from spiraling, he’ll eventually grip your wrist tight and fall apart in your arms like he’s got nothing to be ashamed about the next day.

✦ . hoody (brian thomas)

Breaking Point: Doesn’t allow people to see it. If he hits rock bottom, it’s behind a locked door. Tears are silent, shoulders shaking, fists clenched, rocking back and forth like a man trying to hold his insides together. He talks to himself under his breath, trying to reason his way out of a mind that’s far too loud to be heard in.

“It’s fine. You’re fine. No one has to know. You can fix this.”

Response to Comfort: He doesn’t want comfort, would much rather ride out whatever anguish he’s in than have someone he knows see him in that state. But if you refuse to leave, he’ll try to hide his face in your shoulder and quietly say,

“Don’t… don’t say anything. Just stay.”

It’s not trust, not yet, but it’s close.

✦ . laughing jack

Breaking Point: Utter meltdown. Laughter turning into hysterical sobs mid-sentence, his colors flicker, his body glitches, and he crumbles into a heap of striped limbs and smeared makeup.

“Why won’t they love me? Why do they scream when I try?!”

His clown exterior is shattered, and underneath is someone aching.

Response to Comfort: If you reach out with genuine affection, he doesn’t understand it at first. He cries harder, buries his face in your chest and sobs like a lost child. The moment is short-lived, but real. He’ll pretend it didn’t happen, but part of him remembers.

✦ . clockwork

Breaking Point: Hers is quiet devastation. She’ll try to act normal until she’s alone, then she just sinks. Slumped against a wall, fingernails biting into her thighs, eyes wide but seeing nothing. The tick of the clock embedded in her face becomes the only sound. Her tears are angry, full of shame, and inconsolable.

“You’re weak. You’re weak. Stop it.”

Response to Comfort: She fights it at first, tries to joke, to deflect. But if you sit beside her and just say “You don’t have to do this alone,” something in her breaks. She might whisper,

“I don’t know how to stop.”

If you stay, she’ll finally let herself cry with someone.

✦ . ben drowned

Breaking Point: Like a glitching program, he paces in circles, muttering code and fragmented memories, tearing at his hair. He doesn’t cry, he screams, digital distortion cracking through his voice.

“They deleted me. I was never real to them.”

He spirals into identity collapse, unsure what’s code, what’s emotion.

Response to Comfort: At first, he thinks it’s a trick. But if you show real warmth, like holding his hand or telling him he matters, his entire demeanor flickers. He softens, cries like a corrupted file: broken audio and blinking static, but it’s still a cry.

✦ . slenderman

Breaking Point: Almost incomprehensible. He doesn’t sob, he trembles. His tentacles writhe uncontrollably, psychic static screaming through the air like a storm. If he’s hurt enough to break, reality around him starts to fracture, trees bend, clocks melt, and time warps. Every person within a mile radius has a splintering headache worthy of tears.

Response to Comfort: No one would dare comfort him… but if someone did—touched his arm, whispered they weren’t afraid, the static would dim. He’d pull them into his arms, not for violence, but to hide the quaking of his form. He wouldn’t speak. Just hold them in an impossible silence, grateful but never saying a word.

꩜ .ᐟ

305 notes · View notes

formula1au · 1 year ago

Text

reward for a champion

summary: max is playing on the sim while y/n distracts him

pairings: max verstappen x gf!reader

content: fluff, teasing

warning: none (no smut)

word count: 644

Max sat in the middle of his living room, his eyes glued to the multiple screens of his race sim. The setup was impressive—three large monitors curved around him, a high-tech steering wheel, and a seat that mimicked the cockpit of his Red Bull Racing car. He was deeply immersed in a virtual Grand Prix, navigating through the twists and turns of the Monaco circuit.

Y/n leaned against the doorframe, watching him with a mischievous smile. She knew how much Max loved his sim racing. It was his way of unwinding and staying sharp during the off-season. But today, she felt a playful urge to distract him.

