✅️Vetted By @gazavetters, My Number Verified On The List Is ( #373 )✅️

It's 2 a.m. and you're sitting in some dingy bar in the bad side of town, hand covering your fifth? drink of the night.

It's a little hole in the wall no one really knows but always stumbles into whenever they need it. You’ve only been in here twice before. The bartender is an older woman with not much makeup save for a dark brownish rouge on her lips. She’s nice enough, though. She gave you a bowl of cheap candy after your third drink.

Your eyes fall on the man on the far side of the counter. He's almost impossible to miss, what with being one of the three other people there, but he's also massive, which doesn't really help him blend into the shadows of the corner he's sitting in. His hair's in need of a trim, a little shaggy in some parts and almost covering his eyes, but it's clean and fluffy in a way that makes you want to run your hand through it. He's in a hoodie that's a little oversized even for him. Prime estate for any girl/boyfriend.

You've been staring a little too long, though. Seemingly feeling your gaze, his eyes flick up, meeting yours through the white strands in the way. He looks tired. Not too tired to send a glare your way, though.

But he’s pretty, so you decide he’s interesting.

Taking your glass and your candy, you walk the long, wobbly journey to his end of the table. The bartender keeps an eye on you, probably deciding to cut you off for the night. Bummer. In hindsight though, she probably should have done that a while ago. The hangover’s going to kill you tomorrow.

The man doesn’t acknowledge you when you sit down on the stool next to him. He doesn’t bat an eye when you keep staring either.

You scrunch your nose a little when the smell hits. “You smoke?”

You wonder if he’s just going to keep ignoring you when he shifts a little, angling himself away from you. “..go away.”

You rest your hand on your palm, taking a candy from your bowl and sliding it towards him. “It’s bad for you, y’know.”

“I don’t care. Go away.”

“Sweet things help.”

“Leave me alone.”

His voice is deep, but not in an ‘I chain smoke every day’ kind of way. Puberty must’ve hit like a bitch. A social smoker then, maybe. He doesn’t seem the social type though.

You sigh, taking a piece of candy for yourself. Your friends are social smokers. Well, ex-friends, but that sounds kinda silly. It’s a little melted and it sticks to your teeth and tastes like fruit flavored plastic. You shrug and enjoy it anyway.

You can feel him watching you out of the corner of his eye. He wasn’t kidding when he said he wanted to be left alone, you’re not that oblivious. The alcohol in your system makes you bolder, though. And apparently makes your stranger danger alarm go away, because you suddenly realize you’re sitting next to a grown ass man you don’t even know, and who’s twice the size of any guy you’ve seen around. Normal you would have left the bar as soon as he walked in. It’s Gotham, after all. Never too safe.

“…how many of those have you had?” His voice snaps you out of your thoughts, and you go to answer but have to finish chewing first. You’d apparently stopped when you drifted off.

“Like… at least two,” you shrug, glancing at the small bowl. It had been nearly full when the bartender had given it to you. Now it’s just about half empty. “Yep. Definitely at least two.”

He looks at you like you’re stupid. Rude. “..I can see that.”

“Your hair’s white.”

He doesn’t respond.

“Stressed much?”

Again, no answer.

“I am.” Your arms are crossed in the table now, and you lay your head on top. “Wanna know why?”

“No.”

“I cut off all my friends.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No, I mean ‘no, I don’t care.’”

“They were real toxic.”

“Okay.”

“Shoulda done it sooner.”

“Sure.”

You grab another candy. His eyebrows raise the slightest bit.

“Those are bad for you.” He says, a little gruffly.

“So’s smoking.”

“That’s different.”

“I’ll stop these when you stop smoking.”

“It’s different.”

He runs a hand through his hair, and you get a clear look at his eyes for the first time. They’re such a pretty green. Or maybe blue. What was the color… teal? Cyan? Either way, they’re pretty. You tell him so.

“You’re pretty.” Your words come out a little dazed. You swear his eyes are glowing in the dim light.

He frowns at your words, gaze a little sharper now. “I’m not.”

Well that’s just ridiculous. “You are.”

“Stop it.”

“Is this some toxic masculinity thing?”

“Shut up.”

“But-”

“I’m not pretty,” he grits out. There’s a finality in his voice that makes you hesitant to push. You notice him looking down at his hands, closed around his nearly untouched glass of whiskey. Not much of a drinker usually, then? Must’ve had a bad day. You also notice the scars littering his skin. His knuckles are the worst, but that’s really only because they’re cut and bruised, not fully healed like the backs of his hands.

“..you fight much?” You ask, a little quieter now. His fingers twitch, like he’s trying not to pull the sleeves of his hoodie up to cover the entirety of his hands.

“What’s it to you?”

“I fought too.”

“With your friends?”

You can’t help but smile at that. “So you were listening.”

“Wasn’t.”

“Sure.” You’re silent for a moment before you down the rest of your own drink, squinting at the bitter burn at the back of your tongue. “..yeah. With my friends. Lotta screaming. My throat hurts..” you pause, “..alcohol probably isn’t helping.”

He’s looking at you. “…no.”

“No as in ‘I don’t care’?”

He shakes his head. You swear there’s almost a smile ln his lips. It’s probably your alcohol-ridden brain seeing things where they aren’t. “No as in, ‘no, alcohol probably isn’t helping.’”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

“I have common sense.”

“Do you, though?”

“You calling me dumb?”

“I’m calling you drunk.”

You giggle. “Maybe.”

“No, not ‘maybe’,” he rolls his eyes again, glancing at the bartender when she comes over to take your empty glass. “Jess is cutting you off.”

So her name is Jess. You squint at her as she puts your glass in the sink. Suits her.

You reach for another piece of candy when he takes the bowl away from you. “I’m cutting you off, too.”

You groan. “But why though..”

“You’re going to give yourself an aneurysm.”

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t.”

“So give it back.”

“No.” So bossy.

You glare at him. Some of his hair falls back in front of his eyes. “..you need a trim.”

His eyebrows rise, caught a little off guard. “..haven’t had the time.”

“Can I do it?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“You’re drunk.”

“What if I wasn’t?”

“I still don’t trust you with scissors near me.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t know you,” he pauses, considering the half-empty bowl he’s keeping away from your reach. A weird but somehow generic name is printed on each candy. No ingredients, though, just flimsy plastic. “And because you eat Gotham store-brand candy by the handful… god, what’s in these?”

He looks at the bartender - Jess - with an almost disappointed look. “Really, Jess? You couldn’t even get the good knockoffs?”

“It was on clearance,” Jess drawls, unbothered.

“You do know me, though,” you murmur, head resting on your arms again. The man shakes his head slightly.

“I don’t even know your name.” Okay, fair point.

You give him your name. “What’s yours?”

There’s a minute before he answers. You can tell he’s contemplating just leaving right then. You’re getting a little too close for comfort. You don’t want him to leave. Your eyes shift to look at the table instead.

“…Jason.”

“Jason,” you hum. It suits him.

There’s really nothing to do here anymore. You’ve been cut off from the two things that gave you purpose here. “What am I supposed to do now?”

He shrugs. As if he’s not part of the reason there’s nothing to do now. “Go home.”

Your expression darkens at that, and you muffle a groan by now lying face-down on the table. It’s not sticky, thankfully. That’s really all you can ask of a place like this. “I can’t.”

Jason frowns. “What do you mean, you can’t?”

“The friends I cut off were also my roommates..” Bit of a stupid decision on your part.

“That was dumb.”

“Yes, Jason, I know. Thank you.” You sigh. There’s definitely going to be a shit ton of glitter in all your stuff by the time you get back home. You don’t have the strength to deal with that today. Evil little fuckers.

You’re busy trying to remember if there’s a motel around you can actually trust when it happens. Maybe you looked a little too miserable to ignore. Jason, after a couple minutes of seemingly endless self conflict, blurts out,

“You could crash at mine.”

…

Um…

I mean, yeah, sure. Why the fuck not at this point, right?

“Um… thanks, but, I don’t know..” you decline once to be polite. And also because holy shit, some guy - very pretty guy, but still some random guy - just offered for you to sleep at his place. You’re not getting murdered, right? He’s been nice(ish) up to this point, but…

Jason, apparently also utterly confused on why he’s offering in the first place, adds, “we have a guest room. Probably a lot cleaner than any motel within walking distance.”

“We?”

“My roommate.”

“Oh.”

You sigh again. Thinking too hard about this is starting to make your brain hurt. And you really don’t want to go back home.

The bartender comes over to take the candy bowl. You wave her over, leaning over a little to talk ‘discreetly’.

“You know this guy?” You ask, tossing what your drunk mind thinks is an inconspicuous glance at Jason.

She shrugs. “Yeah. For a while.”

“So he’s safe?”

She raises an eyebrow. “..safe as it gets around here.”

She shakes her head at the skeptical look you give her. “I’ve known him since he was little. He’s a good kid.”

Alright. Good enough.

You turn back to Jason. “..Mind if I sleep over?”

