blurb; where a strange boy shows up to your college party with a bouquet and you canāt help but feel like heās not that strange at all.
word count; 1.7k
authorās note; havenāt wrote anything in a while and then sat down and did this in two hours. pls let me know your thoughts, i really appreciate them! just something short and sweet x
š¶; now playingā¦ oh yeah? - steve lacy
When he first arrived at the party, you only spared him a second glance because of the bouquet. He was new, probably, as youād never seen him before. Or maybe he wasnāt and heād been hanging around the same social circles as you for forever and you were just too busy studying to notice. Either way, bringing a floral arrangement to a college party full of sticky beer and cigarettes was not common social practice.
You wondered if a love confession was about to go down, or maybe some oddly planned proposal. That was until he locked eyes with you from across the room and unwillingly your heart jumped.
He had messy, sort of curly, brown hair and a sorrow look highlighted by the fairy lights strung up along the kitchen cupboards. Weird ā a bouquet of flowers and heartbroken eyes. Maybe an apology?
When he didnāt look away, you did. Why was he starring at you? You didnāt know him, couldnāt put in a good word even if he asked. This was all down to him to get his girl back, keep the rest of us out of it.
It was hard not to sneak another glance at the brown-haired boy by the door. Your curiosity had beenĀ somewhat peaked and apparently your body recognised him more than your brain did. But when your friend, Ned, stumbled up to you with a red plastic cup in one hand and a bottle of some kind of clear alcohol in the other, you had no more questions. It was a party after all.
The next time you saw him, some time had passed and you were a few drinks down. The world was moving a bit slower and the ground felt only slightly further away. MJ was having a heated debate ā it was an argument, but she refused to call it that ā with her boyfriend in the kitchen, and you were trying your hardest not to listen in, but what could you do if they were ten feet away and there was nothing else to listen to?
He appeared kind of clumsily, shoving past a few guys who were more than a few drinks too deep. They were taller than him and when he finally got through, he tripped a little and you automatically threw your hands out in front of you to catch him.
The boy caught himself before you needed to, and your hand brushed his forearm when you brought it back to your side. He flinched slightly, taking a step back, and straightening up.
āHi.ā He smiled wonkily, nervously. You noticed the bouquet still in his hand and the way that slight contact from before tingled down your pinkie finger.
āBouquet boy! You still have it?ā It was more of a statement than a question. You had eyes and you knew how to use them. Thank god you knew how to use them, because being this close to him made his face a lot clearer - and you werenāt complaining.
He chuckled a bit, laced with awkward tension and a hint of embarrassment. āYeah, yeah. I- um, I got them for someone.ā
You looked up at him and smiled, brows lifted. āReally? I thought it was just an accessory.ā
He smiled back. āI can see why you would think that. They do match my outfit pretty well.ā
You looked down at his dark hoodie and jeans. They did not match ā at all, and you had to giggle at the sight.
You nodded and looked him up and down dramatically. āMmm, mhm. Bright yellow and pink. Matches so well.ā
āHey, youāre the one that called me bouquet boy!ā
And just like that, the awkward air dissipated, and you began to think if you had actually ever seen him before. A guy who looked good and could crack a joke? Those were rare, surely you wouldāve remembered him. Some niggling feeling in the back of your mind told you you did.
He was looking down at himself with his arms out in a āwhat the hellā kind of motion when you spoke again.
āWell, youāve been holding them long enough. Who are those for anyway? Iām feeling generous, maybe I can help you out of that heartbroken hole youāre so obviously stuck in.ā Your tone was laced with humour, but when he looked at you he wasnāt laughing. The sad face was back, and it was directly at you. Because of you, maybe.
There was an apology for overstepping about to spill from your lips when his eyes flickered over to MJ behind you, and then to Ned whoād now joined her. It was their apartment, and you followed his eyes to them, then the flowers, and then back to him, making the connection.
He started, āActually, theyāre for-ā
āIām so sorry, theyāre for Ned and MJ, right? Housewarming gift?ā You butted in, hoping to fix your mistake. This guy seemed genuine and you didnāt want to get off on the wrong foot.
He paused. He was still looking at you. His hand holding the flowers half raised and his brow furrowed slightly like he was thinking something over.
Quickly, he nodded. āYeah, yeahā Cough. āYeah, theyāre for um- theyāre a housewarming gift. Of course.ā He smiled but it didnāt seem as real as the previous one.
āDo you want me to give them for you?ā You offered, assuming that he was nervous. After all, he had just been walking around with them for about an hour now. āIāll tell MJ and Ned theyāre from you, obviously.ā
He nodded again and you began to reach for where his hand was, wrapping your fingers around the ribbon holding the stems together. He didnāt let go when your palm overlapped his, and it felt- warm? It felt like he was the fireplace on a cold winter night, like he was the blanket that youād been shivering for. Not just at your palm, but through every limb and every vessel. Your heart beat and your hand tingled and something was clawing in your memory that you couldnāt quite catch.
