#like she knows he's not great and not always just but he's her FRIEND she RESPECTS him and there's a history there | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

writingwithciara · 2 days ago

Text

could be -jack hughes-

summary: y/n and jack are as inseparable as real best friends should be. so much so that even though they're not dating, she is considered a 'wag' anyway

word count: 4.6k

pairing: jack hughes x reader

notes: jack is just precious and so wholesome istg.

masterlist

growing up, jack was always taught to treat women with respect. he was also told that he should pay special attention to the girl in his life that meant the world to him.

and that's what he did with y/n. she was his best friend & had been since the 6th grade. ever since they met, they were completely inseparable.

even when jack went straight from high school to being a professional hockey player, y/n went with him. she figured she could take a gap year then enroll in school in jersey once she found one that was right for her.

it was obvious to everyone that their close friendship bordered on a real relationship but nobody could be bothered to bring it up. especially not when they saw how much they both cared about the friendship and would do nothing to jeopardize it.

jack's rookie season in the nhl was not as great as he expected it to be. he lost more games than he could count and felt like he wasn't living up to his full potential. but he was reminded every night when he came home that no matter how bad he played, he would always have his favorite girl cheering him on.

and given how close they were, most people had a feeling that something or someone would come along and cause a rift in their friendship. and when jack got his first girlfriend since going pro, they were all proven wrong. turns out that the girlfriend didn't like how close he and y/n had been and she gave him an ultimatum. of course he chose y/n, leading people to believe that there was definitely something going on between the pair.

and no matter how many times people put that idea out there, they always shut the thought down and insisted they were always going to be just friends.

but those closest to them knew that was most certainly not true.

everything they did was something an average couple would do. they could deny it all they wanted but it was clear they were destined to be together.

----------

"hey, y/n. are you coming to the game tonight?"

"do you want me to come?"

"always." jack smiled, but immediately became concerned when she didn't smile back. "of course i want you there. do you think i don't?"

"i was just messing with you, jack. of course i'll be there."

"okay good." he kissed the top of her head and smiled. "you almost gave me a heart attack. i can't play without you there."

"no need to worry, darling. i've never intentionally missed a game since the second half of your rookie season and i'm not going to start now."

"i know. i don't know why i thought you weren't coming tonight though."

"you'd miss me too much if i wasn't there." y/n smirked.

"you know me too well." jack chuckled and grabbed his gear. "i'm late for practice. but i'll for sure see you later tonight, right?"

"absolutely. wouldn't miss it." y/n walked with jack to the door. he looked at her bracelet and smiled.

"you're gonna need a whole new bracelet if we win tonight."

"you mean after you win tonight?" y/n smiled and moved the bracelet around. "who picks out the charm this time?"

"i believe it's jesper's turn again."

"oh, sweet. i love the charms he picks."

"what about mine?"

"i love them even more than jesper's. you know that."

"yeah, i know." jack smiled again and grabbed his keys. "alright. see you in a few hours."

"bye." y/n shut the door and examined her bracelet again. jack had bought it for her after he scored his first career goal and told her that every time his team won, he would buy her another charm because he considered her to be his personal good luck charm. after the 10th win, his teammates started taking turns picking out the charms, as they not only believed that y/n was jack's good luck charm, but theirs as well. they never lost when she attended a game so the belief stuck.

a few hours later, y/n grabbed her jack hughes jersey, put on her black jeans and slipped on her red converse. she threw her hair up in a messy bun and didn't bother with any makeup since she never really wore it much anyway.

before she got in the car, she sent a text to both jack and luke, wishing them good luck on the game. luke's reply was just a thumbs up while jack's reply was an entire paragraph. y/n left it open and drove to the arena. when she arrived, she put her phone in her purse, completely forgetting to respond to jack's text.

in the locker room, luke was finishing adjusting his skates when jack sat next to him.

"y/n left me on read, luke. do you think she's okay? what if something happened to her on the way here?"

"i'm sure she's fine. she's the most careful driver i know." he finished lacing the right skate and pulled the left one tighter. "have you tried calling?"

"no. we never call before games. it's a rule."

"you might have to break a rule every now and then."

"okay, fine." jack pulled his phone out and quickly dialed y/n's number. it went to voicemail and jack sighed. "right to voicemail, luke. this is not good."

"relax, jack. she probably just turned her phone to do not disturb so she could focus entirely on the game tonight."

"okay. maybe you're right." jack stood up. "thanks, bro."

"no problem." luke chuckled. "you gotta learn to never doubt me."

"yeah, yeah. whatever." jack rolled his eyes and grabbed his stick. "we got a game to win."

as the boys came out onto the ice, y/n's gaze immediately landed on jack. he looked at her and smiled, thankful that nothing happened to her on the way to the game. he skated around and that's when the thought hit him.

she didn't respond to his pre-game text like she normally did.

the game went on like it normally would, but with jack distracted, he wasn't playing his best. y/n watched as jack took a hit at the end of 1st period. it never should've happened and she was beginning to worry.

she pulled out her phone and went to send him a text, knowing he was gonna check his phone during the break. and that's when she realized she never replied to the paragraph he sent before the game. she felt guilty, as if she was the reason jack was having a bad game.

she typed as fast as her fingers could go, rattling off an extra long apology text, hoping it would make up for earlier.

and when jack was back out on the ice for the second period, he seemed to be playing a lot better than before. the text seemed to have worked.

halfway through the last period, the devils were up by 2. as jack scored, he turned to look at y/n. when he saw her, he smiled.

he was distracted and the other team knew it. so they took this opportunity to slam him in the boards as hard as possible, taking jack out for the last 10 minutes of the game.

as the ref escorted jack off the ice, y/n hurried out of her seat and down to the tunnel. she rushed to the medic's office and watched as he did his routine checkup on jack. when he was finished, he turned to y/n.

"take good care of this one. he's showing signs of a possible concussion and he may be out for a game or two. we have to make sure he'll be okay."

"don't worry. i'll make sure he's fine." y/n smiled as the medic walked out of the room.

"that was a terrible game." jack shook his head slowly. "i screwed up."

"no you didn't, jack. you played great." y/n squeezed his shoulder softly and smiled.

"you and i both know i didn't. i was a mess in the first half of the game and-"

"i know. it was my fault. i should've answered your text."

"what? no. that's not why i wasn't focused. okay well maybe a bit. but i wasn't mad. i was scared. the last text i got from you before the game was that you were on your way here. and when you didn't reply to my text, i thought something bad happened to you. i wouldn't know what to do without you."

"don't worry. i'm right here."

"good." jack looked up at her and smiled. neither of them knew why they began to lean in but when their lips were about to touch, luke walked into the room, causing them both to jump apart. luckily luke didn't see anything.

"hey. we won the game but i wanted to come see you. how are you doing?"

"i'm alright. might have a concussion and may have to sit out for a game or two. but i'm fine."

"do you need me to stay tonight and keep an eye on you?"

"no thanks, luke. i appreciate the offer but y/n is gonna be there. she lives with me, remember?"

"right. are you sure there's not another reason she's living with you? like, say, maybe you guys are more than friends?" luke raised his eyebrow.

"oh yeah. i sleep with jack every night and he's sooo good. and oh my god. the size is just-" y/n smirked when luke interrupted her.

"i was kidding. i really didn't need to know any details. gross." he shook his head and left the room. jack couldn't help ut laugh at his brothers reaction.

"you know he's gonna tell the rest of the team, right?"

"let them believe what they want. only we know the truth." she winked at him and grabbed his stuff. "now let's get going. i hear my bed calling me."

