#(maybe both at different points in their life?)

[aleskie]

EIGHTEEN | Oscar Piastri x Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: Oscar Piastri has loved you since he was eighteen. It just takes him a while to get to that point. Or so he thinks. This is Oscar's journey to realizing that maybe the girl he's always hated isn't so bad at all. In fact, she's actually...pretty loveable.

Warnings: None just Enemies to Lovers?? Or is it more Rivals to Lovers?? Also, the timeline is wonky with the irl events, so just pretend it makes sense. And also i had to look up the british school systems SO THEY MAY BE WRONG BUT PLEASE JUST PRETEND

♫ Listen: 18 by One Direction ♫

2016: Year 10 [15 years old]

He didn’t know why, but from the moment you two met at the headmaster’s office, Oscar Piastri knew he hated you. 

Maybe it was your posture—back straight, legs crossed at the ankles, hands resting politely on your lap—or maybe it was your voice, too polished, too proper, like you were reciting lines off a script. Or maybe it was everything else.

The way you barely acknowledged him as you both waited in the stuffy office, but flashed a smile so perfectly pleasant it had to be fake the second the teachers and headmaster walked in. The way your eyes flickered over him when he introduced himself, assessing, calculating, like he was a pawn to be placed, a connection to be measured. Or maybe—definitely—it was when you called motorsport, his life’s mission and passion, a hobby.

He tried not to let it get to him. He really did. But even he had to admit he could be a little petty.

“At least I have a hobby,” he muttered in your direction as soon as the faculty members were out of earshot.

For a split second, he thought you looked hurt—something in the way your lips parted, the slightest flicker of hesitation in your expression. But then it was gone, replaced by a scoff and a perfectly arched brow.

“At least I know my dreams have a higher chance of succeeding than yours do.”

Low blow.

His grip tightened on the strap of his bag. “You’ve got dreams?” He sneered. “Must be hard for a princess like you to have to be here and work for them then.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was something sharp in the way you did it, like you were daring him to say more. “Don’t act like you know me, Piastri.”

He huffed out a dry laugh. “I could say the same for you.”

You turn your head away from him at the sound of light footsteps—faculty returning, this time accompanied by older students meant to be your guides. And just like that, the stupidly perfect, fake smile was back on your face, as if the last few minutes of exchanged barbs had never happened.

“I see you two have been conversing,” says the headmaster, smiling warmly. If only she knew about the jabs you’d taken at each other. Would she still be smiling?

“He’s been lovely company, Mrs. Berkshire,” you lie with effortless charm, your voice smooth as silk. “It’s been comforting to know I’m not the only transfer student.”

Then, as if to twist the knife a little deeper, you turn to him with a look so deceptively sweet it could almost pass as genuine—almost. “I’m glad Oscar feels the same.”

There’s a glint in your eyes, something smug and self-satisfied, and he wonders if anyone else in the room can see just how full of it you are. Probably not. Mrs. Berkshire certainly doesn’t. She beams, clearly pleased at the thought of her two new students becoming fast friends.

Oscar clenches his jaw. He could call you out, make it clear that you’re full of it—but what’s the point? Instead, he forces himself to nod, his voice tight as he grits out, “Yeah. She’s been great.”

He sees it then—that flicker of amusement, the way your lips almost twitch like you’re holding back a laugh. Almost. Couldn’t let your facade slip, not even for a second.

And it pissed him off.

You spend most of your first year at boarding school in different circles.

Oscar lays low, slipping easily into a group of laid-back boys who are effortlessly easy to be around. They play video games in dorm rooms until lights out, kick a ball around after class, and never demand much from each other beyond good company. They cheer him on when he leaves to compete and catch him up on everything he’s missed when he comes back. They’re great. Better than he could have ever imagined.

You, on the other hand, carve out your place at the top of the food chain. Academically untouchable, always two steps ahead. First in your class, a key member of the Debate Team and MUN Club, and well on your way to securing a prefect badge. Your uniform is always pristine, your headband perfectly in place, not a single strand of hair out of order. You have a small group of friends who he assumes are just as intelligent, uptight, and snooty as you are.

And yet—when he sees you laughing with them, head thrown back, completely unguarded—something about you seems softer. You don’t look like the girl who calculated every move, who smiled just enough to be polite but never enough to be real. In those moments, with that rare, genuine laugh, he thinks—begrudgingly—that you actually look quite…pretty.

Not that he’d ever say it out loud.

In all honesty, he doesn’t know why he even notices. It’s not like he cares.

But sometimes, in the middle of a dull afternoon or while walking past the library, he catches glimpses of you—not the polished, picture-perfect version of you that you show everyone else, but something different. Unpolished. Real.

Like when you’re sprawled across a bench outside with your friends, books and papers in a chaotic mess around you, groaning about an impossible assignment—right up until someone cracks a joke that sends you into a fit of laughter. The kind of laugh that makes you cover your mouth, eyes crinkling at the corners, completely unguarded.

Or when, on those rare occasions, he catches you slipping up in class, head bobbing forward as you fight off sleep, fingers twitching as you try—and fail—to take notes.

Or when he walks past the debate team’s practice room and sees you in your element, arguing fiercely, hands moving with conviction, voice steady and sure. Confidence radiating off you in a way that has nothing to do with arrogance and everything to do with certainty.

And for a second, just a second, he forgets to be annoyed by you.

But then you glance up, catch him staring, and arch a perfectly shaped brow in challenge—like you know something he doesn’t.

Right. He still hates you. Definitely.

He shoves his hands into his pockets and keeps walking.

2017: Year 11 [16 years old]

Oscar was back at school regularly after the summer holidays and the season ending. He was pretty pleased with himself—2nd place wasn’t anything to scoff at. Sure, first would’ve been better, but it was fairly won. Besides, it had been a fun season, his best yet. More importantly, he hadn’t thought about you for months. Too busy with his Formula 4 campaign, too focused on climbing the motorsport ladder, too—

Well. That’s what he told himself.

He stepped through the iron gates of the academy, duffel bag slung over one shoulder, his phone buzzing with check-up texts from his mom. The familiar scent of freshly cut grass and old stone filled his lungs, a quiet signal that summer was officially over. Students crowded the courtyard, reuniting after the break, voices overlapping in a chorus of excitement. His friends spotted him almost immediately, calling his name, pulling him into easy conversation—asking about his races, his wins, his losses, his plans.

And then—there you were.

Standing by the main building, perfect posture as always, chatting with one of your equally polished friends. Your hair was different, slightly shorter, but the headband remained, a signature piece of armor. Your uniform was just as crisp as it had been last year, not a wrinkle in sight, now complete with a new prefect’s badge that you wore with unmistakable pride. And when you laughed at something your friend said, it was that same light, practiced sound he recognized all too well.

It took exactly eight seconds for you to notice him.

Your gaze flicked toward him, assessing, calculating—just like it had in the headmaster’s office when you first met. Then—because you were you—your lips curled into a polite, almost saccharine smile, the kind reserved for faculty members and people you didn’t actually care about.

He scoffed. Typical.

“Piastri,” you greeted, voice smooth, just a little too pleasant.

“Princess,” he shot back, just to see if he could get a reaction.

And for a split second, he did—your brow twitched, barely noticeable, but he caught it. Then, just as quickly, you smoothed your expression, tilting your head ever so slightly in mock amusement.

“We’re in Year 11 now, and you’re still calling me that?”

“You’re still acting like one.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. But then, after a beat, you said, “I saw that you got second in the championship. Congratulations.”

Oscar blinked. He hadn’t expected that. Compliments from you were rare, practically unheard of. He studied your face, searching for sarcasm, but found none. Just a simple, matter-of-fact acknowledgment.

“…Thanks,” he said, accepting it before you could take it back. “Bet it was a little more interesting than your summer,” he added, smirking.

You raised a brow. “What, don’t tell  me you’re…curious about my summer, Piastri.”

His smirk vanished. His brain short-circuited.

And just like that, you had him cornered.

His mouth opened, but nothing came out. He shut it. His brain scrambled for a way to recover, but all it did was replay the way you’d said his name just now—not in the usual clipped, disapproving way. No, this time it had been lighter, teasing. Maybe even…amused.

Suddenly, the two of you were locked in a silent standoff, neither willing to look away first.

Your friend cleared her throat, shifting uncomfortably. Oscar barely noticed. Because in that moment—standing there, the summer heat giving way to the crispness of early autumn, your eyes locked onto his with that same sharp, knowing look—he realized something.

He hadn’t actually stopped thinking about you at all.

The mere thought made his stomach twist, and before he could process it any further, he turned on his heel, raising a hasty hand in goodbye as he strode back to his friends. Fast. Like putting distance between you would somehow fix whatever the hell had just happened in his head.

“Okay, that was a little weird,” he heard your friend murmur behind him. “Is he alright?”

“Maybe the gasoline finally got to his brain,” you quipped. “A pity. He was a little smart, too.”

Oscar nearly tripped.

He wanted to say the comment about his "off attitude" annoyed him. He wanted to say that the gasoline remark made him dislike you more. He wanted to say that he had a cutting comeback ready to fire back at you.

But all he could think about was how you called him smart.

God, what was happening to him?

He knew something was going to go wrong last week when their teacher announced he’d be the one pairing up students for the project, taking matters into his own hands with a kind of cruel indifference that made Oscar’s stomach twist.

He knew something was going to go wrong when, at the start of class, the teacher gave both you and him a pointed look—sharp, knowing—before moving on like nothing had happened. You had shot him a confused glance then, your brow furrowing ever so slightly in a rare moment of shared uncertainty. He had stared back, just as lost. Neither of you had any idea what was coming, but for once, you were both on the same side of the battlefield.

And then the teacher started listing off partners.

It started harmless enough—his friends were getting paired with each other, easy matches. So were yours. Names fell into place like puzzle pieces, creating perfectly balanced, cooperative duos that wouldn’t cause trouble. And then—

“And finally, Oscar and...Y/N.”

Silence.

For a moment, he swore he misheard. But then he turned, and there you were, staring at the teacher like you were considering staging a full-scale academic rebellion. The slight tightening of your jaw, the way your fingers curled subtly against your sleeves—he could practically hear the calculations running through your head, weighing the pros and cons of outright protesting.

A second ticked by. Then another.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” you muttered under your breath, but the teacher either didn’t hear or didn’t care.

“I expect full collaboration,” they continued, already moving on. “This project is a significant portion of your grade, so I suggest you all put any personal differences aside and focus on the work.”

Oscar barely heard the rest. He was too busy glaring at his desk, resisting the urge to run a hand down his face. Of course, this just had to happen. Most teachers kept the two of you apart, aware of the silent war you had waged since the day you met. But not this one. No, this one was smarter—or crueler—ready and waiting to watch the fire combust.

Great. Just great. Out of everyone in this class, he was stuck with you.

By the time class ended, he had barely processed anything. He was about to make his escape when he felt a presence beside him.

“You.”

He sighed before even turning around.

You had stopped him just outside the door, arms crossed, expression unreadable except for the slight, irritated furrow of your brow. The usual superiority was absent—no smug glint in your eyes, no perfectly poised smirk. Just frustration, quiet but simmering.

“This doesn’t mean we’re friends,” you said flatly.

Oscar let out a sharp breath, shaking his head. “Trust me, Princess, I’d rather fail.”

And then—you smiled.

Not the polite, school-perfect kind you used on teachers. Not the barely-there one reserved for acquaintances. No, this one was slow, sharp, and just smug enough to make his blood boil.

“Then I guess we have very different priorities.”

He hated that he had no comeback.

God, this was going to be a disaster.

“We should take a break,” Oscar says, hunching over the library table, rubbing his temples like the weight of academia is physically crushing him. “We’ve been at this for hours.”

You barely spare him a glance. “It’s been two hours and seven minutes.”

“See? It’s been so long,” he complains, dragging a hand down his face. “Let’s take a break. You’re done with your part anyway.”

You turn to him, assessing. “Are you finished with your part?”

He hesitates. Then, with a slow shake of his head, he sighs. “Give me like an hour, and I’ll be finished.”

You straighten, your posture sharpening into something unreadable, something that makes him feel like a student being reprimanded. “Piastri, this is due tomorrow. We need to get it done today.”

“And we will,” he argues, matching your intensity. “Just let me nap for a bit.”

You inhale sharply, clenching your jaw, and he already knows what’s coming. That calm facade. That practiced composure. That same tone you use when talking to teachers, the one that makes him want to throw his pen at the wall.

“The library closes in three hours,” you say evenly. “This is just the first draft, so we still need to revise. And not to mention we have to properly format our sources—thirteen of them, by the way. Do you know how long that’s going to take?”

Oscar groans, letting his head fall dramatically onto the open textbook in front of him. “Princess, we can afford not to revise this. It’s literally a first draft for comments. We can just start formatting the citations.”

You don’t budge. Instead, you tilt your head slightly, eyes narrowing. “What page of the document are you working on?”

He blinks, suspicious. “…Why?”

“I’ll finish it.”

His head snaps up. “What?”

“We need to finish on time, and I refuse to let my grade be pulled down because we don’t submit a good output.”

“You’re not doing my work.” His voice comes out sharper than he expects, but the idea of you just taking over, of you thinking you have to—he hates it. “It’s literally my work for a reason.”

“And you aren’t getting it done, so let me do it.” You nearly exclaim, only to catch yourself, voice lowering when you remember where you are. The library is quiet, save for the occasional rustling of pages and distant whispers. You press your lips together like you’re trying to hold the rest of the argument inside.

It’s silent between you for a long moment.

And then—

“…Do you always end up doing the work?”

You freeze. Just for a second. Then your gaze flickers away, shifting toward the window. Anywhere but him.

Oscar watches you carefully, something tightening in his chest. “Y/N, what the hell? People have just been riding on your work?”

“It doesn’t matter,” you say, voice even. Practiced. “We get it done. And we get it done well.”

His brows furrow. He doesn’t know why he’s so upset. He shouldn’t care. It’s not his problem, right? It was your choice to take on the workload, to let people walk over you.

But still…knowing that people just expect you to pick up the slack, that they let you do it without even thinking—

It pisses him off.

And what pisses him off more is the way you look right now. Not angry. Not frustrated. Just resigned.

Like this is just the way things are. Like you’re used to it. And he hates that more than anything.

“Give me like forty-five minutes,” Oscar says after a beat, exhaling through his nose. “We’ll start revising after, and then we can split the citations.”

You blink, eyes flickering with something unreadable—surprise, maybe. He can’t tell. But then, just for a second, he swears he sees the corners of your lips twitch upward, like you’re trying not to smile.

“Just…” You hesitate, fingers tracing absent patterns against the edge of your notebook. “Tell me if you need help. Or…y’know. If you have questions.”

Your voice is quieter this time, less clipped, lacking the usual sharp edge you use when you’re exasperated with him.

Oscar doesn’t respond right away. The library is quieter now, the golden hues of the sunset stretching across the wooden tables and casting long shadows over your open books. The light catches on your face—soft, warm—and for the first time, he gets a proper look at you up close.

You look tired. Not just from today, but in the way that lingers—faint bags under your eyes, a kind of weariness that no amount of perfect posture or crisp uniforms can fully hide. And yet, right now, there’s something peaceful about you. The way you rest your head against your palm, watching him work—not impatient, not irritated. Just…watching.

You must notice, because your brows furrow slightly. “Do I have something on my face?”

“What?” He blinks, snapping out of whatever trance he had fallen into.

“You were staring.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“Yes, you were.”

“It was nothing,” he says quickly, looking back at his laptop. “Just zoning out.”

You hum, unconvinced. But instead of arguing, you simply go back to flipping through your notes, like it’s nothing. Like it doesn’t matter.

“…Okay,” you say.

He exhales, forcing himself to focus. “Okay.”

Somehow, he feels like forty-five minutes is going to take much longer.

Three weeks into the project, Oscar realizes something: you’re actually kind of well-known on campus. 

Or, at the very least, you know a lot of people.

It’s not like he was completely unaware of it before. Your perfect reputation precedes you—your name carries weight in every class. Teachers mention you as an example of excellence, throwing your name around as if it alone should inspire the rest of them to do better. But working with you forces him to see it firsthand.

It seems like every five seconds, someone is coming up to greet you.

It doesn’t matter where you are—library, hallways, common areas. Someone always stops by.

Underclassmen ask for help on assignments—apparently, you tutor them sometimes, though Oscar doesn’t know how you find the time. Classmates ask about group projects. A girl from the debate team once yelled and waved from across the quad while you were in the middle of explaining a research point. Even the Year 13s, the ones Oscar barely interacts with, acknowledge you with nods and casual greetings.

And the weirdest part? You handle it all effortlessly.

He expected you to treat them the way you treat him—polite but cold, maybe even dismissive. But you don’t.

Instead, you smile. The fake one. The one he recognizes now, warm but not inviting. Like a wall disguised as a door, keeping people at a carefully measured distance. You don’t brush them off, but you don’t encourage them either. Your reactions are controlled, calculated. Just like everything else about you.

It’s impressive.

It’s annoying.

And it shouldn’t bother him. Not really.

But after three weeks of constantly being in your presence, after working side by side for hours on end, after getting into at least five arguments over formatting and research sources and the exact tone an introduction should have—he feels a little close to you. Not enough to like you, obviously. But enough that his respect for you has grown, just a little.

And with that, he’s started to notice things.

Like how you always twirl your pen when you’re deep in thought, but you never drop it. How you tap your fingers against your notebook in the exact rhythm of whatever song is stuck in your head. How you drink tea instead of coffee and always wince at the first sip, like it’s too hot but you drink it anyway. How you use hair ties instead of your signature headband when you’re frustrated, tying and untying your hair over and over again only to fall back to your tried and tested headband after a while. How you let out a tiny sigh whenever you finish an assignment, as if mentally crossing it off a never-ending list.

He notices these things, and he tells himself it’s just because you’re working together. Because you’re spending time together. Because of course he’s going to pick up on small details when you’re stuck in the same space for hours.

That’s all it is.

Right?

Definitely.

And then, one afternoon, as you sit across from him at the library, books and notes spread between you, someone approaches.

"Y/N, hey."

Oscar looks up. It’s some guy—one of the Year 12s from the student council. He’s polished and confident, wearing the kind of casual smirk Oscar immediately finds irritating.

You blink in mild surprise before offering a smile—thankfully, the fake one. The one that’s polite, effortless, and just distant enough.

"Hello, Eric."

Eric leans against the table, his entire focus on you. He doesn’t even acknowledge Oscar.

"Haven’t seen you at any events lately. You’ve been busy?"

You glance at the open laptop in front of you, gesturing vaguely to your notes. "Yeah, the project’s been taking up a lot of time."

"Oh, right. This is for—" He finally gives Oscar a glance, his brows lifting slightly, like he’s only just realizing he’s there. "This is your partner?"

Oscar doesn’t like the way he says that.

You nod. "Yeah. We’ve been working on it together for a while now."

Eric hums, then—too casually—grins. "Well, don’t work too hard. Wouldn’t want you burning out before the weekend." His voice drops slightly, just enough to sound a little too suggestive for Oscar’s liking. "You should take a break. Come to the council’s seminar on Friday afternoon."

You hesitate, and for some reason, Oscar finds himself gripping his pen just a little tighter.

"It sounds fun," you admit, "But, with my schedule, I’m not sure—"

"You should go," Eric insists, tilting his head. "C’mon. You worked hard to help organize it—Thanks for the great speakers you found, by the way—I’ll even save you a seat next to me."

Something bristles in Oscar’s chest.

He doesn’t know why, but the entire interaction irks him. Maybe it’s the way Eric acts like he already knows you’ll say yes. Maybe it’s the casual confidence, the assumption that you’d drop everything just because he asked. Or maybe it’s the way you’re actually considering it.

