Melanie - Hey, Was The Black Death Caused By A Corruption Avatar, D’you Think ?

HI! Hope you are well! I have no clue if you are taking requests or not, but if you are, could you maybe do a smau with carlos sainz x ferrari!reader? Where the reader is part of the ferrari family, and when her father passes away, she will take on the company? And like, all of the tifosi love her loads, bcs she's just lovely to them all no matter what, and they see carlos slowly 'fall in love' with her then soft launch their relationship, and it turns out they had been dating for ages? If you can, ty!!

are you going to be my girl? | carlos sainz social media au

pairing: carlos sainz x ferrari!reader

it's not a HR violation if you were dating before she became your boss and it's not nepotism if it's her company.

yournameferrari

liked by carlossainz55, charles_leclerc and 872,309 others

yournameferrari: first race weekend, let's go girls 🏁

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user1: i am SCARED i am weirdly optimistic 🤔

user2: i have faith, the article about her and the whole new team... she's cooking

carlossainz55: excited to take her out for a spin

yournameferrari: lets keep all the spinning for the doughnuts at the end of the season please

carlossainz55: i'll try my best, no promises though

yournameferrari: okay stop commenting on my post and get ready to drive, you're wearing my name

carlossainz55: let me know when you want to wear mine

user3: yall it's not even been one race and carlos is flirting with his boss, they weren't lying f1 drivers really are fearless

sebastianvettel: feels like just the other day when you first visted the garage, you'll smash it!

yournameferrari: thanks seb! can't wait to see you again, give hanna and the kids my love

user4: i love that she's 23 but literally talks like a grandma

user5: the stress of ferrari does tend to age a person

charles_leclerc: forza ferrari ❤️ we'll make you proud

yournameferrari: i have all the faith in the world in you boys

user6: a ferarri owner who actually publicly supports the drivers? i've prayed for times like this

user7: ahhh i met her this weekend and she really loves the tifosi like she spent so long with us and signed as much as she could

carlossainz55

liked by yournameferrari, landonorris and 893,209 others

carlossainz55: great weekend all round, happy to be back on the podium - thank you to y/n and all the team for building us a car we can win in !!

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user9: don't shoot me but did we all see the way carlos was looking at y/n on the podium

user10: bestie i hate to tell you but there was like 100 ferrari workers at that podium he could've been looking at literally any of them

yournameferrari: you boys made the ferrari name proud this weekend ❤️

carlossainz55: couldn't have done it without you and the team

yournameferrari: you're too kind, take pride in your own achievements

carlossainz55: only if you celebrate with me

user11: are we witnessing the smooth operator in real time?

user12: it's like seeing a unicorn in the woods

landonorris: congrats chilli 🌶️ are we all celebrating or is it just you two?

carlossainz55: all of us? why wouldn't it be everyone?

landonorris: no reason ....

user13: maybe it's because carlos' eyes pop out of his head like a looney tunes whenever he's around y/n ferrari

liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc

carlossainz55: you realise i get the notifications when you guys like comments, right?

landonorris: well my PR team wouldn't like it if i commented it myself

carlossainz55: i wonder if there is a reason for that 🤔

user14: carlando domestics in the comment section we are so back

scuderiaferrari

liked by carlossainz55, charles_leclerc and 803,451 others

tagged: yournameferrari

scuderiaferrari: no race this weekend? we'll give you a #️⃣ asky/n to give you your ferrari content this weekend!

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user15: what is your favourite race?

yournameferrari: besides the obvious choices of imola and monza, i really enjoy suzuka and spa !

user16: who is a driver you would've loved to have managed?

yournameferrari: the obvious answer is michael schumacher, but i also would've loved to work with seb and kimi and jean alesi!

user17: how do you feel about taking over ferrari so young?

yournameferrari: it's definitely daunting, especially when no one really knew i existed. i was scared when it came to the staff overhaul as they had been there for so long and i was scared that it would massively backfire, but so far so good.

user18: tbf it's been a long time coming

user19: what would you do if you weren't owning ferrari?

yournameferrari: to be honest, ferrari and motorsport is all i have ever known, but, i also enjoy most other sports like football, ice skating and golf. but outside of sport i would've loved to pursue writing, i love poetry and essays!

user20: GOLF? cue carlos sainz in 3...2...1

carlossainz55: let's go for a round after my next sim session ⛳️

yournameferrari: only if you're ready to lose

user21: i am having ... feelings about this pairing

user22: how do you feel about charles' music?

yournameferrari: i always think it is good to have another passion, especially with how all-consuming formula one can become. i personally love charles' music and will often put it on when i do yoga or read (though my favourite is AUS23)

charles_leclerc: thank you y/n !!!

user23: is this *rubs eyes* an owner with a good relationship with the drivers???

f1gossipgirl

liked by user28, user29 and 4,130 others

tagged: yournameferrari, pierregasly

f1gossipgirl: AWKWARD MOMENT ALERT 🚨 y/n ferrari had harsh word for pierre gasly when they crossed paths in the paddock. gasly, whose dangerous driving put carlos sainz in the medical centre, seemed shocked that ferrari would have a problem with him. sources in the paddock said that ferrari admonished the frenchman, "you have a lot of gall in the media gasly, everyone saw how dangerous that was, you can't blame your own shortcomings on alpha tauri or adrian newey now. keep your car away from my drivers or we'll have a real problem." oop. allegedly gasly only replied with a wink and a "anything for you sweetheart" which caused y/n to storm off and knock his shoulder on the way past. who is in the right?

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user30: THAT'S MY OWNER RIGHT THERE

user31: y/n owned gasly

user32: not only was he dangerous on track he's also super disrespectful off, y/n is expressing her concerns over her driver who could've been seriously injured and he just flirts with her ???

user33: pierre is super in the wrong here but also it's so refreshing to see someone in management actually have the drivers back

user34: gone were the days of begging ferrari to even appeal penalties

user35: my friend was in the paddock and apparently vasseur had to hold sainz back after he was told about what pierre had done

user36: the way he's more mad that pierre disrespected y/n than nearly killing him

user37: idk why she's getting involved, no need to talk to the drivers like that, you're the owner, know your place

liked by pierregasly

user38: something insidious about the man liking a comment telling a woman to know her place 🤨

user39: he acts the victim in every situation and yet HE is the common denominator

user40: after ^^^ this whole mess i need carlos to scrap pierre

user41: i feel like he actually would that man is in love with y/n lol

yournameferrari

liked by carlossainz55, scuderiaferrari and 903,451 others

yournameferrari: happy summer break everyone !! going into the break leading the constructor's championship lead is amazing but we aim to finish the season with both trophies back in maranello. see you in zandvoort x

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user42: A MAN?

user43: i was delusional to think that a young successful and smart woman wasn't cuffed :(

sebastianvettel: are you still planning to swing by switzerland?

yournameferrari: we'll be there!

this comment was deleted

yournameferrari: i'll be there!

user44: girl we saw that

user45: the way she posts her soft launch but deletes a comment that says she might bring him to visit seb?

user46: visiting seb is a big deal tbf

user47: the way carlos HAS to have her notifications on mans was here after 30 seconds

user48: has better reaction time for y/n's instagram post than a race start 😭

carlossainz55: working on my swing, ready for our round of golf

yournameferrari: get ready to be humbled

carlossainz55: if you're as pro as you say i may have to upgrade us to crazy golf

yournameferrari: as long as i get the red ball

carlossainz55: deal

user49: are we FLIRTING 👀 ???????

carlossainz55

liked by landonorris, yournameferrari and 703,458 others

tagged: yournameferrari

carlossainz55: took a break from swimming to get my ass whooped by my boss on the golf course

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user50: oh the fit - Y/N CAME TO PLAY

landonorris: just how bad was the whopping? before i propose a paddock golf tournament

carlossainz55: she'll ruin the sport for you it's not fair

landonorris: you didn't put up any sort of fight?

carlossainz55: i TRIED but as soon as i saw the custom clubs i knew it was over

yournameferrari: i have a confession, i was literally on my college golf team, i had a lot of practice sorry x

carlossainz55: so you're basically a professional? that's comforting

yournameferrari: not really a professional but a very dedicated amateur

user51: babe you literally won the national championship at stanford stop playing with this man

yournameferrari: oops? 😬

user52: right, i don't mean to sound crazy, but i have a theory. the third pic looks very familiar to me, is it a lake in switzerland? the switzerland one SEBASTIAN VETTEL lives in and that y/n ferrari said she was going to visit this summer with someone?

user53: i fear you've made a point

user54: as much as they'd be literally the hottest couple in the world ... is it not a bit weird for carlos to date his boss? like... also what does this mean for potential favouritism?

user55: i get those concerns but we've already seen this season that decisions have been made both ways. unlike the binotto era ferrari actually are making the two first drivers thing work

user56: based on what y/n has said in the past i don't think she'd favour carlos because of a relationship, i think she's too ruthless to potentially sacrifice points to benefit her potential boyfriend

f1

liked by landonorris, carlossainz55 and 1,239,861 others

tagged: carlossainz55

f1: the smooth operator is back to winning ways with his win under the singapore lights. it was a double podium for ferrari and a DNF for sergio perez means that ferrari are constructors champions once again!