He shakes his head, leaving a twenty under his still mostly full glass and sliding off his stool. He’s even bigger standing up. What did his parents feed him?

You pay your tab and follow behind him, stumbling occasionally. It’s cold when you get out of the bar, you’re sure it has to be, because your breath fogs up the slightest bit. You should be shivering with how thin your shirt is, and you’d neglected to grab a jacket when you’d stormed out of your apartment, but the drinks you’ve had dulls the sense. Your cheeks are warm enough you’re sure there’s a very noticeable blush there.

You stumble on the crumbly pavement, hand instinctively reaching out to grab Jason’s arm to keep yourself from falling. He tenses, but doesn’t pull away. You hold onto his sleeve for the rest of the walk.

He’s nice. Just.. nice. While it may be a catch all phrase to describe someone who doesn’t have much else going for them, it’s also often overlooked hw difficult it is to find someone who’s just nice (in a non-creepy way) in a place like Gotham, and especially Crime Alley. Just look at the name.

He finds somewhere clean-ish for you to sit when you’re feeling a little dizzy and entertains your little detours, like stopping at some random convenience store to fill a random cat food bowl on the street because there’s a little left at the bottom, “and that means something’s eating out of it. It’s probably hungry now.”

When you get to his place, you tentatively step inside, looking around but not really taking in much. You’re not comfortable showering here so you just decide to sleep in your outside clothes. Not the most comfortable thing either, but it’s not long to fall asleep after your head hits the pillow, so you don’t have to think about it much.

Vaguely, you feel something soft being haphazardly pulled over your head.

It barely feels like you’ve blinked when the sun peeks through the blinds, dark circles and a pounding headache keeping you company as you groan, trying to make sense of the world again.

You’re in a strange bed. You reach up to rub the sleep out of your eyes when you realize you can’t.

Looking down, there’s a hoodie pulled over the thin top you wore out last night. It’s on in a weird way that you’re technically wearing it, but your arms are stuck inside the torso and not in the sleeves. It smells faintly of cotton, the brownish paper of books and Irish Spring. There’s also the smallest hint of cheap gas station cologne. It’s not bad, but it doesn’t quite fit in with the rest.

You opt to keep it on since it’s chilly. Pushing your arms out the sleeves, you try to stand up from the bed and immediately sit back down, the headache worse with the sudden movement. Your muscles aren’t much better either, some screaming in protest since you slept positioned like a crumpled piece of paper in the night. Taking a moment to recover, that’s when you notice the cup of water and a packet of pills on the bedside table.

Taking the necessary amount, you feel a little heat in your cheeks. The alcohol must not have completely worn off yet.

You sit there a minute before trying to get up again. Success. You reach the door and are just about to turn the handle when you hear voices outside.

“-can’t believe you brought a girl home-”

“She needed a place to crash. That’s it.”

“And you gave her my hoodie!”

“It’s my hoodie.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, was it meticulously stashed in your closet?”

“No.”

“No! Because it was in mine, and therefore, is mine.”

“You can have it back when she goes home.”

“I want it now..”

“There’s like half a dozen more in the closet. Pick one.”

It’s then that you decide to open the door. It didn’t sound like they were stopping any time soon. Plus, you needed something hot in your system right that minute or you were definitely going to throw up everywhere.

You recognize Jason, but the other man - a ginger in a tank top, well-built but not massive like the former - is new, and he stares at you for a solid minute like you’re an alien creature.

“…hi?” You mumble awkwardly, not really knowing what to say. It’s the first time you’ve been taken to a stranger’s place drunk, with nothing but literal sleep happening after.

“Hey,” Surprisingly, the ginger is the one to move first. He gives you a toothy grin, holding out his hand. Jason pushes it away, but it persists. “I’m Roy.”

You take his hand after a second. “y/n.”

Your eyes flicker over to Jason, who’s already staring at you. He looks a little softer here than at the bar, the natural coming through the small living room window makes him look a little less weary. Or maybe he just had a good night’s sleep. Are the circles under his eyes lighter?

“So…” you start, feeling a little uncomfortably warm under his gaze. “Thank you.. for everything.”

You’re expecting him to kick you out. After all, letting you sleep here in the first place must’ve been an impulsive decision made under the influence of alcohol and pity - god, why had you told him so much?

It’s another minute or something of staring before Roy ‘subtly’ elbows him, apparently bringing Jason back online.

“..can I take you out for breakfast?”

bruce / dick / tim

࿐໋ Revision.

──

The past isn't as fixed as we've been led to believe. Actually, it is not fixed at all. It exists only as a memory. A story you continuously tell yourself. But if it is just a story, doesn’t that mean you have the power to rewrite it?

Neville Goddard taught us that revision is the key to reshaping your reality. The concept is simple. Revisit a past event in your mind and change it. Reimagine it unfolding exactly as you wish it had. Immerse yourself in the experience, feel it as real, and accept it as truth.

This isn't "pretending" or wishful thinking. You are literally rewriting your timeline. The past is not an unchangeable record. It is a construct of consciousness, and consciousness is the foundation of reality.

When you change your inner world, your outer world inevitably follows. Rewrite the memory, and you will reshape not only your past but also your present and future.

──

Remember that you are never obligated to align with the past. Kisses, Angie. - 𝜗𝜚

What is my sister’s fault? Why must this be her life? She doesn’t remember our house. She doesn’t remember her cat who was killed by the bombs. She doesn’t remember feeling warm during the winter. All the good things in her life came and went before her brain could form memories. From her point of view, life has always been this genocide. Gaza has always been destroyed. Home has always been one room with no windows and infested by rodents.

Please help me provide for her. She’s had a high fever for the past few days and the blockade is back. The bombs are starting to drop again. This is going to be so hard and I can’t do this alone.

We are so close to our final goal, please, anything can make a difference even if it’s just sharing!

PLEASE DONATE HERE

✅Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #347 )✅

IMPORTANT update on mohammed's campaign!

mohammed almanasra @save-mohamed-family has unfortunately been having issues with fundraising. his first campaign was shut down by the bank and GFM without him getting any of the money he raised. recently he had some concerns about the person hosting his second campaign because he has only been receiving a small percentage of the funds raised and the host wouldn’t send receipts. he thought it'd be best if we started a new campaign with me hosting it and shut down the old campaign. i'll be organizing this now so hopefully there will be no problems and i can be transparent with him about the finances. also in a stronger currency (USD)

mohammed has been verified by @el-shab-hussein and is on the Vetted Gaza Fundraiser List #192 with this updated link now

gofundme.com

Donate to Help Mohammed's Family Escape the Gaza Genocide, organized by S G

Hi, I'm a grad student in NYC who has been active in Palestine solidarity for a wh… S G needs your support for Help Mohammed's Family Escape

you may have seen my other posts about his campaign, mohammed and i talk frequently and its so awful what he's been through in this genocide:

mohammed lost his mother, father, and four sisters who were killed in a bombing, and is now living in tents with his remaining family members, his wife and three young children. he was seriously injured in his foot and it may need to be amputated, but he told me that hes doesn't care if he loses his foot he just doesn't want to lose his family. his wife has uterine cancer but hasn't been able to get treatment recently because the genocidal israeli army has destroyed health centers. his children are suffering from infectious diseases spreading throughout gaza, and the little medical treatment available is very expensive. here’s a photo of his kids who instead of having a normal childhood have to struggle to survive.

they've been displaced recently again, because of the israeli army changing the location of so called 'humanitarian zones,' and every displacement is expensive and exhausting, with no guarantee that where they are forced to move to is actually safe. right now mohammed told me he doesn't have good enough internet to use tumblr unless he goes to a internet hot spot which are often more dangerous because the idf targets people there. he knows it's risky but fundraising online is the only way he can support his family right now.

mohammed has made posts on his blog about their situation and i do encourage you to read his own words, because i am merely summarizing conditions that are far worse than any of us from outside can really comprehend

the pain of losing so many family members, your home, your job, your city, and everything you have is already unimaginable. please dont let him lose any more of his family. donate to this campaign and if you cant, share it with someone who can.

especially if you have a degree of disposable income i implore you to think about what you can reasonably give. it could be relatively small adjustment for you but make a significant difference for someone else. thank you very much everyone who participated already for starting this out with some donations.

$205 raised of $50,000 USD

˗ˏˋ ★ ──── 1 TO 100 ‼

「 “ 𝘴𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘸𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘭𝘰𝘵. ” 」

eventual james potter x fem!reader; inevitable angst and annoyance as james slowly matures over his time at hogwarts. slowburn. total word count: 56.3K

2.7K | FIRST YEAR.

5.8K | SECOND YEAR.

2.7K | THIRD YEAR.

6.0K | FOURTH YEAR.

6.4K | FIFTH YEAR.

14.0K | SIXTH YEAR.