Before he can stop himself, Oscar lets out a scoff.

Both you and Eric turn toward him.

"You good, man?" Eric asks, clearly amused.

Oscar leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. "Didn’t realize we were in the middle of a social hour, Y/N. Thought we were working."

Your eyes narrow slightly, but before you can say anything, Eric just laughs, pushing off the table. "Relax, Piastri. Didn’t mean to interrupt." He turns back to you, giving you an easy grin. "Think about it, yeah? It’d be nice to see you there."

You give a noncommittal nod, and just like that, he walks off.

The moment he’s gone, you exhale, turning to Oscar with a raised brow. "Was that necessary?"

He shrugs. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

You stare at him for a moment before shaking your head, muttering, "You’re so weird."

Oscar clenches his jaw, tapping his fingers against the table, suddenly annoyed.

Not at you. Not even at Eric.

Just at the fact that, for some stupid reason, the thought of you actually going to that seminar is really bothering him.

And he has no idea why.

He sneaks out of the dorms on Friday night, hands in his pockets, head low as he moves through the dimly lit pathways of the school. The night air is crisp, the kind that clears his mind if he lets it, but tonight, it does nothing to untangle the thoughts looping through his head.

It’s stupid. The fact that he even cares. That the idea of you and Eric sitting together, side by side, laughing at some dull student council joke, is bothering him.

It doesn’t.

It shouldn’t.

Because he doesn’t like you.

He still thinks you’re stuck-up, overly competitive, and have a way of looking at him like you know exactly how to get under his skin. The faces you make, the way you roll your eyes when he so much as breathes the wrong way—it’s all infuriating.

But you’re smart. Intelligent. And your work ethic is something he respects, even if he won’t admit it.

And, yeah, you’re pretty. Even he has to acknowledge that much. But not the obvious kind of pretty. It’s the kind that sneaks up on you. The kind that feels like a place you recognize, a feeling that lingers in the quiet spaces between conversations. It’s the kind that makes you feel at home.

The kind that—if he were the type to believe in this kind of thing—you’d find when you’re in love.

Not that he is. Obviously.

He shakes the thought away, sighing as he rounds the corner of the old courtyard. And then—

"It’s lights out, Piastri."

Your voice cuts through the silence, and he stops dead in his tracks.

You’re standing a few feet away, arms crossed, the dim glow of the campus lamps casting soft shadows across your face. You look unimpressed but not surprised, like you already expected to catch someone out of bed tonight.

He exhales, shoulders dropping. Of course.

"Then what are you doing here?" he mutters.

You raise an eyebrow. "I’m a prefect, remember? Tonight’s my shift to make rounds before security does."

"Oh."

A beat.

"So," you say, tilting your head slightly. "What made you break curfew? You don’t seem like the type."

"Just needed to walk. Clear my head."

You hum in response, your gaze flicking over him, assessing. Then, after a moment:

"Well, the classrooms in the east wing don't get much attention. You can stay there and then sneak back out when the prefects and security switch shifts."

Oscar blinks. Of all the responses he expected from you, that wasn’t one of them.

He raises a brow, smirking. "And you know this…how?"

Your expression doesn’t change, but he catches the way your lips twitch slightly, like you’re holding back a smile. "I can be a little disobedient too. Sometimes."

That surprises him.

"You?" he says, skeptical.

You shrug. "It doesn’t happen often. Just when I need to clear my head." A pause, then, voice quieter, "Those classrooms are my spot, so don’t go there too often. I don’t need to see you when I’m stressed."

Oscar snorts. "Wow. What an honor."

"Exactly."

For a moment, neither of you move. There’s something odd about standing here, talking like this—like you’re two people who aren’t constantly at each other’s throats. Like, in this sliver of time, there’s something unspoken but mutual between you.

It doesn’t last long.

You straighten your posture, clearing your throat. "Now, get going before I change my mind and actually report you."

"Noted, Princess."

You roll your eyes and turn away, disappearing down the corridor.

And for some stupid reason, as Oscar watches you leave, he wonders if you ever feel as restless as he does.

2018: Year 12 [17 years old]

He’s been using the classrooms in the east wing as a secret place to clear his head since the night you told him about it. So far, he’s never run into you.

Maybe you use a different classroom. Maybe you come on different days. Or maybe—like everything else in your life—you have a system, a strict schedule he’s unknowingly managed to avoid.

Either way, he’s always had the classrooms to himself.

Until tonight.

The air is heavier than usual as he makes his way through the dimly lit hallways, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie. He’s restless. Frustrated. He tells himself it’s because of the season he’s just had. The Eurocup was brutal and he definitely wasn’t at his best. Every race felt like a battle he couldn’t ever win and every misstep made the weight in his chest grow heavier.

All he wants is to be home. Back in Australia, where everything is familiar—the streets, the skies, the people who don’t expect anything from him except to just be. But instead, he’s here. At fucking boarding school.

He exhales sharply as he pushes the classroom door open, stepping into the quiet. He doesn’t bother turning on the lights—he knows this space well enough now. The desks are still arranged the way they always are, the faint scent of old paper and dry-erase markers lingering in the air. It’s not much, but it’s his for the night.

At least, that’s what he thinks.

Not even five minutes later, the door swings open behind him, and he barely has time to turn his head before—

You.

You freeze in the doorway, hand still on the handle. There’s a flicker of something across your face—surprise, maybe even slight irritation. You definitely thought you were going to be alone.

He should’ve figured this would happen eventually.

Your lips part slightly before you collect yourself. “I’ll use a different—”

“You can stay.”

It’s out of his mouth before he can stop himself.

You hesitate, eyebrows drawing together slightly, like you’re trying to figure out if this is some kind of trap. He doesn’t blame you.

But then, after a beat, you nod, stepping inside and shutting the door behind you, switching on one of the lights and dimly lighting up the room. Neither of you say anything as you move to opposite sides of the room, like unspoken rules are being established in real time.

Oscar exhales, rolling his shoulders back as he leans against one of the desks. He tells himself it doesn’t matter. That you being here changes nothing.

So why does the room suddenly feel smaller?

He looks over at you. You’re scrolling through your phone, eyes scanning over messages he can’t see—but whatever’s on the screen has your jaw clenched tight. His gaze flickers down to your hands, the way your fingers tremble slightly over the glass. And then, in the dim light, he sees it. Faint but undeniable—tear stains trailing down your flushed cheeks.

His stomach twists.

“Are you okay?” he asks, voice careful.

“Fine.” You don’t even look up.

He doesn’t buy it. Not for a second. “You sure?”

“Why do you care, Piastri?” You finally glance at him, but your expression is unreadable. “You don’t even like me.”

He stills. He wasn’t expecting you to be that blunt about your whole dynamic.

“Any decent person would care about someone who looks like they’ve just bawled their eyes out,” he says, crossing his arms.

You let out a short, humorless laugh. “Well, I’m fine.” Your posture shifts, back straightening as your expression smooths out into something eerily familiar. And then it’s there—the mask. The same sweet, practiced smile you wear around everyone else, the one he’s hated since the moment he first saw it in the headmaster’s office years ago. The one that hides everything.

“You don’t have to worry,” you say smoothly. “I have everything under control.” You turn to leave. “I’ll be off now—”

“Cut the bullshit, Y/N.”

The sharpness in his voice makes you freeze, hand hovering over the door handle.

“We both know you’re not fine.” His voice is lower now, steadier, but just as firm. “I know that face. I think I’m the only one who knows that face and how it’s not real. It’s never been real.” He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “For once in your life, just be fucking honest.”

You don’t turn around immediately. When you do, your face is unreadable. Then—so quietly he almost doesn’t hear it—you whisper,

“I’m not at the top of our class anymore.”

His breath catches.

“My grades are dropping—fast,” you continue, voice shaking despite how hard you try to control it. “My A-levels are harder than I expected. I thought I could handle it, but I—” You swallow. “I’m failing. And I’m letting everyone down.” Your voice cracks on the last word.

His chest tightens.

“My parents are pissed. My siblings are pissed because now my parents are pissed at them too. If I were just smarter, if I were better, none of this would be happening. Everything would be fine. Everyone would be happy.” You suck in a sharp breath, but it doesn’t stop the fresh tears from spilling down your cheeks. You don’t wipe them away. You just stand there, breathing unevenly, shoulders tense like you’re bracing for something.

“I’m just tired,” you whisper.

Silence.

It hangs thick between you, pressing against the walls, settling into the space between your feet.

Before he can think twice about it, Oscar moves. Slowly. Carefully. Until he’s standing in front of you. Not too close, but close enough that he can see the way your lashes clump together from the tears, the way your breathing is still uneven, the way you’re still trying to keep yourself from breaking completely.

“I…didn’t think you could cry,” he mutters, before realizing how weird that sounds.

You blink at him, and for once, there’s no condescension in your expression—just something flat, unimpressed.

“You’re weird,” you say, voice hitching slightly from crying, “But you’re pretty good.”

His brows furrow. “Like, as a person?”

“Take it however you want.” You chuckle, a small, tired sound. You wipe your tears away, then, tilting your head, you ask, “So, why’d you come here?”

He hesitates. Looks down at his hands. Then, finally, exhales.

“I got ninth at the Eurocup this season.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” His jaw tightens. “I let everyone down. The team. The sponsors. My family.” His fists clench. “I did everything right. I trained harder than ever, I did my best, I gave everything—and it still wasn’t enough. I failed and I don’t know what I did wrong.”

The room is quiet again. Until—

You move.

Soft footsteps against the tiled floor, slow and deliberate, until you’re standing even closer to him. And then, hesitantly, you lift a hand and rest it on his shoulder. The warmth of your touch is unexpected, but grounding.

“Well,” you say, your voice quieter now, “I guess that makes us both failures.”

He lets out a breathless laugh, half in disbelief at the words that just left your mouth, half at the sheer irony of it all.

The girl he’s spent years hating is somehow the only person who understands exactly how he feels.

And when you laugh along with him—soft and real, no mask in sight—he thinks it might be the prettiest sound he’s ever heard.

But just in an objective way. 

Obviously.

Something shifts after that night.

The jabs between you are still there, but they’ve lost their edge—less snark and spite, more playful banter. The kind that lingers just long enough to be amusing but never actually stings.

You smile at him when you pass each other in the hallway now. Not the polite, distant one you give everyone else, but a real one—small, barely-there, but real. You don’t avoid sitting with him anymore when the study hall is packed, and somehow, he swears people have started reserving a seat next to him for you.

He finds that he doesn’t mind at all.

It was weird at first—falling into this easy rhythm with you. He doesn’t quite know when it happened, only that it did.

Now, you help each other out when you can, despite having different A-levels.

You teach him how to organize his notes properly, finally getting him to admit that his system of stuffing everything into his bag “where I can find it later” is inefficient. In return, you steal scratch paper from him when you need to jot things down quickly, muttering a half-hearted “thanks” while he snorts and tells you to bring your own next time.

You ask him to explain things you don’t have the patience to reread, and he—after weeks of resisting—finally accepts your request to have a shared study playlist, since, for some reason, you two find yourselves next to each other so often.

It’s fun. Organic. Comfortable.

And then one day, in the middle of study hall, as he’s flipping through notes and barely paying attention, you look up from your work and—completely unprompted—ask:

“So, tell me about racing.”

He freezes, caught completely off guard.

“…Finally interested in my hobby?” He smirks, leaning back in his chair, twirling his pen between his fingers just like you’d taught him.

You roll your eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at your lips. “Ugh. Let it go, we were like fifteen.”

He laughs, shaking his head. Yeah, something’s definitely changed.

“So…” He watches you intently, trying to gauge if you actually want to know. “You really wanna hear about it?”

“Well, you won’t shut up about it,” you say, propping your chin on your hand. “Might as well figure out what’s so cool about it.”

He snorts. “Then sure, princess, let’s introduce you to motorsport, yeah?”

You roll your eyes at the nickname, but he catches the way you shift slightly in your seat, just a little closer, just a little more engaged.

“There’s a few types of it,” he starts, leaning back against the desk. “You’ve got the motorcycles and there’s even stuff where there’s two people in one car. But I’m in single-seater racing, so it’s just me.” His voice gains a certain ease as he speaks, his usual sharp edges softening. “I’m aiming for Formula One, which is like… the top of it all.”

You tilt your head, studying him. He always seemed most alive when he was annoyed at something—eyes sharp, jaw tight, voice lined with exasperation. But this? This is different. His posture is looser, his words flowing without the usual bite. There’s no frustration here, just passion.

You nod, and—true to form—pull out your notebook, flipping to a fresh page. The sharp click of your pen echoes in the room.

He stops. Stares.

“…Are you seriously taking notes?”

"Duh,” you reply, completely serious. “I need to keep up.”

For a moment, he just blinks at you. Then he huffs out a disbelieving chuckle, shaking his head. But he doesn’t tell you to stop.

“Alright then,” he says, smirking slightly. “Most of us start in karting as kids. Like, literally kids. I was ten when I started—a little late, actually—but that’s where you learn the basics. Overtaking, defending, racing lines, racecraft—the whole lot.”

You hum thoughtfully, jotting something down. Then you glance up at him, the corner of your lips lifting. “Were you fast?”

“In karting?” His mouth twitches in amusement. “Obviously.”

You snicker. “I’ll take your word for it.”

He shoots you a look, rolling his eyes before continuing. “Well, after that, you move up into junior divisions. It’s harder, more competitive, and way more expensive.” His fingers drum against the desk absently. “Talent alone isn’t enough there. There’s sponsors, funding, getting with a good team—and even with all that, nothing’s guaranteed.”

You watch him carefully, catching the way his jaw clenches at that last part.

It’s subtle, but there. The briefest flicker of frustration—of something deeper—before he forces it back down.

You don’t comment on it.

Instead, you tap your pen against your notebook, tilting your head. “So, let me get this straight,” you say, holding back a smile, pretending to examine your notes. “You’re telling me that you just drive in circles really fast, and you need rich people to like you?”

His head snaps toward you, eyes narrowing. “It is not just driving in circles.”

"Of course." You grin. “You drive in different squiggles really fast."

“Oh my god—”

You both burst out laughing, your voices filling the mostly quiet study hall, and the tension lifts.

He finds that you've been doing that lately—smoothing out the tightness in his chest until there's nothing but left but peace.

The kind he realizes he only really finds with you.

The annual retreat was supposed to be a break—a chance for students to step away from deadlines and exams, breathe in fresh air, and pretend they weren’t slowly losing their minds under the weight of classes.

Traditionally, it was some wilderness training program, the kind where they’d be forced to build shelters out of sticks and start fires with nothing but sheer willpower. But this year, the school had gone easy on them.

Instead of roughing it in the wild, they were headed to a quiet camping site tucked away in the countryside. Cabins instead of tents, a scenic lake, and just enough planned activities to call it "team-building" without making it actual suffering. Oscar didn't mind. A few days away from campus, where he didn’t have to think about exams or sponsors or whatever the hell he was supposed to be doing with his life? Yeah, he’d take it.

By the time they arrived, the sun was already slipping lower in the sky, casting warm gold over the treetops. The air was crisp, cooler than the city, carrying the distant scent of pine and lake water. As he stepped off the bus, stretching out his limbs, he could hear his friends already making plans—who was bunking with who, what they were sneaking into the cabins, whether or not they could get away with "accidentally" skipping the reflection sessions.

And then, of course, he spotted you.

Standing near the second bus, arms crossed, listening to one of your friends ramble about something—probably the itinerary. Your uniform blazer was gone, replaced by a jacket, and for once, your hair wasn’t held back by your usual headband. Something about it made you seem different. Less put together, less perfect. More like a person, less like the image of one.

His gaze lingered longer than it should have.

Not that it mattered.

Because when you finally noticed him watching, you raised a brow, expression unreadable for all of two seconds before you smirked—just slightly, just enough to mouth: Stop staring, you weirdo.

Oscar exhaled, shaking his head with a small smile as he shouldered his duffel bag.

Just his luck—two days in the outdoors with you.

Or so he thought.

He didn’t see you at all that first night, too caught up in settling into the cabin with his friends, planning out their excursions for the next day. The schedule was packed but perfect: kayaking in the morning, followed by a swim in the lake. Archery in the afternoon, right after lunch. Then they’d spend the evening holed up in their cabin, pretending to nap so they could conveniently "miss" the reflection exercises. After dinner, they'd break out the snacks and board games they’d smuggled in, playing well past curfew.

Between all that, he was sure he’d run into you at some point. The camp wasn’t that big.

And yet, as the new day unfolded, you were nowhere to be found.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He did see you. But only in passing—too focused on organizing the next day’s team-building activities, pouring over notes with the other prefects to even notice him.

Which was fine. Totally fine.

You were busy, after all.

Not that it mattered.

Not that it should have mattered.

And yet, for some reason, it did.

If the first day at camp was a relaxed free period with a required meditation session, the second was the complete opposite. Designed as a full-day competition, the campgrounds buzzed with energy as different challenges ran simultaneously—relay races, strategy games, problem-solving tasks. Every student was assigned to a random team and a random event. When they said team-building, they meant it.

Oscar got assigned to the obstacle course.

Which would’ve been fine—great, even—if it weren’t for the immediate complaints from the other teams the second they saw his name on the roster.

“Oh, come on,” someone groaned. “How’s that fair? He’s literally a professional athlete!”

“We’re going against a guy who has an actual training regimen,” another muttered, crossing their arms.

Oscar rubbed the back of his neck, feeling an unfamiliar prickle of embarrassment as all eyes turned to him. Great. He didn’t even want an unfair advantage, but now he was public enemy number one.

And then, of course, you stepped in.

“Alright, alright, settle down,” you said, somehow managing to corral the complaints into grumbling silence. Then, after a pause, you turned to him, a slow smirk pulling at your lips. “How about we give him a handicap, then?”

Oscar narrowed his eyes immediately. He knew that tone. That was your I’m about to mess with you tone.

“What do you think, Piastri?” you continued, crossing your arms. “Up for the challenge?”

He wasn’t, actually. Not at all. But some part of him—some deeply irrational, definitely stupid part—thought you might be a little impressed if he pulled it off.

“Sure,” he said, tilting his head at you. “What’s the handicap?”

You grinned. Too pleased. “We’re adding some weight on you.”

His brows furrowed. “What?”

Another facilitator stepped forward, handing you a backpack that looked harmless enough. That is, until you struggled just a little to lift it, adjusting your stance to keep from stumbling.

Oscar stared. Oh, hell no.

“You…” He sighed heavily, reaching for the bag. The second he strapped it on, he felt the weight drag at his shoulders, and he let out a quiet grunt. Okay. Yeah. That’s ridiculous.

“You,” he muttered, adjusting the straps, “Are so lucky I tolerate you.”

You just flashed him a teasing smile and—because you were the actual worst—blew him a mocking kiss before turning back to the rest of the group.

“Alright!” you clapped your hands together. “Now that we’re all happy with the arrangements, let’s go over the rules!”

Oscar exhaled through his nose, shifting the weight on his back as you explained the mechanics. A team-based obstacle course where every challenge had to be completed by every member. Fastest team wins.

His team shot him a look, somewhere between amusement and pity.

Oscar just rolled his shoulders and took a deep breath.

Fine. He could do this.

And maybe—just maybe—he’d make sure to throw you in the lake after.

“Are we all ready?” you call out over the crowd.

“Yeah!” they cheer back, voices full of energy.

“On your marks!”

Oscar positions himself at the back of his team, muscles tensed, ready. He could’ve started at the front—probably should have, considering he was technically the athlete—but he stayed behind instead, ready to help if anyone needed it. Team-building and all that.

“Get set!”

You scan the group, making sure everyone is in place. Then, for the briefest moment, your eyes lock with his.

His fingers twitch. Yours drum against your clipboard.