"you're so dramatic." he chuckled and followed his best friend out to her car. "it's a good thing i got a ride here with luke this morning."

"yes it is. now you can be my little passenger princess this time, instead of the other way around."

"ha. ha. very funny."

"i know i am." y/n smiled and started driving back to their apartment. "how's the head feeling?"

"little rough. but i'll be fine, i promise. you don't need to worry." jack reached over the center console and squeezed her leg gently.

"i always worry about you." y/n kept her eyes on the road but when jack moved his hand, she felt like her leg was on fire.

"i know. and i appreciate it. a lot." jack smiled and got out of the car when she parked. he hurried over to her door and opened it for her.

"thanks, jack. but i could've done that on my own."

"i'm showing my appreciation."

"jack, there are other ways to show your appreciation." y/n smiled and walked to their door. jack was frozen in his spot as he watched her walk inside. before the door shut, he rushed in behind her.

"hold up. just wait a second." he sat down on the couch and looked at y/n. "what other ways can i show my appreciation?"

"by getting me a new charm for my bracelet since your team won." y/n smirked. "did you think i meant something else?"

"what? no. of course not." jack shook his head rapidly, causing y/n to continue smirking.

"oh my gosh. you totally did!"

"well, i kinda thought that we could talk about what almost happened back in the medic's office before luke walked in."

"jack, it was a slip up. heat of the moment situation. it never should've happened."

"it didn't happen. but i agree. heat of the moment." jack sighed and looked at her. "you're my best friend and i love you. but what didn't happen is not going to change us, right?"

"of course not." y/n smiled and headed to her room. jack watched her close the door and let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding.

it was going to change everything.

❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤

over the course of the next few weeks, the dynamic between y/n and jack had shifted. everyone noticed immediately but it took jack and y/n a little longer to catch on.

it wasn't drastic enough where y/n felt like she had to move out. but she no longer felt like jack wanted to spend every minute with her like he normally had in the past.

his attitude changed and he slowly became less of the happy guy he always was, and more of a moody one instead. he was getting into fights more often than not & he was bringing girls home with him almost every night.

he would ignore y/n when she would greet him and each time he did, y/n felt like he was chipping away a piece of her heart. it was starting to become an issue for her and she didn't know what to do.

until an 'angel' knocked on the apartment door one afternoon.

y/n was home alone, getting ready for the last regular season game, when she heard the knock. she got up and looked through the peephole.

"nico? what are you doing here? shouldn't you be at the arena practicing for the big game?"

"i should be. but i think we need to talk."

"what about?" she held the door and looked at her friend. "what's going on? is everything okay?"

"with me? yeah. with jack? no."

"what do you mean?"

"you've noticed the changes recently, yes?"

"of course. i notice a lot." she shook her head. "what about his changes?"

"it's messing with his playing."

"meaning?"

"he used to be the best player on the team but for the last 4 weeks, he's been different. his points haven't gone up and his skill level has declined. he still ranks fairly high in the league but it's nowhere near where he deserves to be." he sighed. "i need to know what happened between you guys."

"why do you assume something happened?"

"because i know you guys better than you think i do. and the dynamic between you has shifted since he got the concussion a month ago. so what happened? did jack say something to upset you, or vice versa?"

"no. at least, i don't think so. and to be honest, i have no idea what really happened. the night he got the concussion, we came home and things were fine. but when i woke up the next morning, it was like the jack hughes i know and love was replaced by someone else."

"so jack is the only one to know why he's been acting so weird?"

"i guess so." y/n looked at her phone. "you should get going. the team's gonna need their captain before the game."

"yeah, you're right." he went to walk away but stopped. "are you coming to the game?"

"yeah. i'll be there. there's just something i need to do first. see you later." she shut the door slowly and walked into jack's room. it looked pretty much like it always did. it was a little bit messier than normal but that's how jack tended to keep it.

as she was about to walk out, she saw a gift on the floor by his bed. there was a tag attached to it that had her name printed neatly on it in jack's handwriting. she picked it up and took it with her to the car. she needed an explanation and was determined to get one, even if jack didn't want to give it to her.

when she parked at the arena, she climbed out of her car and ran inside quickly. there was still a little while before the game started but the fans were already filing into their seats. the team was skating around the ice doing their warm ups but jack was nowhere to be found. and neither was nico.

y/n was about to send nico a text, telling him she had arrived, but when she looked up, jack and nico were skating onto the ice. nico waved when he noticed her but jack hadn't seen her yet so she would have to wait to talk to him.

the first half of the game was brutal for the devils. they were down by 3 at the end of the second period, not having scored a single goal yet, and they were looking at a complete shutout,

y/n watched the team skate off the ice and sent a text to nico, letting him know she was on her way down to the locker rom to talk to jack. she couldn't wait another second.

as she got to the room, the rest of the team was walking out slowly. nico was last and he stopped her.

"um, just a heads up but he's not in a great mood and he's blaming himself for what's happened so far in the game. hopefully you can work your magic on him like you always do."

"yeah, hopefully. good luck out there." she smiled and stood in the doorway to the locker room. jack was pacing back and forth with his head down so he didn't notice her and he was mumbling to himself. she knocked lightly on the door to get his attention. "jack?"

"huh?" his head shot up and they made eye contact. "w-what are you doing here?"

"i came to see my best friend play kick some ass and make it to the playoffs tonight."

"that's not gonna happen so you can go home if you want. i don't want to disappoint you when we lose."

"you're not going to lose, jack." she took a step into the room and the air felt thick.

"we haven't scored once this game and there's 20 minutes left. i highly doubt we're coming back from this." he shook his head. "and it's all my fault."

"no it's not. it's a team game, jack. it doesn't depend on just one person. you know that."

"if i hadn't played so badly this last month, we'd already be guaranteed a playoff spot. but this game is the make or break one."

"what's gotten into you? where's the best friend who is always full of spirit and determination? the one who never wants to give up, no matter how hard a task may be?"

"he's a total mess who can't get his shit together. he's lost hope for a lot of things in his life and he doesn't know how to get back to his normal self again."

"when did things change?" y/n took a seat beside him on the bench. "was it before or after the concussion?"

"the same night." he sighed. "i felt the change after we got home."

"was it something i did that maybe upset you?" y/n looked at him but he didn't answer. "jack, please talk to me. i want to help you in anyway that i can."

"do you really think that our almost kiss was just a slip up? a heat of the moment thing?"

"what?"

"just tell me the truth, please?"

"i've known you since the 6th grade and not once did i ever think about kissing you. you've been my best friend since i met you so yeah. it was a heat of the moment thing." y/n looked up to find jack staring at her.

"i feel the same way. or at least i thought i did." he sighed. "i had never thought about kissing you before and have had no romantic feelings towards you since we became friends. but that night, when you didn't answer my pre-game text, i was scared something happened to you. and you already know that. but as i was freaking out, i started thinking about why i was reacting that way. i realized that i never wanted to experience life without you. and then when i saw you and saw that you were alright, my heart nearly exploded with happiness. i thought i lost you but you were there, in front of me, and these brand new feelings became overwhelming for me." jack took another breath. "that night when you told me it was a slip up, it hit me that you didn't feel the same way about me. so i started giving you space because it felt like what was best and i realize now that it was a mistake to do that. because without you by my side, i fell apart real fast. i screwed up by almost kissing you and if it was possible, i would turn back time and stop myself. i never intended for things to end up this way. and i am so sorry i disappointed you."

