#idk i just have so many thoughts about them in season two | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cosmiclily · 25 days ago

Note

idk if i wanted this before or someone did but can you write about vi and reader having a baby? i really want to see it and vi's thing about babies😭

ivy - part one

★vi x f!reader

part two

wc: 4k

notes: been getting many requests about vi and reader having kids so here it is !!! in the first part they are not having a baby baby but wait for part two !!! 😋 thank you @strawb4kdior and anons for the requests!

Vi had always dreamed of having a big family. She grew up surrounded by noise, laughter, and the constant chaos of siblings under one roof—there was always someone shouting, someone crying, someone laughing. That was home to her. That was comfort.

So, when you got married, there was a quiet—sometimes not so quiet—expectation from her side of the family about when you two would start "popping out babies," as Mylo so charmingly put it.

That first holiday season after your wedding, when you visited her family in Zaun, it felt like the pressure kicked into full gear. Vander, ever the affectionate father figure, gave the two of you a box filled with baby clothes—tiny shirts, knitted socks, and a ridiculous little hat shaped like a mushroom.

“Ay, I’m not saying you’re having children right away,” he said with a teasing grin, pointing a thick thumb toward Vi. “But I know this one. She’ll want a whole football team at home before long.”

You laughed along with him, mostly because it was easier than unpacking the tangle of emotions that followed. But later that night, the laughter faded, and your thoughts grew heavier.

Because the truth was… you weren’t like Vi.

You hadn’t grown up with siblings. There was no chaotic, loving noise. Just you, your mom, your dad, and the occasional visit from a cousin or two. Quiet dinners. Controlled spaces. Predictable routines. The idea of raising a child—let alone several—felt like stepping into a world you’d never been taught how to navigate.

It scared you.

You were afraid of losing the little sanctuary you and Vi had built together—your late-night talks, your slow mornings, your messy, peaceful life. Afraid that having a child would shift everything out of balance, and that maybe you wouldn’t know how to hold it all together.

After the Christmas dinner, once everyone had gone to bed and the house had finally quieted down, Vi turned to you. Maybe she sensed your unease, or maybe you hadn’t done as good a job hiding it as you thought.

The two of you were lying in bed, facing each other under thick quilts, her hand gently stroking your hair as your eyes began to flutter closed.

“You know we don’t have to have kids right away, right?” she said softly, voice low and warm. “Or ever, if that’s what you want.”

You blinked slowly, your chest tightening at the tenderness in her voice.

“I know how hesitant you are about this,” she continued. “It’s a big change. And I get that it’s not just about wanting them or not. It’s about the kind of life we’d have, the kind of people we’d need to become. And if it ever feels like too much... I’d rather just have you. No tiny feet, no bedtime stories, no chaos—just you.”

You looked at her, eyes glassy with exhaustion but brimming with love. “I don’t want to disappoint you,” you whispered. “I know how much you want it.”

Vi smiled gently, brushing her thumb along your cheek. “You could never disappoint me. Family doesn’t have to look one way. It can just be us. And if someday you feel ready… then we talk about it again. Together.”

You didn’t reply right away. You just nestled closer to her, your forehead pressed gently to hers, comforted by the quiet honesty in her words.

And looking back now, that moment—her patience, her reassurance—was what changed everything for you. You hated being pressured into anything, especially something as life-altering as parenthood. But knowing Vi wasn’t expecting anything from you that you didn’t want to give… it lifted a weight you hadn’t realized you were carrying.

And from that point on, you started to look at the world through a different lens.

──────────────────────

A year and a half into your married life, everything felt like it had finally settled into place. You were thriving in your career, pouring your time and energy into several outreach programs and charities—especially those supporting children in Zaun. You’d become a familiar face in the shelters and clinics, and from time to time, Vi would show up during your shifts, bringing you lunch or tagging along to visit the homes where the children were placed.

She always lit up around the kids—laughing, joking, lifting them up onto her shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world. But one day, everything shifted.

You met Ivy.

She was five years old when she first arrived—thin, quiet, and sharp-eyed, with wild, bright blue hair and big brown eyes that held more weight than any child should ever carry. The first time Vi saw her, something changed in her expression. You caught the way her eyes softened, how her whole body leaned forward just a little, like she was seeing something familiar—something important.

At first, Ivy was timid. She barely spoke to the other children, and when you tried to approach her, she’d only nod or shrink away. But Vi didn’t give up. She spoke to her gently, cracked jokes, made silly faces, brought her little gifts and toy trinkets. And slowly, Ivy began to open up.

It became a pattern—every time you had to stop by the shelter, Vi insisted on coming with you. “Just to say hi,” she’d claim, but you knew better.

One day, you left them alone to deal with some paperwork—endless inventory lists and requisition forms. When you came back, you stopped in the doorway and froze.

Vi was sitting cross-legged on the floor in the middle of the playroom, wearing a bright pink tutu over her pants, a plastic princess crown balanced crookedly on her head, and a tiny toy teacup clutched in her hand. Across from her sat Ivy in a matching tutu, proudly holding a stuffed cow in her lap and beaming like the sun.

“Do you want more tea?” Ivy asked, her voice sweet and filled with excitement.

“Yes, please!” Vi said, holding out her cup with exaggerated elegance, pinky finger raised high in the air.

You stood there quietly, heart catching in your throat, watching as Ivy poured invisible tea into Vi’s cup. Their laughter echoed softly around the room, and in that moment, it hit you like a wave.

This wasn’t just another child. This wasn’t just another case or temporary bond.

She wasn’t just someone you were helping.

Ivy was your daughter.

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After you got home, the two of you sat down for dinner, the clinking of cutlery and the quiet hum of the city outside the only sounds filling the space. You pushed the food around on your plate, barely tasting it, your mind too full.

You knew it was time to talk to Vi.

“I…” The word hung in the air, heavy and uncertain. You didn’t know how to begin. Vi had formed such a natural, close bond with Ivy—it was effortless, like they’d been connected long before they’d even met. But for you, it felt different. You cared deeply, maybe even more than you could admit out loud yet, but Ivy still looked at you like you were a kind stranger passing through her life.

And you were terrified that she’d never see you as more than that.

Vi’s brow furrowed the moment you hesitated. She turned toward you, concern etched across her face. “What is it? Are you okay?”

“Yes. No. I mean—yeah, everything’s fine, I just…” You exhaled slowly, steadying your voice. “I wanted to tell you that I… I submitted us to be Ivy’s foster family.”

Vi’s eyes widened in surprise, her fork falling to the plate with a soft clatter. “What? When did you—?”

“Just before we left the shelter,” you interrupted, rushing the words out before you could second-guess yourself. “I know we said we’d make that kind of decision together, but I saw you with her, Vi. I saw how she looks at you, how she laughs with you, and… I don’t know, I just—something clicked. It felt right in the moment, and I thought, ‘Why not us?’ But now I’m spiraling because maybe it was too impulsive, maybe we won’t even get approved, and maybe—”

“Hey. Hey. Baby,” Vi said gently, reaching across the table to take your hands in hers. “Breathe, alright? You’re not crazy. You’re not wrong. And I’m not mad. Far from it.”

You looked up at her, eyes stinging a little.

“I’m thrilled,” she said, her voice soft but sure. “Ivy’s special. And I see it in you too—the way you look at her when you think no one’s watching. You care about her more than you realize.”

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat.

“Then that’s all that matters. If we get approved—amazing. If not, we keep visiting. We stay in her life. We try again. We don’t give up. Not on her.”

A small, grateful smile tugged at your lips. You squeezed her hands.

Vi smiled back, then leaned forward and kissed your knuckles.

──────────────────────

You had to make a lot of changes to your home before you were even considered for foster parenting.

Vi’s office was the first to go. It transformed into a small, bright room with plain white walls—you’d both agreed Ivy should get to choose the color herself once she settled in. You child-proofed the entire house, securing cabinets, covering outlets, padding sharp corners. It was a whirlwind, too fast by most people’s standards, but you couldn’t slow down.

You knew it was too soon. You knew there were risks, that things could fall apart. But every time Vi’s eyes lit up at a stuffed animal, a little blanket, or a book she thought Ivy would love, it drowned out the anxious voice in your head that warned this might not work. That it might all be temporary.

Vi had even told Jinx—despite your insistence that it wasn’t an adoption yet, just fostering. Naturally, Jinx told everyone else. And soon after, Vander was at your front door with a toolbox, claiming he was there to “help Vi set up the kid’s room,” though you suspected he mostly just wanted to feel included.

──────────────────────

The letter came on a rainy Tuesday afternoon—thin, unassuming, almost like junk mail. You were about to toss it when Vi caught the official stamp in the corner and snatched it from your hand. She tore it open, fingers shaking, while you stood beside her, breath caught in your chest.

Her eyes scanned the page. Then she looked up at you, wide-eyed, breathless.

“We got her.”

You blinked, stunned. “What?”

“We got her, baby,” she repeated, voice breaking into a disbelieving laugh. “We’re approved. Ivy’s coming home.”

You didn’t even realize you were crying until Vi wrapped her arms around you, pulling you close, her face buried in your shoulder. You held each other in the quiet, rain tapping against the windows like applause from the universe itself.

The day you went to pick her up, Ivy stood at the top of the shelter’s worn stone steps, her little backpack clutched tightly in her hands. Her blue hair was tied in uneven pigtails, and her big brown eyes blinked up at you, cautious, searching—hopeful.

Vi was the first to kneel down, soft and open. “Hey, kiddo. Ready to come home?”

Ivy didn’t answer right away. She looked from Vi to you, her voice small and cracking the silence: “Will I get to stay this time?”

Your heart twisted painfully in your chest. You knelt beside Vi and reached out to gently take Ivy’s hand.

“Yes, Ivy,” you said. “You get to stay. For as long as you want.”

Vi smiled and ruffled the girl’s hair. “We’ve got a room just for you. And guess what? You get to choose the wall color. We’ll put up fairy lights, and we’ve got a bookshelf waiting for all your princess stories.”

“And teacups,” you added with a wink. “Tiny ones.”

That got a smile from Ivy—shy but real—and she gave a small nod.

The car ride home was quiet. Ivy curled up in the backseat with the stuffed bunny Vi had given her weeks ago, occasionally peeking at the two of you in the front seat as if to make sure you were still there. Still real.

When you arrived, Vi scooped her up in one arm and twirled her once in the hallway, making her giggle for the first time that day.

That night, after Ivy had fallen asleep beneath a blanket of stars projected onto her ceiling, you and Vi stood quietly in her doorway, arms around each other, watching the rise and fall of her tiny breaths.

“We have a daughter,” you whispered.

Vi rested her chin on your head and nodded, her voice thick with emotion. “Yeah… we really do.”

──────────────────────

The first few days at home were a mix of quiet observation and small, cautious steps. Ivy was polite and sweet, always whispering “thank you” and “sorry,” even when there was nothing to be sorry for. She kept to herself at first, mostly playing in her room—arranging and rearranging the books on her little shelf or curling up with her stuffed bunny in the cozy reading nook Vi and Vander had built by the window.

But slowly, the house began to come alive in new ways.

Vi showed her how to make pancakes in the morning, even letting her flip one—badly—which left batter splattered on the stove and Ivy in a fit of giggles. You turned laundry folding into a game, a sock-matching race that ended in shrieks of laughter more than clean piles. Every night, Ivy asked for the same bedtime story—the one about the brave knight and the dragon who became her friend.

Then one sunny Saturday, it was time for her to meet the family.

Vi had tried to prepare her. “They’re loud, and they’ll probably bring too many snacks and too many hugs—but they mean well. I promise.”

Ivy clung to your hand as Vander’s booming voice echoed through the house before he’d even stepped inside.

“Is the little one here? Where’s my new tea party partner?”

Vi opened the door, and there he was—massive as ever, with arms wide and a teddy bear the size of a small dog slung over one shoulder. He bent down, eyes gentle behind his tough exterior, and offered Ivy a warm smile. “Hi there, kiddo. I’m Vander.”

Ivy blinked up at him, wide-eyed, then slowly reached out and took the bear, hugging it tightly to her chest. “Hi.”

“I can’t believe I’m a granddad” he said with a laugh, giving Vi a playful pat on the back.

Jinx was next, practically vibrating with excitement as she crouched in front of Ivy. “Okay, so here’s the deal: I brought glitter, stickers, and I know how to make slime that explodes.”

“She’s joking,” Vi quickly interjected, shooting her sister a look.

“Mostly joking,” Jinx whispered with a wink, making Ivy giggle behind the bear.

Claggor, Mylo, and Ekko arrived not long after, each carrying something they claimed Ivy had to have—a toy, a book, a plushie, a puzzle. Claggor offered to help build a blanket fort out of the couch cushions. Mylo challenged her to a card game he swore he never loses. Ekko knelt beside her and offered a tiny wind-up bird he’d fixed himself, its delicate wings fluttering as it chirped.

But soon, you noticed Ivy starting to withdraw—her shoulders tensing, her voice shrinking to a whisper. You knelt beside her, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Too much?”

She gave a small nod.

You gently lifted her into your arms and carried her into the kitchen. “Alright, how about a little break? Just us. We’ll go back in when you’re ready.”

There, you let her help you with the cake batter while she told you a story about a dragon and a pink-haired knight with powerful gauntlets. Vi peeked in a few minutes later, leaning on the doorframe with a smile.

“Hey, baby. Everything okay in here?” she asked, pressing a kiss to your cheek as you poured the batter into the pan.

“Yes,” you said, glancing at Ivy, who was sitting on the counter with flour on her nose. “She was just telling me a story. Apparently there’s a brave pink-haired knight who slayed a dragon today.”

Vi grinned. “Oh? Sounds like she’s got good taste. That knight sounds very strong.”

Ivy giggled, hiding her face in her hands.

A few minutes later, your parents arrived—quieter than the rest, but just as full of love. Your mom handed Ivy a hand-knit blanket, soft yellow with tiny green daisies embroidered into the fabric. Your dad offered her a small photo album filled with baby pictures of you and Vi—chubby cheeks, missing teeth, wild hair. Ivy flipped through it slowly, like it was a rare treasure.

That evening, the house was full of warmth and laughter. Ivy was now sitting between Jinx and Ekko with her new blanket draped over her shoulders like a cape. Her plastic crown was a little crooked, and she sipped from a juice box with a smile tugging at her lips.

You watched her from across the room, tucked into Vi’s side.

“She’s getting comfortable,” you whispered.

Vi’s arm slid around your waist, pulling you close. “She’s starting to believe this is home.”

You glanced back at Ivy, watching her laugh at something Mylo said, watching her curl up again with her oversized bear and the photo album tucked at her side.

And in that moment, you felt something settle inside you.

You felt whole.

──────────────────────

You and Vi were certain—Ivy was your daughter. There was no hesitation in your hearts. So the very next morning, after your family’s visit, you rushed to your office, pulled a few strings, and quietly set the official adoption paperwork in motion. No more waiting. No more what-ifs. You were ready.

In the days that followed, Ivy blossomed in your home. She had started settling in, becoming more comfortable in the little routines you and Vi had built just for her. She raced Vi to the kitchen every morning, always insisting she had won—even when Vi clearly let her. She claimed the reading nook as her personal throne, often found there with a book in her lap and her bunny tucked under one arm. And twice now, she had asked you to braid her hair before bed. Small moments. Beautiful ones.

The routine you had once feared would be shattered by change had, instead, reshaped itself around Ivy like it had been waiting for her all along.

One quiet evening, the three of you were in the living room. Vi sat cross-legged on the rug, helping Ivy piece together the glittery unicorn puzzle Jinx had given her, while you curled up on the couch nearby, flipping absentmindedly through a book. The fireplace crackled softly, casting warm amber light across the room and filling it with the scent of burning pine.

“I think this one goes here,” Vi said, nudging a piece toward Ivy with a smile.

Ivy took it with a little frown of concentration, studying the image before carefully pressing it into place. “Got it!” she chirped, beaming at Vi.

Vi held up her hand for a high-five. “Told you—you’re a puzzle master.”

Ivy giggled and gave her a victorious high five, then glanced over her shoulder at you, her voice soft, almost offhanded but sure.

“Mommy, look. I did the sky part.”

You froze, breath catching in your throat. Mommy. The word floated through the room settling over your heart and wrapping around it.

Vi’s eyes shot to yours, wide with awe—but you weren’t crying. Not yet. Instead, you were smiling, your lips trembling just slightly, your eyes shining with emotion.

You slid off the couch and knelt beside Ivy, placing your hand over hers, grounding the moment. “You did such a good job, Ivy,” you whispered.

She leaned into your side immediately, tucking her small head under your chin. You held her close, feeling the warmth of her body, the steady beat of her little heart—and something shifted inside you. That trust. That love. It had all found its way home.

Vi moved behind you, resting a hand on your back, her thumb brushing in slow circles as the three of you sat together in the flickering light.

No one spoke for a while. There was no need to. The moment said enough.

Later that night, after Ivy had drifted to sleep—her bunny in one arm, your mother’s daisy-covered blanket draped over her—you and Vi stood quietly in the doorway, watching her breathe.

“She called you Mom,” Vi whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I told you… you had nothing to worry about.”

You smiled, eyes never leaving Ivy’s peaceful form. “Yeah. And you’re always right.”

Vi chuckled softly, then wrapped her arms around your waist from behind. You leaned into her, placing a gentle kiss on her shoulder. The kind that said everything you couldn’t find the words for.

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It happened a week after Ivy started school, a week after you signed the official adoption papers.

She had been so excited at first—Jinx had come over and helped her decorate her tiny backpack with glittery patches, and you packed her lunchbox with all her favorites.

You and Vi had walked her to the school gates, knelt beside her, kissed her cheeks, and sent her off with whispered encouragements and bright smiles.

But the glow didn’t last.

By the third day, Ivy was quieter when she came home. She didn’t want to talk much. Said school was “fine,” but her eyes were distant. You and Vi didn’t push her. You gave her space, made her favorite dinner, read her favorite story at bedtime.

But something was wrong, she wanted to stay awake until she physically couldn’t keep her eyes open, you would lay next to her, trying to make her fall asleep, but she would battle until the last second.

Then, one night, she had a nightmare.

You both woke up to the sound of her cries—raw, terrified. Vi was out of bed in seconds, tearing down the hallway barefoot. You followed close behind, heart pounding.

When Vi opened Ivy’s bedroom door, she found her curled in a ball under the blanket, shaking, tears streaming silently down her cheeks. Her little bunny had fallen to the floor, the daisy blanket tangled around her legs.

Vi dropped to her knees at the bedside. “Hey, hey, baby,” she whispered, voice gentle but steady. “It’s okay. I’m here. You’re safe.”

Ivy looked up at her through tears, lips trembling. She launched forward into Vi’s arms, clutching her like the world was ending. “Don’t let them take me back,” she sobbed. “Please don’t let them take me away.”

Vi wrapped her arms around her tightly, protectively. “No one’s taking you anywhere,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to her hair. “You’re staying right here, with us. I promise.”

Ivy buried her face in Vi’s shoulder, and in a choked, broken voice, she whispered, “I had a dream they took me away… and I couldn’t find you. I kept calling for you, but you weren’t there.”

Vi rocked her gently, her jaw clenched tight. “I’m always here, Ivy. I will always find you. You’re safe now. You’re home.”

And then, so soft it could’ve been a dream itself, Ivy said, “I knew you’d come, Mom. You’re my pink-haired knight. You always come when I’m scared.”

Vi’s heart broke and mended all at once. She kissed her forehead, holding her tighter than ever. “Damn right I do,” she said, voice cracking. “You’re mine, Ivy. Forever.”

You leaned quietly at the doorway, watching them from the shadows, hand pressed to your heart. Vi looked up at you, her eyes shining with everything she couldn’t say, and you simply nodded. You felt it too.

That night, you brought Ivy into your bed. She slept curled between you both, safe and warm, her little hand clasped in Vi’s the whole time.

And in the morning, she woke with a smile.