You looked away from his and your hands, up to his pleading brown eyes already there, waiting. You let out a soft laugh, hesitant. He wasnāt letting go.
He cleared his throat slightly. āTheyāre for you, actually.ā And then he whispered your name and something clicked.
The warmth was creeping up your throat, spreading through your chest and across your forehead and it was the feeling you get when your crush admits they like you back. Like a first kiss. Like getting into a relationship and planning to go the same college and watching each otherās favourite movies together and building Lego, and, and, and-
And that wasnāt just a feeling. That happened.
A whispered āI know you?ā
A step forward.
A slow rise and soft stroke of his free hand against your face, calloused fingertips that felt so familiar. A messy eyebrow so clear and in view. His eyes, begging, twinkling, confirmation glowing and blinking. His lips ā the lips youād kissed before, the only lips youād ever kissed, the first lips youād ever kissed.
And it was instinct, more than anything else, that took hold when you leant forward and breathed in the air he breathed out. Waiting, waiting, to see if it felt right between the centimetres of space between you, to see if you were making a mistake. When you looked up, just to check, his eyes were closed. His breath was slow and shallow and careful and waiting and you knew then. You knew when he released a small final sigh of relief.
You knew.
Closing the space between magic and memories, you kissed the boy in front of you, and suddenly āthe boyā was not just that. Everything. Every word. Every dream. Every memory that you never knew you had came back in a flow and a flourish and all youād ever felt was missing was now full.
The way your lips moved against his came naturally, slotted perfectly like the curve of your mouth was carved from his. For his. Nothing else mattered, everyone else fading around your togetherness until it was just him and you and the caress of his fingers against your cheek bone and jaw, back and forth.
When you broke apart for just a second, foreheads rested upon each otherās, you breathed āPeterā, and this time he placed his lips back on yours. Desperate, longing, relieved.
He left the flowers on the counter you didnāt even realise was behind you and brought his other hand to the empty side of your face, pressing closer. It was two mouths connecting, two hearts beating, two souls reuniting. His touch was burning, blazing and you realised then that this warmth, this feeling ā love.
You loved him.
Peter Parker.
The second time you separated, you wished it didnāt have to end. You wanted to be close to him, to never let go again. Too long, too far, and he mustāve felt the same when his hands fell from your face and he wrapped you in a hug, whispering your name in your ear again and again. An āI missed youā and an āI love youā. It was crushing and firm and only hurt a bit, but you didnāt care.
You grabbed his shoulders and pushed him back to look him in the eye. He looked down and you smiled, a tear slipping down his cheek that you carefully swiped away. He didnāt need to be sad, not anymore. But you doubted these were sad tears.
āPeter?ā
Peter laughed through tears, choked up and happy. Then he leant back more and your grip tightening slightly to stop him getting too far. He lifted back up the flowers from the counter.
āItās me.ā He said, confirmed, and then looked over at the bouquet in his hand. āThese are for you.ā
He held them out and this time when you reached for them, he let them go. Peter didnāt need them anymore ā he had something else to hold onto, to never let go again.
āYou remembered my favourite flowers.ā You said, soft and eyes burning.
Peter starred at you, pupils blown and eyes full of love. He lifted his thumb to your bottom lip, then to your chin and lifted your face to his one more time. A short kiss.
blurb; where a strange boy shows up to your college party with a bouquet and you canāt help but feel like heās not that strange at all.
word count; 1.7k
authorās note; havenāt wrote anything in a while and then sat down and did this in two hours. pls let me know your thoughts, i really appreciate them! just something short and sweet x
š¶; now playingā¦ oh yeah? - steve lacy
When he first arrived at the party, you only spared him a second glance because of the bouquet. He was new, probably, as youād never seen him before. Or maybe he wasnāt and heād been hanging around the same social circles as you for forever and you were just too busy studying to notice. Either way, bringing a floral arrangement to a college party full of sticky beer and cigarettes was not common social practice.
You wondered if a love confession was about to go down, or maybe some oddly planned proposal. That was until he locked eyes with you from across the room and unwillingly your heart jumped.
He had messy, sort of curly, brown hair and a sorrow look highlighted by the fairy lights strung up along the kitchen cupboards. Weird ā a bouquet of flowers and heartbroken eyes. Maybe an apology?
When he didnāt look away, you did. Why was he starring at you? You didnāt know him, couldnāt put in a good word even if he asked. This was all down to him to get his girl back, keep the rest of us out of it.