18.7K | SEVENTH YEAR.

hii! not sure if you’re open to requests but i’m going to give u a few ideas! most of these are for elijah hewson😭

falling asleep on the couch, waking up to not only a blanket around them, but eli squeezed in behind them

being in the studio with the band and messing about?? making jokes and being silly!

kissing and dancing in the kitchen to an old singe they both like?

eli taking care of you when you’re sick and just being super soft and caring!

spending valentine’s day together!

something about the reader playing with eli’s fingers to calm them down?

softly smiling at each other from across the room and also reassuring touches!

telling each other how much they love them

them cuddling in bed and pulling eachother closer

hope these spark your writing :))))

Kiss It Better | ELIJAH HEWSON

here's a short little thing inspired by this request!

PAIRING: elijah hewson x f!reader

WORDS: 1.5k

SUMMARY: eli's girlfriend is ill, elijah comforts her.

GENRE: hurt/comfort, fluff

WARNINGS: references to throwing up

I've never been so ill in my life. My nose is so runny. I've almost used every single packet of tissues in the kitchen cabinet right under the sink — which used to be a lot and now is very little. I've thrown up my insides into the loo way too many times to count on my fingers. Bent over the toilet, eyes pricking with tears, I've never felt so useless. At least the thought of my boyfriend getting back after his gig gives me something to look forward to. But it's far too late.

I'm staring at the TV screen. I hug my knees to my chest, attempting to generate some warmth. The blanket is upstairs — probably hiding in the space between the bed and the wall. Surely, if I attempt to stumble upstairs now, I'll just get stuck and end up falling asleep in the corridor.

I can't stop glancing at the door. I'm hoping for a doorknob twist, knock, ring of the doorbell, stamp of boots, low and raspy post-concert voice. But I'm just met with nothing. No signs of his arrival. He hasn't called me. He usually doesn't. He likes to surprise me. After having the worst migraine of my life, it would give me some comfort if he just gave me a hug. A warm Elijah Hewson hug would cleanse my mind.

Starting to realise that the TV is doing more harm than good, I switch it off. I'm beginning to see blurry triangular shapes and my eyes burn like they're on fire. The living room is pitch black. I'm freezing. I'm tired. I take two paracetamol tablets and chug some water. Curling up on my side, legs on the armrest, I close my eyes.

-

I wake up. Sunlight gleams through the gaps in the white curtains. My body is wrapped in a duvet, soft and warm. Skin is against mine. Arms are around my body, squeezing me tightly. He's shirtless. I can tell by the tufts of chest hair flicking at my shoulder. His head is on my back, curls all over my skin, lips between my shoulderblades. I don't want to move. I don't want to speak. He's asleep. Gentle snores, deep breaths, in and out.

I must've fallen into a deep sleep because I have no recollection of his arrival or him ever taking me upstairs. I'm usually a light sleeper. This migraine fully knocked me out. That's the best nights sleep I've had in a while. I'm especially thankful I managed to escape from work for the rest of the week.

Elijah's normally the little spoon when we hug like this. It's funny how the tables have turned. I think I prefer this though. But lying awake and tracing the muscles in his back always seems to calm me down.

I want to ask him how the show went and the reason for his tardiness. He had been playing in Glasgow, thankfully only a few miles away from me and had bought me tissues, chocolate and gave me an endless supply of kisses before he had to run down to meet the band.

Opening my eyes fully, I take a peek over at the bedside table. He's brought me more tissues, face masks, more chocolate and a box of sleep teabags.

I realise Elijah's awake when his fingers start to walk along my bare stomach and his mouth is at the juncture between my back and shoulder. He pulls my hair to the side, presses his wet mouth to my neck. He smells clean. I'm sure he's showered. His hair feels a little damp.

He keeps pulling me closer. Arms tightening like he's a boa constrictor. Cool rings on my stomach, large hands tugging at the waistband of my shorts.

"You feeling better?" He asks, between kisses, tongue tracing my jugular vein. It's unsettlingly nice. His words are always gruff the morning after the show. All the singing takes a toll. Makes him sound more mellow. Sometimes I worry for his vocal cords.

"Not really." I groan. A mind-numbing headache is still prodding at my brain and the brightness of the sun makes my eyes burn. He's got a hand on my forehead, cool fingers against fiery skin — checking the temperature.

"God, you're pale. And you're burning up. I should get the thermometer." He gets out of bed. The loss of weight of his body makes the mattress shift. I glance over at him. His hair has stuck up at the top, his bare back glows under the sunlight. He stands up. Sweatpants cling loosely to his hips, revealing the muscles of his abdomen and a chain circles around his neck. He leaves the room — not even giving me time to utter a word of annoyance at the sudden lack of touch.

Then he's back. He crawls into bed. The thermometer is between his index finger and thumb. I look at the cross tattoo on his palm, see the concentration on his face as he plays around with the buttons.

"It's just a migraine," I say but he's already turning it on and pointing at my mouth. I roll my eyes and separate my lips. He gives me a sly smirk, just making me sit like that for a moment. Then he puts the device beneath my tongue and waits patiently. I'm trying not to laugh at how awkward this is. I close my eyes to evade his gaze but I can still feel the force of his stare.

"You've got a fever." Dr Hewson alerts me with his expert diagnosis although the furrow of his brows makes him seem unsure. He looks down at the numbers displayed, rubbing his face with worry. "A really bad one." He's now searching up on his phone what it means.

"Should I go to the doctors?" I shuffle away from him. I don't want him to catch what I have. He has gigs all week, I don't want to ruin anything for him.

He notices my movement. Shaking his head, he drags me back towards him, making me nestle into his chest. His eyes are still darting along a website.

"I think you just need to rest. I'll make you breakfast." Elijah kisses my nose before running downstairs with his mind set solely on making some decent food.

Through the corridor, into the kitchen. He's forgotten where half the things are in the room. Opening cabinets, searching through the fridge, putting water into the kettle. Most of the time he'll get his breakfast on the way to a show. Maybe a café, maybe he'll steal some food from Ryan. Today, however, he's lucky enough to not have a gig and actually have time to look after his girlfriend. Although he's definitely going to make a mess of the place.

His final decision is to make omelettes. Oil on the frying pan, ham—leaving it to heat up until it's a little crispy. Two eggs, cracked and swirled in a glass. Cheese on top, grated with masterful excellence—at least that's what he believes. Folds it over to make it fill half of the pan. Let's it continue to fry. Then he's running over to make a cup of tea. He uses one of the sleep teabags he bought. He's just about to plate up when footsteps echo behind him.

I have to stop for a second when I walk into the kitchen. It's a rarity to see Elijah here, cooking for me. We started dating at the beginning of the tour which unluckily means that he's hardly ever home. He has to leave early in the morning and gets back really late. Whenever he has days off, he takes me on dates and walks, or we just laze around at home, basking in eachother's presence. There's times when he brings me along to the recording studio so that I can reprimand all the band members or give an outside opinion of their new songs.

Elijah seems so focused on getting this omelette perfect. He's running around the place. He grabs two pieces of bread to turn his dish into an omelette-sandwich. I stand in the doorway for a while, just watching him. But, I can't stop myself from nearing him. As he cuts an apple into a slices, I slide my arms around his stomach, pressing my head to his shoulder. He sighs quietly. I breathe in his scent, his comfort.

"You should be in bed," he whispers, although he doesn't seem to want me to let go. I shake my head as he looks at me.

There's music playing on the radio. I turn it up. It's a song by The Smiths. I'm swaying to the beat, moving Elijah along with me. He's still carefully chopping fruit into perfect pieces. Watermelon, strawberries, mango. My mouth is watering just looking at the vast array of flavours.

Elijah drops his knife, turns around to face me. His hands find my waist, his lips find my neck, his head burrows into my chest like he's a mole hiding under soil. We dance along to the crackle of music, feeling the melodies trickle into our bones. Just his presence makes me feel better, every kiss turns my negative thoughts to mush.

It Started With A... || CarLandOscar

Summary: Whoever thought love was limited to one person was an idiot. Love had no limits and you knew that better than most when a rookie found himself carving out a third of your heart. Warnings: established relationships, fluff, angst, pining. WC: 7.5k

It started with a smile. It was stiff and polite and made you pity the rookie who was being introduced to everyone so fast he would surely forget their names. 

“It took me a few months, but you’ll figure out who is who,” you encouraged him as the welcome committee went back to work in the factory and Oscar looked for guidance on where he was meant to go next. 

“I hope so. I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” he admitted sheepishly. “Are you in the PR team?”

You looked down at your black skirt and white blouse and thought you probably did look like someone from PR or legal. “Contrary to belief, I am actually what people would call a PR nightmare,” you said as you held your hand out. “Y/N Y/L/N, Lando’s girlfriend.”

“It's nice to meet you. I suppose I’ll see you around here a lot then.”

You smiled ruefully and shook your head. “I’m studying at Royal Holloway but we wanted to be here for your first day so we stopped by.”

You looked around for Lando and found him returning from the cafeteria with a takeaway coffee cup in his hand. “I wondered where you went,” you teased as you happily accepted the hot drink and the kiss he placed on your cheek. 

“Figured you needed this, love. I kept you up pretty late for a school night.” Lando nudged Oscar and winked. 