"you could never disappoint me, jack. you're my favorite person in the entire world. and yes, i thought it was a slip up that night because i had never thought about kissing you before. but when you were giving me that 'space', it gave me time to think about what almost happened and i have come to the realization that it wasn't a heat of the moment situation. i realized that i can't live my life without you. truthfully, i love you jack. i never really thought about it before but now i know."

"so all that space was a dumb idea, huh?"

"of course, dummy. but maybe things can be different now. we can get back to how things were before the concussion." y/n took his hand. "but with an added bonus of love."

"that sounds like a good idea." he went to kiss her but she stopped him.

"wait. i almost forgot the main reason i cam back here."

"what's that?"

"i found this in your room." she pulled the gift out from her purse and handed it to him. he turned it around in his hands and smiled. "what is it?"

"as ridiculous as this might sound, it's a book." he let out a chuckle.

"a book?"

"yeah. but not just any book." he smiled. "this book is special and i was intending to give it to you for your birthday but i didn't know if things would be back to normal or not." he looked up at her. "go ahead. open it."

y/n carefully unwrapped the book and stared at the cover. a little cartoon version of herself with jack stared up at her with the title my best friend written in shiny silver letters. she flipped through the book and smiled with every page she read. it was a story book of her life, before and after she met jack. it was illustrated so perfectly and each hidden detail throughout the book made her eyes water. "jack , i love this so much."

"i figured you would. but i'm glad you do." he looked at her. "did you see what was taped to the back cover?"

"no." she flipped to the back cover and taped to the inside was a little swan charm. y/n carefully pulled it off and smiled. "seriously, jack. you didn't have to do this."

"well i wanted to. i needed to show you how much you mean to me but with everything you've ever done for me, the book and the charm are not going to be enough."

"jack, they're more than enough. they're perfect." she looked at him. "you're perfect."

neither of them hesitated to place their lips together. they fit perfectly together, just like everyone knew they would. jack held y/n's face as he deepened the kiss. her hands held his wrists as they slowly pulled apart.

"okay, my team is waiting for me. i've got a game to win." he stood up quickly. "i love you."

"i love you too. now go out there before they start to worry." y/n laughed as jack rushed out to the ice. she slid the book back in her purse and made her way back to her seat just in time for the final period to start.

30 seconds in, jack scored a goal and the fans went nuts. his teammates all hugged him and nico looked up to where y/n was sitting, knowing she really did work her magic on him.

there was 5 minutes left in the game when nico passed the puck to jack, who scored another goal, putting the game at 3-2 for nashville.

with 2 minutes left, it was looking like they were going to lose. but luck must've been on their side because curtis somehow got the puck to jack. he took it and sped down to the other end of the rink, shooting it right into the net to tie the game.

and when the buzzer went off to signal the end of the game, everyone on the team was excited. they were congratulating jack as they made their way to the bench.

"whatever you're doing, keep it up. that was an excellent third period." curtis high-fived him and walked down the tunnel. both jack and nico shared a look and their eyes went to y/n in the stands. she waved to them and they smiled.

"she must've worked her magic real hard on you to get such a turn around like that."

"yeah. something like that." jack smirked and took a drink from his water bottle before spraying some down the back and front of his jersey. he knew he was a great player but even he was impressed with how fast he shifted the game.

overtime started not long after their conversation and even though nashville was playing hard, new jersey was playing harder. their team dynamic was so much stronger than it was before.

with the clock ticking down and jack with the puck, the win was in sight. but the nashville players were not letting it go that easily. all the players on the ice chased jack and nearly cornered him. one slammed him into the side, causing him to lose his balance and fall. they all looked for the puck, believing that he would've given up the possession when he hit the ice.

but he did that before he went down. he passed the puck to jesper, who was not being defended. luckily nobody saw that pass. jesper took off back towards the nashville net and hit the puck as hard as he could, sending it flying towards the goal.

everyone watched with baited breath as the puck moved faster and faster towards the net. when it hit the back and the buzzer went off, everyone cheered. the devils were going to the playoffs.

y/n made her way down to the tunnel to wait for the team. nico had a feeling that's what she would be doing so he made sure jack was at the end of the line.

as they passed by, y/n congratulated the guys on the big win and continued to wait for jack. when she saw him, she couldn't help but throw herself into his arms. he was shocked but he held her tightly.

"that was incredible, jack. i told you you were going to win."

"i couldn't have done it without you and our talk."

"well, you could've. but i'm gonna take the credit where i can get it." she smiled. "go get changed so we can go home and celebrate."

"yes ma'am."

things were going to be okay. they were gonna make sure of it.

#nhl #jack hughes #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes fic #jack hughes imagine #quinn hughes #luke hughes

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2amriize · 2 days ago

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.ᐟ friend!RIIZE flirting with you ༉‧₊˚.

req: I js discovered your blog and im obssesedddd😭 could you do riize as friends flirting with you on party and being very bold? thank youuu

pairing: friend!riize x reader —masterlist

⭑.ᐟ shotaro

Your group of friends had decided to throw a party to celebrate the end of your first year at university. The party was pretty crowded, and although you didn’t usually enjoy these events, you were having a good time. At one point, Shotaro, one of your closest friends, came over to talk to you, and the two of you spent a long time chatting while sipping your drinks. You weren’t sure if it was because the music was so loud or because Shotaro had had a bit too much to drink, but he kept moving closer to you, leaning in to your ear every time he wanted to say something. You didn’t expect him to place his hand on your hip and whisper:

"You look too good tonight, and you smell amazing... Should we find somewhere more private?"

.ᐟ eunseok

Since you arrived at the party, you’d been hanging out with your friend, dancing and having some drinks. The moment you noticed Eunseok watching you, you couldn’t stop wondering why he was staring. When your friend stepped away, Eunseok wasted no time approaching you to start a conversation, offering you a drink while his eyes swept up and down your figure. After a few seconds of silence, he brought his hand near his lips and said:

"Wow... I've been waiting all night to come up to you, and I don’t know if I can wait any longer to get even closer."

⭑.ᐟ sungchan

One of your friends suggested playing truth or dare during a small party your group had planned. After some time drinking, you all decided to make things more exciting with the game. The questions and dares grew increasingly bold, which made the situation even more interesting. You didn’t expect that one of the dares would result in you spending five minutes alone in a closet with Sungchan. It felt strange being so close to him, and you couldn’t help but notice how he was looking down at you.

"People will probably think we’re doing something in here..."

"I mean... I wouldn’t mind giving them something to talk about if it’s with you."

⭑.ᐟ wonbin

Although you’d known Wonbin for years and were part of the same friend group, the two of you had never really talked alone, so you didn’t know much about him. One night, your group decided to go to a nightclub together. You spent a long time dancing and drinking with your friends, but gradually, they began pairing off with others or heading off with their significant others. At one point, you stepped outside for some fresh air and ran into Wonbin. You ended up talking for a while about how it seemed like everyone had someone except for the two of you. After a moment of silence, he surprised you by saying:

"If we were together, everyone would be jealous of us... Don’t you think? I think we’d make a great couple."

⭑.ᐟ seunghan

You weren’t a big fan of parties, but Seunghan had spent weeks convincing you to attend one that a classmate was hosting, so you finally agreed. You didn’t plan to stay long, but at least you could keep Seunghan company for a while. When you arrived, you went over to him, and he offered you a drink. The two of you ended up talking for a long time. You were good friends and got along really well, but something about the way he was looking at you that night felt different. Every chance he got, he’d touch your cheek or your shoulder. When Seunghan stepped away to grab some snacks, a guy approached you to ask for your number. As soon as Seunghan returned and saw what was happening, he placed his hand on your arm and said:

"Hey, back off. I saw her first, she’s mine."