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user60: Y/N FERRARI THE WOMAN YOU ARE AND HOLY SHIT HER AND CARLOS KISSING DID SOMETHING TO ME

user61: we really went from xavi and not having any tyres to proper professionals and the WCC trust the WDC will be coming back home soon

carlossainz55: tifosi, we'll get the big one next year ❤️

user62: CONSTRUCTOR CHAMPIONS AND YOU BAGGED Y/N FERRARI U WON AT LIFE

landonorris: so you made me find out with everyone else? i see how it is

carlossainz55: sorry landito, didn't intend for anyone to find out just yet but i guess i got a little carried away..

yournameferrari: a little?

carlossainz55: sorry but i've been good all year and finally got the win and the championship i couldn't help myself (you also looked so good sorry)

yournameferrari: i guess i can give you that (you're also very sexy post-race)

charles_leclerc: well i for one am super happy that i never opened the door when i heard a suspicious sound coming from y/n's office

yournameferrari: omg delete please i stubbed my toe i swear !!!!

charles_leclerc: no one is believing that i'm sorry

carlossainz55: we've never done anything untoward on ferrari property

landonorris: untoward? who are you?

carlossainz55: my gf is super duper college educated and it's rubbing off on me

landonorris: AHAHAHA RUBBING OFF

yournameferrari: 🤨

landonorris: sorry.

carlossainz55

liked by landonorris, yournameferrari and 1,034,510 others

tagged: yournameferrari

carlossainz55: suprise ! i guess it wasn't to be just ours forever, but i love you y/n and will give everything to you and your name x

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user62: boyfriend in the first slide and girlfriend in the others he's so real

yournameferrari: i know this secret was hard for you to keep so i'm proud of you regardless, i love you 🫶

carlossainz55: honestly any time anyone in the paddock flirted with you i thought i would explode

yournameferrari: i've seen your dm requests, spare me

carlossainz55: but now they know, i can unleash all of my pictures of you and i can flex on everyone

user63: dream threesome list just got a new update

landonorris: first slide for me i know that's right

carlossainz55: i am forgiven for not telling you about my relationship? the two years were tough

landonorris: TWO YEARS?

carlossainz55: your tone sounds kinda off

landonorris: you can shove your first slide up your ass 👍 TWO YEARS?????

carlossainz55: tbf i couldn't really announce to the world that i was dating the woman who would someday become the owner of my team

landonorris: give me three business days and i'll be okay

scuderiaferrari: parents ❤️

charles_leclerc: happy for you guys but never ask me to take pictures of you again x

yournameferrari: you did such a good job though!

charles_leclerc: unless i see a photographer bonus in my contract i will not be third wheeling for free

yournameferrari: noted (you're not getting the bonus)

charles_leclerc: it was worth the try

yournameferrari

liked by charles_leclerc, carlossainz55 and 1,035,556 others

tagged: carlossainz55

yournameferrari: what a crazy first season. i am unbelievably proud of the boys and the team, we'll bring both championships back to maranello next season ❤️

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user64: she is everything i want to be

user65: tbf after last season i never thought we would win a race this season and her overhaul and ruthlessness has actually changed the game. also her and carlos are super cute

carlossainz55: i love you and thank you for our season. here's to the best winter break with you

yournameferrari: finally you can spend christmas the ferrari way

user66: how do we also get an invite to this christmas.. do you have any brothers? cousins? uncles?

carlossainz55: you're so so so beautiful, pretty, bewitching, ravishing, stunning and irresistible

yournameferrari: i love you too handsome

carlossainz55: can you also humble my dad at golf please and thank you

yournameferrari: we'll go doubles for the sainz golf tournament and have NO MERCY

user67: someone tell y/n the season is over and that she doesn't need to ruin sainz snr's christmas on the golf course

yournameferrari: the ferrari name never rests sorry not sorry

user68: yeah yeah the constructor championship finally came back to ferrari but this relationship is the real win from this season

user69: carlos finally found someone as old money as him

user70: and is actually old money, babes has that ferrari money

carlossainz55: i can retire early and be the house husband

yournameferrari: you will not retire early i expect you to be kicking it in that car until you're at least alonso's age

carlossainz55: but after that i can be the house husband a HAB?

yournameferrari: to your hearts content :) no one prettier i'd want on my arm x

note: hope you enjoyed i was BATTLING the writers block on this one lol. but i hope this is what you were looking for

𝐡 𝐚 𝐩 𝐩 𝐢 𝐞 𝐫 ⏤𝕓𝕥𝕤 𝕡𝕠𝕝𝕪 𝕙𝕪𝕓𝕣𝕚𝕕

c o m i n g s o o n …

after faking your death you start

a new life running a tea house where

you provide warm food for the seven handsome

hybrid mercenaries patrolling the border

special thanks to @moonnkxller on wattpad for helping inspire the continuation of this into a series

⏤idea | hybrid cafe au

⏤the universe

love and tattoos (kaz brekker x reader)

summary: in which jesper has a theory and kaz might be the matching tattoos kind of guy.

or

it’s two small words, a raven and a crow, a broken lock and a key, and a band around their ring finger.

or

“He has to be drunk, or high, or something, because there is absolutely no way he’s just seen a band of ink around Kaz’s ring finger.”

warnings: brief panic attack (not detailed), mentions of wounds and blood (not detailed, canon typical), set in the future, kaz has worked on his touch aversion

kaz taglist: @the-tpd-bau @ellievickstar @thestudiouswanderer | soc taglist: @ancientbeing10 (if you want to be added or removed from the taglist just dm me!)

a/n: here i am, once again, because apparently im incapable of stopping myself from writing for kaz brekker. i have so many wips but kaz always calls to me😭😭 this one was so much fun to write, it just flowed, and i hope you enjoy it just as much as i did!!

i. a band of ink around his ring finger, part one.

Jesper must be hallucinating, he has to be. He blinks once, twice, looks down at the drink in his hand, briefly wonders if it’s been laced with some sort of drug powerful enough to have his brain imagining things— because Jesper does not have the imagination to be making this up, he wishes he did —and then looks back up. The ink remains in place. Nope, no way. He shakes his head, presses his eyes shut. He has to be drunk, or high, or something, because there is absolutely no way he’s just seen a band of ink around Kaz’s ring finger.

It’s not the tattoo itself that shocks Jesper. Although, maybe it does freak him out a bit, a band around the ring finger can only mean one thing, and Jesper has never believed Kaz to be the marrying type. (Then again, he never thought him to be the matching tattoos kind of guy, and the last couple of months have had him discovering that Kaz very much could be.) No, what makes Jesper spiral is that he’s seen that exact same tattoo on (Y/N)’s own ring finger.

ii. you break, i mend.

Jesper has seen the tattoo on the inside of (Y/N)’s left wrist more times than he can count.

The word ‘mend’ in all lowercase, the typography delicate and elegant, the font somewhat rounded. Jesper has never asked what it means— because everyone in the Barrel has been branded, either by choice or against their will, and Jesper knows the black ink carries memories, promises and pain, he knows better than to ask —but he thinks it’s fitting for her, both the word and the style. Because (Y/N) is a gentle force, someone who provides emotional care to those close to her, a fixer. She loves proudly and deeply, and Jesper has never met someone in this wretched place that is so unafraid to be kind. He doesn’t know what she does to remain untainted, to keep her soul so pure in spite of their line of work. He envies it, sometimes. But then he’ll hear muted sobs through the thin walls, wake up at the sound of screams caused by nightmares, and he’ll wonder if feeling and caring that much is even worth it.

Jesper doesn’t think much about (Y/N)’s tattoo— it’s pretty and it suits her, and, yeah, he gets the desperate need to ask for a backstory whenever he catches a glimpse of it, but never does. There’s nothing more to it. That is until he spies a word on Kaz’s own wrist.

He only sees the tattoo because Kaz takes his gloves off. That doesn’t happen very often, if at all. But it’s the hottest day of summer they’ve had in Ketterdam in years, and they’ve been out in the sun all day, so Jesper is only mildly surprised when they reach Kaz’s office and he takes the black gloves off. What does take him completely off guard, however, is the inked word on his right wrist, partially hidden by the sleeves of his shirt.

‘BREAK’. In uppercase, with jagged and fragmented lettering. Jesper only catches a glimpse before Kaz twists away and the ink is completely sheltered by his clothes, but he’s almost sure the tattoo has some sort of optical effect, makes it seem like the words have been shattered, all sharp and angular lines.

Kaz is saying something and Inej is responding, and it’s probably important and he definitely should be paying attention, but Jesper’s mind is elsewhere because (Y/N)’s delicate tattoo suddenly comes to mind. The similarities are just right there and now all Jesper can think about is how odd of a coincidence it is that (Y/N) and Kaz have mirror tattoos. Same place, but opposite wrist. A single word, one neat and elegant, the other harsh and precise. Jesper does not believe in coincidences, but it can’t be anything else— because believing it to be something else would mean believing Kaz to be a matching tattoos type of person and Jesper would bet his guns against that —so he simply ponders over the possible coincidence, just for a quick second, before Kaz is directing questions towards him and Jesper is forced to shove the information in the back of his mind.

He ends up forgetting about it. Not forgetting forgetting, more so in the way he forgets his debts until there are collectors knocking on his door. The information is there, stored in some corner of his brain, ready to be brought back into his consciousness with just the right push.

The right push comes a Saturday night, two months after he first notices Kaz’s tattoo.

(Y/N) is out on a job. Jesper doesn’t know any of the details— not the target, nor the entry and exit routes, nothing at all —but he knows something is wrong because Kaz has been pacing for the last half hour.

“She should be back by now,” is all Kaz says when he asks. He doesn’t really need to say more. Jesper feels the way his chest constricts, panic slowly building. (Y/N) is never late.

Just as Jesper feels like he’s about to start pacing himself, the door of the Slat opens. She’s got her hood on, doesn’t look up from the floor when she walks in. There’s a certain drag in her limbs, something that tells Jesper that something is wrong, wrong, wrong.

“Where the fuck were you?” The words aren’t directed towards him, but Jesper cannot help but flinch. Kaz doesn’t get like this often, cold and harsh because he’s worried, so the job must’ve been important, high stakes, the type where survival isn’t assured.

(Y/N) looks up, and it’s only then that Jesper notices the blood. It’s everywhere. It drips down the slope of her nose, it trails down her lips. She walks closer and with the change of light he notices that it’s also embedded in her clothes. The most disturbing thing, however, are her eyes. Glassy, distant, unseeing. She’s shaking. Full body tremors.

By his side, Kaz deflates completely at the sight of her. He’s already moving towards her when she whispers brokenly, “I’m sorry.”

The apology goes ignored, “Where are you hurt?” Kaz asks. He reins his panic well enough, but Jesper can still taste the traces of it, they float around in the air.

(Y/N) doesn’t move, doesn’t acknowledge Kaz as he comes to stand right in front of her, trying his best to assess for injuries. It’s hard when all there is to see is blood.

“I’m not hurt,” she responds, and it’s like she’s in a trance, capable of responding but not truly present. Jesper furrows his brows, catches the concerned look on Kaz face. Does she not realize she’s covered in blood? She raises her hand to gesture at herself, and it’s only when she does so that Jesper notices the blade. She waves it around. It’s stained red, all the way to the handle. “Blood’s not mine.”

Jesper freezes. Kaz stops dead on his tracks, too.

Kaz looks back at him and understanding passes through them. She snapped. Something made her snap.