It was hard not to sneak another glance at the brown-haired boy by the door. Your curiosity had beenĀ somewhat peaked and apparently your body recognised him more than your brain did. But when your friend, Ned, stumbled up to you with a red plastic cup in one hand and a bottle of some kind of clear alcohol in the other, you had no more questions. It was a party after all.
The next time you saw him, some time had passed and you were a few drinks down. The world was moving a bit slower and the ground felt only slightly further away. MJ was having a heated debate ā it was an argument, but she refused to call it that ā with her boyfriend in the kitchen, and you were trying your hardest not to listen in, but what could you do if they were ten feet away and there was nothing else to listen to?
He appeared kind of clumsily, shoving past a few guys who were more than a few drinks too deep. They were taller than him and when he finally got through, he tripped a little and you automatically threw your hands out in front of you to catch him.
The boy caught himself before you needed to, and your hand brushed his forearm when you brought it back to your side. He flinched slightly, taking a step back, and straightening up.
āHi.ā He smiled wonkily, nervously. You noticed the bouquet still in his hand and the way that slight contact from before tingled down your pinkie finger.
āBouquet boy! You still have it?ā It was more of a statement than a question. You had eyes and you knew how to use them. Thank god you knew how to use them, because being this close to him made his face a lot clearer - and you werenāt complaining.
He chuckled a bit, laced with awkward tension and a hint of embarrassment. āYeah, yeah. I- um, I got them for someone.ā
You looked up at him and smiled, brows lifted. āReally? I thought it was just an accessory.ā
He smiled back. āI can see why you would think that. They do match my outfit pretty well.ā
You looked down at his dark hoodie and jeans. They did not match ā at all, and you had to giggle at the sight.
You nodded and looked him up and down dramatically. āMmm, mhm. Bright yellow and pink. Matches so well.ā
āHey, youāre the one that called me bouquet boy!ā
And just like that, the awkward air dissipated, and you began to think if you had actually ever seen him before. A guy who looked good and could crack a joke? Those were rare, surely you wouldāve remembered him. Some niggling feeling in the back of your mind told you you did.
He was looking down at himself with his arms out in a āwhat the hellā kind of motion when you spoke again.
āWell, youāve been holding them long enough. Who are those for anyway? Iām feeling generous, maybe I can help you out of that heartbroken hole youāre so obviously stuck in.ā Your tone was laced with humour, but when he looked at you he wasnāt laughing. The sad face was back, and it was directly at you. Because of you, maybe.
There was an apology for overstepping about to spill from your lips when his eyes flickered over to MJ behind you, and then to Ned whoād now joined her. It was their apartment, and you followed his eyes to them, then the flowers, and then back to him, making the connection.
He started, āActually, theyāre for-ā
āIām so sorry, theyāre for Ned and MJ, right? Housewarming gift?ā You butted in, hoping to fix your mistake. This guy seemed genuine and you didnāt want to get off on the wrong foot.
He paused. He was still looking at you. His hand holding the flowers half raised and his brow furrowed slightly like he was thinking something over.
Quickly, he nodded. āYeah, yeahā Cough. āYeah, theyāre for um- theyāre a housewarming gift. Of course.ā He smiled but it didnāt seem as real as the previous one.
āDo you want me to give them for you?ā You offered, assuming that he was nervous. After all, he had just been walking around with them for about an hour now. āIāll tell MJ and Ned theyāre from you, obviously.ā
He nodded again and you began to reach for where his hand was, wrapping your fingers around the ribbon holding the stems together. He didnāt let go when your palm overlapped his, and it felt- warm? It felt like he was the fireplace on a cold winter night, like he was the blanket that youād been shivering for. Not just at your palm, but through every limb and every vessel. Your heart beat and your hand tingled and something was clawing in your memory that you couldnāt quite catch.
You looked away from his and your hands, up to his pleading brown eyes already there, waiting. You let out a soft laugh, hesitant. He wasnāt letting go.
He cleared his throat slightly. āTheyāre for you, actually.ā And then he whispered your name and something clicked.
The warmth was creeping up your throat, spreading through your chest and across your forehead and it was the feeling you get when your crush admits they like you back. Like a first kiss. Like getting into a relationship and planning to go the same college and watching each otherās favourite movies together and building Lego, and, and, and-
And that wasnāt just a feeling. That happened.
A whispered āI know you?ā
A step forward.
A slow rise and soft stroke of his free hand against your face, calloused fingertips that felt so familiar. A messy eyebrow so clear and in view. His eyes, begging, twinkling, confirmation glowing and blinking. His lips ā the lips youād kissed before, the only lips youād ever kissed, the first lips youād ever kissed.