⭑.ᐟ sohee

It always surprised you how much Sohee’s personality changed after a few drinks. You were at a party he’d organized at his house, and although he was usually calm and adorable, just one drink made him outgoing and energetic, chatting with everyone. But for some reason, Sohee had stuck by your side all night. At one point, you stepped out into his garden to get some fresh air, and the two of you sat on the grass. After a few seconds, you noticed Sohee was staring at you.

"Mgh? Is something wrong Sohee?"

"I don’t know if it’s the alcohol or you, but my heart’s been pounding all night when I’m around you. I can’t stop looking at you, y/n."

⭑.ᐟ anton

Your friends had decided to celebrate the end of exams with a night out at a nightclub. You were with a big group, and you’d spent hours dancing and drinking with your friends. At one point, when you went to the bar for a drink, you ran into Anton, one of your friends. You chatted for a few moments while waiting for your drinks. Once they arrived, you turned to leave, but you felt Anton grab your hand. Confused, you turned back to face him. Pulling you closer and placing his hand on your arm, he leaned in and whispered:

"I’ve been watching you all night, y/n, and I need to know if I have a chance with you or if I should just pretend I’m not obsessed with you."

masterlist // taglist: @regularsuh @gacktsa @totheseok @kkumistars @taroddori @enhacolor @ladylilith @electric-hearts @astrobymarwa @layluv123 @sunflowers1610 @nctrawberries @synkjellies @ramyeonzprincess

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faithshouseofchaos · 2 days ago

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Oscar piastri x Webber!fem!reader

Word count— 5870

@0rrphiic - this one is for you I’m finally getting around to it

Summary — Oscar developed feelings for his mentors oldest daughter and will do anything for her attention.

Requested — yes

Warnings — reader is older than Oscar by two years 23/25, Oscar being desperate for the reader’s attention, fluff,

————————————————————————

Oscar Piastri had never been great at hiding his feelings, but he was getting much better at pretending. Or at least, that’s what he told himself whenever he found himself blushing or stammering around Mark Webber’s eldest daughter, Y/N.

Y/N was everything Oscar wasn’t—confident, quick-witted, and effortlessly charming. At twenty-five , she carried herself with an ease that made everyone around her feel comfortable—except for Oscar. She was three years older than him, and even though they had known each other for a while through family gatherings and the racing world, he still hadn’t quite figured out how to act around her.

They had become friends, or at least, that’s what Oscar told himself. They spent time together at the track, had coffee during breaks, and shared occasional laughs at dinner. But it was clear to him that he was in much deeper waters than Y/N realized. Every time her laughter echoed across a room, or her eyes lingered on him just a second too long, Oscar’s heart raced in a way he couldn’t control.

Y/N was effortlessly kind, but Oscar couldn’t shake the feeling that he was different when he was around her. His usual composed demeanor faltered. He was desperate for her attention, but he couldn’t bring himself to confess what he felt. She was too perfect, too out of his league, or so he thought.

It was a late evening at the Monaco Grand Prix, and the team had gathered for a quiet dinner after a long day of racing. The grand dining room was bustling with low conversations and the clinking of glasses, but Oscar couldn’t focus on anything but the empty seat next to Y/N at the table. He’d been hoping she would sit next to him, but of course, she ended up beside Mark, her dad. It was hard to compete with a legend.

Oscar was doing his best to follow the conversation, but it felt like his mind was elsewhere. Every few minutes, his gaze would drift over to where Y/N sat. She was relaxed, casual in a deep blue dress that highlighted her effortless beauty, her hair pulled back in a loose bun. She smiled as Mark animatedly told a story from his racing days, and her laugh—light and genuine—made his stomach do a flip.

As she caught his eye, a soft smile tugged at her lips. “Oscar,” she called, her voice warm but teasing. “You’re looking a little distracted there. Something on your mind?”

Oscar’s heart skipped a beat. Was she talking to him? He quickly tore his eyes away, not wanting to get caught staring, but it was too late. “Uh, no,” he stammered, suddenly feeling the heat rise in his cheeks. “Just… thinking about the race tomorrow.”

“Uh-huh.” Y/N raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying his excuse. She glanced around, her gaze shifting to the other drivers before locking back on him. “You know, you’re not very good at hiding when you’re nervous, Piastri.”

Oscar felt his throat tighten. His mouth went dry. “I’m not nervous,” he muttered, his voice cracking slightly. “I’m fine. Totally fine.”

She smirked, the corner of her lips quirking up in that playful, knowing way that sent his mind racing. “Sure,” she said with a mock-serious tone, “if you say so.”

The teasing was gentle, but Oscar couldn’t shake the feeling that she was deliberately picking on him. It wasn’t cruel—just playful. Still, every comment made him more aware of his own discomfort, his growing crush that he didn’t know how to hide.

Before he could formulate a response, Y/N turned her attention back to Mark, who was laughing about some past racing mishap. Oscar was left to fidget with his napkin, his mind trying to replay every moment of that exchange. Why did he always seem to make a fool of himself when she was around?

At least she seemed to enjoy it.

Later, as the conversation lulled and the group began to break off into smaller clusters, Y/N shifted in her seat and turned to Oscar. “You look like you need to breathe,” she said with a soft laugh. “Come for a walk with me?”

Oscar’s heart skipped, and for a moment, he almost choked on his words. “I—I’d like that,” he managed to say, suddenly wishing he could be more composed.

They wandered outside, away from the noise of the restaurant and onto the quiet streets of Monaco, the evening air cool against their skin. Y/N fell into an easy rhythm, chatting about the city and pointing out little places she liked, but Oscar couldn’t focus on anything other than the proximity between them. It felt like a moment of calm after all the racing chaos, but it also felt like the quiet before a storm.

“So,” Y/N started, after a comfortable silence settled between them, “what’s really going on in that head of yours? You’ve been off all night.”

Oscar swallowed. “I’m just… tired, I guess. Long day, you know?” He wasn’t sure what else to say. His mind was spinning in circles, but every time he looked at her, the words evaporated.

Y/N gave him a soft, knowing smile, as if she could see right through him. “Oscar, you’re the worst liar I know. But, I guess I’ll let you off the hook this time. Just know, you don’t have to act like you have it all figured out all the time.”

Oscar’s chest tightened. He nodded slowly, but inside, his thoughts were loud. He wanted to tell her how much he appreciated her friendship, how much he longed for something more. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not yet.

They continued walking, the city lights casting long shadows on the cobblestone streets. And as much as he wanted to let go, to tell her how he felt, all Oscar could do was try to keep up, both in the conversation and in his own heart. But with every laugh, every teasing comment, and every shared glance, it was becoming harder and harder to deny—he was falling for her, and he had no idea what to do about it.

Oscar Piastri was not one to back down from a challenge, but when it came to Y/N, he was starting to realize that his usual strategy of keeping his emotions in check wasn’t going to work. The more time he spent around her, the more impossible it became to hide his feelings. He tried. He really did. But every time she smiled, every time she laughed at one of his half-jokes, it felt like his heart was about to explode out of his chest.

He’d tried distracting himself. Focus on the race. Focus on the team. It was the Monaco Grand Prix, after all. One of the biggest races of the season. But there she was, again, sitting at the table next to him in the paddock, laughing with Mark about something from his racing days. Oscar couldn’t stop glancing over at her. It was embarrassing how often his gaze wandered toward her. She noticed, of course. And, of course, she teased him about it.