And because he’s him and you’re you, he casually flips you off.

You grin, wide and smug, like you’ve already won.

“Go!”

Oscar takes off.

The weight of the bag is brutal, but he barely registers it. All he knows is that he is not going to let you have the satisfaction of messing with him too much.

He was so going to win this.

Okay, so he was a little disappointed that you weren’t at the awarding ceremony when they handed out medals to his team for winning—even with the practically evil handicap you gave him.

But you were probably just busy cleaning up after the competitions.

No big deal.

And, yes, he did get a little annoyed when he spotted you later—freshened up and back in your usual composed state—smiling and giggling with another prefect.

But you were probably just planning the bonfire for tonight.

Totally valid.

He was fine.

At least, he was. 

And then… 

“So, you wanna sit with me at the bonfire tonight?”

Oscar stops in his tracks.

He doesn’t see your reaction, but he hears it. That soft hum of consideration, the one he’s learned you make when you’re actually thinking about something.

You were actually considering it.

Before he can hear your answer, he turns and walks away, jaw tight, steps a little heavier than necessary.

He doesn’t know what pisses him off more—the fact that you might say yes, or the fact that he cares if you do.

As suspected, you’re nowhere to be seen the entire bonfire.

Not that it mattered.

Oscar spent the night exactly how he should—hanging out with his friends, caught up in the whirlwind of music, laughter, and an excessive, probably unhealthy amount of s’mores. Someone had smuggled in a speaker, blasting everything from classic rock to obnoxious pop songs that made everyone yell along. They danced, they joked, they reveled in the rare freedom of being away from school.

He had a blast.

Seriously. A fucking great time.

So why the hell couldn’t he shake the thought of you?

The question stuck to the back of his mind, clinging like sap, stubborn and impossible to ignore. It wasn’t like you had to be here. Maybe you weren’t a bonfire person. Maybe you were holed up in your cabin, exhausted from running the competitions all day. Maybe you were off somewhere with that prefect—

Oscar scowled, shaking the thought away as he stretched out on the wooden bench outside his cabin. The night air was cool, the distant crackle of the bonfire still audible from the main clearing.

It was supposed to be two days in the outdoors with you.

With you.

Late into the night, long after most of the camp had settled down, the thought hadn’t left him.

Annoyed—at himself, at you, at whatever this was—he exhaled sharply, pushing off the bench and shoving his hands in his hoodie pockets. Without thinking, his feet carried him toward the bonfire.

The flames had burned lower, flickering embers casting soft orange glows across the empty clearing. Most of the students had already turned in for the night, only a few stragglers left chatting quietly at the edges of the fire.

And then—finally—he saw you.

Sitting alone on the other side of the fire, half-hidden by the flickering glow, arms wrapped around your knees as you stared into the flames.

His steps faltered.

Where the hell had you been all night?

More importantly—why did you look so…lost?

Oscar takes a deep breath before stepping forward, his footsteps quiet against the dirt. You don’t notice him at first, too lost in whatever thoughts have anchored you to this spot. He sinks down beside you on the makeshift seat—a sturdy log warmed by the fire—resting his arms on his knees.

The bonfire crackles, embers drifting up into the night, casting flickering light across your face. The voices of other students murmur in the background, distant and indistinct. Crickets chirp in the trees.

You don’t look at him.

Oscar watches you instead, studying the way your shoulders curve inward as you sit cross-legged, the way your fingers fidget absently in your lap. You look…small, in a way he isn’t used to seeing. Like you’re carrying something heavy and don’t know where to set it down.

It’s silent, but strangely enough, he doesn’t feel alone.

Then, after a moment, you break the quiet.

“Why do you hate me?”

It’s a sudden question, one that hits sharper than he expects. A question about feelings he decided he had when he was fifteen, feelings he had held onto tightly—until a few months ago, when you had sat in that quiet classroom and shared your struggles with each other.

Feelings he honestly forgot he had.

“I don’t,” he says. “I don’t hate you.”

You let out a dry laugh. “Not anymore, at least. But you did. Once.”

Finally, you turn to him, firelight reflected in your eyes. “Why did you?”

“I…” He pauses, considering his words. “I thought you were kind of stuck-up when we first met. And fake. And…and you called racing a hobby.”

Your lips twitch, amused. “Well, at least one of those things is actually something I did wrong.” Then, softer, “I’m sorry I said that. About racing.”

You lift a hand, smoothing down his hair in a gesture so natural, so easy, that it catches him completely off guard. “It’s your passion, your life. You worked really hard for it.”

A small chuckle escapes you. “I was a little stuck-up though, wasn’t I?”

“You wouldn’t even look at me.” Oscar smirks. “Though you were great at returning the attitude I gave you,” he admits, tilting his head.

You roll your eyes. “And yet you think I’m the fake one? I was very honest about how much I didn’t appreciate you disliking me.”

“I just think—”

“Not thought?” you interrupt. “Present tense?”

Oscar hesitates, then nods. “You don’t show what’s in your head…What’s in your heart. You have all these smiles and scripts practiced. And you always look put together—even now that we’re literally out in nature. And you’re never seen with bad posture. Your grades are perfect and so is your conduct, and you’re actually kinda nice to be with. By all accounts, you’re…perfect.” He pauses, voice softer now. “But no one’s perfect, Y/N. Not even you. No matter how much distance you put between yourself and everyone else so they can think that you are.”

At that, you finally look away, gaze dropping to the ground.

“You can say that because you’re all set, Oscar,” you murmur. “You don’t need to be perfect because you already know what you want. You have a path, and you work hard for it. You can take your mistakes and turn them into lessons because you have something you want to be great for. You can try again and again when things don’t work out because you actually have a dream.”

Your breath catches slightly, and you swallow hard before continuing.

“I don’t have that.”

The words are quiet but heavy, settling in the space between you.

“So, I need to be perfect, Oscar.” Your fingers tighten over your knee. “Because I don’t know where I’ll end up if I’m not.”

The fire crackles. The night feels impossibly still.

And for the first time since he met you, Oscar doesn’t know what to say.

He just sits next to you for a while, keeping you company as the fire crackles and burns lower. The murmured conversations of the last few stragglers fade one by one, until eventually, it’s just the two of you left.

The night air is cool, carrying the distant sounds of the forest—rustling leaves, the faint chirping of crickets. The firelight flickers, casting shifting shadows across your face, across the way your shoulders remain tense, like you’re still bracing for something unseen.

Oscar exhales, shifting slightly closer. “I don’t think you need to have everything sorted out yet,” he says, voice quiet but certain. “We still have next year. And there’s the year after that. And the year after.”

You don’t respond. Not immediately.

“Y/N,” he calls, softer this time. “We have a lot left to live. You’ll find your place. You’ll figure everything out.”

You finally turn to him, eyes uncertain, on the verge of overflowing.

“Do you mean it?” Your voice is shaky, fragile in a way he’s not used to hearing.

“I do.”

You look away, but before you can retreat entirely, Oscar moves without thinking—cupping your face gently with one hand, tilting your chin just enough to meet his gaze.

It’s foreign. Surprising.

But not…unwelcome.

Your breath catches, and for a split second, everything feels suspended. The air between you shifts, something unspoken stretching thin and taut, the space closing inch by inch.

“Y/N?”

“Yes?”

His thumb brushes against your cheek, just barely.

“Everything will be fine.”

And then the dam breaks.

A sharp inhale, then a quiet sob. The first tear slips down your cheek, then another, and before you can stop it, you’re crying—really crying, shoulders shaking as you press your face into his chest.

Oscar doesn’t hesitate.

He pulls you in without a second thought, wrapping his arms around you, shielding you from the weight of whatever’s been crushing you for so long. His hand rests at the back of your head, fingers threading lightly through your hair as you let yourself fall apart against him.

And all he can do—all he wants to do—is hold you.

It’s strange.

He doesn’t ever see you like this. Just once before. You’re so composed, always controlled, always held together by perfectly measured smiles.

But right now, you’re none of those things.

You’re just you.

You're real.

You're in his arms and you're real.

And it hits him, in the stillness of the moment, in the way the firelight dances across tear-streaked skin—You’re beautiful.

Not in the way he used to think, not just in the way everyone already knew.

But in the way that matters.

The kind of beautiful that settles in the quiet spaces, that lingers, that takes you home. The kind that isn’t just seen but felt—woven into the way you carry yourself, the way you fight so hard to hold everything together, the way you’re allowing yourself to not be perfect, just for a moment.

Even in your worst state, you're the most beautiful thing he's ever laid eyes on.

And suddenly—too fast—he wonders if maybe, just maybe, there’s something more there. If there’s a chance he likes you. In that way.

If, deep down, he’s been falling this whole time.

2019: Year 13 [18 years old]

When autumn rolls around and he’s back at school again, Oscar Piastri is a Eurocup champion. Testing for Formula 3 is lined up, doors are opening, and for the first time, the dream that once felt impossibly distant is now right in front of him. He’s buzzing, electric with the thrill of it all.

And you’re the person he most wants to tell everything to.

Not much has changed between you two after the bonfire. You still bicker, still trade sharp remarks, but there’s a warmth underneath it now—something softer, something unspoken. Something that makes his stomach twist in a way he’s beginning to understand.

Because, yes, he’s finally realized it.

He likes you. In that way.

And maybe, just maybe, there’s a chance you feel the same.

He runs into you in the hallway, where your hair is still neatly styled, your uniform still crisp, but there’s something new. The prefect’s badge you once wore with careful pride is gone, replaced by a Head Girl badge gleaming against your blazer.

“You’ve come a long way, princess,” he says, stopping in front of you, hands casually shoved in his pockets. “Congrats on being Head Girl.”

Your smile is wide, genuine—the kind he doesn’t see you give to just anyone. “Congratulations to you too, Piastri—Eurocup champion.”

The way you say it, like you mean it, like you’re proud of him, makes something tighten in his chest.

“Wanna walk to class together?” he asks, like it’s easy. Like it’s normal. Like the idea of just existing next to you isn’t becoming something he needs.

You tilt your head, a flicker of disappointment crossing your face. “I have study hall for most of the day, actually.” Then, as if to soften the blow, you brighten. “I’ll send you my schedule, though, so we can coordinate!”

Something about that—coordinating, making time for each other—sits so naturally between you.

“Sure,” he says, nodding. “See you later?”

“See you later, Piastri.”

You turn and walk away, and just the thought of syncing your schedules is enough motivation for him to get through the day.

Except…when he finally gets your message, his stomach drops.

Because there, glaring back at him, is one unavoidable fact:

Nothing aligns.

Oscar had always been good at adjusting. Racing taught him that—how to adapt, how to move forward, how to deal with losing things and making peace with it.

But this? This was different.

He wasn’t used to missing someone. Not like this.

Sure, he missed his mom and dad. He missed his sisters. He missed the Australian heat and slang. He missed his racing friends when he went back to school. He missed the tracks and his car. But never in his life did he think he’d miss you.

And maybe that’s why the switch was so jarring. He’d spent years wishing he was away from you, wishing for different classes, wishing to never see your face.

Now that he has that, he wants nothing more than to bring back the simpler days—when you were always classmates, always orbiting each other, always trying to avoid the other but never quite succeeding at staying away.

Ever since he’d gotten your schedule and realized that nothing aligned, it was like there was an empty space in his day where you were supposed to be.

It wasn’t like you’d disappeared. He still saw you, sometimes—passing glimpses in hallways, quick nods across the library, an occasional “Hey, Piastri” when your paths crossed. But it wasn’t enough.

It wasn’t like before.

And that was the problem, wasn’t it?

Because before, he didn’t think he’d need more.

Now, though? It was all he could think about.

Oscar had wanted a lot of things in his life, but rarely did he ever want something back.

He wants back the way you twirl your pen in between your fingers at a speed he still can’t match, no matter how many times you try to teach him. He wants the ever-changing rearrangement of your hair when you get stressed, never sticking to one style within the hour. He wants your study sessions and your stealing of his scratch papers. He wants your smiles and your quips and your banter. 

He wants you back.

So, like in racing, he strategizes.

He figures out which routes you take so he can walk by at just the right moment, just to get a minute of conversation before you scurry off to class. He starts showing up at the library earlier, knowing you’ll pass by on your way to study hall. He “accidentally” bumps into you at the cafeteria, acting surprised even though he knows exactly when you go.

He even texts you more, something he never used to do before. Just small things at first—jokes, complaints about assignments, links to articles about topics he knows will spark an argument. Anything to keep the conversation going.

And yet, it isn’t the same.

No matter what he does, it’s not enough of you.

At some point, it’s wasn't just missing you anymore—it’s something heavier, something that sits in his chest and refuses to leave. Because no matter how many stolen moments he squeezes into his day, no matter how often he “accidentally” finds himself in your orbit, it never lasts long enough.

And the worst part?

You don’t even notice.

Not in the way he wants you to.

You’re busy—busier than ever. Between Head Girl responsibilities, exams, and whatever future you’re silently trying to carve out for yourself, it feels like you’re slipping further and further away. And Oscar, for the first time in his life, hates the idea of being left behind.

He tries not to let it bother him. You’re just focused, that’s all. It’s not like you’re avoiding him.

Except maybe you are.

Not in an obvious way. Not in a mean way.

But in the way that means he’s no longer a priority.

And that realization hits harder than he expects.

Because before, if he wanted to see you, he could. If he wanted to talk to you, he’d find a way, and you’d let him.

But now?

Now, you’re harder to reach. Harder to catch. Harder to keep.

And the closer graduation gets, the more he starts to wonder—If he doesn’t do something soon, will you slip away completely?

It’s right as the holiday break approaches that he finally gets a moment alone with you again—on a random night, past curfew, when you both somehow end up sneaking into the same empty classroom.

It’s similar, but different.

The lights are still dimmed, casting familiar shadows against the walls. The air is still heavy, thick with exhaustion from exams and the looming uncertainty of the future. But this time, you’re standing closer together. This time, the silence between you isn’t uncomfortable—it’s something known, something safe.

Because this time, no matter how much is changing, you both know one thing for sure—You’ve got each other.

How’s life been for you, Oscar?” you ask, leaning against the wall, a warm smile on your face. “It’s been a while, so tell me everything.”

“I don’t think it’s been any different from yours,” he says, mirroring your smile. “Tests, papers…” He hesitates. “Graduation. The future.”

You exhale, the weight of that word hanging between you. “Well, those are definitely in my head.” A small chuckle escapes your lips. “Is it weird that I miss those early days here at the academy?”

“What, the ones where we hated each other?” He smirks.

You roll your eyes. “Yes and no.” Turning toward the window, you watch the campus lights flicker in the distance, the glow casting soft light across your features. Oscar should look away, but he doesn’t.  He can’t.

“I mean, things were simpler then,” you continue. “We had all the time in the world.”

He hums in response, watching the way your fingers trace absent patterns against the windowsill.

“I wish we could go back to then,” you say softly. “I’d be nicer to you. We could have been friends faster.”

You both giggle at this, the sound light and easy, but something in his chest pulls.

“What about you, Oscar? Would you change anything?”

He thinks for a moment. He thinks about the previous year—the late-night study sessions, the bickering that turned into something softer, the night by the bonfire when you let your walls down. He thinks about being paired with you for that stupid project in your second year, about meeting you in this exact room right around this time last year. He thinks about the very first time he saw you, sitting so perfectly poised in the headmaster’s office, completely unaware of the way you’d wedge yourself into his life, piece by stubborn piece.

He thinks.

Then—

“Nothing.”

You blink, turning back to face him. “Nothing?”

“I think…” He exhales, searching for the right words. “I think we’re where we’re at because it took a while to get to know each other. If we had been friends from the start, maybe things would’ve been easier—but I don’t think they would’ve been right.”

You tilt your head, curious. “What do you mean?”

He shrugs, shifting his weight slightly. “If we had been friends back then, I think I would’ve liked you the way everyone else does. The way people admire you from a distance.” His voice is quieter now. “But…I got to see you. Not just the perfect grades or the Head Girl badge. I got to see the way you actually think, the way you talk when you’re not putting on a front. The way you try so hard even when you don’t have to.”

You don’t say anything. You just look at him, eyes flickering with something unreadable.

And then, finally, you smile. Not the polite kind. Not the practiced one.

The real one.

“Well,” you say, voice softer than before. “I’m glad you got to know me.”

He’s glad too. More than you’ll ever know.

You just bask in the silence for a while, letting the quiet settle between you like something warm, something known. The window glass is cool beneath your fingertips as you both watch the lights flicker outside, the campus stretched out before you, vast and unchanging.

Your fingers brush against each other.

It’s light—barely even there, just a whisper of a touch. But it burns.

Something inside him ignites, sharp and immediate, like the flick of a match against dry kindling.

“Y/N?”

“Yes?”

He doesn’t move his hand away. Neither do you.

“You should call me by my name more.”

You tilt your head slightly, raising a brow. “Tired of hearing your last name?” The corner of your lips lilts in amusement.

Well, you might have it one day, he thinks.

But instead, he just shrugs. “I like hearing you say it.”

The teasing look in your eyes falters for just a second—your lips parting slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing your face before your cheeks flush.

You blink at him, the weight of his words lingering between you.

And then—

“Okay, then,” you say softly, watching him just as intently.

“…Oscar.”

You still don’t see much of each other throughout the rest of the year.

Between exams, responsibilities, and the looming pressure of the future, time slips through your fingers faster than either of you can catch it. Even texting becomes rare—just the occasional Good luck on your exam or a late-night complaint about an assignment. Nothing deep. Nothing real.

But Oscar takes what he can get.

His comfort comes in brief meetings in the hallways—your rushed conversations between classes, cramming a day’s worth of thoughts into a handful of stolen seconds.

“Got a physics test after lunch,” you’d say, adjusting the strap of your bag. “If I fail, I’m blaming you.”

He’d smirk. “What did I do?”

“The playlist you gave me last time distracted me.”

“Hey, I have great taste.”

“You can keep telling yourself that.”

And then the bell would ring, and just like that, you’d be gone—your presence slipping through his fingers before he could even think about holding on.

Hearing you call out his name in the busy hallway became the highlight of his day. A moment of certainty in a year that felt anything but steady.

But the times your knuckles brushed, the moments your shoulders bumped in passing, those felt like something more. Like maybe, if things had been different, there would’ve been time for more.

Except there wasn’t.

And maybe that’s why the thought of you leaving hits harder than it should.

He isn’t expecting to hear it—not like this, not by accident. But as he’s passing the debate room on his way to class, your voice stops him in his tracks.

“The university there offered me a great scholarship,” you tell a friend, your tone measured, practical. “It would be stupid not to take it.”

There’s a beat of silence before your friend speaks, quieter, hesitant. “So, that’s it then? You’re just…leaving?”

Oscar freezes mid-step.

A heartbeat passes.

Then another.

And then—

“Yeah,” you say, and it’s so final. No hesitation. No second-guessing. Just a quiet certainty that settles deep in his chest, heavier than it should be. “I’m leaving.”

And suddenly, the ground beneath him doesn’t feel so steady anymore.

“What do you mean you’re leaving?” The words slip out before he can stop them, raw and too loud, cutting through the quiet corridor.

You blink, taken aback by the sharpness in his tone, by the urgency in his voice.

“Y/N, what are you even talking about?”

The hurt is there, unmistakable, woven between the syllables. And maybe if he hadn’t spent so long trying to deny it, he’d understand it better.

No. He does understand.

Because there was so much he wanted to tell you.

Because you were supposed to have time.

You were supposed to figure this out together.

“Oscar,” you say cautiously, as if approaching something fragile, something breakable. You glance at your friend, giving them a small nod, a silent request for space. They hesitate before excusing themselves, leaving just the two of you.

You inhale deeply, as if preparing yourself.