She walked over to him quietly, her bare feet making no sound on the hardwood floor. Max didn't notice her approach, his concentration unwavering as he took a particularly tight corner. Y/n leaned in close, her lips just inches from his ear.

"Are you winning, Max?" she whispered, her breath tickling his neck.

Max jumped slightly, the car on the screen swerving dangerously close to the corner. He quickly corrected the mistake, his focus momentarily shaken. "Schat! You scared the hell out of me," he said, laughing despite himself.

Y/n giggled and moved to sit on his lap. "Sorry, I couldn't resist. You just look so serious," she teased, poking his side gently.

Max shook his head, trying to keep his attention on the race. "This is serious business, you know. I can't afford distractions."

"Oh really?" Y/n said, raising an eyebrow. She slid her hand down his arm, her fingers lightly tracing his skin. "What if I do... this?" She leaned in and kissed his cheek softly, then his jawline, her lips trailing down his neck.

Max's grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles turning white. "Liefje, you're making this very difficult," he said, his voice strained with a mix of amusement and distraction.

Y/n pulled back, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Come on, baby. It's just a game. You can always restart if you crash."

Max grinned, glancing at her briefly before focusing back on the screen. "You know I hate losing, even in a game."

"Well, if you win this race, I'll make it worth your while," she said, her voice low and suggestive.

Max's eyebrows shot up, and he chuckled. "Oh? And what exactly does that mean?"

Y/n leaned in close again, her lips brushing his ear. "You'll just have to win and find out," she whispered.

With renewed determination, Max fixed his eyes on the track, maneuvering his car with precision. Y/n watched, impressed by his skill and concentration. She decided to dial down her teasing, not wanting to genuinely ruin his race. Instead, she opted for a different approach.

She slipped off his lap and moved behind him, her hands resting on his shoulders. She began to massage his tense muscles, her thumbs working out the knots. "Relax, Max. You've got this," she said soothingly.

Max sighed, the tension easing from his body as he navigated the final laps of the race. With Y/n's hands working their magic, he felt a surge of confidence. He took the final corner flawlessly and crossed the finish line in first place.

He let out a yell, raising his arms in victory. "I did it!"

Y/n clapped her hands, her face beaming with pride. "I knew you could. Well done, champion."

Max turned in his seat to face her, pulling her onto his lap. "Now, about that reward you mentioned..."

Y/n wrapped her arms around his neck, her eyes sparkling. "Patience, Mr. Verstappen. Let's just say it'll be worth the wait."

Max smiled, kissing her softly. "I like the sound of that."

They stayed there for a moment, wrapped in each other's arms, enjoying the quiet victory and the promise of something more.

646 notes · View notes

glitchgh0sty · 4 months ago

Note

Honestly your decepticon Prowl makes me think of how his situation would hurt him physically. He lives in a dehumanized state and considers it normal, constantly calculating without breaks. I’m sure with Shockwave, Prowl is able to get repairs or upgrades to prevent him from straight up crashing but that won’t stop his body from constantly being put under strain and 3 cycles isn’t gonna cut it for recovery.

Oh ABSOLUTELY,, you sense the vision here anon, now take that vision, and run with it cause the way Prowl lives his life here would probably make me crash after about a week, 💀✨

It’s a strain on every part of him,, start at the head? Over processing errors / crashes. Solution? Override [Cause Shockwave will fix it anyways] Move to the stomach? He’s been eating the same thing for yEars. Solution? Doesn’t need one. [he gets everything he needs for the average diet anyways] Move to the doorwings? OOF, yeah no buddy, they ain’t supposed to be split like that. Solution? Deal with it [cause the amount of data you’re retaining from the exposed circuits in the virtual server is helping marginally] Move to the legs? Probably underused, cramp up frequently. Solution? HA, who needs em? [the base is too well guarded deep in Deception territory to worry about it]

In short, Prowl’s everyday conditions are like, if you’ve ever felt physically sick from a lack of sleep, then taking a medicine for that sickness instead of actually going to sleep cause you’ve got stuff to do

#transformers #decepticon!prowl #glitch responds #why must I do this to myself??#poor prooowl #pleease Jazz get over here soon 👏😭

244 notes · View notes

neigepomme · 3 months ago

Text

˙ ✩°˖ ✈️ world.execute (us) ; / caleb x reader

synopsis; specially designed weapons X-01 and X-02 breach established program; enter world execution protocol.