The fear wasn’t gone completely—but now, she knew that even in the dark, even in her worst dreams, her knight would come for her. Her Mom would always come for her.

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masterlist - part two

end notes: i don’t know how the system works in other countries so i went mostly with what i’ve seen on tv and what happens in my own country, so yeah!! if anything is wrong pretend it’s not 😛

#vi x reader #arcane #vi arcane #vi x y/n #vi x you #arcane x female reader #arcane x y/n #arcane x reader #arcane x you #lily writes #request ♡#🌿

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quin-ns · 11 months ago

Text

Knuckle Velvet (Aegon II Targaryen x Reader)

Word count: 1.9K

Summary: Aegon is desperate for the love of the sister he truly wants, even if he has to take it

Tags: (18+), cw: non-con, cw: sibling incest, targaryen!reader, dark themes, choking, fingering, unprotected sex (obvi, it’s hotd times), hair pulling kinda, forced orgasm, aegon is lowkey pathetic but also threatening

A/N: first aegon fic. I’d been wanting to write for him but with the new season and him getting hotter (maybe he looks the same and I just got more into him idk) I had to write him

HotD masterlist + main masterlist

Aegon’s head weighed heavy on your lap, but even as your legs began to grow numb, you let him be. Your fingers lightly carded through his silver hair in the way you knew he wanted.

“I like it when you take care of me,” your brother had told you many times. It had to be the truth, given how often he’d seek you out just to curl up next to you.

Sometimes he’d sit like this, his head in your lap like some kind of dog, wanting his hair stroked and your words of assurance. He could fall asleep like this, or let tears slip down his cheeks. Other times he’d crawl on top of you and take the love he was desperate for. He could kiss away your silent tears, or muffle your cries with his lips.

Either way, he kept returning to you, begging for your attention and affection.

It might’ve been amusing, how weak he could be to you, if he wasn’t so terrifying at the same time.

Tonight, as Aegon muttered about his most recent council meeting, you thought perhaps you’d be spared his touch tonight.

“I should have been wed to you,” he muttered, voice holding onto a bitterness he had yet to let go. “I can stand your company and I already spend more time in your bed. I’ve suffered enough cruelty in my life, being allowed to marry who I please should’ve been a mercy I was granted. It makes no difference to our line.”

You had had this conversation many times to the point you were beyond tired of speaking about it. Helaena was the eldest sister, it had made sense to your mother and grandsire to pair the two together. They couldn’t have known the resentment that would build in the king.

Helaena was the correct choice for queen. You would not have the stomach for it. Helaena had already given birth to two of his children. Aegon was occasionally amused by them, but it was your sister that doted on them. She was a good mother. You didn’t think you could bring yourself to be. You were grateful to the maesters who would bring you tea and turn a blind eye to Aegon’s doings. The rumors that would circulate him would not ruin his future the way they would you. You’d yet to marry and if word got out you lacked virtue, you may never. You didn’t want Aegon to get the satisfaction.

You suspected Aegon no longer laid with his wife, and she was fortunate for that. If he loved you as much as he claimed and still had to kiss bruises in the morning, you didn’t dare to imagine what he could’ve done to her. She had given him a son and a daughter, and perhaps that was enough for him.

Aegon sat up and you flinched, even as he looked at you with tears in his eyes. You wondered if he recognized how insulting it was to hear him whine about his responsibilities, to listen to him say he loved you and list off the things he wanted to give you, only for him to not lift a finger for either. Duties went ignored. His love remained violent. You were tired. So very, very tired.

A hand found your face, fingers pressing into the skin of your cheek. Aegon’s thumb dragged down your lips, pulling the bottom one apart from the top. His gaze pierced yours as he let your lip go in favor of letting his thumb tilt up your chin when you tried to look away.

“Do you love me?” Aegon pleaded.

He stared at your mouth, waiting for you to speak. Your lips remained pressed together. Tears spilled further down his pale cheeks. Aegon’s face twisted as something other than just begging shined through his eyes.

Your lack of response rewarded you with a hand around the throat. Then again, you could’ve said exactly what he desired and received the same. He enjoyed his power over you as you’d never been one to fight back. At least this way you could remain somewhat defiant.

Aegon kissed you like he was trying to bruise your lips. His kiss was all teeth and tongue, forcefully claiming you as he left his mark. Aegon took what he wanted and cared nothing for charm or patience.

Hands fell to your shoulders, gliding over them for only a second before they pressed. Your back hit the mattress with a gasp. Aegon’s teeth found your neck as he crawled on top of you. The weight was already crushing. With each button on your gown he undid, the faster your heart raced.

“You are beautiful, sister,” he said, sounding wrecked already as he admired your naked body. You believed he meant it, but it didn’t spare you. “If only you weren’t being so stubborn with your words.”

Aegon’s hand on your neck was no more welcome than the first time he’d gripped it, but at least you’d grown better at controlling your breathing.

He made himself comfortable between your legs. The hand on your neck remained firm, while the other disappeared inside you.

You hated how he knew to do this. To prepare you for him. Something you were certain he’d learned at a pleasure house. That was the last thing you wanted to feel. At least if it hurt you could remind yourself you did not want this. You did not want Aegon to touch you or kiss you or fuck you. But when a warmth began to form inside you and slick coated his skilled fingers, your mind would always begin to blur and doubt crept in, while a smirk would appear on his lips. It happened every time without fail and this was no exception.

“You’ll have to speak to me sometime,” Aegon goaded, fingers stroking your walls. He leaned down over you, his lips pressing to your ear as he whispered, “Perhaps it’ll be when you scream my name.”

When, not if. Arrogance was a most undesirable feature of your eldest brother.

You tried to shut your thighs when Aegon withdrew his hand, but a harsh slap to your skin reminded you of your place. You grit your teeth and close your eyes as the head of his cock pressed into you. You’d lost count of how many times he’d done this, but it took your breath every time when he slammed into the hilt.

“Look at me,” he grunted. You could feel air hit your face, knowing his face was above you.

You cracked your eyes open when he squeezed your neck. His eyes would’ve been beautiful if they didn’t have such a lifeless quality to them.

Your throat bobbed against his hand as you swallowed, but no words left you. The sole purpose was to frustrate him. Tomorrow you’d speak to him as usual, but tonight, like you did some nights, you wanted to make your resistance known, even if his cock was buried in you.

He kissed you when he began to move. The hand on your throat remained as his lips attached to yours. His other hand groped at you, running over your hips, your waist, your breasts—anything he could touch. He thrust into you with power, forcing your legs apart. All you could do was lie there and take it.

Aegon breathed heavily against your mouth as your body welcomed him. Your mind had no say in the matter. Your warm, wet walls clung to his cock as he fucked you hard. Your legs wrapped around him without your say and that really drove him mad with lust.

His hand finally left your neck as both rose to run through your hair. Aegon’s hands were rough as he held your face in place by your scalp. Your winces of pain went ignored as usual. The sound of skin against skin echoed through the room and your face grew even more heated at the sound of your own slickness that joined. He parted from your lips to watch your face.

“I can see your pleasure, sister. Your body does not lie. Your face does not lie.”

You wanted to turn your head but you could not. You gripped the sheets as he pressed into you harder with each motion, letting you feel the thick length of him inside you even longer. Your legs began to shake as heat throbbed in your belly.

“Ae—” you cut yourself off, but it was too late.

You’d begun to give him the satisfaction of winning but had snatched it away. Aegon wouldn’t have that. He couldn’t.

His eyes looked wild as Aegon fisted your hair. “Say it,” he hissed. “Say anything.”

One would have mistaken his tone for anger, or something else, but you knew what it truly was. The desperation in his voice might’ve conjured pity if he wasn’t busy splitting you open on his cock. His thrusts picked up again and you felt your body beginning to tighten around him.

Your back arched off the bed as his harsh movements forced your legs further apart to make room for him. Aegon was growing frantic, chasing his desires with fervor.

One hand stayed in your hair while the other snaked between your bodies. A moan tore through you when the palm of his hand pressed to the top of your cunt. Another trick you were certain had been taught to him to find the most pleasure. Your hips bucked down against him, the need from your body for the pressure causing it to act on its own.

It was all so overwhelming, the word slipped from your lips before you could think to stop.

“Aegon!” you cried out. You didn’t even know what for. Surely for him to stop, but a blinding pleasure began to rattle you. Your legs locked around him, holding him deep inside you as your body quivered and clenched around him. You could barely breathe as the feeling of release wracked your entire being in a sudden instant.

Aegon cursed above you, his breaths coming out harsh. He gave quick, sharp thrusts, barely able to move with the grip of your legs. You felt his cock throb of you before he spilled inside of you with a deep moan. He shoved his hips forward, encasing himself in your body as he forced you to ride out your pleasure alongside him.

Finally, when your vision began to clear, you forced your legs to drop. You laid limp beneath him as Aegon collapsed on top of you. You shivered as his face pressed to your neck. You clenched your teeth as he nipped at your bruised neck. You even felt a tear stream down your cheek.

“You love me,” Aegon stated. It was not a question this time. He lifted his head, silver hair sticking to his forehead as his eyes searched yours. “You can deny it, or refuse to speak it, but you do.”

Whether he believed that or not, you couldn’t be certain. He spoke with conviction, but as you left him without a response, you noticed the familiar glint of sadness in his eyes as he fought back tears of his own.

With a quiver to his voice he added, “And I love you.”

As much as your body ached and your neck throbbed, deep down, you knew with certainty that he believed he did.

#aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii x reader #aegon targaryen x targaryen!reader #dark!aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen #dark!aegon targaryen ii #dark!aegon targaryen x reader #house of the dragon #hotd #quin-ns writing

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p1astr81 · 4 months ago

Text

‘tis the damn season

in which: Oscar’s ex calls him up one afternoon, proposing that they fake their relationship for a week at her parent’s house.

pairing: Oscar Piastri x fem!reader

warnings: loosely based on the TS song, use of y/n (once or twice), Oscar is hella whipped, cursing, idk I think that’s all.

wc: 7.3k

‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧ * ‧₊˚ ‧

Your thumb hovered over the call button, mentally preparing for the awkward conversation that was about to take place. Your chest rose and fell in deep motions.

Before you could psych yourself out, your finger mashed the call button.

“Oh my god, please don’t pick up. Please don’t pick up. Please don’t pick up. Please don’t p-“ he answered after the second ring. “Hey!” Your voice shook, an embarrassing amount of vulnerability.

“Y/n? Has something happened? You sound… on edge.”

You pulled at the strings of the blanket draped across your lap. “Well, I have a very big favor to ask of you, and of course you can say no. I mean it’s a huge favor—really weird actually,” you laughed awkwardly.

“It can’t be that bad.”

It was tough to swallow the lump in your throat. “My whole family want to spend next week at our cabin, and I…” it was suddenly hard for you to breathe, your heart ten pounds heavier. Oscar remained silent. “Well,” you sighed, “would you be able to come along?”

The silence on the other end was deafening. Not even distant breath. The static filtering through the speakers inflated your anxiety with every passing second.

“Okay.” He gave in with a breath. “Just text me the details.”

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

SUNDAY

Living out in Nice, the drive to his Monaco apartment wasn’t unbearably far. You stepped out of the car to help him put his bags in your trunk. You’d decided to take your car because, changes are, it would do better in the mountains than his McLaren.

When you rounded to the back of the car, the trunk was already closed, and soon the sound of your driver’s door shutting reached your ears.

You found Oscar occupying the driver’s seat. “What are you doing?” You raised a brow. Oscar smiled innocently. “have you ever driven when we are together?” It was a question not meant to be answered. You didn’t fight him, knowing it was a losing game. You just rolled your eyes and took up your place in the passenger’s seat.

You and Oscar traveled in near silence, only your music filling the empty air. The atmosphere was light, rid of all the awkwardness you assumed would hang around the both of you. Maybe Oscar was just easy company to keep.

You allowed your thoughts to travel far away from you, to the past to be exact.

You and Oscar didn’t end things messy. Not at all. It was a mutual agreement. In your year and a half together, you didn’t have many spats. Every day spent with together was brimming with endless devotion.

The problem arose when your schedules began to conflict.

With dreams of being a mechanical engineer, a lot of your time was spent on your studies. Oscar knew how dedicated you were, and therefore never pushed you to travel with him. But only seeing him for a few weeks of the year—less than half of them—began to strain your relationship. Mentally, it was draining the both of you.

So to focus on your studies, and for Oscar to focus on his career, you decided to part ways.

That was two months ago, and you’d been no contact ever since. Well, until you asked him to come with you to your parent’s cabin.

You felt a poke on your shoulder, followed by a “hey” and a laugh. You tore your eyes from the window, peering at Oscar with raised brows. “Where’re you at?” He grinned at you, taking glances out of the corner of his eye.

“Hm? Oh. Just thinking.” You shook your head, watching as the buildings transitioned into dead trees as you left Monaco’s limits.

He hummed a response, leaving a gap of silence before asking, “so, why did you want me to come along?”

You sighed, your hands falling to your lap. “You know how they are. They think I can’t keep a guy, and… I don’t know, I was hoping if they’d see you and think you’re still with me then their image of me would change.”

Oscar frowned. Reflexes guiding his movements, he reached out to you, having every intention to place a hand on your thigh or over your own hand. He caught himself before it got that far, placing his hand on the center console instead. The role of comforting you was no longer his part to play.

“It’s stupid, I’m sorry. We should turn around I’ll just-“

“It’s not stupid.” He cut you off. “I think it sucks, and I’ll help you the best I can.” He assured, giving you a soft smile, one you returned. “Thanks, Os.”

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

You and Oscar were the last to arrive at the cabin on Sunday night.

He followed in behind you. His eyes widened when he saw the whole family in the living room. Your parents, two sisters, your two aunts on your moms side, and your four cousins. Not to mention all of their significant others and your niece and nephew. In all, it was about sixteen people.

He leaned in close to your ear, whispering, “I didn’t realize you meant the whole family.” You shivered as his warm breath hit your skin. Goosebumps spread across your entire body. “It’s as much as a shock to me.” You told him truthfully.

Your mom saw you first, jumping up and running to greet you. “Oh! I’ve missed you.” She greeting, smothering you in a hug. Her strong floral perfume nearly choked you to death. “Missed you too, mom.” You forced yourself away before the noxious scent took you out completely.

Meanwhile, your uncle, Isaac, had kidnapped Oscar, dragging him away with a tight hold around his neck. “Oscar! My boy, good to see you’re still hangin in there.” Uncle Isaac was sure to stare dead in your eyes while saying the last part. The way he laughed at himself made Oscar’s stomach twist. His face remained straight, not a hint of amusement in sight.

“Hey, Uncle Isaac.” Oscar greeted politely.

Little five year old Theo jumped up, running toward Oscar. “Oscar!” He cheered, nearly toppling over from excitement. Oscars ability to move was inhibited when Theo latched around his legs. Isaac let go of Oscar.

“Hey mate!” Oscar greeted with equal enthusiasm, hoisting the kid up into his arms. Oscar held Theo over his head, and Theo spread his arms and legs out. “Mom look! I’m an airplane!” He cheered, making airplane noises. Lia, your sister, nearly had a heart attack when she turned to see what her son was talking about. “Okay, I think that’s enough airplane.” She rushed to Oscar’s side, who let Theo down. “Aww,” Theo pouted, crossing his arms and walking right past his mom, ignoring her.

Oscar felt a tug on his pants. Looking down, he was met with the large doe eyes of Theo’s twin sister, Thalia. She waved shyly under his gaze. He bent down to chat with her closer, pointing out the doll clutched in her hand. “That’s a pretty doll.” He smiled. “What’s her name?”

Thalia swayed herself from side to side. “Lillia.” She muttered. Oscar gasped softly. “That’s a pretty name.”

While Oscar was being bombarded by the children, you’d been dragged to the living room to greet all of your relatives.

“Ah, I see you’ve kept this one longer than a year. That’s a new record.” You uncle Leni laughed, embracing you loosely. You gave a half-assed laugh, though it hurt massively. You thought you could’ve avoided these kinds of comments if Oscar was here with you, but now it seems you’ve dragged him out here for no reason.

You should’ve known better.

“Are you still going for that mechanical engineering degree?” Your aunt Anne asked a bit of a judgy tone. She sat next to her husband Leni while swirling a drink in her hand. You nodded, sitting next to your sister Katie on the floor. “And you’re still aiming for a job with f1?” You gave another nod.

“Are you sure? I mean, isn’t that a bit unrealistic?”

Cocking your head to the side you asked, “what do you mean by that?” Your tone was harsh and accusatory. Anne shrugged. “Well, it isn’t really a place for a woman is it? If you look in any of those garages, it’s mostly men.”

You felt the anger swirling deep in your stomach, brewing a deeper feeling of resentment. You open your mouth to speak when Oscar’s voice joined the conversation from behind you.

“Yeah it is mostly men, but that doesn’t mean she can’t do it.” Oscar shrugged, taking a seat next to you. Close enough to not raise suspicion, but far enough to not be touching. You looked to him with raised brows. “I think she can do it. Last year, she majorly helped the team fix an issue with the car. And that was only in her third year of school.”

Uncle Leni laughed. “Eh, she’s got as good of a chance as any man.” He waved a hand through the air. For a moment, you thought he actually was showing some support. “She’s dating one of the drivers.” He motioned a hand toward Oscar, laughing loudly. Everyone else in the room chuckled.

You stood abruptly. “Excuse me, I need the restroom.” You muttered, trying your best not to run away from the family.

With worried eyes, Oscar watched as you disappeared down the hall. He had never been a violent man, but right now, he really wanted to take your uncle by the collar of his shirt and chuck him over the balcony to send him tumbling down the side of the mountain. Of course, he did not.

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

As the family was winding down and preparing for bed, a realization hit you. If it was a physical force, it would’ve knocked you through a wall.

While Oscar helped you straighten up the living room, you leaned closer to him, whispering, “We have to share a bed.” Oscar turned his head over his shoulder to look at you with a raised brow. “What?” He genuinely had not heard you. “We have to share a room. And a bed.”

The color drained from Oscar’s face. “Oh,” he muttered, crossing the living room to create distance between you two.

When the two of you entered the room a little later that night, the air between you became tense and awkward.

“I’ll sleep in the floor.” Oscar proposed, making you shake your head quickly. “I can’t ask that of you. I dragged you out here.”

“I chose to come out here.” He reminded you. Your eyes drifted to the king sized bed. “I think it’ll be fine. We’ll just stay on our own sides.”

You moved a pillow, creating a physical barrier between your two sides of the bed. You faced him, motioning your hands to the quick fix as a way to say, see?

Oscar shrugged. “I guess.”

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

MONDAY

The family was off to the slopes the next morning. Oscar and yourself driving Theo and Thalia because your nephew was attached to Oscar, and Thalia was always by her brother’s side.

When you got there, Theo started dragging Oscar toward the small slopes. “I want to race you! I bet I’m faster than you.” Oscar laughed. “I was going to go down the big kid slopes.” Oscar pointed to the much steeper slope. Theo frowned. “But I can’t go to the big kid slopes.” He crossed his arms over his chest. It was hard for Oscar to deny Theo anything, so he looked to you with a question in his eyes. You gave him a small nod.

“Are you coming with us?” Thalia’s small voice asked form next to you, her hands, encased in bright pink gloves, gripping her goggles. You glanced up at Oscar and hummed. “Sure, why not?” You smiled, taking Thalias hand in yours and joining Oscar and Theo as they waited for a lift.

Oscar didn’t seem surprised that you had also wound up stuck with the kiddies. “I can look after the both of them if you want to go with the rest of my family.”

Oscar’s face scrunches up, like that idea inflicted physical pain upon his person. He shook his head. “Nah, I’m not a big fan of skiing anyway, so I think the kiddie slopes are the perfect pace for me.” He flashed one of his charming grins at you. You gave a small smile in response.

You flagged down Lia and Dylan, informing them from a distance that you and Oscar were looking over their kids. They seemed overly satisfied that the responsibility was taken away from them.