It seems like she’s just processing it, too, because a second after she mutters those words the knife falls from her hand and her knees wobble. It’s like Kaz had been expecting the sudden crash, because he’s quick to help her down. He grabs her by the sleeves of her tunic and sits her on the floor, back against the wall.

Her breathing begins to come out hard and labored, she clutches at her chest, hard.

“Look at me,” Kaz instructs, but she’s not here anymore. Jesper cannot help the way fear courses through him at the sight of her faraway eyes and the sound of her disordered breaths. He’s only ever seen (Y/N) like this once before, and even then, it hadn’t been this bad, she’d been responsive to Kaz, and very much able to breathe properly. Right now, not even Kaz’s words are cutting through the haze.

The wheezing becomes louder, more intense. The more she panics, the less she breathes, the more Jesper feels like he, himself, isn’t capable of getting air into his lungs. Kaz keeps talking, but she doesn’t seem to hear him.

“I can’t—” Her lips are slowly losing color.

Jesper is still frozen in place, and he can tell that Kaz is also beginning to panic by the way he grabs her clothed hand and presses it against his own chest.

“Breathe,” he orders. Insistent, firm. Kaz’s words leave no room for argument and (Y/N) reacts accordingly. Like it’s instinct to do as Kaz says, she takes in a deep breath, ragged.

“Good girl.” Kaz’s hand, the one that isn’t on top of (Y/N)’s own, pressed against his chest, hovers over her cheek. He ends up grabbing the end of the hood that still partially covers her face. “One more time.”

She repeats the action, another deep breath, interrupted by a brief coughing fit.

“You’re okay, match my breaths.” She nods weakly and does as best she can, eyes shut. The hand that is on Kaz’s chest has become a fist, rumpling his shirt. She holds onto him like a lifeline.

“I’ll get her water,” he finds himself saying.

Kaz doesn’t turn to look at him, “Bring a wet cloth, too.”

Jesper nods and slips out of the room and into the kitchen. He feels like he’s having an out of body experience, his body working automatically on pouring tap water in a glass, on finding a clean cloth. His mind is miles away.

Saints.

It’s disconcerting to see someone as serene and put together as (Y/N) so rattled and distraught. He feels disoriented, like the world has shifted off his feet. He’s never seen her snap so badly that she ends up spiraling into a panic attack. Jesper doesn’t know much about her past, but Kaz had once mentioned something about a complicated upbringing, about being raised as a weapon not a child. He doesn’t want to begin to imagine what he’d meant.

The soft murmur of words brings him back to reality, grounds him and guides him once again into his body.

“Are you with me?”

No response, but Jesper imagines that she must’ve nodded because he hears the soft sigh of relief that Kaz lets out.

It’s quiet for a little while, Jesper focuses on the sound of water flowing through the cloth in his hands, the feeling of it getting damper.

“I’m sorry.” The words come out soft, filled with emotion and embarrassment.

“None of that.”

“I didn’t mean to…”

“I know. It’s okay.”

The silence lingers before being filled by quiet noises. Jesper has heard her sobs through his wall enough times to identify them. His heart tightens painfully.

“It’s okay,” Kaz repeats, softer this time. It’s a tone Jesper has never heard him use with anyone else.

“There were children, Kaz,” Jesper has to strain to make out the words, they’re muffled by something, “little kids. And it just reminded me of… I couldn’t...”

“I know.”

A sniffle, “I’m sorry,” followed by a broken laugh, soft and sad. “I’m a mess.”

Jesper turns off the faucet, twists the cloths to remove any excess of water. He grabs the glass of water with one hand and the cloth with the other and then, just, waits. He knows this conversation is not one he should be present for, he doesn’t want to be present.

It’s a good thing, too, that he doesn’t make his way towards them, because he’s pretty sure he would’ve stumbled and dropped everything at the next words that fall out of Kaz’s mouth.

“If you break, I mend, remember?”

(mend

BREAK)

Jesper places the glass of water on the kitchen counter and blinks once, twice.

Saints be damned.

Kaz might be the matching tattoos type of person.

iii. a raven and a crow

The matching tattoo theory, as Jesper likes to refer to it, remains just that, a theory. Because Jesper has no real way of proving it, not unless he finds the will to ask (Y/N)— which he just can’t do, she’s so open about everything that prodding just feels unfair —or unless he brings his curiosity to Kaz— which might just end up with him losing a finger, and Jesper likes his limbs just as they are, thank you very much. So, for now, it’s merely speculation, something that could be played off as a coincidence. And he thinks it must be a coincidence, right? Matching tattoos are too sentimental for someone like Kaz. (Then again, he has always been different when it comes to (Y/N), so maybe Jesper shouldn’t be that surprised.) And they aren’t matching tattoos, not really, they are more like, well, mirror ones. It’s different. Probably nothing. He might be connecting dots where there’s absolutely nothing to connect.

He can’t help the way he begins to observe more, trying to find anything to sustain or disprove his theory. It’s only natural, he tells himself, Jesper is nothing if not a curious man.

It’s only because he becomes so attuned to them, and whatever that thing is that they have going on, that Jesper notices little things.

“Inej?”

“Good.”

Kaz keeps on making roll call, making sure all of them are there and unharmed.

“Jes?”

“Very much alive,” he grunts in response, letting himself flop into the haystack. His heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest, but at least it’s still beating. He cannot believe a blizzard of all things is what saved their lives.

He looks to his left. Even Inej looks slightly winded. She pats the pocket of her coat, sags in relief immediately after. Jesper does the same, touches his inner pocket, feels the edges of the glass key, and sighs.

The goods are safe.

“Nina?”

“Here.” Her cheeks are rosy. Jesper isn’t sure if it’s because of the dreadful cold or the exertion.

There’s silence after, the room filled by only harsh breaths. Jesper snaps up, looking around frantically, because Kaz is not calling (Y/N)’s name and that can only mean that she’s not there or she’s…

His mind quiets down when he takes in the sight in front of him.

Kaz is not calling (Y/N)’s name because he already has eyes on her. Probably always did.

And that’s when Jesper sees it, a little thing, something that tilts the scales in favor of his theory; the softness in (Y/N)’s face as she listens to Kaz.

(Y/N) is always kind— with battered gang members and hungry street urchins, with the loud customers and even with those who dare gamble against her —but Jesper is just now realizing that there’s a different gentleness when it comes to the way she takes Kaz in. The look in her eyes becomes quieter, more intimate, delicate. She says something, much too quiet for Jesper to hear, and smiles. Kaz shakes his head fondly, responds with a hushed whisper. It’s tender, precious, private. It makes Jesper feel like he’s intruding.

And then something Jesper has never seen before happens. Kaz takes (Y/N)’s chin with his gloved hand, thumb and index fingers holding her. He moves her face around, looking for any visible injury.

There goes another detail in favor of the matching tattoo theory.

Jesper thinks he might’ve just entered some sort of altered reality because what is he even looking at right now. He looks around but Inej and Nina aren’t paying them any mind, too engrossed in their own conversation.

Great, he’s all alone in trying to figure this thing out.

“I’m okay,” he hears (Y/N) reassure.

For the most part, Jesper thinks to himself, because he doesn’t miss the way she’s pressing her hand to her abdomen. Apparently, it hasn’t slipped past Kaz either, because he hums and raises his eyebrows, eyes pointedly trailing down to the wound.

She rolls her eyes at him, even that action looks fond, “It’s not deep.”

Kaz is more tactile with her, Jesper realizes with a start. It’s not a word he would ever use to describe Dirtyhands, but it’s the only one that comes to mind. (And Kaz has gotten better over the years, he has. It’s been gradual, and Jesper has no clue as to how or what he’s done, but he hasn’t missed the way Kaz doesn’t cringe away from the Crows anymore, how he doesn’t pale when someone brushes against him. He doesn’t seek touch, but he doesn’t lose all semblance of control at it either. Still, tactile is farther from what Kaz is, and this? This is huge. This is the greatest display of touch Jesper has ever seen him do.)

“You’ve got it?”

“Yeah, I’ll stitch it.”

His gloved thumb brushes her skin, briefly, before he taps the bottom of her chin gently, in approval, and lets her go.

“I can help you with that,” Nina pipes up.

Jesper turns around, immediately catches the look in the Heartrender’s eyes. Seems like he might not be the only one noticing things.

(Y/N) nods in agreement and Nina follows after her. Jesper decides, after taking only two seconds to ponder on the thought, to trail behind them. He wants to listen in— because he knows Nina won’t be able to keep herself from commenting or questioning and he’s aching to know —but he’s also hoping the Heartrender will take pity on him and heal some of his bruises.

“What do you want?” Nina asks him as they settle on a small corner of the stable. (Y/N) leans against a wooden post as she begins to undress, untucking her shirt.

Jesper simply points at the bruise he can already feel forming on his cheekbone, offering a cheeky smile.

“I’m not a nurse, Fahey.”

“You’re gonna stitch her up!” (Y/N) is watching with amusement and when Jesper points at her she raises one hand in surrender, the other still pressed against her wound.

“Yeah, well,” Nina shrugs, needle and thread in hand, “She’s my favorite.”

(Y/N) chuckles. There’s a broken-down iron chest and she sits on it as well as she can, leaning back so that Nina can work. She winks at him, “Privileges, Jes.”

He pouts.

“Saints,” Nina mutters when she catches a look of him. She’s decided that kneeling by (Y/N) side will be the most comfortable position for her to work. She cleans the wound, pours water over it, and doesn’t turn to him as she says, “If you stop doing that face I’ll see what I can do about the bruise.”

He smirks to himself, “You’ve got it, boss.”

Jesper can’t see it, but he’s sure she rolls her eyes at him.

“Try not to move,” she instructs (Y/N), voice gaining a softer, less teasing edge. The needle pricks the skin.

It’s not a deep wound, (Y/N) had been right about that. It bleeds, but the flow seems to be slowing down. It’s a little bit over her hipbone, but not quite on her abdomen. Judging by the injury, if Jesper had to guess, he would say it was probably caused by a straight back blade.

He had sort of expected Nina to immediately fire away, to start unabashedly questioning, but she doesn’t. She moves her hands in a repetitive motion, closing the skin. Then, she casually comments, “That’s not a crow.”

It’s only then that Jesper notices the ink; just over (Y/N)'s hipbone, only visible because she’d pulled her trousers a bit down to give Nina more skin to maneuver around.