The Australian’s ears turned pink and you rolled your eyes at your boyfriend's humour. “He was steaming until some ridiculous hour this morning. You’ll probably find him crashed out on a couch somewhere this afternoon while I will be struggling through lab tech.”

“You’re the smartest person I know, I don’t think you even need to go to class.” Lando tipped your chin back, giving you a deep kiss without care that his new teammate was watching the interaction. “We should go, love, don’t want to make you late again. You want to come for a ride too?”

“Shouldn’t I go inside?” Oscar asked as he looked to the double doors that led into the employee only section.

“They want us to do a few icebreaker promo vids to get to know each other so you’ll just be waiting around for me to get back anyway.”

“You should probably get used to that, he likes to keep people waiting,” you joked. 

“When have I ever kept you waiting?”

“I’m still waiting for a win.”

Lando chuckled and playfully swatted your ass. “I’m working on that. Hard.”

You cupped his cheek and ran the pad of your thumb over his pouting bottom lip. “I know you are, baby, and it’s gonna come.”

Oscar cleared his throat and jutted a thumb over his shoulder. “I can just go wait inside.”

“Nah, come on,” Lando said as he grabbed his keys from his pockets. “You should see where her classes are in case there's an emergency.”

You frowned in confusion. “An emergency?”

“Yeah, like if I’m running late.” Lando draped an arm over your shoulder and led the way to the handful of reserved parking spots near the front door. “It’s only 15 minutes down the road.”

Lando opened the passenger door to his Range Rover and you glanced at Oscar who just smiled and opened the back door. “I’m okay back here,” he said as he climbed in. You settled into your usual seat but adjusted it to give Oscar’s longer legs some extra room. 

The drive took a little longer with the tail end of rush hour traffic but it seemed to pass quickly with Lando and Oscar making small talk. You could almost feel Lando’s excitement vibrating off him when he spoke about the upcoming season while Oscar was far more reserved. You quickly understood that he was merely the quiet type, not that he wasn’t excited. 

“You should come over for dinner,” Lando said, one hand resting on your thigh while the other steered. “I’m heading back to Monaco this afternoon but I’ll be back for the weekend.”

He squeezed your leg when he caught your eyes dropping down at the reminder. “It’s only a few days, love.”

“I know, doesn’t stop me from missing you.”

Oscar tried to turn his attention to the scenery out the window, feeling intrusive in the intimate moment, but Lando caught his eyes as they glanced over you. “Oscar could keep you company. Maybe you could show him around Surrey?”

Oscar’s eyes widened as if he had been caught red handed and his cheeks flamed again. “I, uh, sure, I mean, you’re probably busy studying though.”

“I can make time. I actually get through it a lot quicker without this distraction in the house. Who would have thought?”

Lando gasped, “Me, a distraction?”

“Mhmm, you always need attention, baby. But that’s okay, I still love you.”

“Good to know.” Lando dropped a lopsided grin and winked before pulling up to the front of the Science Block. “I love you too, and don’t forget Carlos is picking you up this afternoon.” 

You leaned across the gearbox and kissed Lando farewell before turning to Oscar. “It was really lovely to meet you.”

“You too. Should I get your phone number?”

“Asking for my girlfriend’s number in front of me,” Lando scoffed. “Mate, that’s fucking rude.”

You slapped Lando’s arm and he burst out laughing. “You should have seen your face. Classic.”

You smiled apologetically to the Aussie. “I’ll put it in your phone,” you offered as you held out your hand for the device. You quickly entered the number and hit the green icon until your phone rang in your pocket before taking a selfie and adding it to the contact. “There, now you’ll remember who the name belongs to.”

“Thanks,” he chuckled, taking the phone back. “I would’ve just put ‘Lando’s Missus’.”

“I like that, you can still update it,” Lando chuckled. “It’s a good title.”

“One I’m still waiting for,” you said as you waved your empty ring finger. The movement drew your attention to the watch on your wrist and you swore as you saw class was about to begin. “Bye, baby, have a safe flight.”

You bundled up your bag but when you reached for the door it was already opening and you gave Oscar a quick hug as you stepped out. “Bye, Osc.”

Half the students had disappeared into the halls and you speed walked up to the heritage building where you would spend the first half of your day.

Lando watched you walk away while Oscar took the front seat. “You’ve done something right,” he commented as he put the SUV in reverse, “it took me two weeks to get a nickname.”

A dark blue Ferrari was surrounded by dozens of students when you left your last class and you cradled your textbooks tighter, prepared to bustle your way in. Carlos had been keeping an eye out and was quick to spot you leaving the building. He moved assertively through the crowd and met you at the edge of the circle so he could use his body to shield you. 

“Nice and inconspicuous,” you teased him when you were safely deposited into the passenger seat.

“Sorry, hermosa, the flight was delayed. I didn’t have time to go home and switch cars.” He drove slowly as the last of the fans moved aside and tried to peer through the tinted glass. “How was school?”

“I didn’t fall asleep, so there’s that,” you said with a yawn and felt Carlos’ hand close around yours as you closed your eyes. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” Carlos lifted your hand to his lips and kissed your knuckles before resting them on his lap. “Lando said you made a new friend.”

You smiled and opened your eyes to see Carlos glancing across the car as he sped along the highway home. “You two are the worst gossips. Oscar’s nice. I think they will get along well as teammates.”

“Better than me?”

“No one could beat you and Lando as teammates, baby, that was pure magic.” You rubbed soothingly along his thigh to reassure him. “I don’t know if he will get more vocal as he gets comfortable but I get the feeling Oscar is just a quiet person. He’s very different from Lando, and you and Daniel, which could be a good thing.”

Carlos chuckled to himself. “It sounds like you have spent a lot of time thinking about him.”

“There may have been moments,” you admitted. “But there was someone I thought about a lot more.”

A wicked grin grew and Carlos’s hand drew yours higher up his leg as he turned onto the narrow lane that led to the private property Lando had bought. Set halfway between the McLaren factory and your university, it was the idyllic spot to live and Carlos could fly in from the Ferrari HQ in Maranello whenever he had free time, or, when Lando didn’t want to leave you on your own. 

“And who exactly did you think about?” Carlos asked as the front gates opened. “Was he handsome?”

“Very, very handsome, with dark hair and a sexy accent. And he’s so fucking fit, I could break my teeth on his abs,” you hummed happily as the car pulled into one of the few spaces left in the large garage. “I could go on and on about him. Charles is just-”

“Cha-“ Carlos’ foot fell heavy on the brake and the car jutted to a sharp stop. “Charles!”

Your giggle filled the empty car as Carlos ran around the front and opened your door. The world tipped over as he grabbed you out of the seat and tossed you over his shoulder, swatting your ass as he marched you into the house. 

“I’m sorry, I was joking,” you spluttered between laughing and gasping as he spanked you again. “I was thinking about you, doing something surprisingly similar to this actually, just less clothes.”

The world spun again as he tossed you on the bed and caged you beneath his body, his bottom lip pushed out in a pout. “You hurt my feelings, mi amor.”

You wrapped your legs around his waist and combed a hand through his thick dark hair that had grown in the week he had been gone. “Then let me make it better.”  

It started with a text, asking if you had any recommendations for the local takeaways. It was Oscar’s cheat day and you were feeling like you could use a little pick me up of greasy food so you offered to show him your favourite spot. Carlos had been called away a day earlier than planned so you had the whole house to yourself and its grand size always seemed scary on your own. 

The buzzer from the gates sounded and you hit the remote button to open it after, swearing as you realised you lost track of time. Open textbooks covered the kitchen table and highlighters were strewn amongst them as you tried to colour code the notes you had made on post-its. It was a mess, but it was too late to clean up as Oscar knocked on the front door.

“I promise I didn’t forget you were coming, I just thought I had time to finish my homework first,” you said as you opened the door and waved him in. You looked down at the grey sweatpants that came from Carlos’ drawer and the hoodie that came from Lando’s, not quite what you had planned to wear into town. “Obviously, I thought wrong. Make yourself comfortable, I’ll just get changed real quick.”

“You don’t have to get dressed up,” he said as he took his shoes off and closed the door behind him. “I’d rather you be comfortable.”

You smiled at the sincerity and gave him a quick hug, inhaling the musky cologne that clung to his shirt. “You’re sweet, Osc, but you’re a rookie and it shows.”

He frowned as you pulled away and started to head to the stairs for the second floor where the bedrooms were. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You paused at the bottom step and looked over your shoulder. “You’ll see in an hour.”

The chicken shop had been almost empty when you entered before the dinner rush but there was a crowd growing outside. You were used to having cameras pointed your way after publicly dating Lando for over two years, but Oscar had only shot to fame in the last month when his infamous tweet aired on Drive to Survive. He hadn’t been known outside of the smaller F2 circle but now he was a household name. 

“I see what you mean,” he said as he did his best to ignore the people knocking on the glass. 

“You get used to it, eventually.” You popped a hot chip in your mouth and chewed it while you watched him, a small frown tugging his brows together. “The trick is deciding early on what your position is.”