“I’m scared.” Thalia’s little voice squeaked from next to you. You smiled down at her, a comforting hand on her head. “It’s alright, Thal, I’ll stay with you.” You crouch down in front of her. “I’ll make sure you’re nice and safe. I pinky promise.” You offered your pinky to her. She hesitantly hooked your pinky with hers, splitting your lips into a smile.

Oscar called your name, causing you to look up at him with wide eyes. At the sight of your curious doe-eyed expression, he fought off a smile that tried to surface on his face. Half failing, he ended up with a slanted smile. “The lift.” He explained shortly.

The four of you piled in together. Thalia and Theo in the middle while Oscar and yourself occupied the outsides.

Thalia hung onto your ski pants when you got off. Theo and Oscar took off down the mountain, racing each other just as Theo wished. You could tell Oscar was majorly holding back, though.

“You’ve got it, Thal, you’ve done this before.” You reassured her and she gave you a small nod. You kept your pace slow at first, waiting for Thalia to catch up with every movement so you didn’t stray too far away.

But she eventually gained her confidence, and even tried to be faster than you. You let her fly on the skis ahead of you. It was easier to keep an eye on her that way.

At the bottom of the slope stood Oscar and Theo, waiting for the both of you. “So who won?”

“Me!” Theo tried to jump but his skis weighed him down. You turned to Oscar. “Getting beat by a kid? Shame. Better luck next time.” You teased.

Oscar smiled. “He’s just too good.”

Apparently, you and Oscar had been smiling at each other for too long, because Theo gags. “Yuck! Come on I want to beat you again.” Theo urged, leading the group as he walked back to the lift station.

Oscar was quick to follow, then you and Thalia. Thalia called your name once again. “What’s up, hon?” You replied.

Her eyes were trained on Oscar’s backside. “I think Oscar is pretty.” She confessed. You didn’t laugh, only smiled softly at her. “Really? Would you like me to tell him that?”

She hesitated for a moment, then shook her head. “No. He’s too old for me.” You chuckled.

Later that night, as you’re around the table eating dinner, sat next to Oscar, she tells him for herself.

She came between your chairs, tapping Oscar’s arm twice. He leaned down at her signal for him to come closer. His brows shot up when she told him. “Really? Well thank you. I think you’re a cutie, Thal.” At that, her face flushed a furious shade of red and scurried back to her seat beside her brother.

“Now she’s going to think you have a crush on her.” You whispered in his ear. A chill ran down his spine at the feeling of your breath contacting his bare skin. He tried his best to ignore how it made him feel.

He grinned. “I’m sure she won’t.”

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

TUESDAY

She definitely did.

Now Theo and Thalia were attached to Oscar for completely different reasons.

When Thalia saw Oscar the next morning, the first thing she did was compliment him. “I like your hair.” She said from her spot on the couch. Oscar first glanced at you before looking at her. “I just woke up like this.” He brushed it off, smiling.

But the compliments didn’t stop. When you went out again to ski, she insisted on sitting next to him on the lift, and told him, “your goggles are cool.”

They were plain black goggles.

“You have pretty eyes.” During lunch.

Pointing to his plain maroon colored shirt during dinner and saying, “I like your shirt.”

Wedging between the both of you during movie night and telling Oscar he smelt good.

“I like your toothbrush,” while he was getting ready for bed.

Anything she could compliment him on, she did. And it started to freak you out a bit. “Oscar you’ve gotta tell her you’re just friends.” You advised while fluffing up your pillow. “It’s a harmless crush,” he ran a hand through his hair. “She’ll probably be over it by tomorrow.”

You doubted it. “And what if she isn’t?” You threw your pillow on your side of the bed. Oscar laid on his side, raising a brow at you. “Are you jealous of a five year old?” He teased.

You scoffed, sitting cross legged on your side of the bed. “There’s nothing to be jealous about. For one, she’s a five year old and you’re not a pedophile. And for two, we aren’t even together.”

Oscar shifted uncomfortably at the reminder. “If she isn’t over it by tomorrow, then I’ll make it clear that we’re just friends.” He chuckled, shaking his head. He thought it was a little ridiculous that he had to clarify to a five year old that they were just friends.

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

WEDNESDAY

Oscar was proved wrong first thing in the morning, because as you and him came out to eat breakfast, Thalia was sitting in your spot. “I told you.” You muttered before taking Thalias empty chair.

Oscar whispered something to Theo, who moved over to take Oscar’s seat right after. You looked to him with furrowed brows, a silent request for an explanation. “Told him I’d buy him whatever candy he wanted at the markets today if he swapped with me.” You laughed loudly, a hand on Oscar’s shoulder to stabilize yourself as you doubled over. “You’ll come to regret that decision.” You forewarned.

On the way to the markets, Thalia tried to convince you to let her sit up front with Oscar. The whole time while telling her no, you were glaring at Oscar. He held back a smile at your fierce looks.

But she won one over you when you arrived at the markets. She clung onto Oscar’s hand like it was her lifeline. “Your daughter is stealing my boyfriend.” You muttered to Lia. She laughed before calling her daughter over to her. Thalia reluctantly listened, latching onto her mother’s hand instead.

You took the five year old’s place next to Oscar. “I suppose we should hold hands then.” He whispered close to your ear, gesturing to the intwined fingers of your relatives. “You know, to keep up the act.” He reasoned.

Though truly, a part of Oscar just may have just wanted to hold your hand for the sake of just holding your hand. No act about it.

You peered up at him, eyes widened slightly. “Uh- well- if you don’t have a problem with it.” Oscar smiled at the way you stumbled over your words.

You appreciated the warmth his hand provided. The December air was biting at you with every small gust of wind that blew through. At a particularly strong gust, you instinctively hid your face in Oscar’s chest. You muttered quick and quiet apologies when you noticed. But he didn’t mind one bit.

Theo ran up to the both of you, holding a remote controlled race car in his hands. “Oscar! Can you get me this?!”

Oscar chucked, kneeling down to be closer to eye level. He kept his hand in yours. “Buddy, I thought I said candy.” He was gentle with the kid, careful of his feelings. Theo frowned. “You did but… but Oscar this car is so cool.” He gave Oscar big puppy eyes, pouting his lips.

Oscar held back his laugh, taking care when sliding the toy from Theo’s grasp. “Do you want the car over the candy?” He asked. Theo nodded. Oscar smiled and stood. “Car it is then.” He tousled the boys hair, whose pout was now replaced by a big toothy smile.

“Thank you uncle Oscar!” Theo wrapped his arms around Oscar’s legs. An attempt at a hug. Oscar rubbed his back. “‘Course, kid.”

Theo ran off, joining his parents and sister at a vendor not too far from where you stood.

But your mind was suck on the title he’d given Oscar. And apparently Oscar was thinking about it too, because he bumped your shoulder and teased, “I’m an uncle now, hm? That wasn’t in the agreement.”

Head bowed, you chuckled nervously. “Sorry,”

Oscar smirked. “Don’t apologize. I think it’s cute.” His hand squeezed yours.

The both of you continued on, hand in hand, straying farther from the family. You stopped at a jewelry booth, a pendant catching your eye. On closer inspection, a small gasp left your lips. “Oh, Oscar, look how pretty.” You held the pendant in your empty hand. A small, flower-like shaped charm, a pretty pink color.

“It suits you.” He smiled, gaze jumping from the pendant to you and back. “Uhm, excuse me?” You called for the seller, an older woman. “How much for this?”

“Three hundred.”

“Three… hundred?”

The woman nodded. “Yes, it’s sterling silver and real diamond, just dyed that pretty pink color.”

You couldn’t justify spending that price, so you politely said, “ah maybe another time.”

Oscar frowned at the disappointment in your expression. Three hundred seemed like nothing to him, but he understood the burden it was to you.

His thoughts were interrupted by the feeling of little hands on his. When he looked down, he found Thalia trying to pry his hand from yours. You sighed, and gave him an ‘I told you so’ look. “I’m gonna go take Thalia, and discuss this crush with her.” You whispered close to Oscar’s ear before taking the child and walking off.

Once you were no longer in ear shot, he turned back to the woman. “Excuse me, do you take card?”

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

That night at dinner, the conversation made a turn for the worse. Uncle Leni had one two many beers and couldn’t shut his mouth, so when he overheard your conversation, he just had to say something.

Oscar brought up your future, making a light hearted joke about you working in his garage next year. “Do you really think I have a chance? I mean, I did all that interning for McLaren last year and Andrea said he would ‘miss me greatly,’ but that doesn’t guarantee me a job anywhere in the paddock, you know?” You gushed. Oscar smiled at the way your eyes sparked when you spoke with such enthusiasm. He opened his mouth to speak, an encouragement and something about the future on the tip of his tongue.

The words were never spoken.

“I’d be careful with her, boy. She might be using you to get with your boss, and then fuck him for a job.” Leni interrupted. The vulgarity of the accusation had Oscar’s stomach twisting with something vile.

Your expression shaped into a mix of anger and disgust. Oscar watched you cautiously, offering a comforting hand to your knee. You stood abruptly just as his hand made contact. “I’d be careful with that alcohol, Uncle Leni. I think you’re one drink away from liver failure.” You shot back, leaving without letting him get another word in.

Oscar bowed his head, “excuse us,” he said to no one in particular, before turning to your parents and thanking them for the dinner. He cleaned up your plate and his and proceeded to follow you down the hall where you disappeared.

Muffled sobs came from the inside of your shared room. He knocked on the door hesitantly, calling your name in a soft question. “Go away,” your voice broke through your sobs.

But Oscar was persistent. He cared. You couldn’t get rid of him that easily. “I’m coming in.” He said, despite your very clear message.

His footsteps were cautious as he ventured into the room. You were lying on your stomach, sprawled out on the bed, face in a pillow. He was careful when he sat beside you, a hand coming up to rub in comforting circles on your back.

“It’s not fair, Osc.” The use of the nickname spiked his heart rate. He did his best to ignore it, putting his feelings aside for yours. “I know,” he hummed.

Your face emerged from the pillows, eyes already puffy and red. “No you don’t. Because you’re a man and they all love you.”

Oscar bit the inside of his cheek. “Yeah.” There was no point in arguing. He knew you were right. “Come here,” he encouraged, arms outstretched and waiting for your arrival. You drug yourself up, into his arms, lying against his chest.

The white shirt quickly became stained with your tears. Oscar didn’t care. He held you close while you cried. “I hate them.” You choked out. “They all think so little of me, have so little faith in me. Like I’m going to be nothing in life.” You clutched onto the white cloth of his t-shirt. “They talk about me like I’m a fucking prostitute.” Oscar ran a hand through your hair, and you snuggled your face closer to his chest.

Oscar tried to think of something comforting to say, but nothing felt quite right. He decided to pull you closer, instead. “I thought with you here they’d stop, but…” you shook your head. “I’m sorry I brought you all the way out here for nothing.”

“No,” Oscar jumped quickly to sooth your worries. “No you didn’t. I’m happy you asked. I’ve had fun here, with you.”

“You don’t mean that,” you tried to push yourself away from him, but Oscar held tighter. “Yes I do. I- on my life,” you struggled against his hold, desperately trying to rid yourself from the restraints that were his arms. “I promise you I meant it.” He urged, muttering the words close to your ear.

You relaxed at that, a palm coming to rest against his chest. Your tears still flowed freely. “And… and I’m so proud of you, too. And I believe in you more than you can even imagine.” He continued, dull nails scratching idly at your scalp.

You weren’t sure if his words were genuine. That didn’t matter. They were words you needed to hear, even if you had not known it until that very moment.

Oscar continued to keep you in his hold. He offered no more attempts to soothe you other than the hand of his that were tangled in the strands of your hair.

The exact timing you’d fallen asleep was unknown to him. He only realized you left consciousness when he stopped feeling your body shake with sobs and when the rhythmic tensing and relaxing of your hand ceased.

Your breathing had become even, too. Which he only took note of after he carefully laid you down in a more comfortable position.

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

THURSDAY

You woke up, the clock informing you it was midday. You shot out of bed. The family was meant to go sledding today, and should have left an hour ago.

The floorboards under your feet creaked loudly as you raced to the living room. You froze upon entering. The only person there was Oscar, sat on the couch, only half watching the show on the television.

He turned at the sound of you approaching, and smiled. “Hey,” he greeted, soft and far too intimate for the current dynamic.

“Where is everyone?”

Oscar looked a bit guilty at the question. “Gone. I told them you weren’t feeling well, and we’d be staying here today.”

You nodded, padding over to round the couch. The cushion beside him became occupied by you. “Is that okay?” He asked, head tilted while he searched your eyes for some emotion. You nodded once more. “Didn’t feel up to it anyway.” You confessed. Then after a moment, “Thank you.”

A smile flickered across Oscar’s lips. “No need to thank me.”

You’d spent the day curled up on the couch together, strangely domestic for two people who had no business being so. Only when it was dark outside did Oscar raise any questions. “How long do they plan on being gone?” It was far past dinner time. 9pm to be exact. Oscar and yourself had already ordered and ate food.

Your head, being on his shoulder, tilts up so your eyes could meet. “They’re out at a restaurant, probably.” You shrugged.

Oscar’s eyes drifted to the window, the glittering snow having caught his eye. He had a sudden childish desire to go play in the fluffy white blankets.

So that’s what you did, before your family returned home.

You hid behind a tree with a tightly packed ball of snow held like a delicate jewel in the palm of your hand. The way your heart raced with anticipation sent a rush through you. Your face hurt, not only from the cold but also from the consistent strain of your muscles used to maintain the permanent smile on your face.

The sound of a snowball hitting the other side of the tree made you jump, but the reaction was quickly followed by a laugh. “Come on! I can’t get you if you’re hid behind a tree!” Oscar complained, but you could hear the smile in his voice.

“Then come get me!” You shouted back. The crunch of snow approaching closed caused you to smile harder. He had no idea what was coming for him.

But then it stopped suddenly. Definitely not close enough to be just on the other side. You peaked around the tree. Oscar stood still, his hands moulding a pile of snow. His brows creased in concentration. So much concentration, that he didn’t even hear the packed snow stress under your feet.

Once close enough, you let the snowball fly from the palm of your hand. It landed right on the side of his face. “Hey!” He laughed.

“That was totally on you. It should not take you that long to make one snow ball.” You teased, nearing closer.

Oscar frowned slightly. “It’s not a snowball,” he twisted his palm to face you. “It’s a heart.”

You stood close to him now. A small extension of your arm, and you’d be touching him. You smiled, soft and small. “It’s cute.” His cheeks were flushed with a light pink. Probably from the cold, you thought.

Careful fingers grabbed ahold of your wrist, twisting it so your palm faced the sky. Silently, Oscar transferred his creation from his palm to your. You chuckled. “Quite the romantic.” You teased once more.

“You more than anyone should know just how romantic I am.” Oscar leaned into the fun banter. You shook your head laughing. “Come on, I want some hot chocolate.” He followed you up the porch and into the house, pausing to wait for you to set his creation on the railing of the deck.

Plain white mugs were all that was in the cabinet, so it’s what you used to hold your hot cocoa. Oscar rummaged in the fridge while you blew into the cup, trying to cool it off. The steam continued to roll off it in heaps.

“Found it!” Oscar cheered, surfacing with a can of whipped cream. “Ah, good idea,” You hummed, holding your mug out to him. The spiral he put on top of your cup was nothing short of perfect.

You hopped up on the kitchen island, while Oscar stood beside you. He laughed at you after you’d taken a sip, his cheeks still colored pink despite the warmer environment inside the cabin.

“You’ve got a little—here, I’ll just get it.” He reached up, fingertips grazing your cheek. His thumb slipped across your upper lip, gathering the whipped cream.

His hand pulled back slightly, a smile on his face while he showed you the reason for his actions. You laughed.

Without thinking, you leaned forward, capturing his thumb between your lips. Oscar went red at the feeling of your tongue swiping against the pad of his thumb while your eyes remained on his. The situation far too sensual.

When your brain finally caught up to you, you jumped back. A hand of yours covered your mouth. “Oh my—I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. I mean, obviously I wasn’t but—“ your breath hitched, his hand on your thigh.

“Don’t apologize.” His voice came in hushed whispers. His eyes scattered all around your face, settling for a beat too long on your lips.

The both of you were locked in an intense staring contest, wanting the same thing but too scared to be the one to initiate it.

Oscar’s chest heaved, like the moment was sucking all the oxygen from his lungs. Hesitantly, he reached a hand up to your face. It found its home on your cheek. When you didn’t react, his other hand traveled to your other cheek. Still, you did not move, but he did notice the rate of your breaths had sped up.

He was the one to take the risk. His body found its way between your legs, and he pulled your face down to meet his.

The feeling of his lips against yours was familiar. The feeling that bloomed in your stomach was familiar. The heat between your legs, familiar.

He overrode every one of your senses. Tasted sweet, reminiscent of the cocoa and whipped cream. Smelled of cologne, fresh. Like amber wood, orange, and a hint of vanilla. His hands in your hair and settled at the base of your neck were driving you crazy. His hips rut against the counter, and he released a small groan into your mouth.

The sound of the lock on the door caught your ear. Two hands on his chest, you shoved him away. He stumbled back, but quickly understood when your family funneled through the door. Your face was on fire.

“Feeling better, I see?” Your sister smiled, then her eyes shifted to Oscar. “Nice lip gloss.”

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

FRIDAY

The end of the trip was nearing. It was another relax day in the house, though the kids were far from relaxed. Their giggles were a constant echo through the house along with the patter of their feet.

You’d fallen asleep last night with Oscar’s arms around you, his body moulded perfectly to yours. But when you woke up this morning, the boy was no longer offering the warmth of his body heat to you. In fact, he wasn’t in the bed at all, and the sheets beside you were cold to the touch. He hadn’t been there for awhile.

It was the second day in a row you’d fallen asleep in his arms, and he was no longer there when you woke the next morning.

So it seemed he had a knack for fleeing when things got too intimate.

You swung your legs over the bed. The wooden floors under your feet were as cold as the winter air outside. You quickly shielded yourself with a pair of slippers, and the first hoodie you saw.

Just like yesterday, you found him on the couch. He wasn’t watching one of his shows, but bluey. Your brows were furrowed as you approached. Your eyes answered the question in your mind; Theo and Thalia sat on the carpet in front the television. Theo recklessly drove his new remote controlled car while Thalia played with his hot wheels. A content smile colored Oscar’s expression.

You ruffled his hair, muttering out a, “good morning.” Oscar’s greeting died on the tip of his tongue when he turned his head to find you in his hoodie and tight biker shorts. His throat bobbed as he swallowed harshly. “Morning,” he managed.

The dynamic between you two was different now. A conversation was never held after the events of last night, but the air shifted. An unspoken agreement that you crossed the line as friends but neither of you would dare to venture into the dating territory. You were stuck in a sort of limbo between the two, which meant neither of you knew exactly how to act around the other.

“Oscar, you sound like bluey!” Theo laughed, Thalia joining him. Oscar’s face contorted in amusement, brows raised and a broader smile. “You’ve got a good ear.”

When his eyes searched the room to find you, they landed in the kitchen, the fridge wide open.

You pulled out an avocado, an egg, and a bagel from the pantry. You jumped when you turned around to place them on the island. Oscar was standing with his back to the counter, staring at your every move. “stalker,” you laughed, standing beside him. He remained serious. “We should talk.”

Your body froze. “Where’s the rest of the family?” You asked, gaze focused on the countertop. “Downstairs. Playing pool.” He muttered, a quick glance at the twins. “They’ll be fine for a couple minutes.”

Your eyes met his, an unusual pleading look about them. You nodded. “Yeah. We can step outside.” You motioned towards the back deck.

Out on the deck, you waited for him to speak first, a foot playing with the fluffy white snow to avoid his gaze.

“So… last night,” he began. You shut your eyes, preparing mentally for an awkward conversation. He shook his head, restarting his mini speech. “I’ve tried to move on from you for the last couple of months. It hasn’t really worked and I’ve always had an idea as to why, but last night really solidified it.” His hand on your cheek directed your gaze to his. An uncharacteristically bold move.