“No, it isn’t,” (Y/N) confirms. She’s got her eyes closed, looks a lot more like she’s sleeping and not like she’s having her skin stitched back together. Either Nina has an amazing ability or she’s somehow managing to dissociate from the pain.

“A raven?”

“Yeah.”

Jesper leans away from the wall to get a better look at it. It’s small, simple, just the silhouette done in thin black lines. He has no idea how Nina managed to identify the bird.

Nina stays quiet for a split second, musing. She keeps her hands steady, thread pulling skin. Apparently, she decides she does not care about decorum— just like Jesper had expected —because she ends up stating, matter-of-factly, “Kaz calls you that.”

Jesper sort of forgets how to breathe. That’s why Nina hadn’t gone on a tangent regarding the touches and the glances, he realizes in that moment. She’d been distracted by something much more interesting.

And she hadn’t identified the bird, she’d just made an informed assumption. Because Kaz does call her that, raven, and sometimes, when he's feeling particularly fond, little raven. He uses it interchangeably with her name and often enough that when Jesper had initially joined the Dregs, all those years back, he’d assumed it to be her name. He’s not quite sure how Nina, who’s been with them for a shorter period of time, managed to make that connection quicker than him.

(Y/N) lets out a breathy laugh, “That he does.”

Instead of further grilling (Y/N) about the tattoo, as Jesper had expected, Nina changes the line of inquiry.

“Why?” She stops sewing and looks up at (Y/N), eyes filled with curiosity.

Oh, she’s insane, Jesper thinks to himself. He sort of wishes he’d have the audacity to ask such direct questions.

(Y/N) doesn’t seem bothered by the prodding, only mildly amused. She chuckles, “You would have to ask him that.”

Not even Nina is insane enough to dare do that. Probably. Nina is sort of a wild card, Jesper can never get a complete read on her.

She proves her sanity by taking the easier route, she whines and pouts, “C’mon. Tell us.”

(Y/N) laughs, louder this time. The reaction is immediate, the wound oozes more blood, and she flinches, moving her hand towards the injury and managing to stop herself millimeters before touching it. It makes Nina get back to stitching.

“You’re bold,” (Y/N) opens her eyes and looks straight at Jesper. There’s something in her eyes, a glimmer that passes quickly, like she knows something that Jesper doesn’t and it amuses her. “Jes would never dare ask.”

“Hey!” He pretends to be offended but isn’t really. She knows him too well.

“You know it’s true.”

He only grumbles in response, hates that she’s right.

Nina is suddenly tense, as if she isn’t quite sure if (Y/N)’s words are meant as a compliment or a reprimand. (Y/N) closes her eyes again, rests her head against the wall and reassures her, “I like that. Your boldness.”

And Nina preens, subtly, but she does. Jesper understands. (Y/N)’s approval somehow comes to mean everything to those around her. She’s like an older sister you’re always trying to impress.

Jesper thinks she won’t be saying anything more, but (Y/N) does.

“Ravens are softer than crows, more playful,” she mumbles quietly. Jesper, who isn’t even far from her, strains to hear, “Gentler, too.” And it’s like she knows exactly where the ink lays on her skin, like she has it memorized, because she manages to avoid Nina and the needle and trace the outline of the tattoo, eyes still closed, “And yet they manage to survive in the same brutal world that crows do.”

The words sink in. Jesper blinks once, twice, shifts on his feet, somewhat uncomfortable. It feels like he’s just gained insight on something much too private, into the feelings and thoughts of Kaz Brekker. Because what she just explained, vaguely and in simple words, has a much deeper meaning, and Jesper doesn’t miss that. It’s how Kaz sees her, an equal. Someone as strong as a crow, as fierce and resourceful and capable, but softer, gentler. That’s (Y/N) to him.

“That’s it?” Nina sounds perpetually unimpressed, but she doesn’t get it. She hasn’t been with the Crows long enough to understand.

(Y/N) smirks, like she knew the words wouldn’t mean much to her, and that tells Jesper something. There’s even more to the meaning of the nickname and she won’t be sharing.

“If you want more you can just ask Kaz.”

Nina huffs and pouts, pulls at the thread a bit harsher than necessary in retaliation. It probably doesn’t even sting, but (Y/N) plays along.

“Ow!?” The smirk remains on her face.

“Sorry,” Nina says, not sounding the least apologetic.

(Y/N) only chuckles, “I really do like your boldness.”

It isn’t until later that night, as Jesper sleeps in the haystack and shivers from the cold, hoping to the Saints that the smell of horse can be removed from his clothes, that realization strikes him. His eyes snap wide open.

The image of a letter R inked in Kaz’s forearm flashes through his mind.

R.

A Raven.

No fucking way.

He has no evidence of it, no evidence that those tattoos might be complementary, but something in his gut tells him they are, and he decides to listen to his instincts.

Great, that’s yet another circumstantial piece of evidence in favor of his theory.

(Jesper doesn’t know, will never know, but he gets it both wrong and right. The letter R that is permanently etched on Kaz’s skin means something else entirely, but he does have the small silhouette of a crow, different from the one on his arm, over his ribs.)

iv. a broken lock and a key

Jesper and (Y/N) stay behind. It’s Jesper’s fault, he’d landed wrong when they jumped off the cliff, too busy on firing his guns to focus on the landing, and the resulting sprained ankle made it hard to keep up with the rest. (Maybe it was sort of Kaz’s fault, too, because who even decides on an exit route that includes free falling off a cliff. Jesper should be used to Kaz’s antics by now, but the man keeps on outdoing himself.)

(Y/N) had quickly offered to match his pace, to keep him company while the rest went ahead.

After a quick discussion Kaz had agreed to it. Jesper hadn’t missed the way they’d said goodbye. Their pinky fingers interlacing with one another.

He might not be completely sure about his matching tattoo theory— denial, really, he’s in denial, and he’s man enough to admit that to himself —but he has absolutely no doubt there is something going on between them. Jesper hasn’t put a name on it yet, he’s not even sure they have, but one would have to be blind to deny it.

Wylan had volunteered too, but Kaz needed him for the next phase of the plan, so he wasn’t really an option. A shame, really, Jesper would’ve enjoyed some alone time with his boyfriend, but he can’t complain, (Y/N) is good company. She doesn’t whine about how slow they’re going, doesn’t mention the fact that, by now, they’re probably two days behind. She keeps the air between them filled with light chatter and that makes it more bearable, makes him feel less of a burden.

On the third day of their journey Jesper wakes up alone. He’s not immediately filled by dread because he’s a light sleeper, he’s sure he would’ve woken up at the sound of any commotion, and he’s even more certain that (Y/N) would’ve had any attacker down on the floor with a gun to their temple before they even had the chance to breathe too close to them.

So, he’s not worried, but there’s something about not having (Y/N) within his line of sight that feels wrong, partly because he’s got no idea where she is, and mainly because Kaz had given him a cautionary glare when they’d ventured ahead, an easily interpreted warning to keep her safe or else.

It’s only when he begins to look around that Jesper notices her knapsack is also missing. He closes his eyes and focuses. Somewhere in the distance he can hear running water. He follows the sound before he can think too much, limping along the way.

Jesper finds her easily. He sort of wishes he hadn’t found her. Because she is showering in the lake and she is completely naked.

“Saints!” It’s a knee-jerk reaction to turn around, eyes screwed shut. “I am so sorry.”

(Y/N) snickers, unbothered, “Relax, Jes. It’s okay.”

And she’s saying that, but Jesper is pretty sure Kaz would gauge his eyes off is he found out he’s just seen her completely nude.

He shakes his head, over and over. Ah, Kaz is going to kill him. He is a dead man walking.

She must be watching him because she lets out a laugh.

“Oh, please.” There’s amusement in her tone, “Nothing you haven’t seen before,” she teases, and Jesper regrets every single thing he’s ever told her about his sexual encounters.

He huffs out a laugh. It’s got nothing to do with that, Jesper isn’t a prude, he’s just trying to process the fact that if Kaz ever finds out he will more than likely lose a finger, or his life. But he can’t say that, that’s a conversation he’s not ready to have, so he settles for, “You’re like my sister, it’s not the same.”

“Fair enough,” she responds. Jesper catches the affection in her voice. He doesn’t think he’s ever told her how she sees her as family and she must’ve known, their bond runs deep, it goes unspoken, but maybe it’s different to hear it out loud.

“It’s my fault anyways, I shouldn’t have left without telling you where I was going,” she disrupts his thoughts. “But you were finally sleeping.”

“Yeah,” he mumbles. Obviously it wouldn’t slip past her that in between the pain on his ankle and the cold of the night he’s been having a hard time falling asleep.

“You shouldn’t be standing for long,” she points out, and Jesper agrees. His leg is beginning to ache and if they’re going to travel long today, he must rest as much as he can. But the idea of walking back to camp and leaving her alone doesn’t sit right with him— even if he knows she’s capable of defending herself, she would probably do a better job than him, given his state —so he limps towards a big rock, back still towards her, and sits.

“You’re gonna keep me company?”

Jesper hums in response, “Talk so I know you haven’t suddenly been kidnapped.”

She doesn’t talk, instead she sings. It’s an old Kerch song, Jesper knows because of the mournful feel. It builds up slow and steady, flows with the morning air. She's got a nice voice. Jesper never gets tired of hearing her.

It’s as he listens, slowly being lulled into a peaceful mindset, that the memory of the ink flows through his mind. It’d been the thing his eyes had zeroed in, the black mark on the back of her neck.

Maybe it’s the soothing music, or maybe he’s slowly becoming more daring, but the words slip out of his mouth without thought, “Is it a key?”

(Y/N) stops midway through the bridge of the song.

“What?” she asks, confusion permeating the lone word.

“On the back of your neck,” Jesper clarifies, gesturing to his own neck.

There’s silence, long enough for Jesper to start thinking that maybe this wasn’t the best idea, before the air is filled with laughter. She chuckles as if he's just said the funniest thing.

She’s still giggling when she says, “I can’t believe you caught sight of it.”

He’s confused by her reaction and settles for responding with a teasing, “I’ve got a great vision.”

“That you do,” she replies. "It is a key," she confirms and then the singing starts again, more of a humming this time around, a much brighter song.

And Jesper must be really really losing the filter between his mouth and his brain— he blames the pain and the lack of sleep —because he finds himself asking, “Does Kaz have a lock, by any chance?”

He’s teasing, but not really. It’s a good enough question, not truly invasive. It gives her room to answer as she wishes.