“What position?”

“With the fans, the paparazzi, all of it.” You glanced at the window and waved. “When we started dating, Lando tried to protect me from them and hide our relationship but they were like sharks after blood. We found we had more privacy if we acknowledged them, then they just moved on.”

You didn’t try hiding with Carlos so no one ever dug too deep into it. Everyone just assumed you were close friends given how close Lando and him were too. It was easier for everyone to believe you were just friends.

Oscar turned to the glass window and forced a smile before waving to the children. Cameras flashed as the fans got the face shots they wanted and then they dispersed back about their day, with the exception of a few stragglers. “Huh. Are you sure you’re not in PR?”

“I’m sure,” you said with a smirk. You weren’t joking when you said you were a PR nightmare - if the world found out about the unorthodox relationship between you, Lando and Carlos it would be. “I have just been through it all before so I can be your personal guide.”

“Thank you.”

You pushed the leftover plate of fries his way knowing he was probably like every other driver who had the ability to consume three times their weight in carbs on a cheat day. “You can thank me with another dinner date, it beats going cross-eyed studying.”

“I’m not sure your boyfriend would appreciate that,” he said as he dragged the plate of fries closer and finished the last of them.

“Lando appreciated what makes me happy, and he’s secure enough to trust what we have isn’t going anywhere.” 

The idea was foreign to him and you could see the doubt he had about it, but he settled instead for a polite, “That must be nice.”

“Your PR team is going to love you,” you chuckled as you grabbed your wallet to pay. “A driver who actually keeps his thoughts to himself, that’s a rarity.”

Oscar’s long legs quickly overtook you and he had some cash out ready. “I invited you,” he said with a stern look that caught you by surprise. “I’m paying.”

Raising your hands in defeat, you smirked and slipped your wallet back into your handbag. “Yes, sir.”

You watched his eyes linger on your lips before he shook his head of the wayward thought and led the way out of the store. “So what do you usually do when Lando is in Monaco?”

“Carlos usually comes and keeps me company, or I just study. Not exactly the epitome of excitement but it’s my last year and then I’ll go to Monaco too.”

Oscar quietly accepted the knowledge without questioning it, though you could see them swirling in his eyes. He wanted to know about Carlos but he was too polite to ask, or maybe he knew it wasn’t something you could answer. “Well, you have my number so if you get sick of studying you can always call me.”

"You can call me too, Osc.”

Term break arrived with as much turbulence as the plane you took to Austria. On one hand you were excited to be able to travel to a few races but on the other you nervously awaited two assessment results and continuously checked your phone for updates until Carlos locked it in the hotel safe. “You can get it back when you promise to relax.” 

“I won’t relax until I know what I got,” you argued but between him and Lando they distracted you well enough, for a while at least.

“We need to get going,” Lando reluctantly said as he climbed out of bed and tried to restore some control over his mussed hair. “You can have your phone back, but just so we can contact you, not so that you can worry about your damn exams.”

Carlos laughed as he unlocked the safe that also had your passports and valuables stored. “I’m sure she will listen to you,” he said as he handed the phone over and saw the unread text messages from Oscar light up the screen. “Though maybe she won’t have time to check her emails now.”

The two managed to shower in a matter of seconds before they reappeared and sorted through the pile of clothes on the floor, tossing red one way and papaya the other. 

“Is Oscar on his way?” Lando asked when he was dressed and ready to go to the track. 

“He’s already there,” you replied, barely looking up from the messages that were coming in rapidfire succession except to kiss Lando goodbye. “And he said you’re going to be late again if you don’t hurry up.”

“I was on time yesterday,” Lando grumbled, pulling his shoes on as he hopped to the door. “I just looked late because I was the last to arrive.”

“Better than coming too soon,” Carlos joked as he leant down to give you a kiss too. “See you later, mi amor.”

You arrived at the track just before the driver’s parade began, when everyone was too busy making their way to the grandstands so the paddock was much easier to navigate. The results had been posted and a smile had been plastered on your face since seeing the grade, but you wanted to tell Lando and Carlos in person. 

“Hey, you’re actually here.” The aussie twang greeted your ears before you turned and found Oscar opening his door opposite Lando’s. “I was starting to believe you were a figment of my imagination.”

Oscar opened his arms and you stepped into the hug you were pretty sure you had trained him into expecting every time you met. He was already in his fireproof skins and they hugged every inch of his torso so you could feel the muscle that lay beneath. 

“I got in last night,” you said as you brushed a hand through his soft hair and giggled when it flopped back over his forehead. “How has your week been?”

“I’m pretty sure you know almost everything that’s happened.” Referring to the hundreds of texts that were religiously exchanged. 

“It’s not the same without seeing your face, I can’t tell if you’re lying or not.”

He tucked your head back into his collar and held you a little tighter. “I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“You would if you thought it was protecting me.”

He didn’t have a response for that, at least not before Lando’s door opened and he leaned against the panel with an amused look on his face. 

“Are we celebrating or commiserating, love?”

You had completely forgotten why you had come to the building and a bright smile lit up your face as you bounced on the balls of your feet. “A+, baby.”

“Knew you could do it!” Lando wrapped his arms around you and, incidentally, Oscar too. “Fuck the diet, we are going out tonight.”

You looked up at Oscar. “You’ll come too right?”

“Of course he’s coming,” Lando answered with a wink. “Gotta thank the guy that looks after my girl when I’m away. She would never get her nose out of a book if you didn’t take her out.”

You had quickly learned that it didn’t take much to make Oscar blush and Lando loved to make it happen. 

“It’s no problem,” Oscar murmured as he scratched his heated neck. 

Oscar understood more than anyone why there were always rumours about Carlos. Every time pictures were snapped of you and the Spaniard, or all three of you, the gossip began anew. After spending quite a bit of time with you over the last six months he had his own fair share of rumours but he knew nothing had happened with you. It was hard not to gravitate closer to you or to hug you at any given chance - there was a magnetism he couldn’t explain and he didn’t want to fight it. 

“You saved me from total starvation on numerous occasions,” you praised, rising on your toes to kiss his pink cheek. “My hero.”

Oscar’s face grew another shade deeper and he tried to change his racing thoughts to something other than the feel of your lips. It was impossible, he was too far gone and was helpless to his own feelings that wanted more than you could offer. He couldn’t even look at Lando after the betrayal he had just imagined doing. That was his teammate and you were his boyfriend.

“I’m going to head to the garage,” he choked as he took a step back and grabbed his balaclava from his room. He could feel your eyes in him as he left and when he reached the end of the corridor he turned with a frown as he realised he had missed something. “Congratulations on the grade, you deserve it after the effort you put in.”

Those eyes he had come to love in the last six months softened and you smiled. “Thank you, Osc. Good luck out there.”

It started with a kiss. While Lando and Carlos were celebrating the points they had earned, you were keeping Oscar’s glass full as he stewed in his mind over what he could have done better. You could almost see the calculations running through his head as he swirled the amber liquid in his glass and it was like he couldn’t even hear the music in the nightclub. 

“If you don’t drink that I will, and you don’t want to see what happens to me when I have whisky,” you warned him. 

He looked at the glass and sighed, putting it down. “I think I should just call it a night. You should go have fun with them.” You followed his sight to Carlos and Lando jumping with the crowd, Lando’s mouth moving with the words and Carlos’ arm draped over his shoulder.

“They can keep each other company, I want to be here with you.” You took his glass and lifted it to your lips. “Last warning…” The liquor burned down your throat and you rushed to take a gulp of your fruity cocktail to wash away the taste before a shiver rolled down your spine. “Oh god, how can you drink that?”

You poured another glass from the bottle on the table and held it out until he took it with a small laugh. “It’s meant to be sipped, not shot,” he clarified before drinking a small amount.

The whisky hit your stomach and you felt warmth spread across your skin. The bar menu suddenly became a necessity and you fanned your face with the cardboard as the flush reached your hairline. “We should dance.”

“I, I’m not a good dancer,” he said, looking concerned at the idea.

“No one is good at dancing,” you pointed out, the crowd basically just jumping to the beat or moving side to side. “Just follow my lead.”

He accepted your hand and you grinned triumphantly as you towed him to the dancefloor before turning and stepping closer to his body. Your hands came to rest on his chest and you swayed your hips to the beat before realising he really did need to be led because his hands were still limp at his sides. 

“You can touch me,” you teased as you grabbed his hands and put them on your hips. “Just relax and feel the rhythm.”

Oscar’s fingers flexed when he felt you start moving again, your body brushing against his, and he released a shuddering breath when you turned in his arms and tipped your head back on his shoulder to look up at him. 

“You okay?” you asked as you watched his blue eyes darken in the laser lights.

“You’re beautiful.”

You turned to face him with one of those smiles of pure joy that always made his day better and he forgot about his poor race result. He could hardly breathe when your hands roamed his body, climbing the thick column of his neck to rest on his racing pulse. He was pretty sure he was going to pass out when you rose on your tiptoes, eyes closed and lips pursed to give him one of those sweet kisses on his cheek.