�� pomme's notes — sorry this is super abstract heh but CALEB! COME HOME TO ME BABY PLEASE! also i quoted bible verses but tweaked them to fit the lads cinematic universe.. i love biblical imagery in the media i consume 🙂‍↕️

⋆ 500 words / god knows what genre ummm let's say angst (..?) to be safe / fem reader / 2nd person

— and of the wing which EVER had taken from X-02, they made X-01 and brought her to X-02.

weapons. it is all that they were.

disposable machinery, circuits, and welded metals deemed unable to exercise primary human functions — possessing a conscience, feeling, and refusing orders.

world.addThing (caleb) ;

X-02 was the first successful weapon after a series of experiments. dubbed 'caleb' by the researchers, he wielded the power of gravity and was the strongest of their arsenal — mechanical wings giving him the appearance of an angel, flawless robotic being, harbinger of an unspoken world ending.

world.addThing (you) ;

from his steel feathers and wires, they made X-01 — caleb's eve. on her own, she was but a standard infantry soldier, if only more resistant to damage and irreplaceable in her resilient quality. however, when coupled with caleb, they made for the ultimate weapon of mass destruction.

an ever growing black hole contained within pandora's box, one which she held the key to — a limitation imposed onto caleb's infinity.

if (you instanceof Sequence){

you.setlimit (caleb.toLimit());

}

when unsupervised by researchers, X-02's standard protocol was a simple one — destroy X-01.

world.execute(you) ;

however, within the lines of codes, caleb's processor encountered a critical error upon attempting to execute the function. similar to how eve was made from adam's rib, X-01 was made from caleb's wing — thus, the function was rendered useless, as it translated to self-destruction,

world.execute(caleb) ;

further down the lines of 1s and 0s, though, an even more critical error manifested itself — within both weapons' codes. they were capable of feeling.

a desire for the other's warmth.

a foreign concept within their program.

in the midst of their self-imposed fall from grace, one brought on by their own faulty parameters, they reach for each other's hands.

caleb's hand clasping X-01's, bringing her to his chest, going against every established program within his system. in his processor, only one command rings loudly — a corrupted line of code? or a virus, maybe? unable to be purged by his safety protocols, caleb's newly found virtual conscience displays only one function to execute.

world.unite(you, caleb) ;

and like the machine he was programmed to be, he abides by this newly established function — one catalyzed by your very being in his vicinity.

joining your lips together, he finds comfort in the unnatural warmth emanating from your composition.

— ILOVEYOU

weapons. designed for each other's annihilation.

in life, in binary or in one's warmth,

and in death, in circuits shutting off or stopped heartbeats,

even if it all fades away — your souls will resonate with one another's.

world.execute(us);

— so EVER banished them from the garden of eden and sent caleb out to destroy the fabric of the universe from which he had been made — his eve by his side to fall with him.

🍎 pomme's notes — i do not code the code lines come from this song by mili called world.execute(me) (also the title of this thing)!! IT'S SOOOO MYTH CALEBMC CODED PLEASE LISTEN TO IT I BEG

#⋆ pomme rambles #caleb #caleb x reader #caleb x you #lads x reader #lads caleb #lads #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace #⋆ neigepomme #i'm half asleep this might be ass if it is. we die like men #pomme “i'll go to bed before 4 today” neige #it's 4am. Yeah. Whatever live laugh love caleb

192 notes · View notes

chilling-seavey · 4 months ago

Note

I feel like TWIG needs some angst so imagine George finding out that you and your little ones got into a car accident

You are so right, anon 💕 Sorry it took me a bit to get to this one but I had to make sure I was in the writing mindset for angst!!