To his surprise, she says, “Yes, he does.”

His head snaps towards her, momentarily forgetting that she’s naked and that Kaz will definitely kill him for seeing her naked twice. To his luck, (Y/N) is already getting dressed, water dripping down her hair and staining her shirt.

“What?”

There’s a sharp glint in her eyes, knowing, almost playful. A smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth, just enough hint of mischief to make Jesper doubt the truthfulness of her words.

“Yeah,” she repeats in mock seriousness, “he’s got a small lock around here,” she points the area around her collarbone, close to where her heart is. “It’s very pretty.”

“You’re fucking with me.”

(Y/N) snickers, “Maybe I am.” She ruffles his hair as she walks past him.

Weeks later Jesper realizes that she had been fucking with him, but not lying. Kaz’s shirt rips during a heist and Jesper catches the briefest glimpse of the image of a broken lock, inked right above his heart.

v. a band of ink around his ring finger, part two.

As if summoned by his thoughts, (Y/N) materializes by his side. She takes a look at his face, follows his line of sight, and snickers.

“Did you finally figure it out?”

He turns to her. Blinks once, twice.

“What?”

She looks highly entertained by the evident confusion on his face.

“I caught you staring at my tattoo sometimes,” Jesper follows the movement of her fingers, watches as she rubs the mend on her wrist absentmindedly. “And then you would get this constipated look on your face.”

Jesper sputters, “I do not look constipated.”

“Only when you’re thinking too hard,” she teases, her smile bright. “So, I figured, well…”

“That I might be losing my mind trying to figure out if Kaz is the matching tattoo kind of person?”

“Yep, something like that,” she takes a sip of her drink. “He is, by the way.” (Y/N)’s not looking at him anymore, her eyes have drifted. He follows her sight and isn’t surprised to find her looking at Kaz. She softens immediately. “All the tattoos were his idea.”

Jesper feels like he’s really entered some other reality. He can’t believe she’s just telling him all this. Does this mean that he could’ve known months ago if he’d just asked?

“And,” he dares ask, because apparently (Y/N) is in a sharing mood, and apparently he's grown bolder. It must be the alcohol. “You’re married?”

He doesn’t miss the way she rubs her thumb against her ring finger, the one that contains the exact same band of ink as Kaz’s.

“Yeah.”

“Actually?”

She pulls her necklace. A wedding band lies there. It’s anything but traditional. Black, probably forged from oxidized steel. Sleek, unadorned and somehow still elegant. There’s something engraved on the inside. Jesper just catches the letter R.

“Got the documents to prove it, too.”

Jesper sighs, astounded, “You never said a thing.”

“We didn’t really keep it a secret, just private.” It sounds like an apology somehow. “It's just, in a place like this," she gestures around, "some things you have to keep to yourself."

Jesper understands.

He shakes his head, still somehow feeling like he’s drugged.

Kaz Brekker, a matching tattoo and marriage type of person. Who would’ve guessed.

“Lovers, huh?”

(Y/N) smiles, before she slips away and makes her way towards Kaz, Jesper hears her whisper.

“‘Lovers’ feels too small a word for what we are.”

A Thousand Years

Astarion x Reader

Summary: Astarion tells a story of love.

"Tell me about your wife." said the man sitting in front of Astarion, the room was quiet around them, only the crackling of the fire could be heard.

Upon hearing the word, wife, Astarion's features softened. 

"It might be a long one."

"I want to hear it." insisted the man as he leaned back in his chair, waiting for Astarion to start.

Astarion smiled, his eyes filled with love as he began.

"My wife... My beloved Y/N. She saved me you know, in more ways than one. She not only helped me kill the man who caused me so much pain and suffering, but she saved me from myself.

My beloved was a strong woman, brave and incredibly beautiful. She was a kind soul and yet, she could kill a thousand men without taking a break.

She loved songs and loved to dance. Although that might be because I was the one dancing with her. She often said she didn't wish to dance with anyone else but me.

She enjoyed sweets. But only the ones I have given her.

And even if I told her not, she kept on eating them.

It has been so long yet, I will never forget her laugh. She became my world. You know, it wasn't even intentional, I fell in love by accident. I was only meant to seduce her so she would help me kill Cazador. And yet I found myself in love.

But make no mistake, I never regretted the feelings I have. Not once. Falling in love with her was so easy.

I am quite privileged to be able to tell that she was my wife.

My... scars on my back, she cried when she first saw them. She hugged me and told me how sorry she was for I had to endure such pain. She kissed me and cried at the same time. I was so confused by it, I didn't know what to do.

But then, not long after, I asked her to marry me." Astarion looked at the gold band on his finger.

"I never believed in marriage, I thought it was silly for people to bind themselves to one another, and the symbol of it all... a simple ring. I laughed at the idea until I met the person I never wanted to let go of again. Suddenly I wanted nothing more but to have her bonded to me and for me to be bonded to her. I looked and searched for the perfect rings. Matching ones, but hers had a simple stone in the middle. A stone which was made of our blood. The perfect diamond, mixed with my and her blood. And then, we were married. Not like the words of others mattered to me, I would have been happy just to have her in my life, but to have her as my wife... it meant everything. 

I will not bore you of the events directly after the wedding, leave it up for your imagination I suppose, but I can assure you, she was the first woman who could have me at her feet with a simple look.

And she always looked at me with so much love and care. She was always so gentle and lovely.

When people say love burns like fire, they lie, my love for her burns like lava, much like the core of the Earth. I was ready to destroy everything and everyone who would dare get between us. If I had to, I would have burnt down villages for her, for she was mine.

And not long after, she gave me the greatest gift. 

A gift so precious.

I will never forget the look on her face when she told me, pure happiness.

She was with child.

Something I never even thought would be possible for me and yet there she was, getting more and more round with my child, with my son. Our son.

She was the sun for me. I have lived a long life in darkness and pain, and she made it all go away with a simple simple. I had a life of happiness thanks to her." Astarion leaned back in his chair once more when the noises from the kitchen stopped.

"STOP TELLING PEOPLE I'M DEAD!"

"I have never used the word 'dead', My Love." Astarion turned to look at you as you exited the kitchen.

"But you made it sound like I am." you pouted as Astarion looked at the ring on your finger, he smiled as you placed the food on the table. "Don't listen to him, Love, he is but an old romantic." you said as you sat down.

"I am very much aware, Mother. I just like to listen to him talk about you." admitted your son as he smiled at the two of you. Now a grown man, yet all you could see was him as a little boy running around the house, hair silver like his father's but eyes the same as yours.

"That's because I love your mother very much."

"I love you too." you replied as you all finally began to eat.

You two loved each other for a thousand years, and you will continue to love for another thousand to come.

Your son could only hope to find such love.

Taglist: @fleursirvart@greenarrowhead @thisismysecrethappyplace@sincerelyfan@theoneanna@aestheticsandmarvel@rororo06@castellandiangelo@destynelseclipsa@spilledinkindumpster@capsiclesdoll@puknow@alwayshave-faith@alex12948@lxdyred@imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl@anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek@praline357 @trshngyn@avengers-r-us @violet-19999 @top1bbgloak @manduse@jacalineiscomingforyou @mandoloriancookie@noname2246

In case you want to help out a dreamer: patreon.com/multific  

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

DO NOT STEAL, REPOST OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS  

Thank you to @wonderwolffs for this request

Everyone say thank you

Request: Given Toto is Lana Del Rey coded having a partner/wife who dresses 50s/60s inspired and is the talk of the paddock on race weekends

Pit Lane Glamour

Word count: 524

Pairing: Toto Wolff x reader

Summary: Y/n Wolff and her best friend, Dita Von Teese, are an effortlessly glamorous and mischievous duo

________________________________________________________

The Monaco paddock was a spectacle in itself—glittering under the Mediterranean sun, pulsing with the energy of engines revving and cameras flashing. But even amidst the chaos of a Grand Prix weekend, there were two figures who managed to steal the show without even trying.

Y/n Wolff and Dita Von Teese were an evil combination.

Not because they were cruel, or sharp-tongued, or out to make enemies. No, they were simply too elegant, too poised, too unbothered. They floated through the paddock like ghosts of a bygone era, draped in silk and lace, red lips curled in amusement as they observed the world of motorsport with a level of detached amusement.

And at the center of their shared mischief? One very tall, very powerful, and very obsessed Toto Wolff.

“You know, darling,” Dita mused, adjusting the lace gloves on her delicate hands as they strolled through the paddock, “I do believe Toto might combust if you wear that shade of red any longer.”

Y/n smirked, glancing down at the cherry-colored dress that clung to her frame. “Oh, I know,” she replied. “He tries so hard to act unaffected, but I see the way his eye twitches.”

Dita sighed dramatically. “Men are so weak.”

The two of them reached the Mercedes hospitality suite, where Toto was standing, arms crossed, talking to one of the engineers. He was the epitome of power—suited, sunglasses shielding his sharp gaze, the embodiment of control.

Until he saw them.

Until he saw her.

Y/n watched as Toto stiffened slightly, jaw tightening, lips pressing together like he was already preparing for whatever chaos she and Dita were about to bring.

Dita leaned in, her voice a purr. “He looks like a man in distress.”

Y/n grinned. “Let’s fix that.”

She stepped forward first, her heels clicking softly against the pavement. “Mr. Wolff,” she greeted, voice laced with sweetness.

Toto sighed, already exasperated. “Mrs. Wolff.”

Dita followed, a vision in a navy blue fitted dress and a vintage hat that cast the perfect shadow over her sharp eyes. “Oh, Toto,” she crooned, “you look so serious. Aren’t race weekends supposed to be fun?”

Toto pinched the bridge of his nose. “It is my job, Dita.”

“And your job includes looking at your wife like she’s a particularly dangerous curve on a racetrack?”

Y/n beamed, looping her arm through Toto’s. “He can’t help it. I’m simply irresistible.”

Dita sighed. “I really don’t know how he gets anything done.”

“I don’t,” Toto admitted flatly. “I don’t get anything done.”

Y/n giggled, pressing a kiss to his cheek, leaving the faintest trace of red lipstick behind. Toto groaned, wiping at it in vain while the two women exchanged a look of pure delight.

“Oh, we’re awful,” Dita mused.

Y/n nodded. “Horrible.”

Toto shook his head, defeated. “You are both evil.”