“So, Piastri,” Y/N said with that teasing glint in her eyes, “I caught you looking at me again. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Oscar felt a surge of heat rise to his face. He cleared his throat, trying to compose himself. “Uh, I wasn’t— I mean, I wasn’t looking. I was just… thinking,” he stammered, hoping it sounded convincing.

“Right.” Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Thinking about what, exactly?”

Oscar opened his mouth, about to make an excuse, when Mark chimed in, cutting him off. “Come on, you two,” Mark said, laughing. “You can’t both act like you’re not secretly into racing gossip. You know I’m the best source in the paddock.”

Oscar tried to smile, but he was still flustered from the previous exchange. “Of course, Mark,” he said, focusing on the conversation, but his thoughts kept circling back to Y/N. He needed to get a grip.

Later that evening, they were outside the team’s hospitality, watching the sunset over Monaco’s winding streets. The day had been long, and the tension from the race still hung in the air, but for once, Oscar felt a little more at ease. Y/N had invited him for a walk, just like they had done a few days ago.

They stood side by side, their footsteps light on the cobblestones as they talked about everything and nothing at all. Y/N’s laugh still echoed in his ears, and the way her hair fluttered in the evening breeze made his heart race. Oscar was tired of this. Tired of pretending. Tired of being the friend when all he could think about was the girl standing next to him.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you something, actually,” Oscar said, his voice quiet, his hands shoved into his pockets to keep them from trembling. “I’ve been thinking… a lot… about things.”

Y/N glanced at him, her curiosity piqued. “What’s on your mind, Piastri?”

Oscar hesitated. This was it. The moment where he could finally say it, tell her everything that had been building up in his chest for months. The moment to confess how he felt.

“I… I’ve just been…” He started, but his words caught in his throat. His thoughts were a jumbled mess, and his nerves were making it impossible to speak clearly. “Y/N, I—”

Before he could finish, a loud shout interrupted him. “Oi, Oscar! You coming or what?”

It was Lando, jogging over with a grin plastered across his face. Oscar cursed under his breath as Lando stopped in front of them, completely oblivious to the moment that had just been shattered.

“Lando,” Oscar said through gritted teeth, “what’s up?”

Lando, sensing something was off, gave him a questioning look but shrugged it off. “Just wanted to check in before we head back. You’re not bailing on us, right?”

Oscar glanced at Y/N, frustration bubbling up inside him. He was so close, so close to telling her how he felt, and now here was Lando, ruining it like always.

“I’ll be there in a minute,” Oscar said, forcing a smile as he turned back to Y/N. “Sorry, I’ll catch up with you.”

“No worries.” Y/N smiled, though there was a hint of something in her eyes that Oscar couldn’t quite place. She stepped back slightly, her hand brushing against his in the process. “You go have fun. I’ll see you later.”

Oscar watched her walk away, a sinking feeling in his stomach. He cursed himself for not being able to find the right words, and worse, for allowing Lando to spoil it. His feelings for Y/N were only getting stronger, but it was becoming increasingly clear that every time he tried to confess, something always got in the way.

The next day, Oscar couldn’t shake the feeling of failure. As he prepared for the race, his thoughts kept drifting back to Y/N. The way she looked at him. The way she smiled when she thought he wasn’t paying attention. Did she know? Was she waiting for him to say something? Or was she just being friendly?

After the race, Oscar found himself standing on the pit wall, trying to calm his racing heart from the adrenaline of finishing the day. His mind was still on Y/N, and he couldn’t help but glance around the paddock for her. When he finally spotted her, standing with Mark by the barriers, he felt a mixture of relief and nerves.

“Hey, Oscar!” Y/N’s voice broke through his thoughts, and he turned to see her walking toward him, that same friendly smile on her face. “Great race today.”

Oscar grinned, though he was still flustered from the conversation that never happened the night before. “Thanks, Y/N. You were watching?”

“Of course.” She gave him a playful nudge. “You didn’t think I’d miss it, did you?”

His heart skipped. “Well, it’s Monaco. Big race. You know… lots of distractions.” He couldn’t stop himself from rambling, his words tumbling out faster than he intended.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure the only distraction here is you, Piastri.” She winked, her teasing tone making him blush harder.

That was it. Oscar had reached his breaking point. He had to tell her. This was the moment.

“Y/N, I—”

But before he could finish, a voice interrupted them again.

“Oscar! We’re heading out for drinks. You in?”

It was Lando, once again, barging into the conversation without a second thought.

Oscar’s shoulders slumped, defeated. “Yeah, sure. I’ll catch up.” He turned back to Y/N, giving her a sheepish smile. “Sorry, I—I need to go.”

“No worries,” Y/N said, though her smile seemed a little distant this time. “I’ll see you around, Piastri.”

As Oscar walked away, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was his last chance to tell her how he felt. But once again, it slipped through his fingers, lost to the chaos that seemed to follow him around.

Oscar couldn’t escape the feeling that time was slipping away from him. Every moment he spent with Y/N was a fleeting chance to finally say what he had been holding back for so long. But each time he tried, something—or someone—stopped him. It wasn’t just Lando or bad timing; it was his own fear, the overwhelming pressure to get it right.

The more he saw Y/N, the more confused he became. She was kind, funny, and effortlessly beautiful, and every time their eyes met, Oscar felt a spark that left him breathless. But he couldn’t make sense of it. Were they friends? Was it something more? He couldn’t bring himself to find out.

It had been a week since Monaco, and the tension between them only seemed to grow. The awkward moments had become more frequent, as Oscar tried harder to suppress his feelings, but the frustration was building. He could barely concentrate during meetings, and every time Y/N passed him in the paddock, his heart would skip.

One afternoon, after a particularly grueling practice session, Oscar found himself walking toward the team’s garage when he saw Y/N sitting on the steps outside. She was looking down at her phone, her brow furrowed in concentration, her fingers scrolling slowly. It was a rare quiet moment, and Oscar couldn’t resist walking over.

“Hey,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N looked up, her eyes lighting up with recognition. “Oh, hey! How was the session?” she asked, giving him that warm smile that made his stomach twist in knots.

“It was alright,” he replied, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Tiring. But, you know, what else is new?”

She laughed softly, a sound that always seemed to melt him. “Yeah, racing. It’s like a never-ending marathon.” She patted the space beside her on the steps. “Come sit with me for a bit. You look like you need a break.”

Oscar hesitated. He wanted to sit with her, wanted to be near her, but the closer he got, the harder it became to control the whirlwind of emotions inside him. Still, he took a deep breath and sat next to her, trying to act casual.

They fell into easy conversation, but Oscar was distracted. Every time Y/N’s laughter rang out, every time her gaze lingered on him, he felt like he was about to crack. His mind was screaming at him to just tell her how he felt, but the words got tangled in his throat.

“So,” Y/N began, tilting her head slightly, her eyes studying him with a curious glint. “You’ve been a little… off lately. Something bothering you?”

Oscar swallowed hard, staring at the ground in an attempt to avoid her piercing gaze. He opened his mouth to brush it off, but something inside him snapped.

“Actually,” he started, his voice shaking slightly, “yeah, there is something. There’s… something I’ve been meaning to say to you.”

Y/N’s expression softened, and for a moment, Oscar thought maybe—just maybe—this was the moment he could get it all out. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself.

“I just— I really like spending time with you, Y/N. I… I’ve felt like this for a while now, and I don’t know how to explain it.” He paused, his heart racing. “I’ve been trying to figure out what it is between us, and I think…” His words faltered. Was he really about to say it? The confession that had been burning inside him for months?

Before he could finish, a loud voice cut through the quiet.