His eyes searched yours. For what, you were unsure of. But his gaze burrowed into yours, making you feel light in the head and queasy in the stomach. “I still love you.” He spoke with finality, as if the statement would reign true for the remainder of his life. That’s what it felt like to him.

You gasped out a breath, shaking your head. “It’s not good for us. It didn’t work out. It won’t work out.” Your face, still held in his hands; your eyes, cast anywhere but on him.

He stepped closer. You could feel his body heat now. “It could. You’ll be out of school two months after the season starts, and then you can get a job at McLaren with me-“

“And then I’ll become everything Leni thinks I am.” You interrupted, words quiet.

“No you won’t, because you deserve it. You know it. I know it. Who cares if your drunk, deadbeat uncle thinks otherwise?” You breathed out a laugh, glancing at him for only a moment. “But that’s besides the point. It’ll be just two months with me away and you studying. That’s nothing. We’ve managed longer.”

His pleas were followed by silence, a slight frown, furrowed brows. Wandering eyes landed on the heart-shaped snow ball he carefully crafted for you. “I don’t know,” you spoke, almost too quiet for Oscar to hear.

The small swipe of his thumb against your cheek had your defenses crumbling. “The apartment has felt so empty without you.” He recalled how he continued to look for you in every room, even two weeks after you broke up. A hopeless dream that you’d be standing in the kitchen or sleeping in his bed. Of course, you never were. “Please. Just give me a month.”

The nod came slowly, after a long moment of silence; Oscar’s ears strained for even a breath from you. “A month.” You agreed, a silent pray to whatever god would listen that this wasn’t a horrible mistake.

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

SATURDAY

Your last day at the cabin was spent back at the slopes, Oscar and yourself finally being able to break from the kiddie slopes and enjoy the more exhilarating ones. He’d tried to race you, and when you won, claimed that he slowed on purpose. His whole being exposed his lies, though.

The family ended the night on the couch, watching a Christmas movie, though Christmas was long past. Unfortunately for you and Oscar, you were demoted to sitting on the floor since you were the youngest of the adults.

Oscar didn’t mind. Not when you sat with your body pressed against his. Legs across his lap and head resting in the curve of his neck. He kept one of your hands encased in both of his. He wasn’t even sure what the movie was about. His eyes were hardly on the screen, opting to study you out of the corner of his eye. He felt incredibly lucky to be able to call you his again.

He only realized the movie ended when you looked up at him, laughing at how his eyes were already on you. “How was the movie?” You asked him, a soft smile. He absorbed every bit of it he could. “Amazing.”

Before you went to bed, Oscar pulled out a small box from his suitcase. Your back was turned, fluffing the pillow. He called your name softly. The curious look you gave him was just another thing he was sure to store in his brain for safe keeping.

“What’s that?” You hummed, interested. You stood in front of him now, the box within reach. He lifted the lid and presented it to you, earning a small gasp. “Oscar… that’s too much I can’t take that.” You shook your head, a hand pushing the box into his chest. “I bought it for you. No returns.” His nervous laugh filled the gap of your response.

A tentative hand of your reached for the pendant, the ridges of it gliding over your fingers. You bit the inside of your cheek, deciding there was no use in turning the gift away. “Will you put it on me?” He smiled. Nodded.

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

JUNE

You began working in Oscar’s garage right out of school. Andrea was sure to pick you up before any team even had the opportunity to approach you.

The relationship between you and Oscar was common knowledge within the garage. Your teammates—the other mechanics—treated you no different, other than the occasional teasing about it.

“We agree that if anything is wrong with the car, we blame her, right?” One of the other mechanics joked, gesturing to you. Laughter rang out over the roaring engines.

Of course, once your family got wind of the news, they had something to say. Leni in particular washed up the achievement to be special treatment since you were dating one of their drivers. It didn’t get to you this time, because Oscar reassured you that it was purely based on your skill. His opinion mattered more than your Uncle’s.

Outside of the world of racing, Oscar treated you like an Angel fallen from heaven. Acting like he existed with the sole purpose to service you. It annoyed you at first until you came to the realization that it was out of love. He communicated his love for you through of acts of service. From then on, you cherished it.

#f1 #f1 x reader #formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #f1 fluff #f1 blurb #op81 #f1 angst #f1 x you #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri one shot #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri angst #oscar piastri #oscar piastri fluff #op81 x reader #oscar piastri x reader

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cerisahh · 5 months ago

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summary — love language headcanons for the arcane characters (giving and receiving)

characters included — jinx, ekko, silco, vander, viktor

cerisa speaks — literally started writing this the night of s2 act 3 release and only now finishing it if that doesn't tell you something about how inconsistent i am idk what does. ATTENTION PEOPLE IN MY REQUESTS!! i swear to god i will do your request in the next year for sure! viktor forgive me, amen.

jinx — gift giving. jinx's most loyal companion is her imagination so it isn't hard for her to think of gifts that are personal to you that'd you'd enjoy.

we see many of the little homemade trinkets that she's made for silco throughout the years, my favourite being the ashtray he keeps on the desk in his office. so dependant on what you're into, she'll showcase her love for you in the form of a trinket.

oh, so you like to read? she sees you dog-earing a page of your book whilst you two are in her hangout and drops her current project to fashion you a bookmark. you only notice that her tinkering has stopped when the bookmark has been dropped on your lap and she's made a blasé comment about you destroying your book for too long so she just had to make you this so you'd stop.

hiding behind a mask of indifference when giving out her gifts is kind of her thing, but she's anxious to no end to see if you like it. her mind runs a mile a minute; 'don't they like it? do the colours not match? they hate it they hate it theyhateittheyhateittheyhateme-'

until you're holding it carefully between your fingers and your mouth is making that 'o' shape it does when something unexpected has happened. when you say that it's the most thoughtful gift you've ever received she's insistent on making you a hundred more.

physical touch. stop booing me i'm right! let me explain. as we see before powder becomes jinx, she's quite normal with physical contact, we see vi hugging her, putting a hand on her shoulder, claggor helping her down to the apartment, etc.

it's after vi slaps and abandons her that she becomes uncomfortable with physical touch. silco (most of the time) lets her initiate it on her own terms.

one time he doesn't is where she's playing airplane with his shimmer device and he grabs her wrist. she lets him retain his grip for a moment but when she does move her arm away he doesn't follow her. through my own delusions i've come to the conclusion that jinx wants, maybe even craves physical comfort, but quickly feels smothered by it when it's forced on her.

despite this, with the right person i feel like she would be willing to accept physical affection from them. it would take time to establish and develop a trusting relationship with jinx but when you're there, you're there. she's also a deeply insecure person when it comes to relationships of any kind and retaining them so you'll have to slip in some words of affirmation between touches.

her favourite way to receive physical touch would for sure be you playing with her hair. running your fingers through it and scratching her scalp? congratulations, that's your new job. you mention off the cuff how you'd love to see her hair down? suddenly there's a brush in your hands and an expectant and giddy jinx sitting in front of you.

even though she trusts you, she'll still get startled and tense up if you suffocate her with too much affection. holding your arms out for a hug or patting the seat next to you so she can lean into your arms is a much better way to initiate contact with her.

a little extra headcanon, when she's doing your nails she'll use her own hands to hold your fingers still instead of a wrist rest. she says it keeps them steadier so she doesn't make any mistakes but really she craves that subtle contact.

ekko — acts of service. season two episode seven dictates this as canon i'll be taking no arguments on this day. seeing his huge mural of future vi to show powder after he upsets her really just cements this headcanon. this is a pretty big action so i'll focus on the smaller ones for now.

starting off really strong with him decorating your room for you. close your eyes and imagine him building you a shelf to store your books or keepsakes. not only building it but carving designs into it. ohh you like music? well take a look at those carvings of sheet music! and do you spy some new books in your collection (stolen from a piltover library, naturally)

with so many different types of people living at the tree, at the beginning he was pretty much forced to learn how to cook all different types of meals. it paid off though because no matter where you hail from, he'll be able to prepare you any of your favourite dishes.

the more i type about ekko the more i realise he is the best househusband out of the arcane gang. he can cook, he can clean, he's a provider - he is quite literally the entire package. him being a certified pretty boy also helps because everyone needs a little eye candy in their life.

this one is sickeningly sweet but for relationship milestones, and even just randomly, ekko will fully plan out a date night for the two of you. picnics on the top of buildings that overlook the neon lights of the undercity, just the two of you. it's so intimate.

physical touch. now this i truly will be taking no arguments on. receiving physical affection for ekko is huge. we all saw how fast he hugged benzo in the alternate au!!

with so many people from his early life either dying (benzo, vander, claggor, mylo) or leaving (jinx and vi), ekko hasn't really had anyone to offer him any form of closeness. sure, he has the firelights. it just isn't the same though.

so when you come along with all the tender hugs and fond touches that he's been deprived of for so long he knows he's done for. consider him addicted. even just clapping a hand on his shoulder after a fight, hell, LEANING ON HIM?? that man is YOURS to command for now until the end.

knowing you're just physically there and not going anywhere - not abandoning him - he's content to bask in your presence.

quick kisses and brief glances at each other come in abundance. if you're not at the firelights base then you're on the go. it's these times that make you both appreciate the time you have with each other. ekko plans to take full advantage of the downtime you both have between missions. don't expect to stray a few feet from each other.

silco — acts of service. silco's acts of service are usually communicated through orders that he gives his goons. say you offhandedly mention that some shimmer addicts have set up camp in the alley next to your apartment. when you leave the last drop and go home you notice that those shimmer addicts you briefly complained about? gone. without a trace.

i feel like he prefers to give out acts of service to you as a kind of 'i can provide for you, don't leave' kind of thing. you don't need to ask silco to do something, he'll take the initiative. he wants you to view him as a reliable provider. this sounds very 50s but he's an old fashioned kind of guy so it checks out.

not the kind of guy to do chores at the start i'm afraid. he has people for that. maybe you can convince him to wash the dishes after you cook you, him and jinx a meal. but never and i mean NEVER will you catch this man hoovering or mopping the floor. that is just simply not going to fucking happen. you'd have better luck asking him to quit smoking.

not gonna lie he just lightens the load of whatever jobs you need to do so you can spend more time together. the famed eye of zaun is clingy.

physical touch. actually controversial take no way CHILLS! similarly to jinx, silco wouldn't actively look for physical touch in any given situation. he's obviously traumatised by his former best friend choking him out and drowning him underwater. not to mention completely brutalising his eye.

jinx is likely the only person he would willingly let touch him. not even sevika on a good day gets that privilege. you would need to spend a lot of time gaining silco's undying trust. only when you two are emotionally close will you be able to share his touch.

buying you jewellery just so he can feel the warmth of your body heat as he clasps the necklace around you neck. silco is very subtle and sneaky when he wants to be close to you.

his neck is off limits to everyone, even you. placing your hand on his collarbone whilst entangled in bed together is the furthest you'll get.

vander — physical touch. oh i just know this man gives the best bear hugs. physical intimacy with vander is just safety incarnate. when he takes you into his arms it really feels like a breath of topside air after a lifetime underground.

i don't think vander would really like being with a partner that didn't enjoy physical affection. it's not only a bonding experience for the both of you to engage in but also a display of trust that he deeply values.

conveying his love for you with intimacy, non-sexual and sexual is something he cherishes. the level of mutual understanding and relationship building that comes with it is indispensable to vander. basically the keys to a successful partnership with him.

that little symbol of love in the undercity where two people touch their foreheads together? that's the most significant way you can show that you truly care for someone and it's vander's favourite way to connect with you in moments of peace.

words of affirmation. vander is the type of guy to not necessarily need words of affirmation to feel good about himself but will appreciate it all the same. he tries so hard to be a good example to the kids and in general to the populace of the undercity. he wants this life to be better. he wants to be better.

he's the leader, the protector, all the pressure is on him. affirming his efforts through words goes further than you might think.

it's you and him against the world. the brewing political storm that plagues both the undercity and piltover is little more than a distant thought when you're whispering honeyed words to and fro in the dead of night. for a man with such an imposing presence, telling him that you love and need him makes him weak.

with your words of affirmation, he's more certain of his role in the undercity than he's ever been. you renew the passion he had in youth, he wants the best for you and will do whatever he can to obtain it.

viktor — quality time. viktor is all about sharing the same space as his partner. with him being the co-founder of hextech, it's difficult for him to find time alone to dote on you. which is why you''ll often find yourself in the company of viktor (and oftentimes jayce) in their lab, them working on a new use for hextech, and yourself either studying or simply watching the magic (literally) happen.

when jayce is off being the poster child of hextech or following councillor medarda around like a lost puppy, you and viktor will settle into comfortable silences. usually with the only noise being the tinkering of science equipment or the quick scribbles of pen on paper. there's no pressure to fill the room with unnecessary chattering. just you being with him is enough. your presence is akin to a relaxant to him.

sometimes most of the time you'll need to remind him to take breaks when you've been there for hours on end and he's showing no signs of stopping or slowing down. it's a practised routine at this point; he refuses, you leave it alone for five minutes, during this time he is sneaking glances at you when he thinks you aren't looking, waiting for you to ask again.

when you do, he feigns reluctance as you grab his hand to get you both some fresh air and a proper meal. he might actually be part cat now that i'm thinking about it. he just can't help but love spending time with you.

words of affirmation. actions speak louder than words? pft, yeah right. communication is deeply valued by viktor. he's exceptional at deducing someone's intentions behind their words so don't even bother trying to get something by him. it won't work. you try to plan surprise birthday party for him? he's one of the first people to find out about it.

so when you earnestly tell him how special he is to you or how appreciative you are of him, he knows it's 100% what you actually think and BOY does that fluster him more than anything.

he isn't very big on compliments, not that he doesn't value the ones you so willingly give him, but he finds it hard to accept the good and beauty you see in him. there will always be a part of viktor, machine herald or mortal man, that refuses to believe he could be good enough for this type of love. when he retracts inside his mind and lets his doubt drown him, it's you who can pull him out of the water and onto land. telling him that you love him just the way he is will silence his uncertainty.

oh you know what would just about finish him off? making him a lunch box and putting a note in there. it doesn't having to be something poetic, even a simple 'i love you ♡' will be at the forefront of his mind until he gets back home to you.

honestly, if you're someone who expresses their love through words of gratitude or proclamations of admiration then a relationship with viktor will be smooth sailing.

#✐ᝰ cerisa’s writing #arcane #arcane s2 #arcane x reader #jinx x reader #ekko x reader #silco x reader #vander x reader #viktor x reader

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suliigwp · 27 days ago

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I DESPISE MY ROTTEN MIND AND -HOW MUCH IT WORSHIPS YOU

Oscar Piastri x Mean!Reader

SULI: Reader is the daughter of someone powerful in McLaren like a co-owner or sm idk go along with it please🫶 (ignore my obvious love for lando here) this is my first fic be nice ; I plan on part two ; I tried to speak around her name to not say y/n ; Olivia Rodrigo I bow down to you - stream 'Lacy'!

Warnings: reader is straight up a horrible person (kinda - this is my guilty pleasure), Toxic?, smoking, he just can't stay away, English is not my first language.

Lacy, oh Lacy, it's like you're out to get me.

Oscar Piastri was never one to particularly like audience. He didn't mind company, but preferred the comfortable whispers of silence of whom he learned calmness from. He tried to keep reminding himself that what people thought was not important, and what he did with his time was, but it was different this time.

Having just signed a contract with McLaren, he stood in a big room in his new dress-shirt, glass in hand, speaking to people involved with the team at a 'get-together' before the season started. Zak Brown and Lando Norris taking it upon themselves to introduce him to everyone. He had to make a good impression.

Eventually they introduced him to the small group of people owning the McLaren Formula 1 team and shaking their hands he cursed at himself silently for forgetting to wipe his hand on his pants, hoping his palm wasn't sweaty.

"I like how calm you are. Gives the sense of stability." Chuckled the man, taking a sip of the drink in his hand. "That's good. A driver making you feel steady straight on is exceptional."

"Thank you, Sir." He kept his answer short as he glanced down.

Oscar knew the truth. If anyone in this room was exceptional, it was Lando Norris. The teammate he needed to keep up with, the one he wanted to outrun, he didn't want the second seat, he wanted the first one and Oscar knew that wasn't an easy point to get to.

"I think it's time to change our driver dad. Really, how many times do I have to be late?"

Said a woman's voice behind the man, Oscar watched as the grey-haired man's face twisted into a warmer smile as he turned around.

"Darling!"

Some feeling went down Oscars frame. Warmth? Or was it freezing cold? He couldn't tell. Only thing he knew was that it wasn't a good feeling. The girl now in front of him shined off a feeling that he could only call whimsical. Dark but comforting, heavy but so easy to breathe in. Like something was warning him, stay away.

She nodded to everyone when they greeted her, smiling an off smile, eyes glancing at everyone and then landing on him. His consciousness shook.

"Darling, Meet Oscar Piastri. Our new driver." Oscar gave a soft smile and a nod, offering his hand.

"Pleasure to meet you."

She took his hand and shook it slowly, looking him up and down, darkly painted lips twitching upwards. "I've heard a lot about you, Oscar."

Oscar blinked away, slowly taking his hand from hers, offering another soft smile, not knowing what else to say.

As the talk around them picked up again, he never lost that heavy feeling. The weight of her eyes pushing down on him as he continued trying to breathe.

...

"Breathe Man, you're doing fine." Landos voice comforted him as they got away from the scariest circle in the room.

Oscar took in a large breath as he put down his finished cup on one of the small tables around the room. Looking at his teammate as he laughed. "Shut up."

"Sorry, sorry, I would be this sweaty too if she looked at me like that."

"What?" He turned to the curly haired man.

"What? You're kidding right? You caught the eye of one of the most scary people here." The man chuckled, leaning on the table.

"Scary?"

Lando raised a brow at him. "Do you only know how to ask one word questions?" And shook his head teasingly when Oscar gave him a deadpan look. "Depending on who you ask, She's not a very pleasant person. That's how dumb people think, I think she's awesome." He smiled.

Oscars brows furrowed, that feeling came back. "Why would people think that?"

"Ah, long story... To say it short she was an intern at some event, she leaked a private recording of some executive making corrupt comments. She didn’t go to the press. She posted it herself with zero warning. It exposed real corruption—but it also broke dozens of NDAs, compromised trust with an entire network of professionals, sparked a scandal, you know? People got fired. Security got tighter. She didn't really care but... A lot of people lost their jobs so..." He trailed off.

"...oh" Oscar muttered, looking back at the glowing figure behind him, he couldn't really tell if that glow was white or as dark as a black hole.

"That's the main thing, she doesn't really like staying quiet about things, she's brave, I could never." Lando muttered the last part under his breath, bringing a drink to his lips.

Oscar watched her as she ran her fingers through her hair and looked at him, the dark pencil around her eyes pulling him in. She smiled and looked back at the men in front of her.

He felt dizzy.

...

"Too pretty to be caught up in all of this, don't you think?"

He jumped a bit when he heard her voice, whipping around to face her, and for a second, he's speechless.

"I'm just... trying to enjoy the night." He muttered, trying to gather himself.

"I'm sure you are... Don't worry about my father, he likes putting a lot of pressure on everyone but, he really likes you." She said, smiling as she looks over him again.

Oscar cleared his throat, not knowing what to say. She chuckled "See you around." She called out as she walked away.

...

2023 BAHRAIN QUALIFICATIONS

She was reviewing something on her tablet, tucked into a far corner of the garage where no one would bother her. The usual flurry of team personnel moved around like clockwork—headsets, data, tires, noise. She liked the noise. It drowned out everything else.

Oscar had spotted her, but only because she looked like a fixed point in a sea of chaos—calm and sharp. He froze 'she's here?' He almost starts shaking. He wasn't trying to bother her. Just grabbed a bottle of water and stood near her, needing a quiet corner himself.

She glanced at him smirking to herself and going back to her screen, thinking he didn't see her.