“I got an offer from a university outside the country,” you say, voice steady, like you’ve rehearsed this before, like you’ve already convinced yourself that this is good. That this is right. “Full-ride scholarship with room and board and a possible slot in a master’s program after I get my undergraduate.”

It’s a perfect opportunity.

It’s everything you’ve worked for.

You should be thrilled. You are thrilled.

So why does your heart ache at the way he’s looking at you?

Oscar doesn’t speak right away, just stares, his lips parting slightly like he’s still trying to process what you just said.

And then, finally, he breathes, “It’s a great opportunity.”

You nod, stepping closer, reaching for his hand before you can stop yourself. You don’t know why you do it—maybe to reassure him, maybe to reassure yourself. His palm is warm, his fingers rough but familiar, grounding.

“I’m going to take it,” you say. And you mean it.

But when his grip tightens around yours, when his thumb brushes absently against your skin like he’s memorizing the feeling, something inside you wavers.

Oscar swallows, staring at your joined hands like they hold all the answers he’s been looking for. He doesn’t know what he expected—that you’d stay? That you’d change your mind? That he’d still have more time to figure out what you mean to him before you slip away completely?

He thought he had more time.

He thought—

“I love you.”

It comes out before he can second-guess it, before he can tell himself that this isn’t the right time, that this isn’t how he was supposed to say it. But none of that matters now.

His grip on your hand tightens. His voice is softer the second time, but truer, like the words are settling into something real.

“I love you.”

The world tilts slightly.

Your breath catches.

Because of course he does. Of course this is what it’s been building up to—every argument, every stolen glance, every almost-moment that neither of you dared to name.

But now that it’s here, now that he’s standing in front of you with his heart in his hands, you don’t know what to do with it.

Because you’re leaving.

Because you’ve already decided.

And because some part of you wonders if maybe, maybe, you were waiting for him to say it sooner.

You look down, your eyes fixed on the floor because it’s easier than looking at him. Easier than facing the way his voice cracks, the way his words hang heavy between you.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” you whisper, and even that feels like too much.

“Do you feel the same?” he asks, his voice quiet but firm.

You close your eyes. “I’m leaving, Oscar.”

“That’s not what I asked.” His voice softens, but the urgency stays. “Do you feel the same?”

“It’s not going to work,” you say, your breath hitching. You hate how your voice shakes, hate the way your heart is pounding so fast it hurts. “We’re going in very different directions and—”

“Do you feel the same, Y/N?” he asks again, his voice breaking just slightly.

And that—that’s what makes you falter. Because you can hear it. The way he’s holding on so tight, the way he’s afraid of your answer.

“Just let me go,” you whisper, even though it’s the last thing you want.

“I can’t,” he says after a beat, and his voice is so soft when he says it, but there’s no mistaking the weight of those words. “I can’t because I know you. Because I know I’m not the only one who feels this.”

Your throat tightens. “I’m trying to be practical—”

“I’m trying to tell you I love you!” His voice rises, frustration and desperation bleeding into every word.

And then—

“So do I!” The words burst out of you before you can stop them, loud and broken and everything you’ve been trying to bury.

The silence after is deafening.

You look up at him, your eyes brimming with tears. “I love you too,” you whisper, like it’s a secret you’re only brave enough to say now. And when you step forward and press your forehead to his chest, his arms come around you without hesitation, holding you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

“I love you,” you say again, softer this time. “But it’s too late, Oscar. I’m leaving.”

“It’s not too late.”

He pulls back just enough to cup your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks—wiping away tears you hadn’t even realized were falling. His touch is so gentle it breaks you a little more.

“We’re right here,” he says, his voice quiet and steady. “So, it’s not too late.”

And then—slowly, carefully, like he’s giving you every chance to pull away—he leans in.

Your breath catches.

And when his lips finally meet yours, the world falls away.

It’s soft at first—tentative and slow, like both of you are afraid of pushing too far, afraid of what this means. But then your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, and his hand slips into your hair, and the kiss deepens. It becomes something warmer, desperate—like making up for every second you wasted, every word you never said.

And for a while, there’s no leaving. No future pulling you in different directions. No goodbye waiting on the horizon.

It’s just you.

It’s just him.

The warmth of his hands on your skin, the way he holds you like you’re something precious. The way your fingers curl into his shirt like you’re afraid to let go. The quiet, shared ache in every kiss—like you’re both trying to memorize this, to keep this, even when you know you can’t.

And maybe this is all you get—this moment, this kiss, this fragile space where neither of you has to think about what comes next.

But maybe…maybe it’s just the beginning.

Because when you finally pull apart, breathless and trembling, your foreheads still pressed together, his breath still tangled with yours—you both know the truth.

This moment? It’s fleeting.

But his eyes—warm and steady—hold you there.

“We’ll figure it out,” he whispers, and somehow, you believe him.

You nod, your voice barely more than a breath. “Yeah. We will.”

And even if the future is uncertain, even if the next steps take you miles apart—right now, this?

This is yours.

And for the first time, even with your heart breaking in the most beautiful way, it feels like enough.

2022: Epilogue 1

“I can’t believe you just did that!” you exclaim over the phone, your voice half-outraged, half-incredulous. “Oscar, you’re giving me a heart attack from like fifty thousand miles away!”

“Everything’s under control,” he says, grinning as he leans back against the wall of his hotel room, the adrenaline still buzzing through his veins. “Trust me. It’s all in motion—you’ll see.”

“Honey,” you huff, and he can hear the dramatic eye roll in your voice, “I’ll believe you when you’re in that fucking Formula One seat, driving around squiggles for two hours.”

He chuckles, the sound low and easy, and God, he misses you. “You worry too much.”

“I have to worry,” you snap, but there’s no real heat behind it. “Because my idiot boyfriend decided to end his partnership with the team that made him their reserve driver by tweeting about it!” You huff. “I mean, listen to this: I understand that without my consent—”

“Okay, yeah, I typed that out,” he groans, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t need to relive it, thanks.”

“I’m just saying,” you tease, your voice softening just enough to make him smile.

Then there’s the unmistakable sound of your keyboard clacking in the background. “Anyway, experts are absolutely shitting on you online,” you inform him. “But don’t worry—I’m your biggest defender.”

“Please don’t fight with analysts on the internet,” he laughs, though the image of you going to battle for him is both hilarious and weirdly endearing. “They’re going to eat you alive.”

“Oscar, I had to deal with your attitude for years before we got together,” you shoot back, your tone sweet as sugar. “Trust me— some slimy little reporters are nothing to me.”

He laughs, the sound full and warm—the kind of laugh only you ever seem to pull out of him.

And as the miles stretch between you, the distance feels just a little smaller.

2023: Epilogue 2

The roar of the crowd was deafening — a steady pulse of noise that vibrated through the air, through the track, through Oscar’s bones. He could feel it, even from the garage, where the final checks were being made on his car. The smell of fuel and rubber mixed with the electric tension of the starting grid, and the weight of what was about to happen settled heavily on his chest.

Bahrain 2023. 

His first Formula One race.

Everything he had worked for, fought for—the years of training, the endless sacrifices, the victories and the failures—had led him here. To this moment. To this seat. To this dream.

And still, when his eyes flicked to the edge of the garage, searching through the sea of engineers and team personnel, it wasn’t the car or the track or even the starting lights that grounded him.

It was her.

Y/N stood just beyond the bustle of the team, arms crossed and wearing his team’s colors, her ever-pristine hair now tucked beneath a cap. But the calm, poised version of her he’d fallen for wasn’t here today. Today, her excitement cracked through the surface—eyes bright, smile wide, nerves barely contained.

Three years, and she were still his greatest victory.

As if sensing his gaze, she turned—and when she smiled at him, everything else faded away. The crowd, the noise, the pressure.

It was just her. It was always her.

He lifted his hand in a small wave, and she grinned, mouthing words he didn’t need to hear to understand.

You’ve got this.

And just like that, the weight in his chest eased.

Because no matter what happened on the track today—win or lose, first place or last—she’d still be there.

And that? That was enough to make him feel unstoppable.

[severeprincesheep]

This is now officially true! In the past statistics already showed that women just tended to live longer than men regardless of any factors, but now that gap has increased and men are dying even earlier - because now that women are more psychologically and financially independent from them they are refusing to marry men and coddle them and take care of them like they used to... which turns out was what was keeping men alive for longer in the first place lol! Sucks to be them, I guess. It's a them problem. If only they weren't so disgusting with women maybe things would be different, but they're just getting their comeuppance.

Surprising no one, doctors are talking about this like it's a competition where men are losing to women; because they're males, so they would be thinking that way, wouldn't they.

Men Die Younger than Women: Ladies, Mind ya Business!!

In an NPR article, the issue of men's shorter life expectancy compared to women is explored, raising the question of whether it's time to prioritize men's health. As a woman, I find this discussion intriguing, especially considering the often-overlooked focus on women's health issues. In my analysis, I delve into the key points presented in the article while adding my own perspective on the need for a balanced approach to health research that addresses both men's and women's unique health challenges.

I absolutely adore how the easiest way to kill all men is simply by staying away from them and not caring about them. One man's life is depleted of female energy and he ends up contributing to male suicide stats. We don’t even need to go out and retaliate for revenge. We just need to ignore them and focus on ourselves and they end up dying naturally. It’s like the goddess universe wants us to relax and live in peace because she will take care of the male trash. How beautiful!

[ennabear]

I see your request for Sevika headcannons and I raise you the idea that Modern!Sevika is absolutely an old man despite being in her 40’s. After she settles down, she’s in bed by 9:30, wears reading glasses with a chain on them (love me a butch in glasses tbh), has her designated reclining chair that’s perfectly molded to her butt, and sits in front of the window to watch her bird feeder and shoo away squirrels. Our girl deserves her rest.

YEAHHHHHHHHHH HEHEHE THANK YOU FOR THIS BEEE 🤭🤭 grandpa sevika is so me we’d be perfect for each other <33 also you’re right she deserves a quiet and simple life heheh

most mornings you’ll find her curled up in front of you while you wrap your arms around her waist. if she’s awake before you, she’ll have a book in her hands, reading glasses (with the chain) perched on her nose, an adorably sleepy squint on her face as she tries to focus on the words with the sun illuminating the room.

you’ll snuggle closer to her and take in her cozy scent, along with the lingering sleep-warmth from your little den. it’ll take at least an hour, maybe more, for the both of you to get out of bed, too busy yawning and kissing and giggling and reading to each other to make an effort to get up. it’s not like it matters though, you know you have the whole day to yourselves.

if she’s not in bed next to you, there’s a 100% chance she’ll be found on the front porch, sipping from her mug of tea (or coffee if she needs it), staring up into the trees at some bird you’ve never heard of. you’ll pad out there as quietly as possible, yet still get reprimanded because “your stomping will scare it away!”

sevika’s job is to tidy up the bed while you make her coffee or tea, and then she meets you in the kitchen to start breakfast. sometimes it’s simple, just a slice of toast and some jam, and sometimes you cobble up a big enough feast to feed the entire neighborhood. but either way, you sit at the table and eat together, helping her answer the daily crossword puzzle in the newspaper. no matter how many times she’s told that she can do an unlimited number of crosswords online, she refuses. she thinks the paper version is better. (she doesn’t know how to use her phone).

after breakfast, you’ll find something to do with your time. either a small renovation to your house, like forcing sevika to fix the creaky doors after months of complaining about it, going for a walk or hike, volunteering together, or just watching tv all day. she’ll huff and claim that she doesn’t wanna leave the house and have to put up with the stupidity of everyone else in the world, but as soon as you get her outside, she’s having the time of her life.

she’ll point out different trees and plants on your walk, spilling hundreds of facts about them as if it’s common sense. she spends her free time reading, watching documentaries, and playing trivia, so of course she knows everything about everything.

and at the end of the day, (well, the “end” for her, which is just mid-afternoon) she’ll be found relaxing and unwinding in her recliner. it’s hers only. she spends hours in that thing, flicking through tv channels, reading 3 books per day, trying to teach herself how to knit or crochet, having a conversation with you from another room, sleeping, eating, anything. that thing is molded to her body perfectly, you think she might love it more than she loves you. there’s an indent where her ass always plants itself, perfectly shaped wells for her legs, and creases where her elbows poke into the armrests.

she’ll have you bring her dinner while she stares out the window, marveling at the hummingbirds that stop by to sip on the sweet nectar from sevika’s hummingbird feeder. she’ll curse when a dog and it’s owner walk by and scare her birdies away, but you know of her secret stash of dog treats for the rare occasion that she lets them get close to her.

and then after dinner, she’ll turn on some nature documentary and close the blinds, surrounding herself with the gentle aura of you scrubbing the dishes clean in the sink, the soft buzz of the tv along with the wildlife it’s showing, her soft recliner, and the love in her heart after a long day. she’s out like a light in an instant. this happens every night, you’ll hear her gentle snores floating in from the living room, and you’ll walk in to find her fast asleep in her recliner. yet again.

“sevika, baby.” you whisper, shaking her gently.

nothing.

“sevikaaaaa!!” you sing, hoping it’ll pull her out of dreamland.

again, nothing.

you reach over to the coffee table and grab the remote, then turn the tv off for the night.

“hey, i was watching that!” she pouts, suddenly wide awake.

“no you weren’t, sleepyhead. let’s get you to bed.”

“it’s not bedtime yet.” she argues. “it’s only 8:59. i have half an hour.”

you roll your eyes and pull her up from where she’s melted against her seat, then drag her to the bathroom to shower after a long day. she’ll relax into you as you massage her scalp, and then she’ll scrub your back as gently as possible. sometimes things get a little steamy, like a makeout session against the wall. but sometimes, like today, she’s to sleepy to try anything.

as soon as the clock strikes 9:30, she’s tight in your arms again, drooling onto her pillow, her gentle snoring filling the room. you wouldn’t trade this gentle life for the world, no matter how exhausting it can be to keep up with the chores that every new day presents, each one getting harder as you age and get more worn out. but you know it’ll all be okay, because you have sevika and sevika has you, and that thought eases you into sleep alongside her.

[beloveds-embrace]

☕ anon here

Hear me out. Quiet duchess with highly specialized interests that she can't shut up about. Maybe Kyle or Simon accompanies her on a walk outside and she spots a butterfly species like the black swallowtail and starts yapping happily about how the bright colors are supposed to help ward off predators or something, and how to tell the difference between male and female. And then goes on to talk about the differences between butterflies and moths, how they're all lepidopterans but vastly different, etc. And they're just absolutely SHOCKED about how much information spews out of duchess because it's the most excited anyone has ever seen her, to the point of almost concern.

It doesn't even have to be insects like that, it could be plants. Or jewelry. Gems and minerals. Or maybe even a big oral essay on her favorite character from a book series and why they're her favorite character because of XYZ intricacies. Hyper invested duchess my beloved 💖

YES YES YES YES

It had started as a quiet walk. Simon wasn’t much for conversation, and you had always been comfortable in silence. It was a mutually agreeable arrangement- one that allowed you both to enjoy the crisp morning air without the exhausting expectation of small talk.

And then you saw the butterfly.

It had fluttered past, landing delicately on a nearby shrub, its vibrant wings a striking contrast against the greenery. Without thinking, you had stepped forward, tilting your head as you observed it with growing excitement.

“Oh!”

Simon barely had a moment to register the shift before words- so many words- came spilling out of you.

“That’s a Red Admiral! You can tell by the bright orange bands along the wings- see? They’re warning colors, meant to deter predators. Some butterflies mimic toxic species for protection, but these ones are actually unpalatable to birds!”

Simon blinked.

You turned to him suddenly, eyes bright, gesturing toward the butterfly with enthusiasm he had never seen from you before.

“Did you know you can tell the difference between males and females just by looking at their forewings? Males have these little scent scales they use to attract mates- oh! And butterflies and moths, even though they’re both lepidopterans, are so different! Butterflies have clubbed antennae, while moths have feathery or filamentous ones! And their resting positions- moths keep their wings flat or tented, but butterflies close theirs!”

You were still talking- excitedly- and Simon was still staring.

Not because he wasn’t interested. No, he was listening, genuinely- but mostly because he had never seen you like this before.

Ever.

Their quiet, reserved duchess- the same woman who could sit in silence for hours, who struggled to speak even a handful of words in company- was rattling off information faster than he could process.

And you were beaming.

Simon had seen many things in his life. He had braved battlefields, faced horrors beyond reckoning. But this was entirely foreign to him.

He wasn’t sure what to do with it.

So, he did what he could.

“You like butterflies, then, Duchess?” He rumbled, still watching you as though you had sprouted wings yourself. The prettiest, loveliest of wings.

You paused, your excitement faltering slightly, as if only just realizing how much you had said. You folded your hands together, gaze lowering, a hint of shyness creeping back into your posture.

“I… yes,” you admitted, quieter now. “I like entomology in general, but butterflies are… lovely, aren’t they?”

Simon exhaled through his nose, a huff of something like amusement.

“Yeah, love,” he murmured, glancing at the butterfly still perched nearby, and then glancing right back at you. “They are.”

He didn’t need to say the rest of his words, and you pretended like you couldn’t feel the warmth creeping up your neck.

[ariahmichelle]

Fake It Till You Feel It- Part 5

Rafe Cameron x Reader Series

Previous Parts Here

Summary- You see your ex with a new girl wrapped around him after he told you “wasn’t ready for a relationship” after you had slowly started to fall for him. The betrayal stings. Rafe Cameron is dealing with his own issue—Amelia, a girl who refuses to take the hint that he’s not interested. One night you impulsively pretend to be Rafe’s girlfriend to get her to back off. To your surprise, it works. You also notice Alex looking pissed. This starts to become an unspoken routine between you when either Alex or Amelia are around. Simple right? However, longer this goes on, the more the lines blur between what’s real and what’s not.

Part 5- Blurred Lines

•••••••••••••••••••••• ••••••••••••••••••••••

The sun hung high in the sky, beating down on the sand as the ocean stretched endlessly before you. The air smelled of salt and sunscreen, a familiar mix that always came with days like this—long, lazy afternoons spent by the water, where time felt slower, conversations easier, and worries faded with the tide.

It had started as a casual plan. A few people mentioning the idea last night, and before you knew it, a group beach day had come together. No drama, no hidden agendas—just an excuse to soak up the sun and pretend, for a little while, that life was simple.

And yet… something felt different.

For the first time since this whole thing with Rafe had started, Alex and Amelia weren’t around when you were hanging out with your friend group. There was no need to play pretend, no reason to cling to Rafe’s side, no excuse to blur the lines between real and fake.

And yet, you still found yourself next to him.

You weren’t sure how it happened. One minute, you were laying out your towel, the heat of the sand warming your skin, and the next, Rafe was dropping down beside you, close enough that his knee brushed against yours when he stretched his legs out.

“You look like you’re actually enjoying yourself,” he mused, tipping his sunglasses down slightly as he glanced at you.

You rolled your eyes. “Shocker.”

“Just saying,” he smirked, leaning back on his elbows. “No Alex. No Amelia. No fake relationship to maintain. And yet, here you are, still basking in my presence.”

You scoffed, turning onto your side to face him. “Says the one coming to sit by me.”

Rafe grinned, something lazy and amused in his expression. “I think it’s mutual.”

“What’s mutual?” Brooke’s voice cut in as she dropped onto the towel next to you, raising a curious brow between the two of you.

“That she’s obsessed with me,” Rafe answered smoothly, earning a shove from you.

Brooke snorted. “Right. Because that’s so believable.”

“Did the Rafe Cameron basically just admitted he’s obsessed with me?” You shot back, making Brooke laugh from where she was lounging on her towel.

“Jesus,” Brooke called over. “You two are really committing to this act, huh?”

You glanced at Rafe, your expression unreadable. “What act?”