“Oscar! There you are! Mark’s looking for you.”

It was Lando, again. Oscar’s face dropped, and he could feel the frustration building in his chest. He turned to look at Y/N, but her expression had shifted. She was smiling, but it was distant now.

“Go ahead,” she said softly, her voice a little more guarded than before. “I’m sure you’ve got work to do.”

Oscar opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. He wanted to explain, to apologize for getting so caught up in the moment. But instead, he stood up quickly, his heart sinking in his chest.

“Sorry,” he muttered, forcing a smile as he looked at her one last time. “I’ll talk to you later.”

He didn’t wait for her response, didn’t even look back as he walked toward Lando, who was still jabbering away about something that, in the moment, felt entirely irrelevant.

As they walked toward the garage, Oscar’s mind was racing. He had come so close, but once again, his confession had been spoiled. The frustration felt like a weight pressing down on him. He couldn’t understand why everything kept falling apart when it came to Y/N.

Later that evening, after the team debrief, Oscar was left alone in the quiet garage, staring at his helmet on the workbench. His fingers brushed over it absently, his thoughts still on Y/N. It wasn’t just the missed confession; it was the way he felt when he was around her. He wanted to believe that there was something more, something real, but the constant interruptions were starting to wear him down.

He couldn’t keep running from his feelings. He needed to figure out if Y/N felt the same way—or if he was simply setting himself up for disappointment.

Oscar’s fingers tightened around the edge of the workbench, and for the first time in a long while, he felt the weight of uncertainty pressing down on him. Was he just another one of her friends? Or could there be something more, something he had been too afraid to see?

Oscar Piastri was unraveling. It was as if every smile Y/N gave him, every teasing quip she threw his way, tightened the knot in his chest. He had never wanted anything—or anyone—so badly in his life. Racing was his whole world, but lately, she had taken up permanent residence in his thoughts, eclipsing everything else.

Every moment they spent together was a bittersweet torture. He could be sitting across from her in the team lounge, surrounded by people, and still feel like the only thing that mattered was the way her lips curved when she smiled. Yet every time he tried to get closer, he stumbled. Words failed him. Timing failed him. His courage failed him.

Today was no different.

The team had wrapped up a meeting, and most people were filtering out. Y/N lingered near the catering table, a cup of coffee in hand. Oscar had been hovering nearby, pretending to be interested in a plate of pastries just so he could steal a few glances. He didn’t even like pastries.

She caught him looking—again—and raised an eyebrow. “You know, Piastri, you’re terrible at being sneaky.”

Oscar felt his face heat up. He fumbled with the plate in his hand, nearly dropping it. “What? No, I wasn’t— I mean, I’m just… hungry.”

Y/N smirked, leaning against the counter. “Sure you are.”

There it was again, that playful glint in her eyes that made his stomach flip. He should say something witty, something that would make her laugh, but all he could do was stand there, frozen under her gaze.

She tilted her head, studying him. “You’ve been acting weird lately. You know that, right?”

“Weird? Me?” Oscar forced a laugh, but it came out strained. “I’m not acting weird. You’re weird.”

Y/N snorted, shaking her head. “Great comeback, Piastri.”

She turned back to her coffee, and Oscar let out a quiet sigh of relief. But as she moved to leave, he panicked. He couldn’t let her walk away—not again.

“Wait,” he blurted out, stepping toward her. “Y/N, I—”

“What’s up?” she asked, her tone softening as she turned back to face him.

Oscar opened his mouth, but the words wouldn’t come. His pulse was pounding in his ears, and his palms were sweaty. He couldn’t just blurt it out, not here, not like this. Instead, he shook his head, his shoulders sagging in defeat.

“Nothing,” he mumbled. “It’s nothing.”

Y/N frowned, her brows knitting together. For a moment, it looked like she was about to press him, but then her phone buzzed in her pocket. She glanced at the screen and sighed. “I’ve gotta go. My dad’s looking for me.”

Oscar nodded, watching as she walked away. His chest ached with the weight of everything he couldn’t say. He wanted to scream at himself, to grab her hand and tell her to stay, but he just stood there, frozen in place.

That evening, Oscar sat alone in his hotel room, staring at the ceiling. The hum of the air conditioner was the only sound, but his thoughts were deafening. He replayed every moment with Y/N, every near-confession, every time he’d chickened out. It was driving him mad.

He grabbed his phone, scrolling through his messages. Her name was right at the top. They texted often—casual conversations about racing, movies, music. But as he stared at the empty text box, he realized he had no idea what to say. Everything felt too big, too loaded.

Just tell her, he thought, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. Tell her how you feel.

But what if she didn’t feel the same way? What if he ruined everything? What if she laughed, or worse, pitied him?

His phone buzzed suddenly, snapping him out of his thoughts. It was a message from her.

Y/N: You okay? You seemed a little off earlier.

Oscar’s heart raced as he read the message. She noticed. She always noticed. But what could he say? That he was “off” because he was hopelessly in love with her? That every time she smiled at him, it felt like the ground shifted beneath his feet?

His thumbs hovered over the keyboard, and before he could stop himself, he typed:

Oscar: Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired.

He stared at the message for a second, then deleted it.

Oscar: I need to tell you something.

His finger hovered over the send button. This was it. He could finally tell her. But before he could send the message, another text popped up.

Y/N: Never mind, I just remembered something. Let’s talk tomorrow. Goodnight, Piastri :)

Oscar groaned, tossing his phone onto the bed. He flopped back onto the pillows, staring at the ceiling again. It felt like the universe was playing some cruel joke on him, throwing roadblock after roadblock in his path.

The next day, the team had organized a press event, and Y/N was there, as always, chatting with the drivers and media personnel like she belonged there. Oscar couldn’t stop watching her, couldn’t stop wondering what it would feel like to hold her hand, to kiss her, to just be with her.

“You’re staring again,” Lando muttered, nudging him in the ribs. “You’re so obvious it’s painful.”

“Shut up,” Oscar hissed, glaring at his teammate.

“I’m just saying,” Lando continued, smirking. “If you don’t do something soon, someone else will.”

Oscar stiffened at the thought. The idea of someone else swooping in, stealing her away, was enough to make his stomach churn. He clenched his fists, determination flickering in his chest. Lando was right. He couldn’t keep waiting for the perfect moment—it didn’t exist.

But even as he resolved to finally confess, he couldn’t shake the doubt creeping in. What if he was too late? What if she didn’t feel the same way?

Oscar’s eyes found her across the room, laughing at something Carlos had said. She looked so effortlessly beautiful, so completely out of his league. He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

Desperate didn’t even begin to cover it. He was completely, utterly lost in her.

Y/N didn’t miss much. Growing up in a family where motorsport was the centerpiece of every conversation, she had learned to read people the same way her dad read data—intensely and accurately. And lately, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off with Oscar.

He’d always been reserved, more comfortable analyzing data than socializing, but now he seemed downright jumpy around her. The quiet confidence she’d admired since they’d first met had been replaced with nervous stammering and lingering looks that he thought she didn’t notice.

She noticed.

Sitting at the edge of the paddock, sipping her coffee, she replayed the events of the past few weeks. The aborted conversations, the way his gaze would drop to the ground every time she caught him staring, the moments he seemed like he was on the verge of saying something important only to backtrack at the last second. It was sweet, endearing even, but it left her wondering.

“Do I intimidate him?” she mumbled to herself, swirling the remnants of her coffee.

She’d never thought of herself as intimidating, but she knew what it was like to be under pressure in this world. Her father’s legacy cast a long shadow, and Oscar—despite his undeniable talent—was still finding his place. She wondered if she was part of that pressure.