But even as he muttered it, his arm tightened around Y/n’s waist, pulling her closer. Because the truth was—no matter how much trouble she and Dita caused him, no matter how much they teased and tormented him—he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Evil pope so laaame, I love him

The Exception

Something powerful, mysterious and dangerous resides in the woods outside the village.

Few go into the woods; none have been recorded coming out.

You, and your peculiar daughter, are the sole-exceptions for visitors.

Medieval Fantasty | Silco X F!Reader | 3.9K | AO3

Tags: Witch!Jinx, Sorcerer!Silco, fluff, found-family, domestic, suggestive, early-relationship, some angst, medieval-fantasy elements, protectiveness, implied possessiveness, happy-ending

A/N: Vague-Dreams can be one hell of an inspiration for a Halloween Fic! Didn’t really have a plan, don’t really have an explanation for this, just enjoy the ride and happy Halloween! 🎃

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the enemies to lovers project | lee minho

𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢 𝙩𝙮𝙥𝙚: 𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵; 𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘦 𝘢𝘶, 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧

𝙙𝙚𝙨𝙘𝙧𝙞𝙥𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣: 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘫𝘪𝘴𝘶𝘯𝘨'𝘴 𝘱𝘴𝘺𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘺 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘫𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦 – 𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘮𝘺, 𝘭𝘦𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘩𝘰, 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘪𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘪𝘵. 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩, 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥.

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩: ~18𝘬+

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: 𝘴𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨

𝘢/𝘯: 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺!!! 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦! 𝘪 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘥𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘢𝘩𝘩 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦 >.< 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘪 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘵! 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴, 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥!

prologue.

“You know I despise you, right?”

“Oh, despise. Such a big word, baby,” Minho drawled with an obnoxious smirk, the one that simultaneously made you want to rip his hair out and kiss those perfectly delectable lips of his, “If it’s any consolation, I abhor your presence as well.”

“Wonderful,” you crossed your legs, a smile creeping onto your face as you leaned backward in your chair, “So why exactly are you here?”

Minho laughed, “The same reason I presume that you’re here for. A hundred dollars to put up with you is a tempting offer.”

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Imagine a world where, after Tim lost his brother, he went to the Cult of the Lightless Flame for help

Imagine Desolation Avatar Tim, with fire that springs to his fingertips on command, and a disconcertingly amiable personality, kind and charming and so, so similar to our Tim, right up until he sets your house on fire with your children inside

Imagine an Eye avatar Jon who got his powers organically, without meddling from Elias.

Imagine a man conflicted and torn about his actions, orchestrating events where technically, he never directly hurt anyone - think feeding on social anxiety, exposing people’s secrets and feeding on their despair.

After all, if they didn’t want to be his dinner, they shouldn’t have kept secrets, right ? He’s not a bad guy. He’s just…doing all he can

Now imagine a Tim who feeds off of Desolation by following closely behind Jon’s actions.

Oh, Jon revealed that so-and-so was cheating on his wife ? Well, that sounds like a mighty painful experience for the wife. Seems a shame to let all that good fear go to waste, right ? Might as well feed !!

Now imagine Web Avatar Annabelle Cane , watching from the shadows as all this happens.

Eventually, she reaches out and makes contact with Tim, and makes a deal - call a local fast-food place, and Cane will trick them into believing Jon’s a police officer. Then Jon can make the employees humiliate one of their own, as Tim feeds on the target's pain and Annabelle feeds on the control she's exerting, both over the employees, via social conditioning, and her fellow Avatars

Perfect deal. Why would Jon go along with it, you ask ? Why would Tim ? Well, if Annabelle conveniently made them forget the meaning of the terms “strip search”, then they have no reason to turn her down, right ?

Seeing how well this turned out, the three decide to make their dynamic a daily thing, each one orchestrating events that let all three feed. True symbiosis

Maybe they get Spiral Avatar Michael in on their shenanigans too, sometimes - he makes someone hallucinate their way into believing all their secrets have been exposed, killing themselves in front of a loved one, and feeds on their madness as Tim feeds on their loved one’s pain and Jon on their humiliation

Maybe they find that even more useful and now he’s part of the team too !! Woo gang !! Friends forever !!

Maybe they try to get Flesh Avatar Jared Hopworth in as well, only to realize he’s already made a deal with Hunt Avatar Daisy Tonner - she hunts and kills one out of a pair of travellers, and Jared convinces the survivor to feed on the corpse

Maybe they decide - hey, fuck it - and form an alliance with Slaughter Avatar Melanie King. She kills, and the others feed on the chaos that ensues. Maybe Jared and Daisy get in on it too sometimes - one big happy Avatar family, each one feeding everyone with their actions

And maybe one day Jon has an epiphany - maybe he accidentally hurts someone he cares about or sees the consequences of his actions. Maybe he decides he doesn’t want to be an Avatar anymore

Maybe he runs away from the group. Maybe he goes to the Magnus Institute, using his position as a fellow Eye Avatar to get Elias to help him out

Maybe Elias agrees and sets him up in a small house by the countryside. But wait - unfortunately, he’s going to have to share the space. You see, the Institute recently helped a prized pupil of Peter Lukas escape his grasp

Oh, who ? Why, Lonely Avatar Martin Blackwood of course !!

Sorry, just having thoughts about my Avatar Crew AU. Do y’all want me to write it ? I might

En Pointe

Oscar Piastri x ballerina!reader

Masterlist

Summary: Oscar’s surprised to find ballet and racing are more similar than he’d first expected. He’s even more surprised at how hard he falls for you. (but really, maybe he shouldn’t be surprised about either.)

5.5k words

Warnings: some mentions of alcohol, references to the chaos of the 2024 brazil gp

we have all the “breaking in pointe shoes” videos on my tiktok feed to thank for this, plus the number of times cars pirouetted in Brazil. enjoy!

Oscar’s always thought his job took a lot of sacrifice and hard work. He moved away from home at a young age to chase it. He’s spent countless hours in the gym, training his muscles to cope with the g-forces of driving a race car. He’s bruised ribs, bruised knuckles, put himself through hell and back just to fight for podiums and wins. It’s demanding.

Then he met you.

He remembers the first time he ever saw you. He’d been in Monaco for a weekend, scouting out an apartment to move into and trying to get a feel for the city. Charles had found out, had given him a list of things to see and tickets to a couple experiences, including the Monte Carlo ballet on Saturday night. And Oscar had never been a big ballet guy, or a dance guy in general, but Charles had insisted if there was one thing he had to do it was this. So he went. Dressed up nice and sat in a theater seat and found himself entranced.

It had been everyone on stage, but especially you. The way you moved so effortlessly, with so much grace. The way you held yourself with such elegance and confidence. You’d taken his breath away, left him wide eyed with wonder like he had been years ago attending his first F1 race in Australia.

And then he’d met you, in the lobby. You were standing there, still in costume, smiling at children and thanking everyone for coming. It wasn’t like him to go up and say anything, but he’d just felt so drawn to you.

“I’m sure you get this a lot,” he’d said, as you smiled softly at him, a large bouquet in your arms, “but you’re incredible.”

He can still remember the sound of your laugh. The weight of your hand on his wrist as you thanked him. And then-

“Charles told me you were coming,” you’d said. He’d swallowed, nodded. “And that you might be moving here.”

He’d nodded again. “It’s a beautiful place.”

You’d nodded in agreement. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

He’d gone back to his hotel and dreamed of spinning ballerinas. The next morning, he woke up and contacted his management team, and asked them to lease the apartment he’d looked at the day before. The one with the view of the sea from the kitchen. He’d followed you on Instagram, too, and tried not to get his hopes up when he realized you were already following him.

And then it had been the F1 season, and a move to Monaco in the middle of it, and an afterparty after Charles’ first home win, full of champagne and happy smiles and a country so proud of him. And Charles, cutting through the crowd, eyes sparkling, with you in tow. Oscar had figured out the two of you were friends in the months since his ballet visit.

“Someone’s been looking for you,” Charles said in a singsongy tone.

It had all sort of bloomed from there. Now when Oscar is back in Monaco, he spends half his time in a dance studio, surrounded by mirrors and classical music and you. He still loves watching you, just like he did that very first night. He gets to see a side of you that most of the people in the audience never will- undone. In a plain leotard, sometimes a skirt, sometimes thick warmup pants that make him giggle, trying and trying over and over again to get something right. He sees the bruises and hears about the strained muscles and does what he can to help you with them. He loans you hoodies to wear during warm ups at rehearsals, and he cooks you meals to make sure you’re getting enough fuel for all the work you put yourself through. And he loves every second of it.

In return, you spend your breaks from rehearsals watching free practices and qualis and sometimes even races. He’s gotten pictures sent to him of you stretching with his onboard camera view on your tablet in front of you. The distance makes his heart ache sometimes, but when he gets to spend time with you it’s like nothing has changed. His favorite nights in Monaco are the ones with you perched on his kitchen counter, the harbor in the background.

The summer’s nearly over when he realizes he’s falling in love.

He can’t help it. You’re kind and beautiful and funny. He’s not sure anyone would blame him. It’s just… You’re the first friend he’s made here, the first connection to this new city. He doesn’t want to lose you. And he’s gone so often, he thinks it might make things so much worse. To tell you he loves you and then have to leave every weekend, to never be around. He hates the thought of It. Besides, he reminds himself, you’re a ballerina. Far too talented for someone like him.

So he shoves the feelings down, and tries his best to be a good friend and never let on that he feels anything more.

…..

You’re there for the race in Hungary- Hungary, of all places. You’re there to sympathize about his broken ribs and tease him about how exactly he broke them. You’re technically there with Charles, with Ferrari, but nobody seems to notice when you sneak into McLaren’s garage with a paddock pass Oscar managed to get for you. You look good in papaya, he thinks, though you’ve told him you think quite the opposite. He gets it. You’re used to pastels and soft fabrics. The McLaren sweatshirt you’re wearing is bold and bright. But it’s got Oscar’s number across the back, and that makes him smile more than anything else.

The race weekend is busy, as always. He doesn’t see you much until after the race, until you’re standing there outside the McLaren motorhome. He’s still in his race suit, soaked in sweat and champagne and god knows what else. He’s bone tired, his ribs hurt, and he’s starving. But you’re standing there, and it all just melts away. He wonders if telling you you’re his lucky charm would be terribly cliche.

“Hi, race winner,” you say, reaching out to squeeze his upper arm. “Feel different?”

He snorts. “Nah. Not really.”