"Oscar!" Someone shouted out suddenly, carrying out the garage. Oscar, startled, whipped around—smacking his water bottle right into the edge of a tool cabinet.

The cap flew off. The water went all over his shirt.

Her mouth dropped open.

He looked down at himself. Wet shirt. Clinging fabric. Silence.

She raised an eyebrow.

"...well," he said, monotone. "This is deeply unfortunate."

That did it. She laughed. Not loud, but real—like something cracked in her, like she'd been holding it in for years. It startled her more than him. She even looked away like she hadn’t meant for it to slip out. Holding a hand over her mouth.

He grinned slowly. That heavy feeling when he looked at her was gone. That voice. Her laugh. God, was she casting a spell on him? He hoped she knows a million spells “Is that my reward for humiliating myself?”

She didn’t respond. But she didn’t go back to her tablet, either.

...

It was after qualifying. Chaos had simmered down in the garage. She hadn’t meant to linger—but she did. Arms crossed, sitting on a crate that clearly wasn’t meant for sitting. Watching.

Oscar was standing alone for a second. Helmet off, suit unzipped to the waist, undershirt damp with effort. He was flipping through something on a monitor, lips pressed, jaw tight.

She studied his side profile. Pretty. So pretty. She spoke before she could stop herself. “You looked pissed after Q2.”

He turned, brows lifted, clearly surprised she was talking to him. “Did I?”

She hummed. “You stomped past the cameras like they insulted your mum.”He laughed softly, quiet. Gosh, is he testing her?

“Guess I need to work on that poker face,” he said.

“No,” she replied coolly. “It was entertaining.”

He gave her a look, half amused, half curious. She's fun to be around. People don't know what they're talking about...right? “You always hang around garages just to roast drivers?”

“Just the ones with weak qualifying laps,” she said, then smirked.

He blinked, taken aback for half a second and then grinned. “Okay, now I know you’re flirting.” immediately regretting it, heat rising up his neck.

She raised a brow, surprised at his boldness “I don’t flirt.”

“That’s what all good flirts say.”

She rolled her eyes but chuckled. For a few moments, they just stood there in the humming silence of the paddock. Not much said. But she noticed how his fingers tapped against the table. How he kept glancing at her like he was trying to figure her out.

He's so soft, so quiet, beautiful... And oh, did she love breaking pretty things. They start talking regularly after that day.

...

Oscar hadn’t meant to find her.

He was just looking for some quiet during the chaos of a post-qualifying press circuit. The hotel was packed, the lobby was louder than the paddock. So he slipped through a door that led to a narrow balcony, needing a breath.

She was already there.

Leaning on the railing, cigarette in hand. The night was velvet dark and gold-lit, and the glow of the cherry cast her face in an almost cinematic silhouette. She didn’t look at him right away. Just exhaled slow, smoke dancing around her like flames. He froze for a second.

Everyone had whispered things about her. Harsh. Cold. Dangerous, even. But standing there, her shoulder blades rising and falling with each breath, she looked more like someone who’d built her armor carefully and wore it heavily.

She finally glanced over her shoulder. “Lost, golden boy?” He blinked, not sure whether to answer or leave.

“You can stay,” she added after a beat, tapping ash off the side with a flick that said she didn’t really care either way.

He leaned on the opposite end of the railing, giving her space. “Didn’t know you smoked.” He muttered awkwardly, tapping his finger on the glass.

“You didn’t know me,” she said. Not cruel. Just matter-of-fact.

He looked at the skyline instead of her. “Guess I still don’t.”

She smirked, finally looking at him. “Smart boy.”

The silence hung, comfortable and strange. That feeling is back, he thinks, but it's different this time, it doesn't bother him, maybe he's gotten used to it. Then she offered the pack toward him without looking. Not really asking. Just holding it in his direction.

"No, thank you." He didn’t take one. But he didn’t leave either.

And she didn’t say a word about it. She just smoked her cigarette and let him share her quiet, the way someone might hand over a piece of themselves without even knowing they did.

She lit a second cigarette. Oscar watched her. “I don’t smoke often,” she said suddenly, voice quieter now. “Only when I feel like I’ll explode otherwise.”

He glanced at her, brows pulled slightly. “Bad day?”

She laughed, low and bitter. “Bad life, maybe.”

He didn’t smile at that, didn’t make it a joke. Just nodded like he understood. Like he wasn’t afraid of that edge she lived on. “I get it,” he said. “I don’t smoke, but… I’ve had days like that. Where it feels like if one more person asks how I’m feeling or tells me to smile for the camera, I’ll just—” He made a vague exploding gesture with his hands.

She looked at him. Really looked. “You don’t seem like the explode type.”

He shrugged. “I hide it better than you.”

She tilted her head, intrigued. Oscar lost his breath for the way the lights from the hotel hit her “So there’s a version of you that screams and throws things?”

“Maybe not throws. But I’ve thought about it,” he said, smiling now.

She grinned, soft but surprised. “Huh. Maybe you’re not as boring as I thought.”

He blinked, she's been thinking about him? He gave her a look. “You thought I was boring?”

“I thought you were safe,” she corrected, a little too honest. “And I hate safe.”

“Maybe you just don’t trust safe.”

That landed a little too hard. She went quiet, fingers tightening around her cigarette.

“Sorry,” he said softly. “That was... too much.”

But she didn’t get mad. She just looked out at the skyline again. “No. You’re not wrong.” putting the poison to her lips.

A long silence stretched between them, something warm and brittle. A truce.

Then she glanced sideways and muttered, “Still not taking a cigarette?”

He shook his head.

She exhaled smoke toward the stars. “Golden boy.” And she didn’t say it like an insult.

...

After that night on the balcony, the air between them shifts just a little. Next race week, she walks past him in the paddock. Doesn’t say anything at first, just shoots him a knowing look. He offers a tiny smile, the kind that doesn’t reach his eyes unless he means it. This time, he means it.

As she's about to turn the corner, he calls after her quiet, but clear.

"Hey."

She stops. Looks over her shoulder.

He walks up, a little sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck. The golden baby hairs at the nape of his neck catching light. “I figured... if you ever need someone to talk to. Or not talk to. Just… stand around and keep quiet next to you.” A soft laugh. “I’m good at that.”

She eyes him, chin tilted, unreadable. Then, after a pause, pulls her phone from her back pocket and hands it to him without a word.

He takes it, surprised but not stupid enough to question it, and enters his number first name and a little racecar emoji. Hands it back.

“What should I save you as?” he asks.

She smirks, plucking the phone back. “Don't worry golden boy, you'll figure it out.”

That night, he gets a text.

New contact added...

...

The garage had quieted, the roar of engines long since faded, replaced by the low mechanical murmurs of winding-down systems and the occasional clang of tools being packed up. Overhead lights cast long shadows, soft and golden against the cool gray of concrete floors and carbon fiber. Most of the team had cleared out, only a few stragglers remained, their voices echoing faintly from the far end.

She sat on the edge of a workbench, one leg crossed over the other, ankle bouncing lazily. Her lips were parted slightly, gloss smudged from biting the inside of her cheek. She was dressed sharply as always, but the sharpness dulled in this quiet hour, jacket shrugged halfway off, strands of hair falling messily from where she’d tucked them behind her ears.

Oscar was leaning against the wall opposite her, helmet in hand, still suited up. His curls were messy with sweat and humidity, cheeks flushed faintly from the day’s heat. He looked tired but content, relaxed in a way she’d only seen when no one else was around. They’d been talking for a while, longer than either of them intended.

He'd made her laugh. Really laugh, something startled and unguarded, a sound that cracked out of her like lightning. It silenced them both for a moment. She blinked at him, stunned, as if she'd just let something important slip out.

"What?" he’d said, smiling crookedly.

"You made a joke," she replied, feigning horror. “I thought you were the serious one.”

“I have layers.”

“Like an onion.”

“Wow. Thanks.”

And she laughed again, quieter this time, but closer to him. The distance between them had been shrinking all evening, physically and otherwise. Every time she leaned in to say something, her perfume wrapped around him like a whisper. Every time she pushed his shoulder or smirked at him, he had to fight the instinct to reach back.

Now, the air between them hung heavy, still. She stared at him. He stared back.

Then she uncrossed her legs and hopped lightly down from the bench, stepping closer, too close. Her chest brushed his arm, her fingers lightly skimming the fabric of his sleeve, a touch so casual it felt intentional.

“You’re not as boring as you look,” she said, voice lowered just slightly, eyes darting to his mouth for the briefest second.

He huffed a laugh, lips curling up, but his heart was thudding in his chest. “You always flirt by insulting people?”

“Only with special ones."

The words landed between them like a strike. His gaze dropped to her lips. Hers flicked to his. He leaned forward a little. She tilted her head, fractional movements, both of them holding their breath. Her hand was still on his arm, nails lightly brushing the fabric.

It would take nothing, just one more inch, one more second, for them to close the distance.

And then—

“Oscar!”

They flinched apart like they'd been caught. He stepped back, blinking fast. Her hand dropped. The moment splintered like glass under pressure.

She tried to brush it off. “Guess they still need you,” she said, recovering faster than he did, but her voice was quieter now. Her walls didn’t go all the way back up, but the door was closing.

He nodded slowly, trying to smile but not quite managing it. “Yeah… I guess they do.”

She didn’t move. Neither did he.

Until he turned away, slow and heavy-footed. And even as he walked toward the voices calling his name, his mind stayed behind, with getting the taste of her so close he could’ve sworn he still felt her breath against his cheek.

...

You poison every little thing that I do

“Watch out for her, mate. She’s not someone you want to get too close to.”

Oscar raises an eyebrow, a little surprised by the caution in Lances voice. “What do you mean?” he asks, genuinely curious. He’s seen the way her boldness and confidence have always left him on edge, but he’s never really thought of her as dangerous, at least not in any serious way.

“She’s... got a reputation,” the driver says, glancing around as if to make sure no one’s listening. “People say she’ll use anyone to get what she wants. Doesn’t care who she steps on. And the rumors she spreads? She’s good at making people believe them. She gets inside your head, makes you question everything.”

Oscar feels a knot tighten in his stomach. That feeling is back. The warning stirs something in him. He’s seen her as this intriguing force, someone who’s always had a way of challenging everyone, pulling him in. But this doesn’t sound like the woman he’s been getting to know.

“Who exactly is saying all this?” Oscar asks, trying to keep his tone light, but there’s an edge of doubt creeping in.

Lance looks away, his expression turning serious. “It’s not just one person. Ask around, Oscar. You’ll hear the stories. She’s not someone you want to be mixed up with.”

Later that night, unable to shake the warning, Oscar starts digging. He asks a few more people, cautiously at first, but it doesn’t take long before the whispers start pouring in. Everyone seems to have an opinion on her. some avoid her entirely, others just don’t trust her. But the more Oscar hears, the darker the picture gets.

Rumors swirl about her—how she manipulates situations, uses her beauty to get people to do what she wants, and how she’s torn apart friendships and relationships in the past. Stories about her spreading lies and causing chaos are repeated again and again. It’s clear now: She isn’t just a woman who plays by her own rules; she plays with people’s lives like they’re chess pieces.

Oscar’s heart sinks as the weight of the reality settles over him. He thought he saw something good in her, something worth fighting for. But now, it feels like he’s been blinded by his attraction to someone who’s far more dangerous than he could have ever imagined.

The realization hits him hard, and as he stands in the middle of the paddock, the buzz of the race weekend around him, he’s left with a choice: walk away from this whirlwind he’s been caught in... or keep going, despite knowing the truth.

...

He’s lying in bed. Lights off, the room silent except for the low hum of the hotel air conditioning. But Oscar can’t sleep. Every time he closes his eyes, it’s her face he sees.

The way she looked at him on the balcony. The softness in her voice when she said his name. The smirk when she caught him staring too long. But now all he can hear is “You don’t want to get too close to her.”

He turns onto his side, frustrated. Grabs his phone off the nightstand. Just a peek. Just something to quiet the noise in his head.He types her name into the search bar.

Big mistake.

The results hit like a slap: headlines from glossy tabloids, anonymous gossip blogs, F1 forums with threads full of theories and rants. And then… videos. Short clips from events, shaky footage of her arguing with someone in a VIP lounge, walking out of a gala, stone-faced while a woman behind her is crying. Tweets calling her manipulative. Reddit threads filled with speculation and story after story from “insiders.”

“She said I was irrelevant to my face.”

“She told my friend she wasn’t pretty enough to date an F1 driver.”

“She leaked that PR scandal before the team could control it. I know it was her.”

He scrolls. He reads. He watches. Each new click feels worse than the last, but he can’t stop. He’s consumed.

And then he finds a post -long, detailed. An anonymous user claiming they knew her personally. It’s brutal. Cold. A timeline of friendships destroyed, opportunities taken by force, people she "exposed" for things no one was ever supposed to know. Some things might be exaggerated. But others… they line up.

He sits there in the dark, lit only by the glow of his screen, the sick feeling in his stomach growing stronger. He should block her. Forget her. Walk away. But he doesn't. He still wants to see that smirk again.

...

It wasn’t supposed to feel like this. They weren’t even officially friends at first. Just two people orbiting the same space, brushing past each other between interviews and paddock chaos, trading a look here, a quiet nod there. But something shifted slowly, then all at once.

It started with the laughing.

It wasn’t loud or wild. Just soft moments, shared glances, little jokes muttered under their breath when no one else could hear. Oscar had a way of drawing out a laugh she hadn’t used in years. Not the sharp, cynical kind she usually wielded like a weapon, but something warmer. Something reluctant. Genuine. She started looking for him, tracking the way his shoulders shook slightly when he tried not to smile too wide.

He made her feel… human again.

And somehow, despite her walls, despite the rumors and the carefully sculpted exterior she showed to everyone else, she started letting him see her. Really see her.

Late night texts turned into voice notes. Voice notes into video calls. She sent him songs without lyrics that said everything she didn’t know how to. He sent her blurry photos of the sky, his cat, his face half-hidden by the sun behind him, each one followed by a soft, “Thought you’d like this.”

In the paddock, he walked a little slower when she was around. She leaned closer when he talked. There were days when their shoulders brushed and neither of them moved away. Nights when they found each other on balconies, sharing secrets like confessions, smoke curling through the quiet between them.

He never pushed. Never asked for more than she was willing to give. And she hated how much she liked that.

There was a moment, a stupid, tiny moment, when she realized it had gone too far. He had made her laugh so hard during a rain delay that her eyeliner smudged, and she’d reached to gently wipe her eyes, when she looked up, he was already watching her with that look. The kind of look that says, I’d follow you anywhere even if I knew I’d get hurt. And I don't know why.

She had to walk away then. Pretend it didn’t matter.

But it did. Every little thing mattered now.

The way he waited for her after media duties without ever saying why. The quiet way he’d ask if she was sleeping okay when her her eyes looked darker than usual. The time he wrapped his jacket around her shoulders and didn’t make a big deal of it when she didn’t give it back.

And she let him in. Slowly. Recklessly.

He saw her, and she let him.

So when things changed, when his texts became shorter, his eyes colder, his laughter quieter around her, she felt it like a knife to the chest. She knew something had happened. Someone had told him something.

But before the silence, there had been this... almost. Like they were standing on the edge of something real, something wild and sacred. Like they were about to step into something neither of them could undo.

And now? Now he was slipping away.

And the worst part? She was starting to realize she cared.

More than she should have. More than she wanted to.

...

Lacy, Oh Lacy, I just loathe you lately

2023 JAPANESE GRAND PRIX

He was pulling away. She could feel it.

Oscar didn’t say anything outright, he was too polite, too careful for that. But she had always been good at reading tension, and lately, he’d been a damn novel of it. Shorter glances. Polite nods. No more waiting for her after interviews. No more inside jokes muttered under his breath.

It infuriated her.

Not because she needed his attention, she didn’t need anything. But because she let herself want it. Want him. And now he was acting weird. Distant. Like someone had whispered something in his ear that made him look at her differently.

So what did she do? She burned.

She stalked through the paddock like a storm cloud in heels. People whispered again when she passed, just the way she liked it. She leaned too close to Lando during a pre-race briefing, laughed too loud at something Charles said just as Oscar walked by. And when she caught Oscar’s eye across the garage, she tilted her head and smirked, sweet, dangerous, knowing. As he looked at her like a kicked puppy.

“You’re being horrible again,” Lando muttered, watching her from the side.

She popped her gum and said, “Am I?”

He wouldn’t say what was wrong? Fine. She’d make it worse. She showed up in the garage when she didn’t need to be there, lounging on the pit. She didn’t even look his way, not until he had to pass her. And then? A slow, calculated look up and down. One brow raised. Her lips curled like she was enjoying a private joke at his expense.

It was driving him insane. She knew it.

Every time she got a little too close to someone else, every time she smiled at the wrong guy for a second too long, Oscar's jaw clenched tighter. She caught it all. He never confronted her, never said a word—but she knew he was watching.

Good. Let him. Let him stew in whatever guilt or judgment he was choking on. If he wanted distance, fine, she’d give him a show. But underneath it all—beneath the smirks and the chaos—she was fuming.

Because he was pulling away And it was starting to hurt.

...

Oh, how he hates her lately.

He hates the way she smirks at other drivers, all flirt and fire and nothing left for him anymore. Hates how she doesn’t look at him like she used to, not with curiosity or teasing challenge, but like he’s a pawn that disappointed her. Like he’s beneath her now. A momentary lapse in her otherwise flawless taste.

He hates that she’s everywhere.

He hates that she leans too close to Lando, that her laugh rings out sharp and loud like a damn warning bell. Hates the way she struts into the paddock like she owns it, sunglasses hiding the eyes that used to meet his in stolen glances. Hates that she gets under his skin without even trying, because she’s not trying anymore, not with him.

But worst of all, He still wants her. Maybe even more now. This boiling need to touch her. This angry, uncontrolled want.

Still finds himself glancing over his shoulder in case she’s there. Still hears her voice echo when he tries to focus. Still checks his phone at night, half hoping, half terrified she’ll text.

He told himself to back away, convinced himself he had to. After everything he heard, after everything people warned him about her... he believed them. Tried to listen.

But she didn’t make it easy. She never did.

She’s turned cruel again. She’s turning heads and twisting knives and pretending he never mattered. Oscar is unraveling.

Because he can’t stop wanting the girl who now acts like she never wanted him at all.

...

And I despise my jealous eyes and how hard they fell for you

She’s laughing again. Louder this time. Her hand grazes the arm of someone else - he can't remember who, he doesn't care, she's touching someone else. Just to tempt him, make him snap. And it works.

Oscar doesn’t even realize he’s walking toward her until she turns around, and raises a perfect brow at him. Her smile freezes.

God how she missed looking into those eyes. “Can I help you, golden boy?” she asks, sugary venom dripping from every syllable.

He grabs her arm and pulls her away, not harshly, but firm. Behind the garage. Out of sight. He's breathing heavily. Her heels clack on concrete until they’re alone.

Letting go of her hand, he turned to her, chest rising and falling “Are you done?” he asks, voice low, sharp.

She leans back on one hip, lips curling as she takes in the way he's shaking. “With what?”

“With whatever the hell this is,” he snaps. “You being a nightmare to everyone and making it my problem.”

Her eyes flash, face falling. “I’m not your problem anymore, remember?”

“You never were my problem. You were-” He chokes on the words, throws his hands up. “You were something else. And now I don’t know what you are.”

“Oh, poor Oscar,” she mocks, stepping closer. Her voice dropping to a whisper, darkly painted lips casting a spell, he feels. “You get scared off by some rumors and now you can’t handle the consequences?”

“I trusted you!” he breathes out frustrated “And then you flipped a switch and started acting like I’m nothing.”

“You made me nothing first,” she snaps, suddenly too close, fire in her eyes. “You believed them. All of them. You didn’t even ask me.”

His jaw tightens. “Because I thought if any of it was true, even a little... I had to get out before..."

“Well,” she says, lifting her chin. “Guess what?"