Someone knocked into him and he turned to growl a warning but then your lips were there, pressed to his lips and he lost the words. Time slowed to the space between one heartbeat and the next as he savoured the sweet taste of your drink, unable to stop himself from taking a little more. 

You had kissed his cheek enough times to memorise the feel of them and knew it was not what you were kissing. A soft gasp slipped past when his tongue parted your lips and your fingers found themselves tangled in his hair, tugging him closer as your body yearned for more.

“Uh-oh, someone’s had a bit of frisky whisky,” Lando purred in your ear.

Oscar startled back and wiped his lips that were the same shade as your lipstick. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, it was an accident. Someone pushed me,” he stammered as he looked around but had no idea who had barged into him when there were hundreds of people in the club.

“Relax, mate,” Lando said with a laugh, clapping him on the shoulder. You cozied into Lando’s arm and tried to process what had happened while your lips tingled from the kiss and your heart fluttered. “It’s the whisky.”

You wanted to tell him the whisky hadn’t kicked in yet but kept quiet as Oscar exhaled in relief. Hiding your face in the crook of Lando’s neck, you screwed your eyes shut and pushed away the image that told you he had regretted the kiss. The knowledge settled in your gut that twisted and turned and you gripped Lando’s shirt harder at the rejection. 

“Can we go?” you begged quietly. “Please?” 

Lando kissed your forehead and nodded. “Okay, love, let me just tell Carlos.”

Your hands were left empty as Lando darted back into the melee to find Carlos who would probably stay until the club shut down. For the first time since meeting him you felt awkward in Oscar’s presence knowing you had made him uncomfortable. You didn’t know what to say and it was clear he didn’t either as he buried his hands in the pockets of his jeans. 

“I’m sorry,” you mouthed as you took a step away, hoping the crowd would swallow you whole.

When you woke the next morning for a moment you could pretend it was some strange dream, or nightmare, until Lando blinked his sleep eyes open and pulled you into his arms. “Good morning, beautiful.” The timbre of his voice when he was just waking could always bring a smile to your face but your lips merely wobbled and he sat up concerned. “What’s wrong?”

“I fucked up, with Oscar.”

“Baby, it was just a kiss and you were both drunk, I’m sure he’s probably already forgotten about it.”

The thought that he could forget something that to you was so profound only compounded the ache in your chest. You didn’t want him to forget, you didn’t want him to regret, and you voiced as much to Lando as you cried in his arms.

“Sweetheart,” Lando murmured softly as he wiped away your tears. “I think this is a conversation we should have with Carlos.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you grumbled, tearing yourself from his embrace. “It wouldn’t work out anyway.”

Lando got up and followed you to the bathroom as you turned the shower onto the hottest setting. “Why wouldn’t it work?”

“You and Carlos are best friends, and while you are always close to your teammates I know he doesn’t have the same interest in Oscar.” You stepped under the cascade and welcomed the burning heat that rained down. “I don’t want to lose what we have by wanting more.”

You didn’t hear Lando leave as the steam fogged up the glass and you let your head fall against the cold tile wall. He left you to your thoughts and gave you the space needed to reconcile your feelings to the past.

It started with a phone call. The urge had woken you from a deep sleep and you couldn’t shake the need to reach for your phone and dial the number you knew by heart. It had been a good weekend for the McLaren team with double podiums both in the Sprint and Grand Prix. The two third place caps were hung on the post of the bed as testament to the productive weekend but Lando had gone to bed deflated. 

Oscar had won his maiden race before him. A rookie had done what he had waited years for, what he still waited for. 

“Hello?”

You had assumed the call would go to voicemail after ringing for so long so you weren’t prepared to hear Oscar’s sleepy voice in your ear.

“Hey, sorry to wake you.”

“It’s okay, is everything alright?”

You swallowed and shook your head before remembering he couldn’t see. “I just wanted to say congratulations, I thought you would still be out celebrating.”

“There’s no one to go celebrating with,” he said so quietly you wondered if it was even meant to be said out loud. 

“I’m sorry.” You weren’t sure what for exactly but you felt the need to say it anyway. It was about the only thing you had said to him in weeks. “I should let you get back to sleep.”

“It’s, uh, it’s good to hear your voice,” he admitted and you a little bit of the weight on your shoulders eased as you realised whatever you had wasn’t completely ruined.

“You too, Osc. Good night.”

“Night.”

It was naive to think that one phone call could repair the divide that had chasmed between you because when you returned home for your last semester you still felt his absence everywhere. There were no daily text messages, or invitations to dinner, no sudden appearances as you left class. He was a memory that haunted you and it was always worse when both Lando and Carlos were away.

Four Months Later

It started with a bouquet. The small card was almost lost in the overflowing explosion of blossoms that left a sweet scent in the air but when you flipped it over your heart skipped a beat. Congratulations, OP x 

You were still smiling just as brightly an hour later when you arrived at the graduation ceremony to receive your Honours degree. You had kept the bouquet with you and inhaled the fresh scent as you waited for your name to be called. A loud cheer erupted from the rows where Lando, Carlos, your friends and family sat but it was the lonely cheer at the back of the hall that caught your attention. 

Unfortunately it may have been a hopeful hallucination as you didn’t see him again after that or at the celebration Lando threw for you at home.

“Pack your bags, baby, it’s time for Monaco!” Lando engulfed you in a hug and spun you around so your ceremonial robes billowed out and you clutched your cap to keep it from flying off. “I’m so selfish, I can’t wait to wake up to you every fucking day.”

Another set of arms tugged you away and you fell into Carlos’ embrace. “I’m so proud of you, hermosa.”

You were practically a marionette the way you were passed from one person to the next until finally the bottles of champagne ran dry and the party came to an end. You collapsed onto your bed with a giddy laugh that the long journey was finally over and you toed your heels off, letting them fall to the floor. 

“You can’t sleep in your dress, amor,” Carlos chuckled as he walked into the room with Lando after locking the house up. 

“Then you will have to undress me,” you teased with a beckoning finger that faltered when you saw Lando had the bouquet in a vase that he had found downstairs and he placed it on the bedside drawers beside your phone. “I saw him.”

“I know,” Lando said as he straightened the card among the roses. “I invited him.”

“Thank you.”

The next bouquet was one that you sent to him on his birthday. He barely kept the flowers alive for a week but he did keep the card that was attached. The two little xx’s you signed off with were almost faded from how often he traced his thumb over them before slipping it back into his wallet. He was no longer a rookie but he found this season harder to bear without your companionship and he wished he could somehow fix what he broke.

The problem was that he couldn’t settle for just your friendship anymore so he had to keep his distance instead. He had tasted your lips and nothing less could sate the addiction that had festered in the absence of another hit.

Miami was torturous for Oscar. The car was running great and his qualifying was great, but after five rounds of racing he was still stunned every time he watched you enter the paddock. At least in China the weather was horrible so you were bundled up in Lando’s hoodie but Miami, Miami was hot. Monaco had been influential in your fashion and the dress you wore was worthy of the runways in Paris. 

Stacks of passes hung around your neck and fell into your cleavage as you entered the grid and joined Lando where he was talking to Carlos. Oscar watched with envy as you hugged them both and kissed their cheek with well wishes for the race while he failed to hear what his race engineer was explaining. He was distracted by the fact you had seen him, and smiled. It was small and shy, but it was a smile nonetheless and one of his own growing as you waved your fingers and disappeared back into the garage.

One hundred and ten races he kept you waiting, but finally Lando won his maiden race and there was nothing that could bring him down. He had not stopped smiling, or dancing, or talking since winning and he wasn’t even sure if any of it made sense. The hours were a whirlwind of alcohol and noise until it all turned black and Carlos had to help you get him into bed.

Lando was fast asleep with his mouth open and snoring, which heavily down to the copious amounts of alcohol he had consumed at the after party. He didn’t even stir as you slipped out of the bed and left the room to answer the call that lit up your phone. 

“Hey.” You kept your voice low even though you knew nothing short of a fire alarm would wake your boyfriend.

“Hey.” You could hear the smile in that word and your own lips curled up in response. “I’m sorry if I woke you, I just needed to hear your voice.”

You navigated your way through the dark hotel suite to the balcony and opened the door just wide enough to fit through before closing it. The humidity was instant and the satin nightgown clung to your warm skin as you hung up the phone. “You didn’t wake me.”

Oscar was so close you could almost touch him, but the balcony one room over was just too far away. He even looked down the gap to see the fifteen storey high plunge and you could see his brows burrow together like he was calculating his chances of making the leap across. 

“Don’t you dare,” you warned him. “I didn’t come out here to see you fall to your death.”

His knuckles turned white as he gripped the railing and he sighed in defeat. A smirk soon tugged at his lips and he brushed his hair back over his ear as he eyed the sheer slip you wore. “But you did come out here to see me.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, aware of how thin the material was and all it bared. “I wanted to check how you were.”