Brooke narrowed her eyes. “I don’t buy it. You two went from barely tolerating each other to suddenly being joined at the hip. It’s weird.”

“You’re weird,” Rafe shot back, reaching for his drink. “Maybe we just realized we have good taste.”

Brooke made a face. “Yeah, or maybe you’re both just full of shit.”

Mia studied you for a moment, but she didn’t press the subject. Instead, she just smirked. “Well, whatever it is, I hope you two know what you’re doing.”

Did you?

You weren’t so sure anymore.

At some point, Rafe got up to grab drinks from the cooler, and when he came back, instead of sitting beside you like before, he sat behind you. Legs stretched out on either side of your towel, back resting against his arms as he took a sip from his beer.

You shot him a look. “Comfy?”

“Extremely,” he said, grinning as he nudged your back lightly. “Besides, this way, you get a nice little seat.”

You rolled your eyes, but when you leaned back against him, you didn’t move away.

Not long after, his fingers started lazily tracing shapes on your thigh, the touch light, almost absentminded. Your skin burned under his fingertips, and you hated that it made your stomach flip.

It was fake. Wasn’t it? Rafe was just enjoying this too much.

——

By the time the sun started to set, someone had built a bonfire further up the beach. The sky turned soft shades of pink and orange, the ocean reflecting the colors like glass. The air smelled of burning wood and smoke, the crackling flames casting shadows across the sand.

It was the kind of night that made everything feel a little lighter.

You sat cross-legged near the fire, the warmth licking at your skin as the group passed around drinks and retold old stories. Someone had a speaker, soft music blending into the sound of the waves. Rafe sat beside you again, and even though the crowd was big enough for you to be somewhere else, you didn’t move.

It was almost too easy, slipping into these moments with him.

“You cold?”

His voice was low, just for you, cutting through the murmur of conversation.

You shook your head, but before you could say anything, Rafe draped his hoodie over your shoulders again, like it was instinct. His fingers brushed against your arm in the process, sending a small, unexpected shiver down your spine.

You glanced up at him, raising a brow. “You trying to be a gentleman or something?”

Rafe smirked, but there was something softer in his gaze, something unreadable. “Trying to make sure you don’t freeze to death. Don’t make it weird.”

You huffed out a quiet laugh, but something about the moment stuck with you.

You got up to grab another drink from the cooler when you felt someone step into your space.

Amelia.

She crossed her arms, looking you up and down. “So, what’s your endgame here?”

You frowned. “Excuse me?”

“Using Rafe to make Alex jealous.” She smirked. “I gotta admit, it’s a bold move. Desperate, but bold.”

You stared at her, caught off guard. “That’s not—”

“Oh, come on,” she scoffed. “You think I don’t see it? You’re using Rafe as some little rebound so Alex regrets dumping you. Pathetic, really.”

Your jaw clenched. “First of all, Alex didn’t dump me, we were never official. Second of all, I’m not using Rafe for anything.”

Amelia took a slow step forward, her voice dropping lower. “He’s just a placeholder for you, isn’t he? Some little safety net to make yourself feel better.” She tilted her head, eyes gleaming. “We both know he’s not the type to stick around. He’s just going with it to get in your pants, But hey, enjoy it while it lasts.”

Before you could respond, a hand wrapped around your wrist and pulled you away.

Topper.

He shot Amelia a glare before steering you toward the group. “Don’t listen to her. She’s just pissed Rafe doesn’t give her the time of day.”

You exhaled sharply, trying to shake off the sting of Amelia’s words. “She’s a bitch.”

Topper chuckled. “Welcome to the club.”

He walked with you back toward the fire but then glanced over at Rafe, who was already watching you, his expression unreadable.

Topper smirked. “You know what? Let’s get out of here.”

You frowned. “What?”

“Let’s go to Rafe’s,” Topper said. “Bonfire’s dying out, and I can guarantee she’ll keep trying to get under your skin if you stay.”

You hesitated.

Rafe caught on to the conversation and raised a brow. “You guys talking about me?”

Topper grinned. “Yeah, I just decided we’re going to your house.”

Rafe smirked, looking at you. “That so?”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t protest. Anything was better than staying here with Amelia’s words lingering in your mind.

So, naturally, you ended up there.

By the time you got to Rafe’s house, the music was softer, more background noise than anything else. The lingering tension from the bonfire slowly faded, replaced by the comfort of familiarity. The smell of the ocean still clung to your skin, and the warmth of the fire had been replaced by the cool night air that drifted in through the open doors.

You were curled up on the couch, still in Rafe’s hoodie, your head resting against the back of the couch. The fabric smelled like him—cologne, a little bit of salt from the beach, something undeniably Rafe. It was oversized on you, the sleeves swallowing your hands, the hem bunched up against your thighs as you tucked your legs beneath you.

“She’s out,” Brooke observed from across the room, her voice hushed but amused.

You weren’t completely asleep, but close enough that responding felt like too much effort. Your body was heavy with exhaustion, the kind that came after a long day in the sun, after too many drinks and too many emotions you didn’t have the energy to sort through.

“Yeah, and she’s taking my hoodie hostage,” Rafe muttered, but there was no annoyance in his voice. If anything, there was something almost… fond.

You felt movement beside you, the couch shifting slightly as Rafe sat down. He didn’t hesitate before leaning back, before letting his arm drape over your waist, his hand resting lightly against your hip. He was warm, the kind of warmth that made it easy to sink further into sleep, the kind of warmth that made you not want to move.

Brooke smirked, arching a brow at the sight of the two of you. “That’s cute.”

Rafe let out a tired huff, barely lifting his head. “Shut up.”

Kelce, who had been scrolling on his phone, barely spared a glance. “At this point, just date already and put us all out of our misery.”

Rafe didn’t answer.

Instead, his fingers absentmindedly traced over the fabric of his hoodie where it bunched around your stomach. It wasn’t intentional, wasn’t something he seemed aware of, but you noticed. Even in your drowsy haze, even with the pull of sleep, you noticed the way his touch lingered like he didn’t want to let go.

And then, a quiet whisper, meant only for you.

“Stay.”

One word. Barely audible over the hum of the music, over the quiet murmur of conversation.

Maybe if you had been more awake, you would’ve overthought it. Maybe you would’ve made a joke, brushed it off, reminded him that this wasn’t real.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you let your body relax against him, let your eyes drift shut, let yourself sink into the warmth of him without thinking too much about what it meant.

And just like that, the choice was made.

So you stayed.

————

The house was silent when you stirred awake, the soft hum of the speaker still playing some faint melody in the background. Your body felt heavy with sleep, your mind sluggish as you shifted slightly—only to realize you weren’t alone.

Rafe’s arm was still draped over your waist, his body pressed against yours in a way that should have felt uncomfortable but didn’t. His breathing was steady, slow, the warmth of him radiating against your back. Sometime during the night, you must have moved closer, because his chest was against your shoulder, one of his legs tangled with yours.

Your heart picked up, your breath catching as you took in the feeling of him, the quiet closeness of it all.

Everyone else was asleep—Kelce sprawled out in one of the armchairs, Brooke curled up on the other end of the couch, Topper somewhere on the floor with a pillow over his head and everyone else sprawled out in random places. The soft glow from the kitchen light was the only thing illuminating the darkened room, casting long shadows across the furniture.

Carefully, you untangled yourself from Rafe, moving slowly as you slipped out from under his arm. He stirred slightly, brows pulling together like he could sense the absence of you even in his sleep, but he didn’t wake.

You padded quietly into the kitchen, your throat dry, your body still warm from being wrapped up against him.

You reached for a glass from the cupboard, filling it with water from the sink, but before you could take a sip, you felt a presence behind you.

“You were just gonna sneak away?”

You turned, finding Rafe leaning against the doorway, his hair slightly messy, his voice thick with sleep. His eyes were still heavy-lidded, but there was something else in them too—something unreadable.

“I was just getting a drink,” you murmured, lifting the glass to your lips.

Rafe took a step closer, running a hand through his hair before exhaling softly. “You were gone when I woke up.”

“You were asleep,” you said quietly, setting the glass down on the counter. “I didn’t wanna wake you.”

Rafe studied you for a long moment, his gaze flickering over your face, like he was trying to figure something out. Then, without thinking, he reached forward, brushing a loose strand of hair away from your face. His touch was light, barely there, but it sent a shiver down your spine.

You didn’t move away.

Neither did he.

His fingers lingered, his eyes dipping to your lips before flicking back up to meet yours.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

The air between you was thick with something unspoken, something neither of you wanted to acknowledge but couldn’t seem to ignore.

And then, he leaned in.

It was slow, hesitant—like he was giving you a chance to pull away, to stop it before it happened.

But you didn’t.

Not at first.

Your breath caught, your heart hammering, the warmth of him so close, too close—

And then her voice echoed in your mind.

‘We both know he’s not one to stick around.’

The words settled like a weight in your chest, an anchor pulling you back to reality.

Your stomach twisted, hesitation creeping in, doubt sinking its claws into you.

Rafe must have sensed it because he stopped just before your lips could touch, his brows furrowing as he studied your expression.

You stepped back.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, voice barely above a breath. “You don’t have to—” You hesitated. “You don’t have to try to make me feel wanted after Alex.”

Rafe blinked, his expression shifting from confusion to frustration in an instant.

“Is that what you think this is?” His voice was low, rough with something you couldn’t quite place.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I just—”

“You just what?” Rafe demanded, jaw clenching. “You think I’m doing this out of pity? Out of some fucking obligation to make you feel better?”

You didn’t answer.

Because deep down, you knew that wasn’t the case.

You knew Rafe wasn’t the kind of person to do something he didn’t want to do. You knew he wasn’t the type to pretend—not like this.

But that didn’t stop the fear.

The fear of falling for him.

The fear of getting hurt again.

The fear that this was temporary, that eventually, he’d wake up one day and realize you weren’t what he wanted.

So you stayed silent.

Rafe let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, running a hand over his face. “You know what? Forget it.”

“Rafe—”

“I’m going to bed,” he cut in, turning away before you could say anything else. “You can have the couch.”

And just like that, he was gone.

You stood there in the dimly lit kitchen, the weight of his absence settling heavy in your chest, the feeling of his almost-kiss still lingering on your lips.

————————————

What do we think will happen next ? 🤔

Taglist: @rafecameronsbaeee @drewwhor

@wtfisastiles @emmafitzzz @wtfdudesblog

@yasmin-oviedo @yourmomdotcom42069

@pogueprincesa @maybankslover

@rrosiitas @my-name-is-baby

@rafecameronsslut1234 @ggraycelynn

[edamameimei]

crawling back

"do i wanna know if this feeling flows both ways?"

pairing: daniela avanzini x reader

synopsis: daniela knows you and her live completely different lives, and maybe that's why she couldn't admit to herself what she has truly felt for you all along.

mostly angst, i apologize. read to find out what type of ending it'll be!

a/n: this is a part two of do i wanna know? if you haven't read that fic yet, i highly suggest you do! also, as always, i just want to put out there that this is not a REAL portrayal of the people mentioned in this fic. all events are fictional and are for entertainment purposes only.

wc: 3143 words

now playing: do i wanna know? (live at the bbc) - hozier

The reason why you joined Dream Academy in the first place was to escape. 

After one too many mental breakdowns, you took a chance at the skeptical email that was sent to you. The rest after that was a blur. The auditions, the training period, all of it was not what you expected. When you first started training and development, you knew you weren’t on the same level as the other girls. You didn’t even come close. You were a random girl from a very small town. Your current TikTok following doesn’t even compare to the others whom consider themselves “influencers.” Deep down, you knew you didn’t have the personality to be a “Global Pop Star.” What was supposed to take a year ended up taking two years of your life and still, to this day, you aren’t sure if it was worth it. 

Especially when you ended up losing more than a chance to debut. 

The first day of training was hell for you. So much so, you found yourself during the 15 minute break crying in the bathroom. You hunch over the toilet, sobbing. You feel pathetic. Quite inadequate. The dance teacher had to repeat herself so many times to you and you still couldn’t get it right. You knew you were way over your head and this exact moment proved it. You continue to cry, debating if you should just give up and go back home. 

But at some point, you hear the door to the bathroom open. You cover your mouth, trying to stifle your cries but you know you’ve been caught. The person begins to approach the stall you were currently occupying and for a moment, they don’t say anything. They stand there, silently. You try to think of an excuse if the person were to ask you what was wrong but before you could say anything, the person finally speaks up. 

“I can help you with the dance… one-on-one…” Daniela’s voice echoes throughout the bathroom and it makes your cheeks flush slightly. You don’t say anything. You just sit there quietly, biting your lip. Daniela speaks up again, her voice soft. “Let me help you… Honestly…” You can hear the sincerity in her voice and it makes your chest flutter. You sigh, knowing you won’t be able to back away from the proposal Daniela gave you. You stand up, smoothing out your shirt before unlocking the stall door. You look at Daniela, a pout evident on your face. The Latina frowns when she notices how red your eyes are and your tear streaked face. She places a hand on your shoulder, squeezing it gently. 

“Come on… Let me show you… She’s kind of a bad teacher, anyway…” The comment makes you giggle softly. You look into Daniela’s eyes, searching for any pity in them. But the only thing you can really focus on is how pretty her eyes were. You used to think Daniela was so intimidating. Her eyes always held an intense look in them, somewhat fiery. But the way she looks at you right now makes you second guess your judgements. 

Daniela takes your hand and basically pulls you out of the bathroom. 

And after that moment, Daniela knew you would turn her whole world upside down. 

She knew how particular you are about certain things. You were put together, collected, always one step ahead. Your bed was made every morning no matter how tired you were and you always had to stick to your routine. Your view on the world was perfectionistic, orderly. There wasn’t a single wrinkle in your clothes and you kept everything tidy– just how you like your life. 

Daniela, on the otherhand, was none of those things. 

She lived her life freely, with no cares in the world. Life is too short to worry about the little things. Life is too short to make your bed every morning. She proudly embraced the chaos and wanted to live in it for as long as she could. She was young, she had every right to. 

But when Daniela meets you, it’s almost magnetic. She never met someone like you. Someone so gentle, so kind. She couldn’t believe someone like you existed, especially at the same time as her. You could be ripped to bits and pieces, chewed down to the bone, and spat out like nothing but you’d still find the strength to go back to the practice room. You could sit in the studio and pretend it was another Thursday. The other girls on Dream Academy always found this trait of yours intimidating. Even under the pressure of the whole world and so much more, you still fought your way until the very end of Mission 3. 

Daniela wonders if that’s why she was so enthralled by you. She had to know what was underneath that calm exterior. Day after day, she made it her own mission to understand who you really were. Maybe, she would have an excuse to love you less. Maybe you’d be so flawed, there would be a reason to give up on whatever feelings she found herself developing for you. 

But after that night you two shared, Daniela got up extra early that morning. She quietly slipped out of bed, kissing the top of your head. She left the hotel room with a weight lifted off her shoulders and a wide smile on her face. She returns with two cups of coffee in her hands. However, her smile falters slightly when she sees that the bed was made. She hears you humming in the shower and when she thought the weight she felt before has finally gone away, it comes back tenfold. 

When you finish showering, you walk out of the bathroom, expecting to see Daniela. However, you return to see the sweater she always borrowed from you messily thrown onto the floor. 

You pick it up, folding it nicely. You place it back on the bed, intending to put it in Daniela’s suitcase so she won’t forget it. 

She has a tendency to do that, forgetting things, no matter how important. 

When Daniela is told there would be a Dream Academy reunion for their one year anniversary, her mind instantly becomes filled with thoughts of you. 

No matter how hard she tried, she can’t seem to rid herself of the memories that contain you. Every picture she took, every thing she ever did, you were right there next to her. It never dawned on her how much of you consumed her life until after her debut. When asked questions about Dream Academy, it almost pains the Latina. 

(What’s her favorite memory? Late night walks outside the dorm because you two couldn’t sleep. 

What did she do in her down time? Read a book, curled up next to you in either her bed or yours. 

Who was she closest to? You.) 

So a whole event dedicated to that era of her life makes her sick. Especially when she hears not only did you say you’d return for the reunion, but Ezrela accepted the invite as well. Not only that, but made it clear you two would show up together. That ugly feeling that always gnawed away at her chest, the one that would only show up when she saw you and Ezrela together, comes back with a vengeance that she didn’t even think it had. She clenches her phone tightly in her hand, her knuckles turning ghostly white as she rereads the attendance list over and over again. 

This time around, she doesn’t have the right to pull you away. 

She won’t be able to insert herself into your conversations. 

It would be as if you two were two world’s apart, yet only five feet away. 

“You know, if you stare even harder, I’m scared she would end up blowing up…” Daniela whips her head towards Manon, glaring. She scoffs, taking a sip from her cup. “I’m not… Staring.” The Latina’s response causes Manon to raise an eyebrow, sneaking a quick, knowing glance at Lara and Emily whom are standing right next to them. They all follow Daniela’s gaze, their eyes settling on you. You’re engaged in a conversation with Ezrela, Adela, and Megan. They watch as Adela says something that causes you to throw your head back, laughing loudly. When Ezrela places a hand on your shoulder, the girls turn their heads back to look at Daniela. They watch the evident frown beginning to form on her lips and Lara decides she has had enough. 

“Dani, I love you, but this isn’t fair.” Daniela’s glare hardens even more at her member’s words. She looks at her, rolling her eyes. She responds, her tone a bit harsh. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Lara crosses her arms and lets out a loud sigh. “Look. During Dream Academy… We all thought the obsession you had with Y/n was funny…” Daniela is about to counter her statement but Lara holds her hand up, not wanting to be interrupted. She continues, her tone serious, “but then shit happened in Korea– which we still have no idea about by the way– and suddenly, it wasn’t even funny anymore. It was just… Sad.” The mention of their trip to Korea causes Daniela’s mouth to go dry. She looks away, silently confirming everyone’s suspicions that something did happen in Korea that caused you and Daniela’s relationship to go awry. 

Manon places a hand on the Latina’s shoulder and squeezes it gently. She looks at her, concern written in her eyes. “Dani… Just talk to her. It might help with… Whatever ‘this’ is.” Daniela looks up at the girl, pouting slightly. She knows she’s right but Daniela has always been so stubborn. But as she looks at you, sees you smiling with that crinkle in your eyes that she has missed so much, she almost considers it. 

Instead, she finishes whatever is left in her cup and walks away from the group, getting farther away from you. 

But as fate would have it, with its genuine sense of humor, Daniela walks into the bathroom and sees Ezrela fixing her makeup in the mirror. 

Daniela freezes. She wants to turn around and walk away. She wants to pretend that she didn’t feel her heart drop seeing the small girl and wants to act as if she has not held a dislike towards her for years. But, Daniela stays, not wanting to make the situation even more awkward than it already feels. Ezrela looks away from the mirror and smiles widely, immediately putting down her lipstick to greet the Latina. She runs up to Daniela, wrapping her arms around her tightly. The action makes Daniela feel even worse than before because there really isn’t any other reason for the Latina to dislike Ezrela. The Aussie always showed Daniela kindness to which she was only repaid with the cold shoulder.

When Ezrela pulls away, she beams at Daniela, walking back to the bathroom counter to continue fixing her lipstick. She takes a glance at Daniela, her eyes twinkling with excitement. She says, “I’ve been meaning to talk to you! How is everything?” Daniela stands there awkwardly. She isn’t really in the mood to talk to Ezrela. If she were being honest, she isn’t in the mood to talk to anyone. Since she got to the reunion, she has wanted to go back home and continue pretending Dream Academy never happened. But of course, she would find herself having a conversation with the last person she would ever engage with. She puts on a brave face, knowing she will have to get through this conversation for it to be over. 