And it was instinct, more than anything else, that took hold when you leant forward and breathed in the air he breathed out. Waiting, waiting, to see if it felt right between the centimetres of space between you, to see if you were making a mistake. When you looked up, just to check, his eyes were closed. His breath was slow and shallow and careful and waiting and you knew then. You knew when he released a small final sigh of relief.
You knew.
Closing the space between magic and memories, you kissed the boy in front of you, and suddenly āthe boyā was not just that. Everything. Every word. Every dream. Every memory that you never knew you had came back in a flow and a flourish and all youād ever felt was missing was now full.
The way your lips moved against his came naturally, slotted perfectly like the curve of your mouth was carved from his. For his. Nothing else mattered, everyone else fading around your togetherness until it was just him and you and the caress of his fingers against your cheek bone and jaw, back and forth.
When you broke apart for just a second, foreheads rested upon each otherās, you breathed āPeterā, and this time he placed his lips back on yours. Desperate, longing, relieved.
He left the flowers on the counter you didnāt even realise was behind you and brought his other hand to the empty side of your face, pressing closer. It was two mouths connecting, two hearts beating, two souls reuniting. His touch was burning, blazing and you realised then that this warmth, this feeling ā love.
You loved him.
Peter Parker.
The second time you separated, you wished it didnāt have to end. You wanted to be close to him, to never let go again. Too long, too far, and he mustāve felt the same when his hands fell from your face and he wrapped you in a hug, whispering your name in your ear again and again. An āI missed youā and an āI love youā. It was crushing and firm and only hurt a bit, but you didnāt care.
You grabbed his shoulders and pushed him back to look him in the eye. He looked down and you smiled, a tear slipping down his cheek that you carefully swiped away. He didnāt need to be sad, not anymore. But you doubted these were sad tears.
āPeter?ā
Peter laughed through tears, choked up and happy. Then he leant back more and your grip tightening slightly to stop him getting too far. He lifted back up the flowers from the counter.
āItās me.ā He said, confirmed, and then looked over at the bouquet in his hand. āThese are for you.ā
He held them out and this time when you reached for them, he let them go. Peter didnāt need them anymore ā he had something else to hold onto, to never let go again.
āYou remembered my favourite flowers.ā You said, soft and eyes burning.
Peter starred at you, pupils blown and eyes full of love. He lifted his thumb to your bottom lip, then to your chin and lifted your face to his one more time. A short kiss.
At this rate Oscar is going to lose the wdc and honestly itāll be on him as much as McLaren for having no spine
i disagree wholeheartedly, and honestly, i think this is one of the worst takes that people have about oscar
of all the curveballs that mclaren has thrown his way, this one wasnāt a bad one to take on the chin. it was only a three point swing on a weekend where he was already on the back foot and he had a 34 point buffer to play around with. i have a feeling that the conversation wouldāve been very different if there was a win on the line. plus he already ignored the request to give lando a second tow in q3 (mclaren was heavily team lando all weekend, probably because they felt bad about the reliability issues)
itās also not that big of a sacrifice when you look at it from a numbers perspective. coming into this weekend, lando wouldāve had to win five consecutive races to make up a 34 point deficit. now, he STILL has to win five consecutive races to take back the lead. with 8 races left, those arenāt great odds. so statistically, landoās not really in a better position than he was at the start of the weekend
oscar is, above all else, filled to the brim with integrity. heās made it very clear from the beginning that he doesnāt want gifted wins and he doesnāt want to be on the receiving end of favoritism. he wants to win honestly because he knows heās capable of it. that aspect of his character is one of my very favorite things about him, and itās one of the things that sets him so clearly apart from lando
do i think it was super shitty for mclaren to ask that of him in the first place? yes. do i think it sets a bad precedent that goes beyond fair racing and starts to establish manufactured race results? absolutely. but i wouldāve stood by oscar no matter what his decision was because i trust that he will make the smartest decision for himself, even if it doesnāt seem like it because he was only given bad options.
i will support him wholeheartedly whenever he crashes out, because i know itās more than deserved. i will also support him wholeheartedly when he gives in to bullshit team orders because i respect his integrity and i know just how smart he is. i trust his judgement completely, and i respect the decisions that he makes
heās still got a lead of 31 points DESPITE the bullshit war of attrition heās been fighting against his team. for most of the season the points difference hasnāt gone over 16 and lando hasnāt even been able to close up that much of a gap. so if you think that oscar is going at a rate that will lead him to lose the championship, then i donāt think you and i have been watching the same season. and if you think that oscar - the same oscar who has executed countless ruthless overtakes and pulled off miracle q3 after miracle q3 - is spineless, then i think you donāt really know anything about him
screaming, crying, throwing up, as I force myself to write a story i'm very passionate about and love writing and have no obligation to write except that i want to
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