The silence between them crackles. Breathing heavy. Hearts pounding. His eyes breathe her in. His head is buzzing, the world is is too light, or maybe she was too dark. He can't breathe, only breathe her.

“You’re a menace,” he mutters.

Her face holding a hidden pain only he notices “Took you long enough.”

And then, like fire catching on gasoline, he kisses her. Pressing his lips to hers harshly, her lips were so soft he needed to press harder to feel her, or maybe that's what his mind was telling him to rationalize wanting to get closer. More. More. Like he’s furious. Like he’s starved. Like he hates himself for it. His big arms come around her, one gripping her side and she melts into him, she kisses him back, just as angrily. Teeth, hands, a silent war with no winners. Her hands sliding into his hair, those golden strands she couldn't think about, the strands that had seamed her heart together without him even noticing. She pulled on it, bringing him closer, drawing out a soft groan from him and he pressed her body closer. She caught his lips between her teeth and pulling away, catching their breaths.

She watches him as he kept his eyes shut, creases on his face making him look so desperate, little whispers between breaths escaping him-

"-hate me. Why do you hate me-"

She grabs his face with her palms, her dark eyes sliding along his face, painting this image onto her brain.

"If there's anything in the world I don't hate, it's you, Oscar."

He lets out a shaky breath at her words and dropped his head on her shoulder.

...

Yeah, I despise my rotten mind and how much it worships you

Before the champagne, before the podium, before the trophy touched his hands - Oscar was already gone.

The second he crossed the finish line, engine cooling, helmet still on, the world around him exploded in cheers. His team was rushing over the barrier, pulling him into hugs, clapping his back, yelling his name into the chaos of victory.

But he wasn’t really there.

Helmet off, breath uneven, hair a mess, he turned. Eyes scanning wildly, past the cameras, the pit crew, the flashes.

There. Just out the garage. Arms crossed, watching him, expression unreadable.

But he knew her. Knew the tension in her jaw. Knew that if he got close enough, he’d hear her heart hammering under her calm.

He can't wait. He pushed past the clamor, weaving through people shouting his name. Someone tried to stop him, probably PR, but he brushed it off like static. None of it mattered. Not when she was there.

When he reached her, he didn’t speak. Didn’t ask. Just pulled her into his arms like he was starved for her. She stiffened only for a moment before melting into him, fingers tangling in the back of his suit. His forehead dropped to her shoulder, body trembling, not from exhaustion, but relief.

“Podium.” she whispered.

He nodded into her neck. “Couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

And in that quiet moment, hidden in plain sight, before the cameras turned their gaze, Oscar Piastri let himself fall. Not from the high of victory, but into her. He can't stay away. He can't.

#f1 grid x reader #f1 fanfic #formula one x you #f1 x reader #f1 fic #f1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri fic #oscar piastri imagine #op81 #op81 x reader #op81 x you #op81 x y/n #op81 imagine

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pbaz7 · 5 months ago

Text

CROSSING THE LINE — PART NINE ♡

paige x azzi

warnings: panic attack

word count: 5k

A/N: This chapter was a little sad to write but I liked detailed I was able to get with Paige's feelings . If you didn't see my post earlier I'm not sure where I'm going from here yet with this story. This might be one of the last chapters with like an epilogue or something but idk fully yet. Please let me know what you think and leave live reactions and comments if you can! Hope everyone had a nice holiday 😊

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mid February 2024

Paige stared at her reflection in the mirror, her face pale, eyes shadowed with exhaustion. The weight of it all felt unbearable. Her mind churned with a constant noise—comments, critiques, expectations, all bouncing off the walls of her head. No matter how hard she worked, it was never enough. Each day was a new round of judgment, and she was so tired no matter how much she tried to hide it.

It was February, and UConn had only lost two games this season, but both had come with a heavy cost. The media storm that followed each loss made it feel like the world was spinning just a little bit too fast, dragging her along with it. Geno’s contradicting criticisms were always looming. She was too passive one game, too aggressive the next, but always too something. She shot too much, didn’t shoot enough, forced too many shots. Every mistake, every misstep, every decision, was held under a microscope, dissected and discussed endlessly.

Paige’s breath came in shallow gasps as she stared at herself in the mirror, her fingers trembling ever so slightly. The scoreboard in her mind was relentless. If she didn’t get at least 25, if she didn’t clearly dominate the game, she wasn’t good enough. It didn’t matter that she was impacting the game in other ways—her assists, her defense, her leadership, her mere gravity on the court. None of that seemed to matter. Only the numbers in the point column.

The pressure was suffocating. No matter how many hours she spent perfecting her game, it was never enough.

Every morning, the first thought in her head wasn’t about the game ahead—it was about the headlines, the tweets, the messages people were sending. Every night, she lay awake replaying her mistakes, wondering how she could have done more. What if she’d pushed harder, passed differently, shot better? What if she had been more aggressive? The question haunted her like a shadow, chasing her down until she couldn’t tell where the doubt ended and she began.

The whispers were always there—people talking about her, criticizing her, claiming she wasn’t the player they thought she should be, the player she used to be. Even her own coach had joined the chorus of voices pointing out her flaws. She could feel the eyes on her during every practice, every game. Everyone was waiting for her to fall, to break under the pressure.

And sometimes, Paige felt like she might.

Azzi slowly noticed it over time. Paige had been quieter than usual during practice, a little more withdrawn in her celebrations, a little more distant. When they were on the court together, Azzi could see the way Paige was moving—slower, as if every step took more energy than the last. She was still putting in the work everyday, but it wasn’t the same. Her confidence, her usual fire, seemed dimmed. Azzi knew Paige well enough to recognize the signs.

So after a seemingly difficult practice for Paige one day, when the gym was nearly empty and the others were gathering their things, Azzi caught up with Paige. She stood in front of her, blocking her path to the locker room, her eyes soft but insistent.

"Paige," Azzi said, her voice gentle but firm. "What’s going on?"

"I’m fine Az," Paige muttered, her tone a little flat.

Azzi raised an eyebrow, unconvinced, especially considering her girlfriend's tone with her. She took a step closer, closing the distance between them.

"You’re not fine," she said quietly, her voice threaded with concern. "You’re putting on a mask, but you know I can see through it."

Paige hesitated for a moment, her gaze dropping to the floor as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She could feel Azzi’s eyes on her, the concern there in the way she was looking at her, but for some reason, the words felt stuck in her throat. She didn’t want to admit how bad it was lately, how much it was all eating away at her.

"I don’t know," Paige said quietly, her voice laced with frustration, a vulnerability she wasn’t used to showing. "It’s just... everything’s too much right now. The pressure. The expectations. I feel like I’m drowning, Azzi. I can’t keep up."

Azzi's heart twisted as she took a step closer, her hand reaching out to gently grasp Paige's arm. "Talk to me, baby," Azzi said softly, her voice full of warmth and care. "You know you’re not in this alone. Whatever you’re feeling, you can share it with me."

Paige let out a shaky breath, the tears she’d been holding back threatening to spill over. She could feel the walls she’d built around herself start to crack, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she wanted to let them fall. She wanted everyone to see everything—the weight of it all, the suffocating pressure she couldn’t escape. She wanted everyone to see just how bad they had made her feel.

"I just... I don’t know how to do this anymore Az," Paige admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "No matter how hard I try, I’m never enough. The media’s on me, Geno’s on me, even our own damn fans are on me, everyone has something to say, and I feel like I’m constantly failing. If I don’t score 25, if I’m not the one carrying the team every game, it’s like I’m invisible. Like I’m not good enough."

Azzi’s gaze softened even more as she took Paige’s hands in her own, her thumbs brushing over her skin with a soothing touch. "Paige, baby" she said gently, lifting Paige’s chin to meet her eyes. "You are always more than enough. I see everything you’re doing on the court—how you’re leading, how you’re supporting your teammates. You’re making an impact in ways that go beyond just points on the board. And I know how hard you’re working. Don’t let anyone—including yourself—tell you otherwise."

The emotion in Paige’s chest bubbled up, the weight of Azzi’s words landing on her like a balm. She wanted to believe it, wanted to trust that the things her girlfriend said were true. But it was hard to let go of all the voices in her head. It was hard to not think Azzi was just being a supportive girlfriend.

"I don’t know how to quiet my head," Paige said softly, a tear slipping down her cheek. "How do I keep going when it feels like nothing’s ever enough?"

Azzi pulled her into a gentle hug then, holding her close, her arms wrapping around Paige like a safe haven. "You don’t have to do it alone baby," Azzi murmured into her ear, her voice steady and reassuring. "I’m right here, every step of the way.”

Paige buried her face in Azzi’s shoulder, letting the tears fall freely now with no one else in the gym, no longer holding them back. She didn’t have it in here to be strong right now. She didn’t have it in her to be Uconn’s golden girl right now.

…

But then Uconn almost lost another game. Keyword being almost.

The room felt suffocating, the walls closing in around Paige as the weight of everything pressed down on her. She had been here a few times before, locked in this dark space, trying to silence the voices in her head, but today felt different. It was harder to breathe, harder to push through.

The game had ended with a win. UConn had won by 11 points, but it wasn’t enough. It never was. Not when you were the star. Not when everyone expected perfection. Geno had praised her performance, sure, but there was always that hint of disappointment in his voice—more could have been done. More passes. More assists. Fewer contested shots because that won’t help in March.

Paige felt like she could feel the media’s eyes on her the entire game, their cameras flashing with judgment as they pounced on every flaw, no matter how small. The fans, too, had their say—complaining that she should have dropped 30 points on an unranked team, that she was being passive and deferring too much to other players. She knew they didn’t understand. They couldn’t see what was really happening on the court, the way she was trying to balance it all, the way she was doing everything she could to make her teammates shine, to get everyone involved.

But none of that mattered. Not to them.

Paige sat on the floor of the suite, back against the wall, feeling like she was shrinking into herself. She knew better than to get sucked into social media. Azzi had told her, warned her to delete it all, to stop looking at the constant stream of opinions from strangers. But here she was, scrolling through her feed, eyes filling with tears as she read each comment, each demand for more, as if she wasn’t already giving everything she had even if it was slowly killing her.

She let out a shaky breath, biting down on her lip, trying to hold the tears at bay. But it wasn’t enough. The pressure kept building, the anxiety squeezing around her chest, making it harder to breathe. Paige put her phone down with trembling hands, the weight of it all sinking in, her head pounding with the noise in her mind.

Unable to stop herself, she softly banged the back of her head against the wall a few times, willing the thoughts to stop swirling.

Why wasn’t it enough? Why couldn’t she just be allowed to have a good game, a solid performance, without the world tearing it apart? Why did every win feel like a loss when the criticism outweighed the praise?

The tears finally came then, falling freely down her face as she sat there, trying to get a grip on her spiraling thoughts. The walls felt like they were slowly closing in, and she couldn’t stop the fear that was creeping into her chest. The fear that no matter how hard she tried, she would never be enough. That one day, the pressure would break her. That she would fall off the face of the Earth and everything for everyone else would keep spinning.

She hated feeling weak, hated how powerless she felt in this moment. Not being in control. But she just tried to hold onto the thought of Azzi still in her mind, a small thread of comfort in the chaos. Azzi would understand. Azzi always did.

The room felt so empty without her. The silence was suffocating, the isolation almost too much to bear. Each breath Paige tried to take felt shallow, and the harder she focused on her breathing, the more it seemed to slip away. The more difficult it became. Panic was creeping in, like a hand pressing down on her chest, squeezing the air out of her lungs.

She could physically feel all of it—the weight of the expectations, the constant pressure to be perfect. Each thought, each criticism, each word from the media felt like it was wrapping itself around her throat, making it harder to breathe.

She knew she should call Azzi, to try to force some words out so her girlfriend knew how much she needed her. But her phone lay discarded beside her and Paige couldn’t bring herself to look at it. She knew the messages, the comments, that she would unlock her phone to would only make it worse. Her head was spinning, and she couldn’t stop it. Every time she tried to focus her thoughts, to breathe deeply, to imagine Azzi the panic only tightened its grip.

Then the door clicked open, pulling her back from the edge for just a moment. Paige’s heart tried to catch up knowing who it was, but the breath still wouldn’t come.

Azzi froze when she saw Paige, sitting on the floor, her face buried in her hands, shoulders shaking. It only took a second for Azzi to drop her bag and throw her phone on the bed before rushing over. She didn’t hesitate, kneeling in front of Paige, taking her face in her hands. Paige couldn’t look at her, her breathing coming in sharp, uneven gasps.

"Paige," Azzi’s voice was gentle, but firm. "Look at me."

But Paige couldn’t. She was shaking, struggling, trapped in the chaos of her mind. Azzi saw it instantly—this wasn’t just sadness this time. This was another panic attack.

"Hey, hey, listen to me," Azzi said softly, her fingers brushing along Paige’s cheek, trying to steady her. "Breathe, baby. You’re okay."

Azzi’s own breaths were deep, slow, as she began to count, trying to guide Paige through the chaos. "In... one, two, three..." she counted, her voice low but steady. "Exhale... one, two, three..."

Paige’s chest heaved, her breaths sharp and ragged. She tried to focus on Azzi’s voice, but everything felt distant, blurry and out of reach.

"Come on, breathe with me," Azzi whispered, gently urging her. "In... one, two, three..." She let the air out slowly, counting as she did. "Exhale... one, two, three."

Paige’s body trembled, and Azzi could feel the weight of her distress, her panic. But she kept her voice calm, breaking each sentence into short, steady breaths.

"You’re safe," Azzi said, her thumb gently tracing over Paige’s skin. "I’m here. Breathe with me baby."

Paige’s breaths came in short, gasping bursts, still out of rhythm. She tried to follow Azzi’s lead, but each time she focused on her breath, it slipped further away.

"In... two, three," Azzi counted, her voice never wavering. "Exhale... two, three. You’re okay. I love you. I’m here."

Paige’s hands shook as she clutched at her chest, fighting for air. "I can’t... Azzi..." she gasped, her voice barely audible. She was drowning in the overwhelming pressure, feeling like she was finally losing the battle.

"You can," Azzi whispered, her own breath deepening as she counted. "In... one, two, three... Exhale... one, two, three." She leaned closer, her forehead gently resting against Paige’s. "Focus on me. You’re doing great. In, out. In, out."

The air in the room seemed to thicken, but slowly, Paige’s breathing began to soften. It wasn’t perfect, but it was better. The frantic gasps slowed, her chest rising and falling with each breath, steadier now.

Azzi didn’t stop. She kept her hand on Paige’s face, gently coaxing her. "You’re so amazing, baby. You’re so strong. You’re so perfect."

Each breath they took together was a small step, and with every inhale, Paige felt the panic loosen its grip, just a little. Her hands stopped shaking as much, her body less rigid. Azzi’s voice was still steady, counting each breath, reassuring her.

"Good," Azzi said, her voice soft but filled with warmth. "That’s it. You’re okay now. Just breathe with me."

Paige’s breath was slower now, the panic starting to fade, replaced with exhaustion. She looked up at Azzi, her eyes filled with gratitude, but there was still a trace of vulnerability in her gaze.

Azzi smiled softly, her thumb brushing across Paige’s cheek. "I’m here," she whispered again, as though to remind Paige that she wasn’t alone. "I promise you’re never alone."

The storm hadn’t completely passed, but in that moment, with Azzi’s arms around her and her steady presence grounding her, Paige felt like she could breathe again.

After a few minutes of quiet, Azzi didn’t speak. She simply stood up and took Paige’s hand, gently guiding her towards the bathroom. Paige let herself be led, her body feeling light but exhausted, her mind still clouded and heavy. She felt empty, drained, but Azzi was there—her steady hand, her calm presence, like a lifeline in the chaos.

Azzi helped Paige undress. Paige didn’t protest, too worn out to resist, too overwhelmed to think about anything beyond the comfort Azzi was offering. When Azzi took off her own clothes and stepped into the shower with Paige, there was no rush, no urgency, just a quiet understanding between them as they sat in silence for a little bit.

Azzi began undoing Paige’s two braids softly as she kissed her girlfriends cheek or neck now and then. She then reached for the shampoo, squeezing a generous amount into her palm before gently massaging it into Paige’s wet hair. The warm water cascaded down over them, mingling with the steam, but all Paige could focus on was the soothing pressure of Azzi’s fingers against her scalp. Slowly, the tension in her body began to melt away. She leaned into Azzi, letting her eyes close as she rested her head on her shoulders, the simple act of being cared for grounding her even further.

Azzi didn’t say anything, her hands working methodically, rinsing the shampoo from Paige’s hair before applying conditioner. The quiet was comforting, the sound of water and Azzi’s soft hum in Paige’s ear were the only things filling the space.

When Azzi finished rinsing the conditioner out of her hair, Paige finally opened her eyes, meeting Azzi’s gaze. Azzi’s eyes softened, filled with a tenderness Paige couldn’t quite put into words. Her love for Paige was clear in the way she looked at her—gentle, unwavering, and so full of admiration.

Paige’s throat tightened, but she whispered, “Thank you.” Her voice was hoarse, but full of gratitude.

Azzi smiled, her thumb lightly grazing Paige’s cheek as she leaned in to press a soft kiss to her lips. “You don’t have to thank me, baby. I told you, no matter what, I’m always in your corner and I’m going to help you get through this.”

The words settled into Paige’s chest. She wasn’t alone. Azzi was there, always there.

Without thinking, Paige wrapped her arms around Azzi, pulling her close. The water hit them both, but neither of them cared. They stood there, their bodies pressed together, holding each other in the quiet intimacy of the moment.

…

Steam lingered in the air as Paige stepped out of the bathroom dressed in a hoodie and sweats, her damp hair falling in loose waves around her shoulders. The soft shuffle of Azzi’s movements drew her attention to the bed, where Azzi had just sat cross-legged, a comb in one hand and two hair ties in the other.

"Come here," Azzi said softly, patting the space in front of her.

Paige raised an eyebrow, but the gentle look in Azzi’s eyes pulled her forward. She settled on the floor, her back to Azzi, who immediately began threading her fingers through Paige’s damp hair.

For a while, the room was quiet except for the faint sound of the comb gliding through Paige’s hair. Azzi broke the silence, her voice gentle. "You wanna tell me what’s been on your mind tonight?"

Paige was silent, staring at her hands clasped in her lap. She bit her bottom lip, her mind racing as she tried to find the words. "I just... I don’t know what people want from me anymore," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

Azzi paused briefly, her hands stilling before resuming their steady rhythm. "What do you mean?"

"It’s like..." Paige hesitated, trying to find the words. "It’s not about basketball anymore. Every game, every move—it’s a story for someone else to tell. I can’t stop thinking about what people are gonna say after every game, and it’s exhausting."

Azzi hummed softly as she began parting Paige’s hair for the braids. "Do you think about that while you’re playing?"

Paige nodded, her voice small. "Sometimes. It’s like... the game isn’t just the game anymore. There’s so much pressure to live up to everyone’s expectations, and it makes it hard to just... enjoy it. To be in the moment."

Azzi gently tugged one section of hair, starting the first braid. "Paige, baby, you’ve been playing basketball your whole life. You didn’t fall in love with it because of what other people thought. You fell in love with it because it made you happy.”

"I know," Paige said, her voice wavering slightly. "But it’s hard not to care when there’s so many expectations. It’s like... no matter what I do, it’s never enough for me to just get one day of silence. And I just don’t want to let anyone down."

Azzi’s hands worked steadily as she braided, her voice calm but firm. "You can’t control what people think or say, no matter how hard you try so we gotta let that part go. But you can control remembering why you play. You don’t owe anyone anything, Paige—not the fans, not the critics, not even me baby. You play this game for you and only you.

Paige was quiet for a moment, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sweats. "It’s just hard to block it all out sometimes."

"I know it is," Azzi said softly, tying off the first braid and starting on the second. "But you’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. You’ve handled so much already, you’ve been through so much already and you’re still here, still fighting. That’s what matters."

Paige glanced over her shoulder, a small smile breaking through her thoughtful expression. "When did you get so wise?"