Oscar’s lips pursed at the reminder of his poor race result. 

“Could have done without your boyfriend’s boyfriend crashing into me.”

He didn’t know how close to the truth he was with that statement and you wondered if he knew about the relationship that Lando and Carlos had or if he was just playing on an old fan rumour. You wondered how shocked he would be if he knew that Carlos was passed out on the other side of Lando right now. 

“It is a part of racing,” you reminded him. “There’s always a risk battling it out.”

Oscar dropped his head with a little laugh. “It’s a good thing I didn’t call you for sympathy or I would be disappointed.”

“Why did you call me?” 

You knew why.

“I told you, I wanted to hear your voice.”

“Osc,” you sighed, your hands falling to your side, and he lifted his head to look at you, his blue eyes so similar to his teammates.

“I’m not an idiot,” he said as he let go of the rail he leaned on and rose to his full height. “I know you love him.”

“I do,” you confirmed with a small nod, unable to look in his direction as you turned your focus to the view of the ocean instead. 

You didn’t hear him move until his feet landed quietly on the concrete behind you and you spun around to face him. A small shocked gasp escaped your lips when his palm glided over the satin at your waist and pulled you closer to his body. Your hands found their own space on his chest and he froze as he waited for you to push him away, but your fingers curled into the white shirt he wore.

“I know you love him,” he whispered, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “But I think you might love me too.”

“You have ignored me for months.” It wasn’t a denial and he caught the admission of those missing words.

“I can never ignore you, and now I know I can’t even keep my distance from you.” He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against yours as his large hands cradled your face. “I need you, Y/N.”

“You don’t know what you are asking for,” you whispered as you fought the urge to tell him just how much you needed him too. 

“I’m asking for a chance to show you how perfect we are for each other.” He pulled back to see tears shimmering in your eyes and he sighed. “I shouldn’t have called. I didn’t think. I’m sorry.”

“Wait-”

“No, you don‘t have to say anything. I shouldn’t have put you in that position. I don't want you to cheat on Lando.” He kept backing away but you followed with each step until his back was pressed to the railing. 

“Lando isn’t the problem,” you promised as you reached for his face and cradled his sharp jawline. “Remember when I said I was a PR nightmare?”

Oscar nodded as his brows furrowed together. 

“I’m trusting you with a secret no one else knows.” His confusion grew as you took his hand and led him inside the suite. You pressed a finger to your lips as you reached the bedroom door and nudged it wider so he could see what was inside. In the dim light it was hard to make out what he was looking at but then everything came into focus like the Ferrari shirt on the floor and the CS55 cap on the nightstand. 

Oscar’s jaw slackened as he recognised the two bodies spread across the sheets and he eyed the empty space that you had filled. A thousand questions muddled in his head and he swallowed them down until you had closed the door again. His hand slipped out of yours as you walked back to the balcony and you wondered if that was the last time you would ever hold it.

“No one can know, please,” you whispered as you hugged yourself and stared at the moonlight on the waves. 

“Help me to understand what I just saw. Are the rumours true then?”

You laughed and turned to face him, crossing your legs and you leant against the rail. “They're not wrong,” you admitted with an evasive shrug. “They love each other and have a relationship, but it’s not the same relationship that I have with them.”

“You’re not exactly helping me to understand this,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face as he sat heavily on the outdoor settee. 

You had never needed to explain it before, the addition of Carlos to yours and Lando’s relationship had naturally fallen into place and been accepted without having to understand why you all felt the way you did or how it was going to work. But now you were going to try.

“I met Lando first and what we had was instant, he was funny and sweet and kind. Then he introduced me to Carlos who was so charismatic it was impossible not to love him too. It didn’t mean I loved Lando any less so he supported me having a relationship with Carlos too.” 

“Okay.” He nodded like it made some sense and it gave you a slither of hope. “But what about them?”

You watched Oscar’s eyes linger on the skin bared by the satin and they darkened when you uncrossed your legs to step closer. He sat up straighter as you approached and his legs opened for you to step between and he did nothing to stop you when you took a seat on his lap. 

“You want to know if it's a package deal?” you teased, toying with the strands of his dirty blonde hair. “You want to know if you can have me, but at what price?”

His throat bounced with a deep swallow and his tongue wet his dry lips before he could speak again. “Is it?”

You thought about teasing him more but you settled for the truth. “No, like I said, they don’t have that sort of relationship. Yes, we may sleep in the same bed more often than not and on occasion they share me, but that is as far as they go. That is where the rumours are wrong.”

“Share you as in…”

“Threesome, Oscar,” you confirmed with a laugh as his cheeks turned pink. Seeing that colour again reminded you of the kiss and you shifted on his lap to straddle his hips. “I can’t stop thinking about you. It feels like a part of me has been missing for months.”

His hands slid up your back and pulled you closer. “I know what you mean.” 

His lips were so close you could feel their warmth and they begged you to close the distance, but you couldn’t just yet. “I want you, Osc, and you’re right, I do love you.”

You could see the sadness in his eyes as he asked, “But?”

“But I don’t know how this works when you and Carlos are battling each other every week.”

“I know things sound heated on the radio but that is just on the track,” he promised, his thumbs drawing soothing circles over your spine. “I have no problem with Carlos, I swear.”

Carlos had said the same thing but you weren’t sure if they were just trying to placate you. Only time would tell.

“It’s not just my heart that will break if this doesn’t work,” you whispered as your eyes fluttered shut and you surrendered yourself to him.

“Then we will just have to make this work.”

dr. jacobo grinberg, the scientist who went missing for researching shifting 🗝️

the man, the myth, the legend. being a keen enthusiast of the human brain from a young age, dr. jacobo grinberg was a mexican neurophysiologist and psychologist who delved into the depths of human consciousness, meditation, mexican shamanism and aimed to establish links between science and spirituality. 

grinberg's theories and research can be tied to reality shifting, seeing as he explored the fusion of quantum physics and occultism. being not only heavily established in the field of psychology but also a prolific writer, he wrote about 50 books on such topics. he was a firm believer of the idea that human consciousness possesses hidden and powerful abilities like telepathy, psychic power and astral projection. 

the unfortunate loss of his mother to a brain tumour when he was only twelve not only fuelled his interest in the human brain but also pushed him to study it on a deeper level, making it his life’s aim. 

he went on to earn a phd in psychophysiology, established his own laboratory and even founded the instituto para el estudio de la conciencia - the national institute for the study of consciousness. 

despite sharing groundbreaking and revolutionary ideas, his proposals were rejected by the scientific community due to the inclusion of shamanism and metaphysical aspects. on december 8th, 1994, he went missing just before his 48th birthday. grinberg vanished without a trace, leaving people thoroughly perplexed about his whereabouts. some believe he was silenced, while others believe he discovered something so powerful and revolutionary that changed the entire course of reality, or well, his reality. 

grinberg's work was heavily influenced by karl pribram and david bohm's contributions to the holographic theory of consciousness, which suggests that reality functions the same way as a hologram does. meaning, reality exists as a vast, interconnected macrocosm. it even suggests that all realities exist among this holographic structure. 

lastly, it also proposes that the brain does not perceive reality, rather actively creates it through tuning into different frequencies of existence. 

this not only proves the multiverse theory (infinite realities exist), but also the consciousness theory (we don’t observe reality, but instead create it). 

grinberg’s most notable contribution was the syntergic theory, which states that, “there exists a “syntergic” field, a universal, non-local field of consciousness that interacts with the human brain." - david franco.

this theory also stated that 

the syntergic field is a fundamental and foundational layer of reality that contains all possible experiences and states of consciousness.

the brain doesn’t generate consciousness, it instead acts as a receiver and its neural networks collapse the syntergic field into a coherent and structured reality. 

reality is created, not observed. 

we can access different variations of reality (which is the very essence of shifting realities)

the syntergic theory is even in congruence with the universal consciousness theory (all minds are interconnected as a part of a whole, entire consciousness that encompasses all living beings in the universe). 

grinberg concluded that 

all minds are connected through the syntergic field 

this field can be accessed and manipulated by metaphysical and spiritual practices, altered states of consciousness and deep meditation. 

in conclusion, the syntergic theory proposes that our consciousness is not a mere byproduct of the brain, but rather a fundamental force of the universe. 

grinberg was far ahead of his time, and even 31 years after his disappearance, the true nature of reality remains a mystery. regardless, the syntergic theory helps provide insight and a new perspective on how we access and influence reality. 

summary of grinberg’s findings:

the brain constructs reality 

other realities exist and can be experienced

other states of consciousness exist and can be experienced 

consciousness is not limited 

all minds are connected through the syntergic field 

shamanic, spiritual, metaphysical and meditative practices can alter and influence our perception of reality. 

some of grinberg's works that can be associated with shifting:

el cerebro consciente

la creación de la experiencia

teoría sintérgica

Heartplace. // Elijah Hewson X Reader (Fluff).

prompt: about how you handle a light argument, where Eli said things he's truly sorry for and wants to apologize.

words: 2.1K

It affected you in a way that left your mind distant throughout the day, but deep down, you understood. He was tired, and though he was in the wrong, his sleepless nights without you and his swollen eyes as he watched you leave each morning made it clear—he knew he had hurt you.