Warnings: Minor descriptions of car crash, injuries, and shock

It wasn’t quite the same as the real thing; stuffed in a replica of the recent Mercedes chassis facing a large arched screen displaying the virtual circuit of Baku. After almost a decade in the sport, George could have driven those streets with his eyes closed but he knew there was no place for cockiness behind the wheel. Every turn and choice must be meticulously calculated and perfected to pull every second out of the care safely.

He was just starting another flying lap in the sim when the tone of the speaker tore him from his focus. One of the technicians spoke to him through the windowed wall of the simulator booth, “George, your phone keeps ringing out here. It’s your wife. Why don’t you take five?”

A spark of concern flickered in his chest, wondering why you were calling multiple times when you rarely so much as messaged him when he was at the factory. He climbed out of the simulator and stepped through the door into the adjacent room that held a few long desks stocked with computers housing impressive data sets and graphs. The employees that took up the seats kept their attention on studying the results of the session while George picked up his phone from where he had left it at the table at the back.

He noticed three missed calls from you and before he could call you back, his screen filled with your name and contact image with another incoming call. The urgency had his stomach churning and he stepped out into the hallway for a moment of privacy as he answered it.

“Hey, my love, sorry, I was in the sim.” he spoke into the phone, trying not to sound too worried, “Is everything okay?”

“Hey, yeah, we’re okay,” you answered.

He could hear the tension in your voice, the slight waver to your words. Somewhere in the distance, there was chatter and the muffled sound of an announcement.

“I just…” you tried to continue but your words seemed to halt.

George sat down in a chair in one of the small lounges in the factory, “Love, what is it? You’re scaring me.”

“Sorry,” you breathed, your exhale shaky, “I’m with the kids at the hospital. We, uh…there was…fuck.”

He could tell how shaken you were by the fact you were unable to even piece sentences together but the fact he was only being given bits of the story was sending him into a spiral. With a tight breath, he pressed urgently, “Are you okay? Are they okay?”

“Yeah, no, yeah, we’re fine.” you assured him quickly, “Some bruises but…we’re all fine. Just…got into a little car accident. Came here to be checked out just in case.”

George was filled with equal parts relief and dread. Relief that you were all okay but dread that there had been enough of an accident to have you think about going to the hospital to get checked out. He didn’t even have to think about it before he stood up from the bench and started back down the hallway towards his private room, replying, “Okay…okay, my love, I’m on my way, alright? I have your location, I’ll head to you right now. Stay put, okay?”

“Okay,” you echoed in an exhale lined with a moment of relief, “Thank you. I’m sorry.”

“Oh my God, baby, do not be sorry. I’m just glad you’re okay. I just have to change and I’m coming right to you now.”

“Okay, I love you.”

The shock-stemmed flatness of your voice was chilling.

“I love you too,” George replied easily, his tone extra warm and gentle, “I’ll see you soon.”

He was sure he had never changed faster in his life, tugging off his sim-ready race suit in exchange for his street clothes before he had even alerted his team that he had to go. When he returned to the simulator room to say he was leaving and why, he didn’t even wait for a response before he was closing the door behind him and making a beeline for the stairs of the factory.

The parking lot of the Brackley headquarters was packed but George’s reserved parking spot wasn’t too far from the front doors of the building. He checked your location on his brisk walk to his car, zooming in on the map to see what hospital you were at and, once he was sitting behind the wheel, he typed the location into the GPS in his car.

It was ironically a sunny day in England that day, the roads dry and clear as he navigated through the countryside from Brackley to Cambridge. He silently cursed the hour-and-a-half drive as his impatience was settling on his shoulders but he didn’t let it deter him from focusing on the roads ahead. The piece of mind came with the awareness that you were okay.

Once he was parked outside the Addenbrooke Hospital on the southern point of the city of Cambridge, he was hurrying across the lot towards the entry doors, phone pressed to his ear as he called you. You directed him to where you were waiting and once he emerged through the double doors into the waiting room of the wing you were in, his heart was racing.