Azzi grinned, focused on finishing the second braid. "I’ve always been this wise. You’re just quiet enough for the first time to actually pay attention."

Paige chuckled, leaning into Azzi’s touch as she tied off the braid. Azzi ran her fingers over the finished work, smoothing down stray hairs before giving Paige’s shoulder a light squeeze.

"There," Azzi said, standing up and heading to the corner of the room to grab her basketball shoes. "Now, let’s go."

Paige blinked, looking at her with clear confusion on her face. "What? Go where?"

"The gym," Azzi said matter-of-factly, sliding her feet into some slides

Paige stared at her in disbelief. "Az, we just played an entire game and just got out of the shower. You’re crazy."

Azzi smirked, tossing Paige’s shoes onto the floor beside her. "Come on, Superstar. I’m not asking."

Paige groaned, flopping back onto the carpet. "I picked a crazy person to be my girlfriend," she muttered, though a small grin tugged at her lips.

Azzi stepped closer, brushing a playful kiss against Paige’s temple. "Definitely, thought that was in the fine print though."

With a dramatic sigh, Paige sat up, slipping on her shoes and tying them lazily. "You’re lucky you’re cute," she grumbled as she followed Azzi out the door to her car.

…

The gym was eerily quiet, the faint hum of the overhead lights the only sound as Paige and Azzi switched into their basketball shoes. Paige stood near the baseline, watching Azzi lace up her sneakers with an amused expression.

Azzi grabbed a basketball from the rack, dribbling it once before tossing it to Paige. "Check."

Paige caught the ball, raising an eyebrow at Azzi. "What are we doing?"

Azzi, already standing at the three point line, grinned. "We’re playing one-on-one."

Paige scoffed, spinning the ball lazily in her hands. "No, we’re not."

Azzi tilted her head, feigning innocence. "What, scared you’ll lose?"

Paige rolled her eyes, her competitive spirit sparking lightly at Azzi’s accusation. "First of all, I don’t lose one-on-one. Second, I definitely wouldn’t lose to my girlfriend."

Azzi smirked. "Then prove it. Play me. Otherwise I’ll just tell everyone you were scared."

Paige muttered something incoherent under her breath before lazily checking the ball back to Azzi.

Azzi immediately took advantage of Paige’s relaxed posture, going into a quick jumper from behind the arc. The ball arching beautifully through the air and swishing through the net.

"2-0," Azzi announced, her smirk widening.

Paige groaned, grabbing the ball. "Alright, that’s real cute."

When Paige checked the ball this time, she pressed a hand firmly against Azzi’s hip, cutting off her space. Azzi tried to drive left, but Paige stuck with her, their bodies brushing as they collided. Azzi pivoted, stepping back into a mid-range jumper that kissed the front of the rim before bouncing in.

"3-0," Azzi teased, grinning. "You’re looking a little slow tonight, P. You tired?"

"Yeah?" Paige’s voice dripped with mock sweetness as she checked the ball again. Azzi tried to hit another step back but it bounded off the rim.

They checked the ball and Paige jab-stepped to her left, forcing Azzi to shift her weight, then crossed over and exploded to the basket with a quick step. Azzi stayed close, but Paige used her body to shield the ball, finishing with a layup off the glass.

"3-1," Paige said, flashing a smug grin.

Azzi grabbed the ball, her competitive spirit ignited even though this was supposed to be about Paige. As they continued to play, their movements grew sharper and more physical. Paige backed Azzi down on one possession, bumping her with her shoulder before spinning for a fadeaway jumper. Azzi countered by cutting through the lane with a quick first step, using her speed to slip past Paige for an easy floater.

The teasing never stopped.

"Didn’t know I signed up for wrestling practice," Azzi quipped after Paige body-checked her on a drive.

"Yeah yeah," Paige shot back. "You’re not getting past me again."

Azzi grinned. "Oh, I’m passing you right now." She immediately drove left, brushing past Paige’s hip as she hooked her slightly and finishing with a reverse layup that left Paige shaking her head.

The game became more intense with each possession. Azzi swatted one of Paige’s layup attempts, the ball flying out of bounds. Paige groaned.

"You’ve never done that in your life" Paige said, narrowing her eyes as she retrieved the ball.

"First time for everything," Azzi replied, standing tall and grinning.

Paige responded by hitting a deep three-pointer, holding her follow-through for much longer than necessary as the ball sailed through the hoop. "9-8," Paige said, her smirk confident.

On the next possession, she used a quick hesitation move to fake Azzi out of position, draining another jumper.

As the score climbed, so did the tension. The gym felt warmer, their breaths coming faster, their earlier shower completely undone by the sweat dripping down their faces. Every drive and every block brought them closer, their bodies brushing and colliding in ways that blurred the lines between competition and something more.

At one point, Azzi’s hand lingered on Paige’s waist as she pivoted for a shot, and Paige didn’t pull away. Instead, she smirked, leaning in slightly as she jab-stepped.

"You getting distracted on me?" Paige teased, her voice low.

" Nope," Azzi fired back, though her flushed cheeks suggested otherwise.

Eventually they were tied at 17, both breathing heavily as they sized each other up. Paige had the ball tucked against her hip, her gaze locked on Azzi.

"What do I get when I win?" Paige asked, her tone playful but laced with a hint of something more.

Azzi’s eyes narrowed, her lips curving into a smile. "You’re not going to win."

Paige chuckled, her confidence unshaken. "Guess we’ll see."

She dribbled slowly, luring Azzi to sleep on defense before hitting her with a fast combo move before she drove hard to the basket, finishing with a finger roll that danced around the rim before dropping in.

"18-17," Paige said, smirking as she checked the ball. "Told you, I don’t lose."

It was Azzi’s ball again and once she caught the ball back from Paige, she stepped back, shooting a quick three-pointer that hit nothing but the bottom of the net.

"19-18," Azzi said, mimicking Paige’s earlier tone. She smirked, stepping closer. "What am I getting when I win?"

Paige grinned, walking up to Azzi until they were nearly nose to nose. “A little something to remind you how giving I can be.”

Azzi shook her head, laughing. "You’re full of it."

The game continued, both of them refusing to give an inch to the other but finally Paige ended it with a three that rattled in after she hit Azzi with a hesi pullup.

"That’s game," Paige said, her voice triumphant as she grabbed her water bottle.

Azzi was smiling as she sipped from her own bottle, her grin unusually big. Paige noticed and raised an eyebrow. "You do know you just lost, right?"

Azzi kept smiling, stepping closer until they were chest to chest. "Yeah," she said softly. "But you weren’t thinking about anything else besides this game, were you?"

Paige blinked, her grin softening as realization hit her. For the first time in a while, she hadn’t been consumed by the weight of everyone’s expectations and opinions of how she was playing. She’d just been... playing.

"Huh," Paige said, her voice quieter. "I guess not."

Azzi smirked, leaning in close, her voice dropping to a teasing whisper. "See? I told you I’d help."

Paige leaned in, her lips brushing against Azzi’s, but before she could close the gap, Azzi stepped back with a mischievous grin.

"Nah," Azzi said, grabbing her water bottle and bag. "I’m a sore loser. You don’t get a kiss after beating me."

Paige laughed. "The winner’s supposed to get something."

Azzi tilted her head, her voice dipping into a sultry tone. "Oh? Is that what you want from me baby?"

Paige nodded, her smile growing as she stepped closer, but Azzi turned on her heel, heading for the door.

"You gotta work for it," Azzi called over her shoulder, her voice dripping with playful challenge as she walked away.

Paige stood there, dumbfounded, watching her girlfriend’s retreating figure. Despite everything she’d been feeling earlier, all the negativity and doubt, Azzi had completely unraveled it and left nothing but the Paige who loved to play basketball more than anything.

"Wait!" Paige called after her, grinning. "So, I’m really not getting any tonight?"

Azzi turned, walking backward as her smirk deepened. "Maybe," she teased, her eyes gleaming. "But like I said you gotta work for it P."

Paige chuckled, shaking her head as she jogged after her, a lightness settling in her chest. She couldn’t stop the grin spreading across her face, her eyes fixed on Azzi.

"Thank the gods," Paige muttered under her breath, her voice laced with a mix of humor and adoration, "and every single heaven above for Azzi Fudd."

The thought made her laugh softly to herself as she caught up, ready to follow wherever Azzi led her next.

#pazzi #paige x azzi #pazzi fics

256 notes · View notes

letorip · 1 year ago

Note

hiiii! i loved reading “somethin’ stupid”, and I wanted to make a request for it. Not sure if it’s discontinued or not, but what abt reader when everything has healed and them being super insecure of their scars. Maybe getting bullied or harassed for them? And Wednesday comforting them, even though it’s not her thing + reassurance that she’ll always love them, no matter what. Ty for listening to my rant. :)

somethin’ stupid [iii]

“the time is right, your perfume fills my head, the stars get red and oh, the night so blue”

===+++===

pairing: wednesday addams x reader

summary: wednesday reminds you she loves you with an unending passion, even with the scars that you now wear for her.

warnings: mentions of bullying, body insecurities, percy hynes white the rat man himself existing, explicit words ig? if you can't handle cuss words idk what to tell you

word count: 3.9k

A/N: timeline a bit altered, there's about a week left before you return home for the summer, and xavier gives her the phone with this week left. thoughts are in red. i don’t usually accept requests from people but this was just too adorable to pass up, especially with the new season starting production. it kind of got away from me, in terms of length, but it was fun to write. next out will hopefully be the lottie matthews fic that i’ve been talking up

===+++===

Scars were remarkable things. The way they stretched along the skin of your arms and right up almost to the tips of your fingers, or branched along the bridge of your nose and twisted along your jaw, it was as if a tree of your life was etched fundamentally into you, and Wednesday was transfixed.

It didn’t matter how many times she traced her fingers over the paths— two fingers, gentle, watching your nose twitch with every curve— she still thought they were, that you were breathtaking to look at.

“Wednesday, that tickles,” you hummed softly, eyes still closed. She frowned, tugging her hands away abruptly and raising her eyebrows at you.

“I was unaware you were awake," she said.

You lifted one eye open, smiling when you saw her, and though she would have still rather died than admit it, the gesture held a great, mystical power over her.

The skylight overhead leaked morning light into the room, flushing itself against the walls and beaming gently down, over your cheeks. It felt nice everywhere except for the new slashes that were still healing, and you rolled over, away from her to sit up on the edge of your bed and get out of the uncomfortable heat that pressed on those delicate places.

"How did you get in?" you asked, stretching out your arms and wincing a bit at the uncomfortable tightness. "You weren't here when I went to bed."

She watched you go, leaning back on the scratchy, woollen armchair next to your bed and shoving the stack of comic books already there to the side. “Your roof has a window, and I’m a very good climber. You should lock that, by the way.”

You turned to her and raised your eyebrows, looking miffed, but disgustingly adorable. “You could’ve just texted me, you know. I would’ve let you use the door.”

“And use that phone Xavier gave me? Believe me, I’d rather not,” she rolled her eyes with disgust, thinking about the interaction and how it took up time of her life that she'd never get back.

“You’d better, actually,” you said, turning to her with a smile and then wandering over to the set of drawers in the corner, clothes thrown all over the floor. Your whole room in general was a mess, largely from the bottles of medication and knocked over piles of books and things. It had been a rather stressful endeavour to get you up the stairs and comfortably inside, when you were still in your casts and there wasn’t an elevator.

“Why?” Wednesday challenged, watching you. She herself was already in her uniform, but she watched as you moved in your white pyjama t-shirt, the fresh scars almost dancing with your arms as they moved while you walked.

You grabbed a white button down out from the top one, shaking it a bit to get out a few wrinkles. “Because you’re sure as hell texting with me over summer break.” You shrugged, taking the shirt with you and walking behind the dividing screen you had next to your wardrobe. “That was nice of him to do for you, actually.” Your shirt went flying over the divider, landing on the ground.

Wednesday rolled her eyes. “You’re too kind to him. The snivelling rat only gave it to me so I would feel obligated to text him.” She could hear you rustling around behind the screen, messing about with your clothes. “Besides, why use the phone when I can visit you in person? Are you so braindead you need to rely on your phone for communication?”

The small noises stopped abruptly, and when you didn’t reply to that for a minute, Wednesday furrowed her eyebrows, standing up in her heavy boots that thudded against the creaky old wood of your floor. “What is it?” she asked, stepping forward towards the screen. You had made a fool of her with how much you made her worry, but she still desperately needed to know what was going on inside your head. She needed to be sure that you were okay.

She expected to see you have tripped maybe, or you had somehow collapsed into a pile of clothes and drifted back off to sleep, but the reality was a bit more mollifying. You were on the other side, just standing there with your button down shirt open in front of the mirror. You didn't say anything for a while, staring into it with a frown.

The scars over your stomach were perhaps the deepest, with raw, pinkish impressions still pressed into them and greenish-yellow bruises around the edges that were still straggling to heal up. The lines criss-crossed over your skin and up your chest, ending at the peaks of your shoulders that the white button down draped over. “They look bad on me,” you said, quietly.

She didn't particularly know what to say, watching your eyes continue to stare with a rigid dislike back at yourself. To get her to comfortably lean on you had been quite the effort, and now that you were officially together she was still becoming used to saying she loved you or kissing your skin whenever she so felt like it.

“They look like scars,” Wednesday replied. “The bruising will heal and the redness will fade, and-”

“But they won’t go away.” You said it with a flat disappointment. Wednesday blinked, confused by how you spoke of them. Were you unaware just how magnificent they looked upon you? The thought was vexing, and Wednesday was unsure what it was she could say to ease your mind, so she chose to say nothing at all.

You did the buttons up quickly, tugging on the collar to stand as tall as possible. It covered most of the scarring, but one could still see wisps of hurt skin on your hands and cuts across your face and jaw— Wednesday liked that one especially. You didn't seem to like any of them.

"We're going to be late to breakfast," she said, leaning with her arms crossed against the wardrobe. You shrugged again, going to grab your trousers.

"Go without me."

This caused her great pause. You were never one to miss breakfast. It was probably one of the most consistent ways someone could find you if they needed to. "It's your first day back," she argued. "And you're still recovering."

You rolled your eyes but smiled as you messed with the button of your pants, and it relaxed her a little bit, if the Addams could. "I'll survive without breakfast for a day, Wednesday. I need to get ready for class."

She narrowed her eyes at you. "Then I can survive without breakfast, too." You straightened up, sending her a look as you buttoned your trousers. You entirely knew the game that she was playing. The game she was winning, too.

"You can go without me."

"But I won't," she replied. You narrowed your eyes, grabbing some socks.

"Fine."

She glared right back, but not in an angry way. Just to let you know she was serious. "Fine." You rolled your eyes, stalking over, now that you were clothed and planting a gentle kiss on her lips. She leaned into it, hands coming up to cup your cheeks. Her thumbs brushed over the sensitive skin there.

"You win," you conceded, pulling away and looking down at her with a smile.

"I always do," she said, looking up at you with a shine in her dark eyes.

===+++===

I guess (Y/n) is back.

Oh my god, the rumours were true.

Jeeeesus Christ, that kid's face.

The thoughts flitted past you like passing trains as you walked to the quad, loud and unfiltered noise in the back of your mind that acted as a constant reminder of the new skin you wore. You wore them for her, the short girl walking next to you, but even with her right by your side, it was like she was a million miles away.

That must've hurt, holy hell.

They stared, the people you passed, watching you with a weird half-shock, half-pity, their thoughts running wild. The worst ones imagined the scenario for themselves, and within their heads you saw a dozen different replays in different ways of you getting absolutely torn apart.

How are you still alive???

Fucking jumpscare...

That was about all it took before you shut off your noise completely. Maybe for once, it was better not to know what other people were thinking. You sent a glance to Wednesday, who was walking next to you with her eyes facing ahead. When you felt the people still staring, you frowned, bumping her with your hand. You needed her to hold it very, very badly.

But she sent you a look, shaking her head once as if to say 'not here.' You knew Wednesday didn't like PDA of any sort. She still struggled sometimes to wrap her arms around your shoulders or pull you in by your waist. It wasn't natural, but you still couldn't help feeling a little bit disappointed. The imaginary distance between you both widened, right then, and other kids' staring felt amplified by ten.

Suddenly, a colourful blur came bounding across the quad and right down the hall, straight for you. "Enid— Enid, wait—" Enid tackled you in a tight hug, squeezing you against her with an unrestrained excitement and trying to shake you like a rag doll, it felt like.

"Oh my god! You're back! Oh. My. God!" She screamed, beaming from ear to ear, pulling away to look at you for a second before going right back to hugging you tightly.

You grit your teeth from the discomfort of pressure being placed on the delicate skin, but made no move to pull away, and instead did your best to smile through it. A hug felt nice. It was the warmth you needed in a place that was being so cold to you at the moment. Enid didn't care what marks you had.

"Enid, down," Wednesday said firmly, watching the exchange and carefully monitoring your expression. She had caught your grimace, sending you a wary look and crossing her arms, subtly trying to make sure you were okay. You sent her a quick nod, and Enid gently pulled away.

"Sorry," she said, wincing at realising her mistake. The expression only lasted a second though, before she was right back to smiling at you. "Wait, we're scar buddies!"

You laughed. It had been the first time you felt good about them since finding Wednesday tracing them while you slept. "We definitely are."

Enid's were a bit more healed than yours, blending better into the skin than those that protruded from the bridge of your nose and sloped down into your cheek. You saw yours and thought 'ugly'; you saw Enid's and thought nothing. But you would take it either way.

The girl grabbed your arm, tugging you harshly forwards and dragging you towards your usual table. "You have to see Yoko. Her and Divina were worried sick about you." You sent Wednesday back a look as Enid dragged you, and she shrugged, watching you go, not that she'd be able to do much to stop her.

By the time she had comfortably strolled over to the table, Enid had already dragged you into a seat, and was brightly recounting everything you had missed. Wednesday had already done so, when you were still in the hospital recovering, but you let her continue to talk. It felt nice. Like everything was back to normal for once. She slid down next to you, not saying anything.

Divina and Yoko were being nice about your scars. They kept on trying to brush past it, like nothing was wrong, but you knew when they looked at your face, it was the first thing to catch their eyes every time.

"Are you excited to be back?" Yoko asked from behind her sunglasses, leaning against Divina's shoulders.

"Making up the homework I missed out on? Super thrilled," you said dryly, putting your elbows on the table and leaning on them as you partook in the conversation.

"Well, everyone's missed you," said Divina, trying to smile, but her eyes shifted down quickly, to look at your hands and the cuts upon them before back up to you. "We're all happy you're okay."

You sent her what was supposed to be a smile, but by the look Wednesday shot at you, it probably looked a bit more like a grimace. Could you even call this 'okay?' This wasn't being okay. Being okay would've meant you looked the same as you did before, and that wouldn't happen. It had been permanently taken from you.

"So what are you all doing, for summer?" you threw out the question, more as a way to change the subject, and it was successful. Enid lit up like a Christmas tree, super excited to share about a trip she was taking to see her extended family. It wasn't that you didn't care, but you stopped for a moment, realising this was the happiest you had been in a while. At a table with your friends, and Wednesday next to you. Of course, that was when it was immediately ruined.

From behind Enid, you could see Xavier spot Wednesday and similarly light up, bounding over with a smile.

"And then we're going to the beach with my baby little cousins, and—"

"Wednesday!" he called out to her, interrupting Enid and looking across the table at the girl. Her hand crept up to your knee, placing itself firmly, in a way that told you she was dreading his presence. He looked around at you all, spotting you and failing to hide his disappointment at your return. Xavier quickly glanced back to Wednesday. "Did you get my text?" He asked, smiling again.

Wednesday stared back, unimpressed. "I did. I ignored it."

"Oh," his face dropped. "Well, I wanted to ask if you would tutor me on botany."

She blinked. "There's a week left of school."

"I know," Xavier shrugged. "But we have that end of year quiz on Wednesday."

"I would rather watch Legally Blonde." You had to stop yourself from laughing at that one. You had been the one to show that to her, and she spent the entire duration looking horrified.