Knowing Eli, he would be brooding over it, silently reprimanding himself while figuring out how to reconnect with you and make things right.

"Come closer," you whispered, foam already covering his tiny beard. Under normal circumstances, he would have kissed you, making a mess. You appreciated how, despite complications, you never neglected each other. You loved him too much to go long without touching him, and he felt the same.

…

Despite the thoughtless and cruel words from the night before, he still came to pick you up from work, waiting outside with a cigarette as usual, and kept your favorite songs playing even after you got into the car without giving him your usual long, lingering hug. He stayed silent, his hand brushing over his eyes during the drive, and you’d have been foolish not to notice him struggling to keep them from misting over.

You didn’t fight often, but you had been together a long time, so this wasn’t the first. As you gazed out the window, you placed your hand on his, intertwining your fingers, listening to him sniff softly—so discreet and embarrassed that, if not for the years, you might have missed it. His rings against your skin were comforting, so familiar.

He squeezed your thigh affectionately; his fingers were cold, but yours quickly warmed them. As you gently stroked the short hair on his arm, he felt foolish—both for what he’d done and for still not knowing what to say or how to say it. You weren’t angry with him, not at all, but you didn’t like the way it felt.

…

He took a deep breath, settling between your legs, which quickly wrapped around his waist. His long fingers grazed the hem of your shirt (which, by the way it hung to your thighs, was clearly his), gradually stealing the warmth from your hips into his palms. You smiled softly as his eyes met yours; at times, he felt like he didn't deserve you. You could feel his breath close as you wet the blade and steadied his face with your hand. It felt good to have him near, even with the tension still lingering in the air between you.

“Why’re you lookin’ at me like that?” you asked, continuing to remove the excess before resuming the grooming process you loved so much. Eli was never very patient with his beard; whenever he had to do it himself, it usually ended with intense itching and irritated, red skin. You never failed to take good care of him, and he appreciated it deeply. It didn’t usually grow too thick, but it bothered him, and you were so good at handling it.

“Like what, darlin’?” His voice was velvety yet cautious. His eyes sparkled at you with a faint smile, freckles prominent, as if pleading for kisses. Realizing it had been a while since you’d heard him, your body tingled. You tightened around him, wanting him close as if he could heal the pounding in your head. You wanted to say everything was fine, but you also wanted to be honest about your hurt. Above all, you were waiting for him to take the first step. Things are always much easier said than done.

Your face was furrowed in concentration, or perhaps annoyance; at that moment, he couldn’t quite tell. It seemed as if you were about to carve a look of distress into his features, yet he couldn’t help but smile at how beautiful you looked.

"I don't know," you whispered. Despite looking tired, he still wore a sweet expression as he looked at you. The wrinkle between his relaxed eyebrows and the way his caramel eyes shone, even on not-so-great days, were things you loved about him.

He nodded, tracing circles on your skin, waiting for you to continue. When you finished, you dried his face with the still-warm towel and applied the soothing lotion. The bonus you loved most was that you’d fall asleep with his comforting scent lingering on you. You ran your hands over his bare shoulders, appreciating every freckle, and then, with quiet sincerity, he pulled you into a hug.

Your forehead rested against his chest, your hand entwined around his waist, and gradually, his breathing comforted you. You murmured softly, feeling warmth in your chest, the hairs on his chest tickling your cheek, which made him laugh as well. He nuzzled his red nose against your cheek, then down to your shoulder, and after lightly kissing it, he playfully nibbled, wanting to hear you smile. It was a pleasant and new sensation to feel him against your skin without the facial hair.

“Thank you for takin’ care of me, tiny one,” he said, still feeling weighed down. His face nestled into your neck, and he couldn’t bring himself to meet your eyes. “I really like these little moments with you.” He felt like an idiot for stating the obvious, as if it would somehow make things better. His fear wasn’t about apologizing but rather about recognizing how much he had hurt you with his actions.

You nodded against his skin, feeling small in his embrace. "You know when we go to the market?" Your voice trembled, and he felt the dampness spreading quietly across his chest as you rubbed your hand against him. A lump formed in his throat as he held you tighter. "This is going to sound silly," you said, laughing without much humor.

He watched you through wet eyelashes, cradling your face as your foreheads rested together, allowing you to gaze into each other’s eyes. Your hair stuck to his, and he tried to pull it away in vain; perhaps it was meant to be tangled together. "I wanna hear you out," he said, his voice catching as he spoke.

You swallowed hard and closed your eyes. "I love how you smile at me when you 'find' me in the market, y’know? Your eyes, even your freckles seem to sparkle. I don’t know if you’ve ever noticed, but it always happens, even though you know I’ll come back to you after I find something from the list. Sometimes, I think I do it on purpose—disappear among the shelves and then reappear with something in hand to show you. It never fails. You squint your eyes and then break into a smile, your cheeks rosy and your teeth showing, and it makes me want to hug you." You sniffled, feeling vulnerable.

He was just as emotional, yet he held you close, making you feel heard. "I’m afraid this will end," your voice trailed off, and then you shook your head vigorously. "I hate thinking that you might get tired of being with me. Even though I know you acted in the heat of the moment, I can't shake the feeling that it’s a possibility." Those were the truths that weighed heavily on you, and you felt apprehensive about sharing it.

There was silence, but it wasn't uncomfortable. He cradled your face in his hands, the tip of his nose nuzzling against your skin as he pressed soft kisses onto your cheek. He offered you the same affectionate look he always had. "It won’t end, I promise. I’m sorry.” He held you tighter, hating himself for leaving you alone to deal with those feelings. Sometimes, he wished you would be angry at him and scream in his face, but fortunately, you both knew better than that. “I didn’t mean to hurt you; I was tired and ended up unloading my feelings on you when you were just trying to help. I didn’t realize you felt this way.”

He chuckled at his own words, his cheeks and the tip of his nose flushed. He hadn’t realized it before, but reflecting on those memories, he loved having you close. In public—whether at the market or any other event—the voices in his head and the external noises became more persistent, almost paralyzing. But having you by his side made him feel lighter, grounding his thoughts. Loving you made him more patient, filling him with that warm feeling in his chest and the assurance that everything would be alright because the person he cherished most in the world was with him.

“I know you didn’t mean it.” The tips of your fingers brushed against his nose, trailing your thumb to his eyes as you smiled weakly at the sight of his tears. “I’m upset, but I’m not angry with you. I know I can be stubborn, and I’ve been forgiven for my questionable actions in the past.”

The difference was that he knew you would know what to say, expertly resolving everything without leaving room for insecurities to take root in his mind. He didn’t have much to say; he had failed you in less than two minutes, and he still replayed the sad look in your eyes and the way you had lowered your head the previous night as punishment.

You opened your arms, noticing how he had withdrawn into himself, lost in his own thoughts. “Take me to bed, Eli.” He forced a smile as he held you close, his hands firm on your waist while you intertwined your legs around him.

“I won’t do it again; I won’t make you feel this way again. I love you. I promise.” His voice was breathless but not desperate, polite and well-articulated. It was as if he felt the need to prove something to you, believing that words alone wouldn’t suffice. Despite knowing he would apologize many more times out of concern, you were fine. He had always been good at listening.

Your back sank into the mattress as your fingers wove through his hair, his face nestled against you. “I don’t like sleeping without you,” he whispered, lifting his head. His hand caressed your cheek and chin, captivated by how he closed his eyes at your touch and sighed. You kissed him lightly, and as you sank back into the bed, he stole another kiss from you. Soon, the tips of your fingers traced the path of his freckles, and he understood that he would miss you if fate decided that you didn’t want him anymore.

“Yeah?” Your eyebrows arched, eager to hear more as you snuggled closer to the pillow, feeling vulnerable under his gaze.

“Yeah,” he laughed, his face lighting up. “I love how you share your day with me and listen until we drift off to sleep.” He paused, fingers tracing your skin as he sighed contentedly, grateful for your closeness and the kisses you shared. “Mornings are great too, when you play with my hair until I wake up to see you smiling beside me, or when I catch you washing your face with the bathroom light on.” Holding your chin, he reflected on how often those moments happened, all equally cherished. He missed you when filming kept him away, and he found himself longing for your daily updates and photos. “I need you, I’m sorry,” he began, but you covered his mouth, smiling.

“If you apologize again, I won’t forgive you; you’ll be on your own. I know you won’t do it again.” Your tone was light, easing his tension. You pulled him closer, enjoying the warmth of his embrace as his hands found their way to your waist. He nuzzled his beard-less face against your forehead and planted a kiss there. “Elijah?” you sang softly.

He grumbled, pulling you even closer.

“Your mother called earlier, inviting us to lunch. I said we’d go.” Your breath against his chest was light, and he chuckled at the thought that you might hold a grudge. It was funny to think that you didn't hesitate at all to decline the request.