And yet, when he smiled, that boyish grin that lit up his entire face, she saw the person underneath the weight of expectations. She liked that version of him, the one who teased her about her horrible taste in music or stole her snacks when he thought she wasn’t looking.

But lately, those moments had been overshadowed by something… heavier. Something unsaid.

The next week, Oscar reached his limit.

It happened at the tail end of the Silverstone race weekend. After a chaotic qualifying session and a race that left him with a respectable but frustrating P7 finish, Oscar was drained. But it wasn’t the race that was eating at him—it was her.

She’d been there all weekend, as always, her laughter echoing through the garage, her presence a constant, maddening distraction. He couldn’t focus, couldn’t breathe when she was near. And now, watching her across the paddock talking to Lando, her hand playfully swatting his arm as they joked about something, Oscar felt like he was going to implode.

He’d had enough. Enough of the near-confessions, the sleepless nights, the endless what-ifs.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he was moving, weaving through the throng of media and team personnel until he was standing in front of her.

“Y/N, can we talk?” His voice was steadier than he felt, but his eyes betrayed his desperation.

She blinked up at him, caught off guard by his sudden appearance. “Uh, yeah, sure.” She glanced at Lando, who raised an eyebrow but stepped aside with a knowing smirk.

Oscar led her away from the crowd, his hands fidgeting at his sides. When they finally stopped near a quiet corner of the paddock, he turned to face her.

“I can’t keep doing this,” he said, the words tumbling out before he could stop them.

Y/N tilted her head, her brows knitting together in confusion. “Doing what?”

“This!” He gestured vaguely between them, his frustration boiling over. “Pretending like everything’s normal when it’s not. Acting like I’m fine when I’m not.”

She stared at him, her lips parting as if to respond, but he pressed on.

“I like you, Y/N,” he blurted out, his voice raw and unsteady. “I’ve liked you for a while now, and it’s driving me insane. Every time I try to tell you, something happens, and I—” He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling shakily. “I can’t keep pretending like I don’t feel this way. I just… I needed you to know.”

For a moment, there was only silence. Y/N’s eyes searched his face, her expression unreadable. Oscar’s heart pounded in his chest, each second stretching into an eternity.

Then, finally, she spoke.

“Oscar…” Her voice was soft, careful. “I—”

“Y/N! There you are!”

Both of them turned to see Mark striding toward them, a clipboard in hand. Oscar felt his stomach drop.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Mark said, oblivious to the tension hanging in the air, “but we need to head to the debrief. Y/N, you coming?”

She glanced between Oscar and her father, hesitation flickering in her eyes. “Yeah, I’ll— I’ll be there in a minute.”

Mark nodded, walking away, but the interruption had shattered whatever moment they’d been building.

Y/N turned back to Oscar, her face a mix of emotions he couldn’t quite place. “I should go,” she said softly, her voice almost apologetic.

Oscar nodded numbly, his chest aching. “Yeah… yeah, of course.”

As she walked away, he felt the weight of his confession settle over him. He’d finally said it, but it hadn’t gone the way he’d hoped. And now, he was left to wonder—had he made a mistake?

Oscar barely slept that night. The words he’d blurted out to Y/N replayed on an endless loop in his mind, each replay more agonizing than the last. He could still see her expression—soft, careful, but unreadable. And then she’d walked away.

He sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his phone. Part of him wanted to text her, to ask if they could talk, to beg her to say something, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. What if she was avoiding him? What if he’d ruined everything?

The next morning, he dragged himself to the paddock, dreading the thought of seeing her. He didn’t know how to act, didn’t know how to undo the mess he’d made.

But when he arrived, she was there, leaning against the Ferrari hospitality building, chatting with Carlos. She looked calm, collected—like nothing had happened. It was both a relief and a dagger to the chest.

“Hey, mate.” Lando appeared at his side, startling him. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Not now, Lando,” Oscar muttered, his gaze fixed on Y/N.

Lando followed his line of sight and smirked. “Ah, still pining, I see.”

“I told her,” Oscar said quietly, his voice tinged with frustration.

Lando’s eyebrows shot up. “You what?”

“I told her how I feel.”

“And?”

Oscar shook his head, his jaw tightening. “She didn’t say anything. Mark showed up, and then she just… left.”

Lando let out a low whistle. “Ouch. So what’s the plan now?”

“There is no plan,” Oscar snapped. “I’ll just avoid her and hope this all blows over.”

Lando snorted. “Yeah, because that’s worked so well for you so far.”

Oscar shot him a glare, but deep down, he knew Lando was right. Avoiding her wouldn’t solve anything. Still, the thought of facing her again made his stomach churn.

Y/N had been replaying the moment, too. She’d been caught completely off guard by Oscar’s confession, and Mark’s interruption hadn’t helped. She’d spent the night staring at her ceiling, trying to make sense of her own feelings.

She liked Oscar—of course she did. He was sweet and funny and far more thoughtful than he gave himself credit for. But his sudden outburst had thrown her. She hadn’t expected him to feel that way about her.

Now, as she stood in the paddock, pretending to focus on her conversation with Carlos, her thoughts kept drifting back to Oscar. She’d seen him arrive earlier, his usual quiet confidence replaced by a nervous energy that tugged at her heart.

“Y/N,” Carlos said, pulling her from her thoughts. “You okay? You seem distracted.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she lied, forcing a smile.

Carlos didn’t look convinced, but before he could press her, she excused herself, her gaze darting toward the McLaren garage. She needed to talk to Oscar, to clear the air, but the thought of confronting him made her chest tighten. What if she said the wrong thing? What if she hurt him?

She spotted him near the back of the garage, staring intently at a data screen. For a moment, she hesitated, her feet rooted to the ground. But then she squared her shoulders and walked toward him.

“Oscar.”

He turned at the sound of her voice, his expression shifting from surprise to guardedness. “Y/N. Hi.”

“Can we talk?” she asked, her tone soft but firm.

He glanced around, as if looking for an escape route, but finally nodded. “Yeah. Sure.”

They stepped outside, away from the bustle of the garage. Oscar shoved his hands into his pockets, his gaze fixed on the ground.

“About yesterday,” Y/N began, her voice tentative. “I—”

“It’s fine,” he interrupted, his tone clipped. “You don’t have to say anything. I get it.”

She frowned. “Oscar, I—”

“No, really.” He forced a smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I don’t want things to be weird between us.”

Y/N stared at him, her heart twisting at the vulnerability in his voice. “Things aren’t weird,” she said gently. “But you didn’t even give me a chance to respond.”

Oscar blinked, his head snapping up to meet her gaze. “You mean…?”

“I mean, I wasn’t expecting it,” she admitted. “But that doesn’t mean I didn’t feel something.”

His breath hitched, hope flickering in his eyes. “You do?”

Y/N hesitated, her mind racing. “I don’t know,” she said honestly. “I’ve never thought about us that way before. But… maybe I should have.”

Oscar’s shoulders sagged, a mix of relief and confusion washing over him. “So… what does that mean?”

“It means I need time to figure it out,” she said, stepping closer. “But I don’t want you to think it’s a no. I just need to… sort through things.”

Oscar nodded slowly, his heart still racing. “Okay. I can do that.”

“And, Oscar?” she added, her voice softening. “I care about you. A lot.”

A small smile tugged at his lips, the weight on his chest easing just a little. “That’s enough for now.”

As they stood there, the tension between them shifted, replaced by something more tentative but undeniably real. It wasn’t a confession, not in the way he’d imagined, but it was a start.