She smiles small, responding softly, “everything is great. It still feels unreal…” The Latina’s words causes Ezrela to giggle. She nods, putting the cap back onto her lipstick. She looks at Daniela with a sincere smile. “I bet. I’m really proud of you guys, you know?” Daniela smiles in response, a genuine smile. They continue talking, catching each other up on their lives after Dream Academy. At some point, Daniela finds herself so comfortable in the conversation that she isn’t able to stop the words that come out of her mouth next. “You and Y/n look happy together.” 

The statement causes Ezrela to freeze. Daniela’s eyes widen when she realizes what she just said. 

Ezrela looks at Daniela with a confused look in her eyes. She tilts her head, chuckling. “What are you talking about?” Daniela stammers out a response, a bit embarrassed, “well… You know… You and Y/n have always been close so I just thought…You guys finally got together…” But the thing is, Ezrela has no Earthly idea what the Latina is talking about. Sure, you and her had a very close friendship but to the Australian girl, that’s all it ever was. She knew like everyone else who you belonged to at the end of the day. Ezrela shakes her head at Daniela’s words, surprised that the Latina would even consider that a possibility… That you were ever not Daniela’s. 

She speaks in a matter-of-fact tone, as if the words that were coming out of her mouth were common knowledge. “Are you… Kidding?” She can’t help the giggle that escapes her lips when she continues, “Y/n was always in love with you… If anything… Everyone else is surprised that you two aren’t together.” The Latina feels her breath catch in her throat at Ezrela’s words. She looks at her, her eyes wide with disbelief. Ezrela looks down at her hands and shakes her head, smiling. “She always came to my dorm and talked about you… You were all she could ever talk about, actually.” She looks up from her hands, looking at Daniela with an incredulous look. 

“All the girls were making bets on how long it would take for you two to start dating…” Ezrela clicks her tongue. She walks up to Daniela, jabbing her pointer finger into the girl’s shoulder playfully. “I lost $20 because of you two! I really thought you guys would have at least got together at the end of Dream Academy…” The playful look on the Aussie’s face is suddenly replaced with a more serious expression. She places a hand on Daniela’s shoulder and speaks softly, “Do… What you will with that information…” Ezrela takes a step back from the Latina, walking past her and out of the bathroom. Daniela stands there, her bottom lip trembling. 

Daniela had always been so curious about you and Ezrela’s relationship. But now that she was given an answer, she isn’t really sure how to feel. 

Right now, she just feels so stupid. 

She remembers going to Ezrela’s dorm one morning, wanting to grab a charger to borrow from the girl. 

Daniela remembers how when the door opens, she is met with Ezrela already put together at 8 AM. Her hair perfectly curled, her makeup done, and her smile wide as if they didn’t have a late practice last night. 

When Ezrela walks away to grab said charger, Daniela peers into the dorm and sees Ezrela’s bed made neatly. Her things were in order. Daniela could even describe it as being perfect. 

And as Ezrela hands Daniela her charger, the Latina realizes something. 

She realizes, you will never belong to her. Not when her life is so chaotic. Not when she can’t even make her bed Every. Single. Morning. 

Daniela finds you alone, standing outside, looking up at the sky. 

When she looks at you, the memories you two share comes at her with a force that takes her breath away. She thinks about your late night drives, watching you from the passenger seat and seeing you sing along to a song at the top of your lungs. She thinks about cozy nights spent in the dorm, you two cuddling and talking about everything while a show plays in the background. Daniela remembers the way your hand felt in hers, the way your arms felt around her waist. She remembers your daily routine like the back of her hand, she remembers your quirks, all of the little things that makes you you.

And it suddenly clicks in Daniela’s head. 

Daniela Avanzini is in love with you. She always had been. 

Daniela walks up to you with determination in every step she takes. She speaks up, her voice firm, “every time you were around Ezrela, it drove me fucking crazy and I didn’t know why,” you turn immediately, looking at the Latina with wide eyes. You were sure the girl would avoid you all night. Not only does it surprise you to see her right in front of you, but it shocks you even more that this is the way she would greet you. You try to respond, your voice shaking, “Dani-?”

“I wanted– no, I needed your attention to be on me 24/7. If it wasn’t, I’d literally crash out because what if–” she stops for a moment, taking a deep breath. She knows the ball is in her court, she knows she can’t runaway this time. Daniela takes a step closer towards you, her tears falling freely down her cheeks. She whispers, “What if… When you aren’t with me, you’ll realize how much of a mess I am?” She shakes her head, gesturing to herself wildly as she continues, “What if you realize that I’m not what you need?” 

You look at Daniela, shock evident on your face. Her words stir something inside you. It’s a feeling you have pushed away for so long. Ever since you left Dream Academy, you told yourself you’d leave it all there. You told yourself for a whole year that you would never find yourself back here again, especially with Daniela. 

But who were you kidding? This was Daniela. Your Daniela. 

You reach out to her and for a second, you hesitate. The last time you reached out to Daniela, she wanted nothing to do with it. The Latina senses your hesitation and immediately wraps her arms around your neck, buying her head into your chest. You wrap your own arms around her and you can’t help but feel as though you are finally home. The emptiness that settled in your chest after Dream Academy is finally full and it’s all because of her. It will always be her. 

“I always needed you, Daniela.” She pulls away slightly to look at you, a sad look in her eyes when she realizes your statement was in past tense. 

She whispers, “needed me?” 

You chuckle and whisper back, “still need you.” You look at her, your eyes challenging her to make the next move. 

She holds you tighter, her face inches from yours. Daniela smiles softly, placing a hand on your cheek. 

“Still need you.”

a/n: hopefully for those who wanted a part two are satisfied with the ending i came up with <3 giving these two either a happy ending or a sad ending was a mixed poll so i honestly flipped a coin LMAO fate said: a happy ending! let me know what you guys think and just know i am open for any requests or any random messages/thoughts!

[rafesbabygirlx]

jj x kook!reader enemies to lovers short story (could go like, they've always had a huge rivalry, always messing with each other, then one night at a party they're both drunk/high, they hook up and their chemistry is off the charts so they just keep coming back to one another)

I love any idea of JJ with a kook!reader!

𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚢 - 𝙹𝙹 𝙼𝚊𝚢𝚋𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚡 𝚔𝚘𝚘𝚔!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐

𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

You hated him. The rivalry between you and JJ Maybank ran deep, like the marshy waters that separated Kooks and Pogues on the island. He was reckless, all salt and sweat, a boy who lived by the tide, while you were carved from privilege, groomed for a life of summer soirées and silk sheets.

You’d been at each other’s throats since middle school—petty pranks, heated insults, the occasional shove in passing. But it never mattered more than the game you played. A Kook and a Pogue were supposed to hate each other. That’s just the way things were.

So, naturally, when you saw JJ at the party that night, you were already bristling, ready for whatever bullshit he was about to pull. The backyard was packed—drunken laughter, the scent of weed hanging thick in the humid air. You took another swig from the bottle in your hand, the warmth settling deep in your stomach, making your limbs feel slow and heavy.

Then, across the yard, you saw him.

JJ, sprawled out in a lawn chair, the glow of the tiki torches painting him in flickering light. His usual cocky smirk was absent, replaced by something more unreadable. His eyes were hooded, heavy-lidded. Red-rimmed. Just as low as yours.

He caught you staring.

A slow smirk curled his lips as he lifted his chin, nodding toward the house. No words. Just a silent question.

You should’ve ignored him. Should’ve rolled your eyes and turned away.

But you didn’t.

Instead, your feet moved on their own, carrying you through the crowd, past the couples making out by the pool, through the sliding glass doors. JJ was already halfway up the stairs, throwing a glance over his shoulder, checking to see if you were following.

You were.

The house was quieter up here, the party reduced to a distant hum. JJ leaned against the wall in the dim hallway, arms crossed, his head tilting slightly as you approached.

“You lost, Kook?” he drawled, voice thick with smoke and whiskey.

You scoffed, leaning against the opposite wall. “You nodded first, Maybank.”

JJ exhaled a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re drunk.”

“So are you.”

“Fair point.” He pushed off the wall, stepping closer, a teasing glint in his bloodshot eyes. “So what now? You gonna call me a dirty Pogue and storm off?”

You should’ve. You should’ve thrown out some sharp insult, something to put you both back in your usual roles.

But standing there, your head buzzing, your pulse drumming in your ears, you couldn’t find the fight in you.

JJ studied you for a long moment, his gaze dipping ever so slightly, lingering. His tongue flicked out, wetting his lips.

“I don’t hate you, y’know,” he murmured.

Your breath hitched, but you recovered fast. “Yeah, well… could’ve fooled me.”

JJ grinned, slow and lazy. “You make it easy.”

You rolled your eyes, but the heat crawling up your neck betrayed you.

A beat of silence stretched between you. The tension was different now, charged. Your heart kicked against your ribs.

You didn’t know what you were doing. Maybe it was the liquor. Maybe it was the weed.

Or maybe, for the first time, you were finally admitting the truth—

That falling for JJ Maybank was a hell of a lot easier than hating him.

Your breath hitched as he took another step, slow and deliberate, testing you. Daring you.

“You’re quiet,” he murmured, eyes locked onto yours. “That’s new.”

You wanted to snap back, but the words wouldn’t come—not when his fingertips ghosted along your cheek, barely there, his thumb brushing your jaw.

“You’re really not stopping me,” JJ mused, head tilting slightly. “Maybe you don’t hate me as much as you think.”

That did it.

Without thinking, you grabbed the back of his neck and yanked him forward, crashing your lips onto his.

JJ barely hesitated before kissing you back just as hard, hands gripping your waist, pulling you flush against him. He tasted like whiskey and trouble, and maybe that should’ve been a warning, but you didn’t care.

The rivalry, the taunts, the history—none of it mattered.

Only the way he sighed against your lips, fingers tangling in your hair, your body pressing against his like you’d done this a hundred times before.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, JJ grinned.

“Well, shit,” he murmured. “If I knew pissing you off would get me kissed like that, I would’ve tried harder.”

You let out a breathy laugh. “Shut up, Maybank.”

His smirk widened. “Make me.”

And so, you did.

You and JJ busted through the door of an unoccupied bedroom. Lips stuck together and both of your hands exploring every part of each other. You pushed him down onto the edge of the bed and pull off his shirt. You brushed his sun kissed blond hair back from his face. His hand ran up your inner thigh, slowly reaching your core.

As you leaned down to kiss him again, JJ grazes his fingers over the wet spot forming in your lace thong making you let out a shaky breath, already feeling sensitive.

"I, a Pogue, turn you on this much?" He asks cockily.

"Touch me already," you tighten your grip on his hair you're holding back.

JJ wasted know time, pushing your panties to the side and rubbing your clit. He moved his finger down, coating them in your wetness and plunges two fingers inside you. Your hands drop to his shoulders to steady yourself as he pumps in and out of you at a steady rhythm.

The bubbling feeling in your stomach comes quicks making your legs wobble. You throw your head back and let out a loud moan. JJ grips your hip with his free hand and pumps his fingers quicker when he feels you clench around them.

"You gonna come for me, kook princess?"

"Ah- fuck, y-yes," you cry out.

In a rush of ecstasy you release all over JJ's fingers. He slows his movements slower and slower letting you ride out your high. Once you've finished, JJ pulls out and licks your come off his fingers.

You push him back onto the bed. JJ sits up on his elbows as he watches you pull your dress over your head and your thong down your legs. Next, you unbuckle the belt holding up JJ's tattered cargo pants and unbutton then pulling them off of him.

You straddle his legs and begin to pump his hard cock in your hand as you sit up to line it up with your entrance. You sink down onto him in a swift motion. You grind down on him before lifting back up and dropping yourself back down on him.

You bounce up and down as JJ digs his fingers into your hips. Your moves start to falter when you get tired and JJ notices. He pulls you to lay flush against his chest and he wraps his arms around your waist, planting his feet on the bed, and he starts to thrust roughly up into you.

You moan into the crook of his neck and he presses kissing into yours. You felt the bubbling feeling yet again. JJ doesn't let up on his trust, somehow going harder even if he sounded out of breath. You come hard and JJ is quick to follow.

You fall to his side, and begin to laugh a bit at how crazy what just happened was. JJ gives you a nervous look but you reassure him by pulling him in and planting a kiss on his lips.

You're pulled out of your trance when an arm wraps around your waist and pulls you into their chest. JJ's head nuzzles into your neck and you smile to yourself. You think back to your first encounter with JJ. That was 6 months ago and you still can't get enough of the boy. Breaking down the kook vs pogue war between the two of you feels so ridiculous to you now. You can't explain what this boy does to you and you wish you knew sooner so you could've been doing this longer.

tags + some moots 💗

@rafestoothbrush @weluvwbb @itsforeverandalwayz @butterfly-ibuki @megiiite @maybankslover @siredbtches @bigenergy777 @percysley @aupernatural-teenwolflover @slut4you @rafegf-real @skywalker0809 @snowtargaryen @kieeslove @leather-n-velvet @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @diasnohibng @slut-4-gojo @akobx @jjmaybankmylovee @slurpdew @rafesheaven @cameronsprincess @littlelamy @nemesyaaa @inthelibrarybtw @frankoceanluvr11 @writingroom21 @v3n1ce-bxtch

[sweetsaladpainterranch]

An Indecent Proposal

***

You had shown up to the Hazbin Hotel as a party of two, having been 2 months pregnant when you were killed. You resembled most of your human features except for a pair of tall velvet ears and a small tail that has a mind of its own. You were a deer demon which made you constantly cautious about everything and anyone that happened to cross your path. Especially so now as you knew that both the freakin Princess of Hell and The Radio Demon resided at this hotel, but you had seen the tv interview a few weeks before and it made you think that maybe she was different. Having only been in Hell about a month beforehand, your constant nausea had kept you from even attempting to brave the outside of the tiny box apartment you lucked into.

Thus, here you were, knocking on the giant ornate front door and listening to the incoming stampede, you nearly backtracked down the entrance steps. However, before you could decide to bolt, a blonde whirlwind swept you inside and into the bright lobby harboring a circle of demons already. Once the introductions had been made, you took off the large overcoat you had been wearing and were met by shocked expressions.

"Oh", you tried to explain, "yeah, apparently when you're pregnant in Hell you get terrible cold flashes. Ironic right?" Also, you needed to conceal your condition from any freak who might see you as a two-for-one meal.

The only response you received was the continued open-mouthed and wide-eyed looks from your new house (hotel?) mates until Charlie finally piped up.

"It's already so late. Why don't we take care of the tour and paperwork tomorrow so if you follow-"

"How in the underworld did a sinner get pregnant??!", Angel practically knocked Charlie over as he burst towards you in a frenzy of questions about your pregnancy and recent death. It was pretty obvious after your fall into Hell that reproducing only worked for Hellborn kind. (Usually).

You sat heavily on one of the lobby couches and rubbed your aching, swollen feet as you began your backstory.

Your previous life wasn't as exciting as being a slick thief or an edgy serial killer but you enjoyed your job as a maid for a beautiful estate in the countryside of Savannah, Georgia. At least until you caught the eye of the mansion's owner and were immediately (threatened) convinced to become his side chick for the next few months while the lady of the house was away in Atlanta. As if that wasn't enough of a stereotype, a maid doing her flipping boss, you were soon knocked up and surprise surprise no one was particularly excited.

"You naughty pixie!", Angel interrupted, "My kind of girl." He smiled widely at you with a wink but Vaggie slapped him on the back of the head and encouraged you to continue.

You explained that your boss was highly expectant of abortion, but you were not going to give up the only piece of blood-related family you'd ever known. However, when you said as much as your boss' wife strode into the conversation and (guilted) invited you on a walk through the nearby willow grove. Oh boy...you had a terrible feeling but it was the 21st century, so the worst that was coming was a few insults about your promiscuity and being fired.

Turns out your gut was on point. Not even a mile into the woods you heard a pistol's slide snap back and you only had time to catch the sneer on that bitch's face before you took off. But you were never good with coordination so you fell almost immediately. Dammit! Luckily, the rich mess also had on incredibly inappropriate heels for hiking through the countryside. Which came in handy when she stood over you and began to, honest to Lucifer, monologue and you took the chance to kick her right in the old southern starfish. She fell and tripped herself, right over the side of the tall hill she had lured you to. What wasn't so lucky was that she still had that fucking gun, which decided to go off right when she whacked her head on a tree. You were shot through the heart (yes like the stupid song) and spent your last moments clutching your belly and sobbing how sorry you were that you couldn't protect your baby.

***

The room was silent for a long moment as the gang mirrored each other's teary gazes and only then did you notice a slight and growing, static feeling in the air. After a while, Charlie spoke through her sniffles, "YOU POOR THING!! Vaggie Quick!" (Sob Sob) "We gotta give her the most comfy room we have!" Nodding, Vaggie scrambled for your suitcase and Husk for your bag while everyone else practically tried to crowd-surf you up the stairs while continuing to cry and whimper soothing affirmations.

However, the sudden elevation and excitement triggered your nausea, which forced you to begin looking around for a bathroom while gently prying the guiding hands off of you. God, can someone turn down that radio? The static is becoming irritating. They didn't seem to catch your ears pin back in discomfort or the flush traveling up your neck and you began to fold in on yourself reflexively as the urge to puke became overwhelming.

Fuck! You're about to vomit in front of strangers. How embarrassing.

But before your knees hit the tile of the lobby, you were swallowed by darkness(?) and found yourself in a large, red bathroom on a very plush bathmat. And then the nausea demanded your attention once more and you fully lost your stomach contents into the, blessedly, close toilet. After a moment you needed time to catch your breath and collect yourself before figuring out just where the Hell you were. Suddenly a large hand landed on your back and very gently smoothed out the wrinkles in your sweater as static once again tickled your senses.

Your protective deer instincts kicked in immediately and you tried to spring to your feet but, instead, wobbled over and nearly face-planted into the sink.

"Easy there, darling.", a static yet gentle, male voice cautioned as you were steadied against its owner and took notice of an earthy scent wafting from him.

You jerked your head up as your ears pinned back on instinct and nearly fainted on the spot at the realization that you were so close to the one and only Radio Demon. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck!

He was wearing a wide smile and a red suit (almost as sharp as his smile) that matched the red of his hair and watchful eyes. The same large hand rose to try and cup your cheek but froze when you let out a small panicked bleat. He seemed to take a hint and stepped away from you before pointing towards the open door behind you, which you backed your way towards.

You were nearly out when you felt the familiar cramping sensation within your stomach and lost your footing once again. And just like the last time, the red demon caught you easily and the princess carried you out into what looked like a large study. More of his earthy musk caught your attention as he carefully placed you onto a plush chair in front of the fireplace. Relaxation began to take the place of the fear you felt in the wake of his smell and the warm seat. "Who are you?", you finally asked.

He smiled a bit more naturally and answered as he took the chair next to yours, "Alastor, my dear! It's quite a pleasure to meet a fellow deer demon and a lovely doe at that!".

He offered you a cup of tea, "To settle your stomach, darling.", and you wondered if this was really the big bad Radio Demon. He chuckled at the blush crossing your face and continued, "Forgive my sudden actions but I felt that you were becoming a bit overwhelmed by my compatriots and brought you somewhere quieter."

He gestured around the homey room with pride, "I don't usually allow others here but I have a special place in my heart for a doe in distress." He placed a hand on your knees and you leaned further forward to capture more of his relaxing scent. If you could make a candle out of it you definitely would. His eyebrow arched upward knowingly at your small smile to yourself and he withdrew his hand.

"I quite enjoy your scent as well, dear. Though I wonder if it'll change once you have your fawn."

The mention of your baby sobered you up from the haze, "Why? I've never been so relaxed by anyone's smell before. Yours is almost like taking a sleeping pill and I don't understand why I'm suddenly so affected by yours."