You frown slightly, eyeing his face like you’re sizing him up. “Hm. You don’t look different, either.”

“No?” He asks, raising a brow at you, a smirk threatening to slip across his lips.

You shake your head. “Guess it’s because you’ve always been a winner in my book.”

He feels his cheeks go red, and then he bursts into laughter. “That’s the cheesiest thing I’ve ever heard you say,” he says, between giggles.

You lean into him, your head bumping against his shoulder. “I meant it!”

The thing is, he thinks you really did. He holds those words in his heart while he pulls you in close for a hug, despite your complaining about the state of him, the champagne and sweat. He holds them even closer, later, while he eats McDonald’s and avoids looking at social media comments about gifted wins by getting beaten to a pulp in Monopoly by Alex. He ices his ribs on the plane and falls asleep still thinking about you.

…..

Summer break rolls around, and he gets three weeks to spend with you. Your rehearsals are starting to ramp up for the season, and he can tell it’s weighing on you. He thinks you understand him in a way nobody else can- the love and hate for your sport. The exhaustion mixed with the urge to do it all again the next day.

He sits on the couch with you, your head against his shoulder, ice packs resting on your ankles where they’re propped up on his coffee table. There’s a movie playing on the TV, one of your favorites, one you’d been appalled he’d never seen before. You’re in one of his hoodies, soft and warm and cozy.

“Casting starts next week,” you mention, offhand.

He nods. “Yeah. I saw the Instagram post.”

He doesn’t know how to tell you he checks your dance company’s page multiple times a day. He worries it would make him seem crazy. It’s just that when he’s away, he wants every glimpse of you he can get, even if it’s in the background of a rehearsal video. And it’s become such a habit that he does it even on the days where he gets to see you in person.

He clears his throat. “Are you anxious about it?”

You hum, rubbing your hand against the fabric of your sweatpants. “A bit, I think. I want a good part, you know? And I worry I haven’t been working hard enough.”

Oscar tilts his head to look at you.. “You work harder than anyone I’ve ever met, you know.”

He means it. And he’s met people from all walks of life- fellow drivers, Moto GP riders, tennis players, engineers, basketball players, and everyone in between. But he’s never seen someone as dedicated as you. Never seen someone pull themselves apart at the seams the way you do, just to get a dance perfect. The way you criticize yourself makes him sad, sometimes. So he keeps telling you how good you are and hopes that someday it rings true for you, too.

“But maybe it’s not enough,” you tell him.

He shakes his head. “All you can give is your best. There’s nothing more you can do.”

You smile, nod, and settle in just a little closer. And he has this overwhelming urge to scoop you up, to press his lips to your forehead and tell you just how truly wonderful he thinks you are, how amazed he is. He wants to hold your face in his hands and kiss you, but he can’t.

When he says goodnight and goodbye later, it’s for a while- he’s headed off Zaandvoort. He doesn’t want to go. He knows once he gets there he’ll be excited again, ready to go, raring to be behind the wheel. But he asks you to text him when you’re home safely and finds himself wishing you were just staying at his place instead.

…..

You call him while he’s at the hotel in the Netherlands. He picks up immediately, even though he’s eating dinner with Lando. He steps outside onto the balcony so he can listen to you. The city glitters in front of him, and he thinks of the boats in the harbor in Monaco, the way they light up the water.

“Hi,” he answers, heart skipping a beat in his chest.

“Hi,” you echo back. There’s a certain quality to your voice, a thickness, like you’ve been crying. “They posted the cast list. I haven’t opened it.”

His heart rate kicks up a notch. He knows what this means to you, how important it all is, how much you’ve been hoping for something good. How hard you’ve been working. He sits down in the patio chair on the balcony.

“Okay, that’s-“ he cuts himself off. “Whatever you got, you did your best, right? And that’s all that matters.”

You sniffle, and he can hear you tapping away at your keyboard in the background. “I just. Do you think you could stay on the line while i open the email?”

The feeling he gets is overwhelming. The fact that you trust him with this, that you want him here, as much as he can be. He covers his soft smile with his hand.

“Yeah, of course,” he says, pouring all his sincerity into it. “Whatever you need.”

“Okay. Okay,” you say, like you’re trying to hype yourself up. “Okay, opening it now.”

He holds his breath the whole time he’s waiting. He thinks you might be, too. And then there’s a soft sigh on the other end, and a choked off gasp. And then-

“Oh my god,” you say, teary and breathless. “I got the lead.”

Oscar’s felt pretty happy quite a few times this year. He remembers podiums and his win in Hungary and all the other successes in between. But the way his heart fills with joy in that moment is almost overwhelming. Because he knows how much it means to you, and how much you mean to him. His words almost get caught in his chest.

“You deserve it,” he says, hoping you can’t hear how choked up he is. “You’ve worked so hard.”

“Gonna have to work harder now,” you say. But he can hear the smile in your voice.

He sends you flowers to congratulate you the next morning. You send him a picture with them in your arms, a smile on your face. He wants to make it his lockscreen, but he thinks he’d get far too many questions if he did. Too much of a risk of someone seeing. But it means the world to him either way.

…..

When he swings by your apartment on a random day where he’s back in Monaco, he spots a new picture frame by the door. Inside, there’s a bunch of pressed flowers- daisies and forget me nots and a couple others he can’t name. But he recognizes them from the photo the florist sent when he got the bouquet sent to you.

You catch him looking, hands in his pockets. When you turn to him, you smile sheepishly.

“They meant a lot to me,” you tell him.

His heart thuds in his chest. “I’m glad.”

…..

He wins in Baku, barely holding off Charles. It’s a tough, well earned victory. It’s champagne and confetti on the podium, and Charles being impressed with the move he pulled, and so many hugs and celebratory slaps on his back. It’s the smile on his mother’s face after he gets out of the car, the joy he feels at how happy she is, too.

And yet, when he gets back to his hotel, he finds himself wishing you’d been there.

It’s like he thinks about you and summons you- his phone starts ringing where it’s laying on his chest. He picks up when he sees your contact, his heart speeding up again. There’s music playing in the background when he says hello, your laughter bubbling up over it. It’s the Australian national anthem, he realizes. He starts to laugh, too.

“I’m choreographing a dance to it,” you say decisively, with a smirk on your lips. “My new favorite song.”

“Shouldn’t you be cheering for Charles?” He asks.

“Yes,” you say, very seriously. “Don’t tell him. I’ll be excommunicated from Monaco.”

He laughs, again. He feels lighter, like the stress of the race had finally faded. It’s amazing, how you do that.

“I’m so proud of you,” you tell him, and his heart swells. “Nobody more deserving.”

He lays back on the bed and lets your voice wash over him. “Thank you. It was a tough one.”

“It was fun to watch,” you tell him. “I had everyone else watching with me. I’ve converted half of them into Piastri fans.”

“Half the Monte Carlo ballet?” He teases. “That sounds like treason.“

“Again. Don’t tell Charles.”

“Thank you,” he says. “For watching.”

He means it about more than that, too. Thank you for believing in me. Thank you for calling. Thank you for being you. He thinks, again, about telling you how he really feels. That after he got out of his car, he’d imagined finding you in the crowd and pulling you in for a celebratory kiss. But you’re in Monaco, doing what you love, and you’re not his girlfriend, anyway. He has to keep reminding himself.

“You should get some sleep,” you tell him.

He’s not sure what time it is in Monaco, but he laughs. “So should you.”

He talks to you for another hour, at least, and then falls asleep with the phone pressed to his ear. When he wakes up in the morning, he wonders if there’s any way out of these feelings. It sort of feels like something he’ll never get over.

…..

There are a variety of reasons Oscar is happy when the three week fall break finally comes, but more time with you is definitely one of them. You’re even busier with rehearsals than you were before, but you always find time for him.

You sit on the floor of his apartment, one leg stretched out over a bag of ice on your calf. You’re breaking in a new pair of pointe shoes- the process always entertains him. To watch you break something down and put it back together again with stitches and glue and tape. You talk him through each step like he’ll understand what you mean when you use your specific ballet terms.

He jokes about breaking in his race shoes, too, and adding elastic and ribbons to them. You laugh, and then you make him help cut the pieces of ribbon- he smiles at the silky glide of the fabric through his fingers, and tries not to wonder if your skin would be soft under his touch like this, too.

Over dinner at the kitchen counter, you tell him about rehearsals, about the parts you just can’t quite grasp and the ones you’ve gotten down pat.

“I think I’ll be okay by opening night,” you tell him. Then a smile slips across your face, your eyes wide and lit up. “Oh, speaking of- d’you want a ticket? I can get you a seat close to Charles.”

He lights up. “When is it again?”

You tell him the date as he pulls his phone out to check his schedule. If Charles can make it, he assumes he can, too, but it’s better to check just in case. He scrolls on his McLaren calendar and feels his heart plummet into his stomach.

“Fuck,” he mutters.

You tilt your head and frown. “What’s wrong?”

“I… I won’t be back.”

You frown deeper. “It’s a two week break.”

He swallows guiltily and nods. “They want us to stay to film some content. And then I have meetings at the MTC. And- I’m so sorry. I’d be there if I could, but we’re not flying back this way until after, and-“

You place your hand over his. There’s a soft smile on your lips that doesn’t match the sadness in your eyes. “It’s okay, Osc.”

His heart twists. “I’ll come the first chance I get, yeah?”

He knows it’s not the same. He’s heard you talk about opening night, about the electrifying feeling it gives you. He’d promised months ago that he’d come. And sure, it’s not his fault, but… he feels guilty all the same.

“Yeah,” you say. The happy tone of your voice feels forced. “I’ll be better at it by then, anyways.”

You change the subject. Oscar convinces you to stay over when it gets late and you’re still there. Neither of you really want to leave. He insists on sleeping on the couch so you can sleep in the bed- you’re the one who has class and rehearsal the next day, after all. He wakes up to a crick in his neck and the sound of you humming in the kitchen. When he rubs the sleep from his eyes and joins you, he’s happy to find you’ve made breakfast for both of you.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he says, quietly.

“Wanted to,” you say, with a shrug and a smile.

He drives you to the studio, and you invite him in to say hi and hang out for a bit. It’s early, still and people are trickling in, taking time to do individual warm ups before class. You test out your new pointe shoes, and he smiles when he sees the look on your face- they’re perfect, you tell him.

You give him a hug before class starts, when he has to leave. He’s headed home to pack, and then it’s off to Austin on a flight that afternoon. You say what you always say to him before a race weekend.