"We could do that, then," he offered, and you suddenly realised you had been too nice to him in terms of pursuing Wednesday. Most people knew by now, that you two were officially together, not that it had been much of a secret, even when you were just hooking up. It was rather insane for his pursuit to continue, when you were right there.

"Xavier, I think me and Wednesday are busy, for at least the next couple days," you said, trying to let him down easy. He sent you a glare, before looking back at Wednesday like she would have a different response. She stared back, maintaining her deadpan expression, but squeezing your knee softly as if to say 'thank you.'

He frowned. "Fine. See you in fencing, (Y/n)." You smiled back at him, figuring maybe things were good now. Wednesday sent you a wary glance.

God, you couldn't have been more wrong.

===+++===

Wednesday Addams stormed through the halls of Nevermore with a fire under her feet and a rage in her heart. She pushed through the groups of people, storming up the stairs and down the corridors like she was about to explode. And she truly was.

When she arrived at your door, she was knocking heavily, small fist pounding on the wood with fury.

"(Y/n). Open the door."

No response. It was just about as quiet as it had been that morning, when she had caught you staring at yourself. It filled her with an unmatched worry, sending her back to the night when she had seen those red and blue police lights and thought she had lost you forever. "Open the door." She demanded again, pressing her ear up to it.

"Go away, Wednesday," you said from the other side. It was muffled, but she could still make out the pain in your voice.

"(Y/n), let me in. Now." It was practically a plea at that point, and she cursed you for bringing her to this place of utter weakness for you. "Either you let me in yourself, or I let myself in," Wednesday said, firmly speaking to you with her head against the door. She needed to know you were okay. It came first, right before the rage she felt for Xavier, and she so needed to know that you were still there— still hers to keep.

You didn't say anything though, choosing to continue to stay quiet in your room. Wednesday sighed, grabbing a hairpin from her pocket and reaching for the lock.

She got the door open in less than thirty seconds out of habit, pushing it open gently and letting herself in before she rushed over to you. You didn't even look at her, instead continuing to stare out the window and the sunny day, clouds floating by as if nothing were different. It felt out of place, now.

The part of your face away from the window was covered by the dark of your room. You hadn't even bothered to turn the lights on, sitting in the dark. She used to like the dark, but it felt out of place for you to be hiding in it.

"Look at me," Wednesday said, standing in front of your armchair. Her hand went to your chin, gently tilting your face up. There was a bandage right there, on your forehead, over what could only be a giant cut.

"Who told you what happened?" you asked quietly, your eyes a bit misty. You weren't a usual crier, and it made her uneasy to see just how much of an effect his actions had had on you.

"Yoko. It's about the only time that idiotic phone came in handy. I came as soon as I heard. He's not supposed to start mach when you're not wearing your helmets. Mark my words, I'll curse him until the end of time." It didn't seem to comfort you like it usually did, the pain in your eyes only worsening.

"Do you know what he said, when he cut me?"

She blinked in confusion. "He said 'Frankenstein, I'll give you one to match the others'," you finished, looking her in the eyes for the first time since she had entered the room.

"He's an asshole, I told you," she said, trying to stop you, but you jerked away from her touch for the first time.

"It's not just him. Wends, I see it all the time." Your voice broke a little bit, and you stopped to swallow before continuing. It hurt her heart, as if she was being left to die again in that crypt. "In people's heads, from their mouths, in the mirror. It replays like a fucking movie. I keep seeing myself almost die, and I'm starting to think it would've been better if I had."

No. That was enough. She firmly grabbed your chin again, eyes glinting with violence at the offensive proposition. "Never say that sentence ever again, or else."

"He's got a point though, doesn't he?" you said it slowly, your scarred hand reaching out to her arm and wrapping around her wrist. She flinched at the contact but did not pull away. "I'll never be the same 'me' as I was before. There's something— I'm wrong. And you know it, too. That's why you won't touch me when others are around. It's not me."

Wednesday stared at you for a long moment, as you began to cry. Then her hands went to your cheeks again, just as they had earlier, gently cupping your face in her hands, as if you were the world, because you were. You were her world. "You're an idiot. It appears I've failed to make myself clear."

"What do you mean?" Your eyebrows furrowed.

"Your simple mind fails to realise why I'm even here," she said, and then she leaned forward, clambering up into your lap and resting her forehead on yours. Wednesday had become accustomed to, and rather fond of, making a home there. She was far from the greatest at expressions, but she wanted to make you realise the obvious and that was more than enough motivation to try. "I'm here because I burn for you, down to my core and back up again."

"But I'm not me, not with these—" But you were interrupted by her hand, sliding up to cover your mouth.

"Hush, idiot. You are the same you as before, and I wouldn't stop loving you for anything. I have loved you for all you were before and all you are now. I would have loved you if the damage was worse, and I would still yearn for you if you had died. It makes no difference, (Y/n), you fool. You're still you, and you're still as... captivating as the first time I saw you and wanted you in my possession."

Her hand came to your cheek again, stroking gently the skin there and feeling all the ridges under her thumb. "You've placed a cruel curse on me, as if you don't already know yourself. I am indefinitely, irrevocably yours. My refusal to touch you in public is a personal discomfort, but one I'll...overcome, if it means that much to you. Even if I am not touching you, you must assume I want to, because I do."

She brushed a stray tear away, wiping it on your jacket, and your hands came up to wrap around her waist, tugging her against you like you were afraid she would melt through your fingers. "Are you aware of how I was almost killed, in the crypt, when fighting Crackstone?"

You shook your head. "You don't like to talk about it," you mumbled, burying your head in her chest. Her hands went to your hair, lightly scratching at your scalp.

"It was an...incredibly confusing dilemma. I used to patiently await death. My family and I hold it with a special regard. But as I was dying, I only felt lonely. Do you know why?"

You frowned against her, shaking your head again. Wednesday scoffed. "The obvious answer is you. It would be leaving without you. And as obnoxious as it is, I don't want to. Today, tomorrow, forever; I want to do it with you."

You sat there for a moment, thinking to yourself, and then you nodded. It was slow, but it was there, and when Wednesday felt it, she sat back to look you in the eyes. "Are we clear?" She demanded. If you said no, she would only double down. But instead, you nodded again, looking up at her. She held your heart in her hands.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

You leaned forward, kissing her with the most passion you ever had, and Wednesday only returned it, cupping your neck and leaning into you. She would crawl into your skin, if she could. She'd build a little birdhouse in your soul, if she could find a way. You pulled away again, after a long minute, nodding again. "Okay. Same."

She blinked. "Same? I spill my heart to you and you respond with 'ditto'?" You laughed and she rolled her eyes, attempting to get off your lap. But your arms came up, entrapping her there and holding her close.

"You've put it perfectly. I want you forever, too." And so she melted into your embrace again, hand going to your scars to trace them and you nuzzling into her hand. It was a while, before either of you spoke.

"We have to get him back, forever, this time," Wednesday said, cold and calculating.

"Agreed."

About two days later, you watched in absolute delight as Xavier ran down the hall in his bathroom towel, a poisonous snake trailing behind him and half of his head shaved completely bald. Call it an ode of Wednesday's love.

===+++===

this was fun! i'm unsure of where to, if i do at all, take somethin' stupid from here. this won't be the only wednesday fic, so unless you all have more ideas, this may be it for this series. anyways, cheers!

#wednesday addams #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #wednesday x reader #wednesday addams x reader #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega imagine #wednesday netflix

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hunniebunniebear · 5 months ago

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Ik there’s plenty to be said abt arcane season two and like, yeah 100%.

But I wanna talk abt people saying Silco wouldn’t be able to forgive Vander JUST from that letter. Because they’re right! That letter alone would do nothing to heal the raw infected wounds that vander left Silco with, both physical and mental.

But it would get him to talk

Vander wrote that letter because he wanted to communicate his guilt and regret and the fact he at least bloody recognises that what he did was a mistake/wrong. And its a dogshit apology but its a start. In the canon timeline that start comes far far too late.

Reconciliation is an arduous fuckin task, forgiveness like this is extremely hard earned Amd both of these requires a shit tonne of communication. lets be real neither of them are brilliant at that as a skill. So even if all that letter does is cause a confrontation, thats a place to start!

Idk idk idk, this post isnt well thought out, i just have so many feelings about these guys. Ik season 2 arcane isnt the best laid out and tye Good Au is just a snippet of an episode so it has no chance to communicate this but like yeah. Its abt the implication!!

I have ideas for a couple ways the letter confrontation could go down as well as further thoughts on pre and post betrayal. But yeah!

[vague gestures]

#is this the vibe?#vander arcane #silco arcane #vanco #zaundads #silco #vander #listen i just have a lot of feelings #arcane #arcane season 2

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frillydolle · 2 months ago

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saw that reqs for will and hannibal were open and i RAN here!!

(idk if u meant hannigram or x reader so lmk if u want other ideas)

can u write a Will x reader where they’re partners at work but he’s hard crushing on reader so one day he finally asks her to have dinner with him at his house, but reader is oblivious to his feelings and thinks he’s just trying to be nice to her since they’re working partners and idk make it fluffy or smutty whatever u want. also love to see reader interact with all his dogs lmao

I love the way u write!! i’d read anything from u ♡

tags ͡˚̣̣̣𓎟𓎟　 not proofread　 season one based will　 typical fbi gossip　 ooc?　 fluff　 femreader

you and will have been partners in work for a long while now. the two of you were sort of an... intriguing couple. his empathy used in a way to convey the point of view of individuals who didn't follow social laws and norms, just so he could mentally construct the view and their motives for what they did. you, on the other hand, you worked along side with special agent beverly katz. for him, it was refreshing to that you didn't seem him as some bloodhound to the fbi. you understood him and his track of thought.

what he definitely knew is that he had feelings for you. the type of feeling that'd he look at you witch such awe and devotion that everyone noticed except you, being the oblivious girl that you are. you always thought that he was being nice. how he'd check up on you, walk you home (since you didn't live far), he even brought you coffee a few times.

“ask her on a date. you never know, she might say yes.” beverly says, as she's waits patiently for the machine to show her where the shots landed on the paper-like mannequin. she soons takes the noise cancelling headphones off.

“yeah, well, i have other things to focus on.” he replies, coming off a little standoffish as he's positioning himself to start shooting. that's just him. he was always like that, honesty and cold. he wasn't much of a people person. he got the job done, and that's what mattered even if he was different.

in his own way, it was obvious that he was crushing on you, everyone within the unit saw it. you were completely oblivious, he was just being nice to you, wasn't he? and so you never thought much of it. he'd walk you to your car and he'd let you ramble on about whatever came to your pretty brain of yours. hell, he even named a fish bait after you, a superstition.

“[name].. do you.. want to come over? for dinner? i just caught a largemouth bass and─”

“id love to, will! ive never really tried bass before...”

that caught him slightly off guard. he didn't think you'd say yes. now he wasn't sure what to say, he did but he didn't? he assumed you'd be busy, is all. you were a busy person, a pretty girl, too─ why are you thinking like that, will? you on the other hand, you were very excited! you were finally considered to be his friend. he's never invited someone over to his house amd you were the first person.

with slight help from hannibal and a cookbook, will make a fabulous but simple dish of grilled bass. it tasted so good as you felt the seasonings and the flavours burst into your mouth. it really filled that craving inside you. you didn't think imagine that he was a good cook but then again he did live again, maybe he was bored often? then again, he has dogs. many of them. not that you'd complain.

“winston is just a big sweetheart, isn't he?” you say softly before taking a small bite of the bass. winston was sitting by your feet while will's other dogs were sitting by his feet or asleep by now. winston always adored you, it was like he preferred you over will sometimes, it was funny. “mhm. i think he sometimes like you more than me.” he replied with a small smile, like his words were a small tease. and that's what is refreshing about you, taking his words as a joke.

“are you still upset that your dogs preferred the treats i gave them?” you replied with a small smile, gently nudging him in a banter manner. of course, he wasn't really upset. that's how the two of you spoke to each other, something both of you were comfortable with. “they always adored those biscuits before you walked in.” he says as a small giggle leaves your lips. oh, you were even more pretty when you laughed, not that he'd tell you that. although, actions speak louder than words, right?

dinner was very nice. it was enjoyable and the food was amazing! now, will wasn't bold with anything. we all know it, but he kept his feelings towards subtle in his own ways. when you gave him your plate to put through the kitchen, his fingers brushed yours and hid touch lingered for a a few moments. his gaze didn't leave your faces, he'd often stare at you when you weren't looking.

#🎀reqsೀ #hannibal nbc #hannibal #nbc hannibal #will graham fanfiction #will graham fluff #will graham fic #will graham x you #will graham x reader #will graham x female reader #hannibal fic #hannibal fanfiction #will graham imagine #divider by starvvies

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deathon1leg · 4 months ago

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byler & yellow curtains (inspired by this incredible post by @love-byers)

i wanted to contribute some of my own findings (which i’m sure have all been pointed out before—i’m no genius discoverer) and personal analysis!!

this post got way longer than i thought it would, but i kept noticing more things to talk about. it’ll be s4 focused but i have some from other seasons too if anyone’s interested in another post :)

mike and el’s fight:

outside of el’s room you can see yellow/orange curtains through jonathan’s door, and some of el’s window through hers. when mike goes in, the window is the brightest and most vibrant thing by far and its curtains are WIDE open. when he goes to put a plate down the left curtain is almost perfectly between them, dividing them like a wall.

at first she doesn’t look at him, so only we (and not mike) get to see her face, which is cast in light and a bit out of focus. (also, the yellow-green tree she’s putting back together for her diorama is peaking out in the corner.)

the bottom two pics are el’s POV, hence the blurry background mike—she feels disconnected from/misunderstood by him.

when she finally turns around is when she’s talking about being different and not belonging anywhere (which, while in an entirely different way, mike can relate to). the light hardly hits her face anymore because it’s shifted to mike’s POV. he sees her in shadow.

the next time we get a full shot of the window is when el says mike can’t even write “i love you”, when she stands in front of it and it frames her.

i wanna point out mike’s face here. he looks so—guilty? afraid? vulnerable? just more genuine than he does the rest of the fight. he knows he’s been caught, and he doesn’t have an excuse (which is why he ends up deflecting and calling her ridiculous)

when el grabs the letters, the window is between them, separating them, and a curtain is directly behind her. also, she says “from mike” or “from” a total of 7 times. coincidence? idk. maybe i’m reaching.

the window/curtains take up a whole half of el’s shot here, and are still “between” them in continuity—it’s as if they’re another character interrupting the shot, just like will did many times in s4 m*leven scenes.

a few lines before “they’re nobodies and you’re a superhero” mike says “you know what i think of you, you’re the most incredible person in the world”. it comes across as ‘i think you’re the most incredible person because you’re a superhero’.

i think el’s “not anymore” is a response both to “you’re a superhero” and the “you know what i think of you”, because this is when she comes to the conclusion that mike doesn’t see her as the most incredible person anymore, and that mike loved her powers/his idea of her rather than her as a person (i do believe mike cares for her a ton and loves her as a friend, but this is el’s perspective) .

her expression changes as she realizes these things, and mike can tell he didn’t convince her.

mike’s talk w/ will about his and el’s fight:

will paces back and forth in front of the yellow/orangeish curtained window in jonathan’s room, venting about everything. it’s not actually a curtain but a sheet/tapestry, so it doesn’t do much at all to block the bright light. (note the bright lava lamp, too.) mike’s not really listening, and is instead staring at the note el left: Dear Mike, I have gone to become a superhero again. From, El

mike knows what el’s saying here. ‘superhero’ = a version of herself that mike can love again, and ‘from, el’ = her acknowledging he doesn’t love her (again, el’s pov) OR implying she doesn’t love him anymore, either. imo it’s a coded breakup/pre-breakup.

this is preoccupying his mind enough that he’s not paying attention to will talking about the very serious situation they’re in.

the note is a symbol of mike’s lack of romantic feelings for el, which lead to the deeper truth of his true romantic feelings for will. with that in mind, here’s what will says when it cuts away from mike looking at the note:

i audibly gasped when the cogs turned in my brain while collecting these screenshots

textually, he’s talking about hawkins here, but COME ON. if we read between the lines…

imagine will’s rhetorical “you” is actually directed at mike—which is easy to do since he’s the only other person in the room—who’s currently staring at the symbolic note.

the thing that needs to be kept contained is mike’s feelings for will, which cannot be contained at all without el. she’s his cover, his beard, his excuse to not face what he’s trying to suppress.

the window appears even brighter when the camera focuses on will.

after this, mike absentmindedly responds with “yeah,” and will notices how distracted mike is, saying:

AKA, if you keep ruminating on your feelings they’re not gonna change, you know?

so, he crumples up the note and throws it in the trash.

this means one of two things: 1. he’s choosing to continue to ignore and “get rid of” his real feelings, or 2. he’s accepting that his feelings won’t change, and is gonna stop trying to get rid of them.

considering the wide open door/‘closet’ behind him, the poorly concealed window, and the “i didn’t say it” “you didn’t have to” scene that comes later (‘it’ being ‘i love you’, as established here, and this convo being coded as also about mike and will’s fight)… i’d bet on option 2. then again, contradictory things happen later, so it may be a mix of both 1 and 2.

a single proper ray of light is peaking through the window, and it’s landing right on a green (blue+yellow, but you knew that) chair, pointing towards them.

even though they’re talking about mike and el’s struggles, will is in the forefront of this shot. he’s lit up by the window’s light, and even though mike doesn’t see that side of his face i believe it’s from mike’s pov.

note the red (el’s color) lamp by will’s head signifying that he think the convo’s just about her, and the yellow potted plant below it that the lamp would be shining on if it were on. (also note the upside down cross next to mike, showing that he feels his feelings for will are “blasphemous”.)

suzie’s room:

this one’s one of my favorites. after eden tells them where suzie is she says “make sure to give that selfish little four-eyed shit a nice little shove for me”. they get to her room but she’s not there.

mike’s, in the front, is first to notice the window, which has open yellow curtains w/ blue trim. the window itself is open, with a gentle breeze and birdsong flowing through it as delicate music plays.

it continues to zoom in on mike as he says this. the door’s open behind him. for some reason or another we’re supposed to focus on mike’s reaction to the window.

“give ‘her’ a shove” as in shove ‘her’ out the window—it’s open, it’s beautiful, it’s calling out to mike, he just needs a shove. and whaddaya know, in the next shot…

mike was the first to stick his head out the window, and is still in the forefront. the sun gets in his eyes and he squints and dodges it a few times, but then he smiles. he doesn’t regret it.

and just ‘cause, here’s another shot where mike and will are perfectly framed by suzie’s yellow-beige curtains:

mike and will talk about el and vecna:

in the top one, they each have a window behind them again. the whole house is filled with windows (w/ open yellowish curtains or shades) and just straight up holes in the wall, and unobscured sun rays come through practically every one of them.

the little curtains in the top left are green-ish and look blue from afar. here, sunshine pours onto will, and mike is exactly right outside of the ray—look at his arm and shoe.

will explains that he can still feel vecna’s presence and that they need to kill him. with (yet again) yellow curtains behind him, mike says:

he crosses the distance and puts his hand on will’s shoulder, and the light hits it.

mike’s in the light now—his arm, at the very least. he reached out into it with intent, giving himself a shove, and now they’re sharing the same ray of sunshine. when they hear a car approaching they look behind themselves at the window, acknowledging it, and then they get up to look outside it.

aaaaand that’s it. i hope you enjoyed this post <3 i spent way too much time on it… disclaimer that i have no media education and this is all from my (untrained) perspective. i also don’t claim to be the first to discover any of this, i’m sure i’m late to the party for a lot of things here, so kudos to those more attentive than me. thanks for reading!! :)

#thank u op for the inspiration #go easy on me pls i’m not media educated </3 #byler #byler meta #byler analysis #byler endgame #st5 #curtaingate #is that a thing? if not i’m dubbing it #mike wheeler #will byers #stranger things

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