You stood from your chair at the sight of him and he rushed to meet you, swallowing you up in a careful embrace. You clung onto him tightly, fingers clutching the back of his shirt and your eyes screwed shut as you buried your face in his neck. He could feel your heavy sigh of relief in his arms as if the tension and stress had been completely dissipated from your body with a simple hug from him.

Across the waiting room, your two children were distracted by some toys in the corner, playing together, unbothered, as if it were just another day. Watching them for a moment over your shoulder, the only thing George could notice about them was the blue bandaid on your son’s temple.

You pulled away from his embrace a little, voice still a little shaky from the shock as you updated him on the well-being of your children, “She’s the best out of the three of us, basically completely unharmed. Little guy’s cut was from the impact…hitting just the right part of his carseat. I took the worst of it.”

George tore his attention away from the children to look back at you, finally getting a proper look at you up close. It was then that he noticed the bruising over your nose and down your right cheek and jaw, colouring your skin in purples and greens. His eyes trailed down your profile to where you held out your trembling hands, your right wrist wrapped in a bandage.

“Just a minor sprain,” you assured him before he could worry too much. You tried to make light of it with a soft, “The paramedic said it was likely from how hard I was holding onto the wheel when we were hit. She said it was like my ‘mama bear’ instincts took over, trying to keep control of the car the best I could.”

George pulled in a shaky breath and moved back in to hug you again if needing to feel you there, that you were really okay. Your arms smoothly wrapped around his shoulders as he pulled you close, both of you just holding onto each other for a moment.

“What happened?” George finally asked. He felt as though he had been keeping that question on the tip of his tongue since you had first called him, wanting to know but also wanting to save himself from knowing the cold hard truth.

You sniffled and pulled back just enough to look at him, although your eyes were downcast as if in shame, “Some idiot made a right turn at an intersection without looking. I braked and swerved just enough to not get entirely t-boned but he hit almost directly on the front driver's side. Hence,”

You held up your sprained wrist.

“Saved the kiddies though.” you mumbled.

George gently set a hand on your face and pulled you in to press a kiss to your head as if he could pour all his love into that simple action.

The power behind it had your eyes welling with tears and you whispered out a shaky, “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

George tenderly trailed the back of his finger over your uninjured cheek to swipe away a stray tear, “What on earth do you have to be sorry about right now?”

“We took your C63.” you whimpered, another heavy tear dripping down your cheek, “It’s…so fucked. So, so fucked. I know how much you love it…how much you protect it and I didn’t think—”

“Shhh,” George hushed you softly, gently rubbing your biceps comfortingly as he stared into your tear-filled eyes, “The last thing on my mind right now is the car. I hadn’t once thought about the car since you called me. You, the kids…that’s all I care about right now. That’s all I care about ever.”

“Okay,” you choked out through a sob, lifting your hands to hide your face as you burst into tears in the middle of the hospital waiting room.

George’s arms encircled you and he pressed another kiss to your head, cradling you against his chest and surrounding you with his love and comfort. As much as he adored that car, he truly didn’t care about it in that moment as he held you in his arms. He had trusted you with it, knowing you were always a safe driver, but the one thing that he always knew was the scariest part of driving was that you can’t control what anyone else on the road does.

As he held you, he whispered words of reassurance to you, reminding you with a serious, “We can fix up a car…we can get a new car…but I can’t get a new you.”

His comfort had the damns breaking, causing you to let out your bottled up emotions into his neck with a sobbing, “I was so scared.”

His heart nearly broke at your confession and he rubbed his hand over your back, comforting you in the only way he knew how and the only way he could offer, “I know, my love. I’m here. I got you.”

♡ Enjoying my content? Support my writing here :)

♡ None of the original writing on this blog may be reproduced, reposted, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

#unedited as heck #🩵#george russell smut #george russell fanfic #george russell fic #george russell x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #formula one fic #f1 fluff #f1 smut #f1 imagines #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #domestic f1 #dad george russell #twig mini drabbles

215 notes · View notes