“Good luck, have fun, be safe, and be nice to Charles,” you say, your cheek pressed to his shoulder.

“But not too nice,” he echoes back.

You nod. He squeezes you tight, and lets himself have this for just one second. His face, pressed against the top of your head. Someone calls for class to start, and you lean up and give him the classic cheek kisses. Then you’re racing off to the studio.

He hopes you don’t catch the blush on his cheeks.

…..

In Austin, he unpacks a hoodie from his suitcase, pulls it over his head, and sighs when he realizes it smells like your perfume. He thinks you borrowed it while you were at his place, something to cuddle up on the couch in while you stretched your poor muscles. He shoves his hands in his pockets and finds a silky strip of ribbon waiting there. It must’ve been one of the scraps from when you’d had him help with your pointe shoes, one you had to trim because he’d cut them far too long. He smiles softly, and without really even thinking, he ties the ribbon around his wrist. A nice reminder of you to carry with him.

He has to remove it eventually, when he heads to the track, but then he shoves it in the pocket of his shorts, and leaves it looped up nicely in his driver room when he has to change for the race. He loops it back around his wrist for the flight to Mexico, and sees Lando eyeing it. Oscar stares back, as if daring him to say a word.

Charles sees it, though, and smirks, when they bump into him in the hotel lobby in Mexico City. “Pretty bracelet.”

Oscar pulls his sleeve over his hand and tries not to look sheepish. He knows his cheeks and ears are turning red. He’s not sure how he’ll explain this to you, if Charles tells you. What if you think it’s weird, or creepy, or-

“She called me yesterday,” Charles says. “She was wearing your hoodie.”

Suddenly, Oscar’s cheeks are turning red for a completely different reason, and he thinks maybe this time he’ll just let it happen.

He calls you from the hotel the next day, late in the afternoon. The time difference sucks, but you’re a night owl, anyways. You’ve got your phone propped up against the mirror in the dance studio, pushed far enough back that he can see you, and your swishy warm up pants he always teases you about, and- and it’s his hoodie you’re wearing, sleeves tucked over your hands, the hood pooling around your neck. He feels his ears go red again and hopes you can’t see in the dim lighting of his hotel room.

“You’re there late,” he comments.

In the background, the window behind you is inky blue. You sigh heavily, like the time is weighing you down. If he was there, he’d lift your shoulders back up himself. Try and take some of the weight off.

“There’s this one combination,” you say, rubbing your finger against the floor. “I just can’t quite get it.”

He hums. He knows the feeling, knows what it’s like to try and try again to hit all the apexes in a sequence of turns and feel like you’re never quite there.

“You need a break, though,” he reminds you. “Sleep and a fresh start would do you good.”

You twist your lips, though you nod in agreement. “I’ll go home soon. Promise.”

He ends up convincing you to walk home with him still on FaceTime- his way of making sure you do go home, and you make it safely. He likes to listen to your routine, anyways- the click of the lights turning on, the rattle of ice cubes in your glass, your soft footsteps on the creaky hardwood floors of your apartment. He can see in the way that your shoulders start to droop that you’re tired, so he lets you go, but not before he gets the same advice he always does.

“Good luck, have fun, be safe, and be nice to Charles,” you tell him.

He nods diligently. “But not too nice.”

…..

In Brazil, during the quali rain delay, Oscar gets cornered.

“You’re not going to opening night,” Charles says, standing with his arms crossed in the paddock.

Oscar ducks his head sheepishly, rocking back and forth on his feet. “I can’t. We don’t fly back until the day after.”

Charles frowns. “That is stupid.”

He’s not wrong. “Yeah. Not much I can do about it, mate. I’d be there if I could.” Oscar pauses. “Hold on. How’d you know I’m not going?”

Charles tilts his head. He’s studying Oscar. “She told me. She’s sad about it, you know.”

Charles is disappointed. Oscar’s got a lot of respect for the guy- he hates to disappoint him. He hates even more to think that he’s made you sad. He thinks of the pink ribbon that’s laying in his driver room, the way you’d laughed while you’d tried to teach him how to sew. He thinks of your costume fittings, the peeks of the fabric he got to see, how it’ll be far too long before he gets to watch you spin around on stage in them. How excited you’d looked at the idea of him being there for opening night. His chest aches.

“I do want to be there,” he tells Charles, hating the nearly whiny tone his voice takes on. “I just…”

“I know,” Charles says softly. “And she understands. But I thought you should know she really wants you there.”

Charles leaves, then, probably off to find Max or Pierre. Oscar’s left standing, wishing he could find a way to be in two places at once.

Formula One and ballet are oddly similar, in Oscar’s opinion. It’s all about balance and rhythm, about dancing on the knife’s edge. Nothing makes that more clear than a quali session in the rain. He pulls his boots on and pictures you, ribbon slipping through your fingers as you lace it around your calves. With each corner he takes on the track, he can see you leaping across the stage. He balances the wheel between his fingers and thinks of you, spinning on the very tips of your toes like it’s easy. There’s a strength, hidden under tights and tulle, that amazed him more than anything else. You make it look easy. He can’t always say the same for himself. He’s still getting the hang of the balance.

If he tells you that, you’ll tell him he’s crazy. That you’re safe on the stage while he careens around a track in a machine made of metal and carbon fiber and not much else. He remembers you complaining about a blister on your foot, and how he’d suggested padding and bandaids.

“Then I can’t feel the floor,” you’d told him.

He’d frowned, holding one of your shoes, tapping at the hard toe box at the end. “Can you feel the floor through all this?”

You’d smiled and nodded. “You’re telling me you can’t feel the track, even through all that?”

You’re right, he finds. He can feel it, on some tracks more than others. With this one, the thing he feels the most is the way it slips away from him. But he can feel it nonetheless. He tries to channel that into the race, but there’s far too much water in the way.

Sunday exhausts him. It’s enough to have to do quali and the race on the same day, let alone to have to be up so early to do so. He feels for the mechanics, of course, who are there even earlier. It’s not an ideal race- it’s more damage limitation, than anything, with the rain and the red flags and the penalty from his incident with Liam. He takes it on the chin as much as he can, but when they’re told they can head back to the hotel he’s quite relieved. He needs sleep, desperately.

Max invites him out to celebrate, but he politely declines. He runs into Charles leaving the track and ends up in a car with him. Charles makes him think of you, he always does.

“You going out with Max?” He asks.

Charles shakes his head and yawns. “Early flight home tomorrow,” he says. “So I can be there with plenty of time to make it to the ballet.”

At the mention of opening night, Oscar’s heart sinks. The exhaustion hits him even harder, and he slumps over in his seat, letting the sound of the rain on the car windows lull him.

…..

The stage lights are blindingly bright, but you manage to make it through the very first show. It’s not perfect- no performance ever really is- but it’s as close as it can be, really. It feels good, to have worked so hard to get there, to have worked even harder after getting the role, and to have it all pay off.

You don’t change out of your finale costume before you head out to the lobby. The kids who come of the shows always love to see the dresses and leotards and sparkly makeup. You greet them with smiles, despite your exhaustion, and do the same to your friends.

Your smile gets wider when you spot Charles, with some of his family in tow. You wave them over, trying to see everyone through the crowds. There’s someone next to him who you can’t quite make out, someone who Charles tugs along by their upper arm. Someone holding a giant bouquet, filled with daisies and forget-me-nots. Your heart skips a beat.

Charles is the one who rolls his eyes and shoves the bouquet towards you. You’re half laughing, half crying when you come face to face with Oscar. You pull him into a hug, one he returns with force, half crushing the flowers between the two of you. You don’t care. He means more than any bouquet ever could.

“You said you couldn’t make it!” You say, shock still rolling through you.

“They released us from some of our plans after the hell weekend in Brazil,” he says, the words melting into your skin where his lips are pressed to your temple. “So I hitched a ride.”

You grin at Charles over Oscar’s shoulder. He gives you a horrible wink in return, and mouths the word later before fading into the crowd.

“Oh my god, you must be so tired,” you say, leaning back to look at him.

He shrugs. “M’wide awake now. You were incredible.”

You laugh, one arm still looped around his neck. “You say that every time.”

“And I mean it, every time.”

His hand falls to your hip, fingers brushing against the poofy tulle. You swear you can feel the warmth of him, even through all the layers. Maybe it’s just radiating off of him, off his smile and the blush on his cheeks and the fact that he’s here at all.

When you speak next, he opens his mouth and says something at the same time. The two of you pause, then dissolve into giggles again.

“You first,” you say.

He hums. “You sure you don’t want to go first?”

“You flew all the way here, I think you get the honors.”

He nods, smiles, and swallows. “Okay. Um. Any chance you’re not busy after this?”

There’s the cast dinner, but it’s not mandatory. And besides, you think after all the talking you’ve done about Oscar for the past few months, they’ll understand.

“I’m free,” you tell him.

“Prefect,” he says. “Call me when you’re ready, and we’ll go out to dinner.”

“Just you and me?” you ask, hopefully.

He nods. “Just you and me.”

You nod, the grin already breaking across your lips. “Sounds like a date.”

He laughs, muffling the sound into your forehead. “It sure does. I’d like that. If you want it to be.”

“Yeah,” you tell him, smiling bigger than you think you have all night. “I’d like that a lot.”

…..

You fall asleep on his shoulder before the dessert Oscar ordered can make it to the table. He doesn’t complain, though. He just asks for it to go instead, and pays the bill between his own yawns. He wakes you gently when he’s ready to go, and laughs at your sheepish smile, at the apology you mumble out, batting sleepy lashes at him. He can’t blame you for being exhausted.

Your hair is undone, makeup off, but he’s never found you more beautiful. More elegant. He half carries you out to the car and offers to take you home, but you yawn and shake your head. Then you lean over and kiss him, right on the lips, your arm around his neck again. He cups your face in his hands and soaks it all in while he kisses you back. Lets himself melt into the moment.

“I’m taking all the time I can get with you,” you tell him, when you pull away, your lips still brushing against his cheek. “Take me to your place, Mr. Piastri.”

He likes the sound of that. And when he falls asleep with you tucked against his chest, the soft glow of the Monaco harbor in view out of his bedroom window over your shoulder, he finds he likes the reality of it even more.

…

a/n: can’t decide if i love this or hate it, but at least i wrote something!!! thanks for reading!

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