Alastor chuckled a bit before answering, "It's pure instinct, my dear. There aren't many deer demons in Hell so I'm not surprised if I'm probably the first you've come across. As an expecting doe, your body and mind crave a male for both protection and to relieve certain complications during pregnancy.", his voice dipped into a low volume at his last remark, "I'm also assuming that you came here to seek refuge for a safe birth,.but I wouldn't be shocked if your instincts told you to come find me as well."

"I- wait what?? No, I saw Charlie's commercial and thought it'd be safe here."

"Safe?", Alastor laughed darkly, "Everyone knows that this is my territory and my presence alone nearly made you faint. Yet you say you came here, to the very home of the Radio Demon, because you thought it'd be safe?"

"Well, I had heard that you'd be here but-", you stuttered to a halt in your thoughts as another wave of irritating cramps crept through your abdomen. You wished he would lean closer so his scent could relax you again.

"Not to worry, my darling. I surmise that the doe within you drove you to seek out a strong buck to finally relax enough to begin nesting in safety. The protective environment of the hotel is merely an additional bonus." He laughed again as he took your hand in his and you could once again bathe in the smell of fresh nature.

You sat back once the cramps, which were suddenly coming on in closer increments, began to subside and you thought about his theory. You had only possessed animalistic qualities for a few months but you were certain that you weren't under such strong inner control from them. Another cramp spread over your stomach and you let out a frustrated huff that received an amused chuckle from Alastor.

"Do you know why I'm having these weird cramps?", you asked dryly because his smug face said he was waiting for you to ask.

"Indeed I do!", he smiled, "You see now that you have found a buck, your body can begin to calm down and focus on the child instead of stressing about its environment." He placed a hand on his puffed-out chest like a knight in shining armor.

"Okay and?"

"A deer's gestational period is only about 7 months, which means that your body needs to expand more rapidly than a human's would. So, those small pains are simply your womb growing but they will even put as long as you are around me."

"How do you know this? There are not exactly any OBGYN offices down here." You should know since you had hoofed it all over Pentagram City to check in on your baby.

"I've been around deer since my early days above ground, though you are certainly the first pregnant sinner demon I've ever encountered. Very unusual."

"So I've gathered.", you answer. Still holding your lower stomach, which was just big enough to make your pregnancy known. "You said that a male deer could help with complications during pregnancy? Does that include these growing pains because they're getting worse."

Alastor once again withdrew himself slightly from you with a static-filled, heavy sigh and looked towards the green flames of the fireplace. His grin tightened and his grip on the chair's armrests made the wood groan as he seemed to need a moment to collect his thoughts.

You waited as your anxiety began to grow once more, which seemed to draw his attention because he turned to you with a soft gaze. "Yes, I can help with them.", he said slowly as if this conversation pained him, "but in a natural sort of way. Not with pills or any useless confection like that." He had gotten up pace in front of the fire while he continued, "Even without that coat, I could smell a mate-less, pregnant female immediately and I'm sure you could notice me as well because cervids can connect more easily through the senses."

He swallowed loudly, clearly uncomfortable.

"Alastor?", you asked hesitantly, "What are you trying to say?" He stopped in front of you suddenly and stared straight into your face, "Just like a relaxing hormone is released within a doe when she smells a strong buck; another stronger hormone is released when the male gives her an orgasm."

The room went silent and you were suddenly aware of a dull ache within your body that has been growing since you met Alastor. You were pretty sure that your whole face was as red as a cherry tomato and you looked away. Neither of you spoke for a while and you both looked away from each other in the uncomfortable silence. Until another more harsh cramp racked through you and you let out a small sigh at the discomfort which made Alastor step towards you with a clear of his throat.

"Listen dear, I have no plans of forcing myself onto you but unless you leave my vicinity, your body will continue to react to my presence here as it acclimates itself.", he knelt in front of you and moved your face to look at him, "If I'm honest, I'm not usually willing with such things but it seems that I cannot escape the reaction my body is having to yours either." Your breath caught in your chest and your blush was now definitely spreading down your body. His touch was nearly electric and his voice was so soothing that you couldn't believe you were ever afraid of this man.

But you needed clarification, "What exactly are you offering?"

"I heard your story downstairs from the shadows and I promise to find that bastard and make him a guest on my radio show. Though, I know of an influential man taking advantage of a young woman and, then, casting her away when the consequences come calling." Alastor spoke with such intensity that you were taken aback and wondered who important to him was done as you had been. "I can also respect the strength of a mother who fought for her child till her last breath despite the odds.", he genuinely smiled again as he seemed lost in thought for a moment.

***

Alastor hadn't lied when he said that he had smelled you as soon as you entered the hotel and he was almost pulled towards your sweet, airy scent. As he listened to your pitiful story from his shadow behind your chair, he quickly noticed that you also expelled a flowery yet slightly acidic smell as well. His entire body tensed with a flair of static as his instincts told him that was an unborn fawn he was smelling. He immediately sent his shadow to retrieve you once he saw that you were overwhelmed by the excitement of the others.

You were so small, your belly barely showing, as you tried (and failed) to get away from him in your panic. When you let out such an adorable little bleat of fear, he thought he'd propose there and then. Propose?! The thought nearly knocked him off his feet as he poured you a cup of tea as an excuse to sit down. Well, he supposed that it was a reasonable reaction since he didn't perceive another's scent marking on you and you're body was clearly tightly stressed from the lack of a mate's aid.

And fuck, your sweetly acidic aroma was beginning to become overwhelming as his throat started to tighten and a weight settled on his lower abdomen. He doesn't remember the last time he had gotten so worked up over a female. How long has it been since he's seen a doe demon in Hell? Maybe 2 decades? The cramps would only increase and become more aggressive if something wasn't done. He remembered, from his life, pregnant does roaming that starved to death because their mates had been killed and they couldn't fend for themselves during their growing pains.

And you reminded him so much of his dear mother. She, too, had been caught in the web of a rich pervert and left to fend for herself and her unborn son, but she also resolved to make it on her own. With her own truly humbling strength and determination that he saw echos of in your eyes.

Yes, you were lovely and he wasn't going to let you face this alone, though he was sure you could. And it wouldn't be so bad to have a woman's touch around his life.

***

"Alastor?", you called his name again and his ears perked up before his eyes returned to yours.

He took in a long breathe and began, "I'm trying to make a proposal, darling. Become my mate and in turn, I will see to it that you and your fawn have everything that you could ever want.", he materialized a black ring with a beautiful red stone laid within it and red antlers sprouted over the ring's circumference.

You were absolutely dumbfounded. You had just met this man, yet he wanted to be mates like that? "W-what?! What are you saying, Alastor? You would mate with an already pregnant woman and raise another man's baby? Why?!" You couldn't get your mind wrapped around the proposal at all. That's just not what your experience with men lined up with, no.

Alastor still had on his bright smile and continued to hold out his ring that would seal the deal, "My dear, you have no idea how you have affected me in just the small amount of time you've been here. You are strong and magnificent.", he cupped your face with his free hand, "and I will admit that I don't usually find myself having such feelings for anyone but it would be the mistake of both my lifetimes if I did not see that you are both mine."

***

I had the idea of how a pregnant doe would respond to Alastor a while ago and wanted to feel it out so when better to do that than when stuck in bed, sick from covid lol

I'm on pretty heavy cold medicine so if it doesn't read well we can blame the meds lol 😆

[clairewritesfanfics]

Dragon!Sylus x Non-MC!Reader Part 2

Synopsis: A depressed, transmigrated fan dedicates their life worshipping their favorite character. (Because not everyone can be a badass like MC.)

Trigger Warnings: The Reader is implied to be depressed and suicidal

A/N: Just a disclaimer, I currently know very little of the world lore for Sylus’ myth, just the bare bones of it. I’m waiting for his cards to rerun to read everything for myself so forgive me for any canon divergence. Sylus may also seem OOC. Part 1: here

“You keep staring at me.” Sylus sighed and paused from rummaging through the paper bag. “Is the sight really that amusing?”

You were on your knees, elbows on a nearby treasure chest as your knuckles cradled your cheeks. To others who have not lived a loveless life, your face was the picture of adoration, but the dragon who knew only hatred and disgust could not recognize the expression you wore as you observed him.

You glanced at his giant talons holding a can of iced mocha and hummed.

Five cans of coffee from different brands, random sweets, a bag of potato chips, and one sad fruit cup to hold up the illusion of health were meant to be your dinner that fateful night. You had overtime and didn’t want anything that required more than one hand to eat. 

That paper bag from the convenience store along with your work bag were the only things you had when you were dragged into this world. 

“You look adorable,” you said.

“That’s the first time anyone has used that word to describe me.”

“Then everyone before me was blind or stupid or both.” 

He ignored you and shook the coffee can. “I can feel something liquid moving inside. I’ve never seen these characters before.”

“That’s because me and that can are not from here. It’s a type of coffee, er, I don’t know if that exists here… it’s a naturally bitter beverage that’s made from a type of bean. That recipe makes it sweeter though.” You got up and approached him. You reached for the can but he pulled it away, looking confused and defensive, like a child that did not want to share its favorite toy. 

You giggled. Maybe he liked that the container was shiny. “I’m not going to take it away from you, I’m going to open it so you can have a taste.” 

He reluctantly parted with it and you showed him how to pull the tab open. 

“Hear, take a sip.”

He took a sniff of the coffee, nose scrunching before he glared at you.

“It’s not a trick. I bought those for me, you think I’d drink poison?”

Relenting, he finally took a sip, brows furrowed. Then he took another sip, then another, and then he gulped down everything with his tail sweeping excitedly against the floor, pleased. “This taste is… new to me.”

“It’s bad to drink it all in one go, you could get a bad case of the tummy ache.”

“I’m not some impatient child,” he huffed, childishly. 

“Whatever you say.”

“You’re making fun of me.”

“You’re imagining things.”

He growled, no, purred like a dissatisfied kitten before turning his attention back to the contents of the paper bag which now lay scattered about on the ground. He looked calm but with the way his tail kept wagging, you knew he wanted to try more.

“I’m sorry for laughing. You can try some more.” You picked up several snacks and held them out to him. 

He remained unmoving, but his eyes could only barely hide their desire to eat. 

You wondered what was the problem for a while. Suddenly, it came to you that he was likely feeling shy, almost reserved, not wanting to take more of your food. Pfft. It is truly a wonder how anybody could hate such a cute creature.

You cleared your throat and picked out a snack yourself. You tore open the box and aluminum then pulled out a single stick of the chocolate-covered biscuit. “This is called Pocky. There’s an interesting game for it, too. Two people compete to see who finishes it first.” 

“Compete how? It’s way too small to even share–” His tail stopped moving when you put one end of the biscuit in your mouth and then pointed at the other end.

His expression of bewilderment morphed into a teasing smirk. “So this was your goal. If you wanted to kiss me, you should’ve just been honest from the start.” He leaned over to you. Those soft lips barely grazed the stick before you inhaled the whole thing in one go.

You swallowed and said, “You lost.” 

“...”

“...”

He pulled out another biscuit and put it in his mouth, then turned to you. You bit down on your end and stole the whole thing away before he had the chance to breathe.

You covered your mouth as you chewed. “Lost again.” 

He got another stick and you stole that too. And then the other one, and then the other one, and so on. Soon, the box was empty and Sylus’ tail thumped furiously.

You swallowed the last of your spoils. “And here I thought dragons were apex predators.” You didn’t expect to win so many times. Although considering how short your breaks were, eating quickly came as easily as breathing to you.

“You cheated.”

“Don’t be a sore loser. Aren’t your kind supposed to be the epitome of grace and dignity?”

“...”

“Don’t pout. You can have the rest of my food and drinks.” You nudged the remainder of your “dinner” towards him. 

“...”

“Don’t tell me you’re actually mad?”

He silently traced the rim of a coffee can. Eyes downturned, he asked, “I can’t tell whether it’s bravery or foolishness. Most humans want to kill me, but you talk and act as if you do not even see me as a threat.”

“That’s because I don’t.” 

“And yet you’re weak.”

“Well, yes. In fact, if you were to throw me away right now, I have no doubt that I would die in the wilderness within a day.”

“How…”

“Hm?”

“How are you so bold?”

Bravery or foolishness. If you had to think about it, it was neither. The truest answer was this: apathy. You stopped being alive years ago. You were empty until Sylus breathed life into you. You adored Love and Deepspace but to be honest, even when you had the game version of your darling, it was merely a distraction. If you were to get hit by a truck before finishing the story, you would have been okay with it. Even now, as you knelt before the authentic thing, should your favorite kill you then you would be fine. 

A walking corpse was still just a corpse, after all.  

You gave Sylus a soft smile. “I don’t think I’m being bold, though.”

“You confuse me.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” You offered him the capuccino. 

“Do you really have no place else to go?”

You shrugged. If he were to somehow kick you out of this prison, there is no doubt that you will end up dead in a matter of days. But you didn’t want to manipulate him with guilt. Whatever choice he made, you would accept. “I was just joking earlier, I’m tougher than I look. I’ll survive.” You grinned, hoping it would be good enough to convince him.

He touched the can but didn’t hold it. He looked at you and said, “...If it's all right with you, just stay with me.”  

How could you refuse?

Part 3: here

@phisen @leryg0 @capribun @sinnamon-bunn @wegottastayfocus @erisnxxi @syyyy4ever

[beefjumper]

Life Series but beefburgered

Hello my tumblr 👋 I'm not dead, I've just been fandom jumping then felt the urge to make somewhat of a reference sheet for the lifers for future use. Yap session about the designs below:

Grian: Very standard Grian. You can smell the Cherrifire influence in this one. I imagine the turtleneck being wide enough to hide his mouth behind as he stares menacingly into the distance. His eyebrows are practically fused with his eyes but it's probably best not to think about it too much. I have considered placing a literal waffle on the back of his head but it might be tedious to draw continuously.

Scar: Everytime I draw Scar he looks weird. It might be because I'm not too good with longer faces, but that's how I'd imagine the character looks like. I think I'll switch up this design a lot as his eyes and hair bug me sometimes. Maybe experiment with the scars too. Artists make him look really cool as an explosion victim.

Mumbo: The slicked back hair looks right. Extra strand sticking out to make him look a bit disheveled. I wonder if I should commit to making him look more goth/vampire-like. He gets a tiny mullet because it fits.

Jimmy: Wanted to make him look a bit bird-like so I tried to express that with the back of his head. I hope he looks pathetic enough.

Joel: Fairly shrek-like. I wanted to make him look grumpy so he has a shorter and broader build. Also decided that one green hair streak wasn't enough for my satisfaction. His brown coat has a honeycomb pattern, but that's not too obvious. Also, he is shorter than Lizzie.

Scott: Pretty sparkly guy. I wanted him to look quite friendly. He actually has thick eyelashes here instead of eyeshadow but I'm not against that idea either. Kind of miss his Last Life skin.

Impulse: I don't watch Impulse too much so this design was based on some common interpretations of him. The horns are a cute idea.

Skizz: Very standard Skizzleman design. The ripped sleeves and the arms are probably my favorite thing. Maybe I should add more hair on the arms.

Tango: People tend to draw him really different, so I took aspects from designs I liked and put it here. Both his sclera and shades ended up being red, but I thought the sclera was iconic and the design looks more interesting with shades on. I'm not sure if I'd prefer for Tango's hair to literally be made out of fire. I tried making it resemble fire instead.

Etho: Attempted to make him a contender for Top 10 Hottest Anime Men. I'm always interested to see how people work around his definitely unrecognizable Minecraft skin. Like other designs, I think I'll add a maple leaf on his clothes or something.

Bdubs: He looks more terrifying than I intended but that might be the point. Might change his hairstyle here. I'd like to draw his white-haired skin at some point.

Cleo: Very standard ZombieCleo design. The hair was based on their VTuber but I decided to use the clothes from their Minecraft skin. The stitches are the fun part. I might make her hair curlier.

Martyn: Very standard InTheLittleWood design. You can smell the Cherrifire influence in this one ×2. The little beard is a wonderful addition I think.

Ren: Picking between black or cyan shades was tough. He also gets an obligatory ponytail because uhm. Tail. Dog. Get it? I also took a good while figuring out how I should go about his ears. I wasn't satisfied with human ears but I needed the shades to fit somehow. You can smell the Cherrifire influence in this one ×3

Lizzie: Yes, I have watched Empires S1 and S2 and it shows. Whoever first decided to give Lizzie cat-like buns should be given an award. I like the idea of heart-shaped buns too so maybe I'll alternate on that.

BigB: Very standard Bigbst4tz2 design. Don't let his friendly interaction with Lizzie fool you but he tends to stare into your soul for uncomfortably long periods of time. The highlights in his eyes come and go.

Gem: Very standard GeminiTay design. She probably has my favorite skin among this batch. I heard there was a shortage of elf Gem and I have decided to contribute to that.

Pearl: Inside Pearl are two wolves and I decided to draw the one that's sopping wet. Her hair has a few crescent-shaped curls. I'm definitely looking forward to drawing her more intimidating side sometime.

Overall I was hoping to make the designs simple and mostly accurate to skins/pfps. Nothing too special, other than a few pointy ears I sprinkled around here and there. I might add more to the designs the more I draw them.

[seafoamreadings]

week of february 23rd, 2025

these are written predominantly for the *rising* signs but they are also intuitively "channeled" enough that they should work for any dominant energy you have! (try your sun if you don't know rising, or more advanced readers can try moon, anywhere you have a stellium, etc and see what works best for you!)

aries: venus prepares to go retrograde in your sign all week, finally doing so by saturday. relationship weirdness ensues, and you get to choose how to handle that. for example, respond to a text from an ex, or be the texting ex, or move on entirely? aesthetics and self worth may also be put under the microscope.

taurus: the retrograde of your ruling planet is not the only thing going on but it is probably the most reflective of the larger events taking place in your life. avoid addictive tendencies and watch for secretive and/or manipulative behavior from others around you.

gemini: although this is the week of a much-discussed venus retrograde, there is plenty of mercurial activity taking place this week which may affect you more directly. expect to see, and even perhaps re-affirm or choose differently when it comes to, the road not taken from your past.

cancerians: early in the week a new moon kicks off a period of some friction. the new moon itself is a nice little reset point for you. use that carefully because the impending retrograde of venus promises some discomfort.

leo: if you've been considering any dramatic or permanent changes to philosophy, spirituality, long distance travel or relocation, or going back to school, you may wish to hold off on that from now until venus is solidly prograde again.

virgo: this is a good week for relationships, even romantic ones, but not such a great period if you were planning to merge resources like households or bank accounts. for now it's best to remain independent - give it several weeks.

libra: venus retrograde in aries is venus retrograde in your 7th house of partnerships and relationships. so maybe hold off on getting married or even solidifying a commitment, or be prepared for it to dramatically change form again when venus retrograde is over.

scorpio: you're now entering the worst period pretty much possible when it comes to hair dye, cutting your bangs, or getting tattoos. find some more temporary way to express yourself or mark changes.

sagittarius: venus in aries means *fun* for you although when she is retrograde it can seem like your attempts at a good time make a mockery of you. in such moments, remember the pleasure in the tiniest things, and that joy can coexist along side any other, less pleasant, emotions or events.

capricorn: stalled relationships can seem to take on new life starting this week, although they may be off to a slow start. as mars continues his direct journey through your 7th house, they may reheat. of course, microwaved leftovers are not always as good as they were originally.

aquarius: those of you looking for new jobs or refreshed routines, with budgetary concerns involved especially, fare rather well this week. even if you don't want to apply for anything or make major changes, it's a good idea to set wise financial intentions.

pisces: i know for many of you there has been a rather gloomy air about the last week or perhaps longer. it should lift and lighten in the next few days, with both a pisces new moon and mars direct coming up very soon. your new moon can bring you a certain amount of rebirth-style vitality, and the end of mars retrograde allows for more fun and whimsy in life.

watch the transit posts in real time to have the best guide through your week. want a little more? have a look at my patreon or ko-fi.

check out my etsy for a private reading or fill out this form to set up a reading through venmo, cashapp, or paypal.

[melodtreads]

What you should leave behing and blindly go into? ~ PICK A PILE

PILE 1

You are stuck on a rigid path that you have followed your whole life. And the reason you are stuck here is because it is secure. Everything is planned out perfectly and goes by the book. It is a sure way to success. But is it what you really want? Of course, you do want success, but your soul will never stop wondering about the what ifs. And you also know that trying other paths means giving up on the security that you have right now. You can’t balance both of them. It is okay for you to venture around. It is scary, since despite your curiosity, you are not quite sure about what you actually want. On the same page, you don’t see those things quite as they are, they are still a dream to you and we all like to put rose colored glasses on our dreams. But the cards also push you to jump into the uknown. It will be a situation of trial and failure, but it will also be the way to the happiest version of yourself. All these trials will open your eyes to your true and self and make you revalue everything that you have known.

PILE 2

You have been having financial problems recently. You do have enough money to go by, but it is just that. Your job provides you just enough to survive. Despite the fact that you would want more, you are scared of leaving what you have right now. This job is easy for you, you know everyhting about it that there is to know, and if you were to go for something bigger, you would either have to work way harder or put yourself financially at risk (some of you would like to open their own business), which to be fair, it doesn’t sound that appealing. But you will be stuck here forever if you don’t do anything. Go for the risk. I am not promising you fields with flowers, but it needs to be done if you want to have more than just enough. It will be hard. You will sometimes feel overworked and some days you will feel stuck, almost regreting your decisions. But this is what it need to be done to achieve that greater future. This is the first step to you succcess. Go for it.

PILE 3

I know that our generation is all about doing what feels right to you, but that message is not for you. You have been doing what you want your whole life. And yes, you sometimes are right about what you are doing, but that’s it. Only sometimes. You are self-sabotaging at this point. Your actions are going against your higher self. And the only reason behind your actions is “it is what I wanted”. Well, I am sorry to break it to you, but what you want is not always what you need. You will never go further just by doing what you feel like doing. Start doing the uncomfortable and the unwanted. If you don’t know something, learn it. It is never too late for that. If the thing looks boring, find the motivation to do it. Learn some discipline. Learn to listen to your head in raport to your heart.

PILE 4

Your life is great, you are living the dream. You are doing what you want, you are accomplishing each of your wishes. It seems that you are also travelling a lot. You have seen many things and have been to all kinds of different places. Although this life is great for you, maybe it is time to start settling down. I am not saying that you should leave everything behind and stay in one place. But there will be a point in your life when you will just want to relax at your place in your own comfort zone. You should start investing into that place. All the things that you are doing now are great, but they are not forever. And again, I am not saying you will give them up, but you will want them less at one point. Having a settlement already yours will be perfect for when that time comes.

PILE 5

You have been going through a path of transformation lately. And this may be because it feels like nothing is going right for you and it has been stressing you out. You work for something, you put all of your sweat into it and when you are about to receive all your rewards, everything ends up getting ruined, as if the universe keeps giving you lessons to toughen you up. But have you ever wondered if maybe you are trying to take too much control over the situation. Learn to let go of the things that you can’t control (especially if you have a lot of 8 house placements in your birth chart). You will only get your rewards when you will let things that are meant for you happen to you. Surrender, learn to trust the universe. Know that it will always have your back and will always lead you to your best future, no matter how the present looks. Don’t force things to move your way. Move with the things.

PILE 6

It seems that you have a habit of moving from connection to connection. You find someone, you seem to click, and just before you allow things to go deeper, you leave. Are you one of those people who stop being attracted to the person as soon as the chase stops? Even if you are the one stopping the conncection most of the time, you still find foolish reasons to why you left, like “he wasn’t tall enough”, or “she watches only comedy shows”. You should put more effort if you want a genuine connection. Know that you getting a partner doesn’t mean people coming and trying to fit your standards (which are most likely there just because you are afraid of commitment and not because you actually care about those things). Getting a partner is you getting to know someone and embracing as they are just as you want them to do with you. They are a person just like you. Start looking for things that you like in them and stick to them no matter how uncomfortable it feels. This is not me saying that if you do that, you will have the perfection relationship and nothing will go wrong. It is me saying that even if something happens, accept that it wasn’t because you are unworthy. A lot of them may leave no matter how much effort you put into the realtionship. But one of them will be the perfect person for you, who is just right. And you will miss mess if you keep doing what you are doing.

[forsaken-headcanons]

Hi more old man yaoi (007n7/mafioso)

- in a more domestic, not forsaksn au i have, mafioso is intrigued by 007n7's ability to stay out of trouble. the way that they met was that the mafioso had to shake down someone in broad daylight and went as a mugger. 007n7 was a witness. when he blinked, 007n7 was gone, leaving only specks behind and a single sesame seed. safe to say it was love at first sight.

- the mafioso later approached him outside of his disguise, but 007n7 didn't associate the beatdown he'd witnessed with the mafioso. he also ignoring that he was part of the mafia, even though he could check what entity type he was, just because 7 wanted to 'respect his privacy.' it ends up being fine but 007n7 has had to witness so much... strangeness that he's just kind of like Yeah sure whatever .... Maybe that's just your vibe.... Avatars are getting more elaborate nowadays. ...

- they are fond of standing at the opposite sides of rooms from each other (both, i've decided, have habits of hanging around towards the edges) and giving each other looks when things happen. the debrief in the car is so long but they pretty much engage in conversation with their eyes

- ever since playing dream game im a little convinced the mafia is one massive organism that splits off parts of itself to make different little units. the mafioso occasionally refers to itself using 'we' and 007n7 will not say a damned thing about it.

- they kind of make each other better. 007n7 can teach mafioso theres a life outside of work and safety to be found somewhere, and the mafioso can help 007n7 come to terms with his crimes i think. also smooch smooch heehee smooch

- the funny part is is that the mafioso could i think bag some real baddies but he was immediately charmed by this middle aged man with the biggest most mentally exhausted bags under his eyes ever who wanted Nothing to do with him. and 007n7 at that point had just pretty much accepted his notoriety was over and he was gonna live a quiet, lonely life now

Waiter, waiter! More middle aged men yaoi please!

[galactic-magick]

You should do a Severance fanfic where the readers innie is super shy and timid but their outie is very independent and has a bite to them! (Kind like reverse Helly ig?) Maybe it could be a Mark or Mr. Milchick x Reader! 🫶💕

Ok so I ended up doing both and did a blurb for both innie and outie reader for each. Enjoy!

Outie!Reader x Outie!Mark:

You’re a longtime friend of Mark and Devon, you grew up together and stayed close into adulthood. They’ve always liked how headstrong you are, you always speak your mind and are confident in everything you are and do. Even when you were kids, you’d stand up to bullies easily and no one would mess with you.

As adults, you and Mark both got severed around the same time. You had your reasons and you don’t let anyone make you feel bad for it. Lumon put you in different departments so it wouldn’t be a conflict of interest that you’re friends on the outside.

Mark often invites you along to get-togethers with Ricken’s friends, knowing you’ll call bullshit on things and make the event more bearable.

“Look, you guys are really going too deep into this no food dinner thing, can we please get some pizza? I’m starving!”

You and Mark usually have to have a few drinks together after any of those shit shows. You tend to bond over your problems in unhealthy ways, getting drunk and making fun of those pretentious lunatics. It’s a form of solace for you both, and Mark appreciates your spunk that always makes him laugh through the sadness.

Innie!Reader x Innie!Mark

You’re not supposed to talk with other departments. You’ve had that drilled into you since day one, and you’re too scared to break the rules.

But then you hear about your department head, Burt, conversing with someone from MDR. One day, you go with him to visit, and that’s when you meet Mark.

You’re very shy meeting new people. Heck, you’re still shy around your own O&D coworkers you’ve known for the last couple years. But Mark makes you feel at ease, like you’ve known each other forever. Could that be possible? Maybe you’re friends in the outside world, but you’ll probably never be allowed to know.

Your first wellness check is quite mind-boggling. Ms. Casey tells you about how your outie is a great friend and is very confident. Your outie is loud and funny and fiercely independent. You get some points off simply from asking, “Really?”

MDR includes you on their OTC mission, and you and Mark are shocked to see each other at Ricken’s book reading party.

“Mark?”

“Wait, we know each other? Out here?”

“I just saw Ms. Cobel here too! What is going on?”

You both tell Devon everything you know, and she laughs at the fact you’ve found each other as innies as well.

“Not even severance can keep you two apart, huh?”

Outie!Reader x Mr. Milchick

You were Seth’s strongest supporter when he landed a job at Lumon, but it soon takes a toll on your relationship.

It’s a very demanding job, with lots of after hours work and he’s always on-call. Most days he’s only home to sleep. You confront him about it several times, but he always just reiterates how important the work is.

There comes a point where you nearly leave him, knowing you’d thrive better alone than with someone who’s rarely around. But then Lumon offers the two of you a deal.

You get severed, and in return Seth can have more time off to be with you after work. It’s a strange deal, as you’re not sure what they gain from you being severed. But you’ve been wanting a new job anyway, so you figure it’s worth a try to save your relationship.

You do get what you want, and things start going back to how they were, besides the fact that you now aren’t conscious for half of your day. It’s kind of nice, that you don’t have to remember any of the hours you’re not with him.

You’re not one to just let yourself be told what to do, though, so you pry for answers from Seth about your severed life. He’s not allowed to tell you anything, and he definitely lies about the work you’re really doing, but he does say you’re different in there.

Innie!Reader x Mr. Milchick

Seth has never know you to hold back with anything. He has never known you to be soft spoken or timid in any capacity.

So imagine his shock when he meets your innie, free from all your usual traits.

You’re so shy at work, and honestly he finds it quite cute. You’re perfectly poised, follow the rules, get the rewards. It’s like you and Helly switched personalities, but he knows it’s still you at the core.

The hardest piece of it for him is not telling you he knows you on the outside. It’s so hard for him to see the love of his life in two different forms, and only one of them he can say he loves, only one of them he can touch. He misses you when you’re standing right in front of him.

[theslumberinggod]

The Wanderer's Tagalong, Part 6: Distraction

•~°~•

Gah. What had you done differently?

Was it your hair? The way you tied up your clothes? Or pulled your cape around you, or the way you were walking. Did you hurt yourself on accident again, were those new bandages?

The Wanderer couldn't for the life of him figure out what about your appearance was so different today. He couldn’t pull his pale, violet eyes away from you. Maybe it was just the weather. It was sunny out, wind blew in gusts, throwing your hair and cloak about. Tree’s overhead swayed, casting speckled shadows over your face. You were talking animatedly about something---you had been for the past hour. It was a behavior he was used too, and one he didn’t mind. Who knows what garbage nonsense you were talking about, but he liked the sound of your voice.

The wind blew particularly hard, trees and branches groaned at the force and the long tassels of his hat flew forward into his face. He kept his eyes on you as you made a noise in surprise.

What about you today, made it so hard to look away from you?

Then something happened---something that in all of The Wanderer’s travels, he never let happen once. He walked into a low hanging branch, effectively knocking off his hat and letting it be carried forward by the wind. “My HAT!”

You outstretched your arms, witnessing the travesty and tripped forward on your own feet, catching his large hat before he could unleash his Anemo to retrieve it. You grinned broadly, mimicking his phrase, lifting up his accessory. “My Hat!”

Longer strands of Wanderer’s dark hair blew in his face and he lifted a hand, pushing them aside with some annoyance. “Yes, my hat. Thanks.”

But, instead of just giving it back, you grinned with a familiar mischievous aura. He narrowed his eyes, stepping forward. You took a step back, lifting the hat and gently placing it on your head, holding it in place gently by the ornimented brim.

Oh you looked ridiculous. The Wanderer shook his head, laughing softly and pointing a finger at you. “Oh, that is not your style!”

You laughed with him, then shifted your stance into a pose, quickly snapping The Wanderer out of his amusement. You had folded your arms and donned a deeply displeased expression in blatant mockery.

“Alright, that’s enough of that, comedy genius.” He rolled his eyes and walked towards you. You made a face he often did, sticking a tongue out at him. “Give it.”

The Wanderer held out his hand expectantly, and you dropped your act, lifting your hands again to grip the hat by the brim. You grinned, turned, and bolted. His eyes widened at your audacity, your theft. He growled, running after you and calling your name. You had absolutely no hope of outrunning him, not with Anemo charging his steps, but you were laughing anyways as you bolted down the path towards the treeline where the land sloped downwards into a sprawling meadow.

The Wanderer couldn’t keep a smug smile from creeping to his face despite his agitation as he chased after you, winding around trees and swiftly catching up. You were a lot faster than he gave credit for, and decided to cut this pointless albeit amusing chase short. He snapped his fingers, his Vision glowing brighter. Anemo burst through the air, sending a gust of wind forward into you to knock his hat free.

It worked, it was ripped from your grasp, wispy tendrils of green-blue grazing your fingers. Instead of chasing after the hat though, you stopped abruptly in shock. The Wanderer really would’ve enjoyed that look of awe on your face that stroked his ego if it weren’t for the fact that you had stopped, and he was being propelled forward by magic.

He slammed right into you, and you yelped out, slipping. He couldn’t regain his balance, the only thing to hold onto was you, and unfortunately you had been standing on the edge of a hill, and so you both rolled down together into a meadow filled with silk flowers.

Both of you stopped with a thump, sending pink and red petals flying in the air, catched by the strong winds blowing about.

The Wanderer had landed awkwardly, one arm pressed in your stomach and the other pressed in your other arm, effectively keeping you on your back, submersed in grass and flowers.

Wind blew about, pink petals were caught in the tresses of your hair, your face had darkened in blush and your eyes were wide---did they always look that specific color in the afternoon sunlight?

Something seized the Wanderer, like he was being pulled down by an unseen force, as if gravity itself had a bone to pick with him. He hated it and loved it, the sudden urge, want, no, need to lean down and close the small gap---

THWACK!

Barbatos hated him.

The Wanderer’s hat had been picked up in the wind again, and came around and hit Wanderer right in the temple, sending him back away from you and freeing you. You sat up, calling out Wanderer’s name in alarm as he was assaulted by his own hat.

You reached out, grabbing the brim of the accessory to keep it from flying away and looked at Wanderer in deep concern as he rubbed the side of his head.

Agitation consumed him and he grit his teeth, you wouldn’t be able to understand his words but you could tell when he was scolding you. But before he could, reached out and gingerly touched the side of his face, sending shockwaves of that feeling through him, the one that made him stiffen.

“Hurt?” You asked with genuine sorrow. He sighed and batted your hand away as he so often did, almost immediately missing the feeling of your fingers grazing his artificial skin.

“I’m fine. Just---stupid wind. Hat?” The game was over now, and The Wanderer held out his hand. You giggled, smiling sheepishly and lifted his hat, placing it atop his head with the utmost care.

You smiled at him again, and he looked back at you. Your face was still flushed, and now your hair and clothing were covered in pieces of grass, some stray leaves, and an abundance of petals. He reached, flicking one off your shoulder and silently blaming him for having started this whole debacle.

“Hurt?” He asked before he could process what he was saying. You shook your head, and brushed your lap off. Satisfied with the answer, he stood, looking down at himself with a grimace. He was not relieved of grass stains, dirt, leaves and petals either. With a sigh, he held out his hand and helped his silly mortal companion to her feet.

Soon enough you were both back on the road, heading towards your next destination. The Wanderer could not fully rid himself of the feeling of gravitation, the leftover traces of the need from before. It horrified him at what he almost did, he had half a mind to think you spiked his tea with something that morning that made him feel like the sea being pulled towards the moon.

He looked you over again, and again. You had not changed your appearance one bit. You hadn’t done anything new with your hair, you had incorrectly tied up your clothes as always, your cloak was haphazardly clasped on and you had no new bandages.

You were just as you always were from the day he met you, but for some reason, today he could see you were beautiful.

And it was going to drive him insane.

[slaymitchabernathy]

Elbow Grease

Coriolanus Snow did not think that he would be spending his Saturday afternoon hunched over on the floor building a crib, but stranger things have happened.

His wife, Soarynn, the absolute love and light of his life sits in the rocking chair he just finished building. One hand rests on her growing stomach and the other holds a pamphlet filled with the instructions on how to build the damn crib.

A bead of sweat forms on his brow, this is getting serious.

Is it getting hot in here?

And where is Petunia? He’s found that it’s best to keep track of that cat at all times. He doesn’t need any more surprises.

Their baby girl has been a most pleasant surprise at four months, two weeks and three days. Soarynn has been keeping thorough count of every day, tracking all the milestones that come with being pregnant.

Hearing the heartbeat, feeling the kicks, and now, decorating the nursery. She’s handled a majority of it to her credit, but when he found her trying to drag in the box that held the pieces of the crib, he quickly put a stop to it.

No wife of his was going to be lifting a finger while pregnant.

“It says to gently push the pieces together,” Soarynn reads aloud, “are you sure you’re pushing gently Coryo?”

Coriolanus grits his teeth so that he doesn’t say something that will get him in trouble later. One thing he’s learned about living with a pregnant woman is that everything is ten times more important than before.

When he tried to toss the receipt for the rocking chair she nearly had a heart attack, insisting that they hold onto it for the memories.

Whatever she wants at this point.

What he wants is to throw all of these wooden pieces into the fire and have some lunch, but once Soarynn gets an idea in her head, there’s no talking her out of it.

“Yes, darling,” he finally answers, “I am pushing them so gently.”

Still, the pieces of the crib refuse to some together and he is beginning to come apart. “Maybe we could hire someone,” she suggests so casually, “they have people who do this for a living you know.”

Coriolanus sits up straight when hearing those words come from her mouth. He may work in an office five days a week, but he is more than capable of putting a crib together.

“We don’t need to hire anyone darling, I just need to put in some elbow grease, that’s all,” he tells her with a tone that is so patient and kind. It’s not Soarynn’s fault that the fucking crib won’t come together.

He glances over at her and is met with a very questionable look on her perfect face, “Alright,” she mumbles, rubbing her bump, “it’s your funeral.”

He grins, “Trust me, it’ll be finished in no time.”

꧁ ꧂

Five hours later, the crib is done.

Coriolanus had taken his shirt off in the process, too overstimulated to handle the cotton button-up. He smugly notes how Soarynn is eyeing him right now as he stands with his hands on his hips, more than proud of the crib and how it turned out.

Now would he put a baby in here? Well, he might need to test it out first. That’s the last thing he needs, the entire crib collapsing under his daughter’s small weight due to one incorrectly placed screw.

So when Petunia pads into the nursery, curiously eyeing the crib, he’s more than glad to step aside so she can leap into it.

“She’s going to think it’s for her,” Soarynn whispers while they both watch Petunia sniff the new piece of furniture. Coriolanus shrugs, Petunia thinks that everything is for her, including Soarynn so this crib will be no different in his mind.

“She’ll only have it for a few more months,” he whispers back, watching Petunia leap over the railing and into the crib. She spins in a circle, patting the soft mattress with her paws before she flops onto her side.

This crib is Petunia approved.

Soarynn giggles, resting her head on his shoulder, “Our crib for our daughter,” she says dreamily, “I can’t wait for her to get here.”

Coriolanus rests a hand on her stomach, proud to have such a beautiful wife carrying his child.

“She’ll be perfect,” he decides. If Soarynn is perfect, then their daughter will certainly be as well.

That’s just how things are for him.

Snow always lands on top.

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