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notlongtolove · 2 days ago

Text

in eternal lines

spencer’s mind—brilliant and boundless—was one of the reasons you fell for him in the first place. but when the deadlines are looming, it takes everything in you not to snap. because while you’re good at literature because you have to be, spencer's great at it because, well, he’s spencer.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: angst, comfort, fluff... i don't know anymore

content: student!reader gets kinda pissy and snappy but she has a 3000 word essay due and a fever so go easy on her. and spencer is spencer, so patient, so kind :'

word count: 5.2k

note: as a literature major this was extremely self-indulgent... i'm sorry. i love lit student reader and i hope you guys do too! also aptly titled after the one and only sonnet 18 because it was the first poem we were given read in uni <3 (reader is basing her essay on george macdonald's 'the princess and the goblin' and isaac watts' 'divine songs' if anyone is curious; but don't read too deeply into her lines about it because i submitted that essay weeks ago and it's been relinquished it from my mind oops)

a line: You’d decided then and there that if you couldn't break the glass ceiling, you'd make a comfortable home just beneath it. Always looking up, never quite breaking through.

When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st: So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. - william shakespeare

You love your boyfriend. Truly, you do. After all, who else would sift through pages of Whitman’s dense poetry with you or debate whether Rossetti was really referencing Eve’s bite of the apple in Goblin Market? Nobody else ever cared enough to try. Spencer’s mind—brilliant and boundless—was one of the reasons you fell for him in the first place.

So yes, you love your boyfriend. But when deadlines are looming, and submission dates are bearing down on you, it takes everything in you not to snap. Because while Spencer can dissect poetry and prose with an ease that seems almost otherworldly, you sometimes feel the weight of comparison pressing on you. You’re good at it too—of course you are, you have to be. You’re pursuing a degree in it forgodsakes. But Spencer? He’s great at it because, well, he’s Spencer.

And while you can hold your own most days, a fair challenger when you come back from a particularly intriguing lecture too layered to dissect by yourself, there are times you feel like you’re running to keep up. Spencer will pull references from texts and obscure sources you haven’t even heard of, leaving you struggling to connect the dots. And that’s just literature. When he dives into his other passions—you don’t even bother to compete. Instead, you resign yourself to the couch, nodding and asking questions during the rare moments you can sort of follow the thread of his thoughts.

Having an IQ of 187 and an eidetic memory does have its perks. Everyone knows that.

Your friends see it too. Like today when one of them stopped by between classes to return an essay you’d been stressing over for days.

“Well, don’t you look fantastic,” she teased, smirking. “Guessing those leftovers weren’t as ‘fine’ as you thought?”

“Don’t even start,” you mutter, weakly grabbing the paper from her hands as you lean on the doorframe. You flip through the pages marked in red ink quickly with the little strength you have, eyes scanning briefly through the comments before you’re on to the next page, next page, next page. They’re not what you’re looking for.

And then you see it. There on the last page, a definite red circle around it: B+.

You’d expected it of course. B+—your ever-reliable benchmark. It's a mark of consistency you've been forced to be contented with. It wasn’t horrendous. It wasn’t amazing. It was fine. But you’d worked hard on this one. You’d hoped, maybe, for something more. You’d expected it, and yet, you don’t know why you still feel a pinch of disappointment.

“How’d you do?” you ask grimly, fighting the nausea creeping up your throat.

“Same,” she replies nonchalantly, scrolling through her phone.

You nod, trying not to dwell on the fact that she’d seen your grade before you did.

“Oh, you know it’s always the same,” she adds with a wry smile. “Solidly subpar, as per tradition.”

The phrase stung a little more now than it had when you’d coined it back in your first year. Back when, after a string of middle-of-the-road grades, you’d decided then and there that if you couldn't break the glass ceiling, you'd make a comfortable home just beneath it. Always looking up, never quite breaking through.

“Whatever, it was only 20% anyway,” she shrugs.

“Yeah…” you reply weakly, though the disappointment still gnaws at you. You can’t quite shake it. Maybe it’s because deep down, you know you do care—no matter how often you tell yourself you’ve accepted the fate of being perpetually average. You still want, so quietly, so desperately, to be something more. You’ve always had a love for literature: the way words flow across a page, imbuing meaning into simple phrases, transforming them into art. You’ve always admired the beauty of it. But passion doesn’t translate to academic brilliance, and appreciation doesn’t equal A grades. It’s a hard truth you’ve come to learn.

“How was class?” you ask, trying to steer your mind away from its current spiral. “We still on Faerie Queene?”

“Mhmm,” she hums, rolling her eyes. “Kristoff’s still rambling on and on about virtue and chastity. Ha. Imagine me living in those times—at the rate I ghost men, I’d be a certified whore.”

“Well, actually, they’d probably get to you first,” Spencer interrupts as he steps out of the bedroom, his tone slipping into that familiar, matter-of-fact cadence. “Virtue and chastity were considered to be absolute truths in the 16th century. A woman’s value was intrinsically tied to her perceived purity, which of course, was a reflection of her family’s honor.”

If you weren’t so ill, you would’ve laughed at her face—eyes wide, mouth slightly open in disbelief.

“And then there’s the public shaming,” he continues, leaning casually against the doorframe with his hands tucked into his pockets already miles deep into his thoughts. “In fact, the entire allegory of Book III revolves around chastity as a cornerstone of moral virtue. Witch trials in the late 16th and 17th centuries often targeted women who were thought as sexually deviant or independent, framing their ‘sins’ as some sort of evidence that they were consorting with the devil—”

He pauses, glancing between you and your friend. “So yeah… considering all that, if you’d ‘ghosted’ a few men back then, they probably would’ve gone straight to accusations of witchcraft or worse.”

Your friend stares at him, “...Right. Good to know,” she says, blinking slowly.

“But you know, Edmund Spenser intended The Faerie Queene to be a moral guide for young men,” he adds as an afterthought, realizing he’s just indirectly affirmed your friend’s self-deprecating joke. Spencer shifts awkwardly but can’t help himself by continuing, “It was meant to instil chivalric virtues to shape a model English gentleman. So technically, your interpretation is, um, modern at best.”

Her expression—equal parts baffled, impressed, maybe even a little scared—almost makes you forget how sick you feel.

“So…” she says after a pause, “I’m guessing you’re Spencer?”

“I am,” he replies simply.

“Well,” she says, drawing the word out, “It’s nice to finally put a face to the name.”

Spencer offers a smile, “Likewise.”

“Anyway… I’m off.” She slings her bag over her shoulder, “Essay’s not gonna write itself. This one’s 30% by the way. God, I hate Kristoff but Burton’s a close second for sure.”

You wince at the reminder, the weight of your unfinished work pressing on you. The brief called for at least three secondary sources, and you’ve barely scratched the surface.

“Feel better soon, sweetie,” she says, offering you a sympathetic look. You manage a weak smile in return.

“Bye Spencer,” she says, her voice taking on a teasing lilt. “Take care of her for me, will ya?”

“Will do,” he says curtly, giving a small wave as you close the door behind her.

A moment later, your phone buzzes. He’s cute, her text reads. Another follows immediately: And basically a walking Wikipedia.

You start typing a response, but another text pops up before you can send it: Don’t dog on us for using ChatGPT now. You huff and click your phone off instead, tossing it aside.

Therein lies another source of stress. Spencer is always happy to help you untangle a difficult text or interpret a dense poem, but he draws the line when it comes to your academic work. He never interferes directly. You’ve seen it yourself—The first time you handed him your laptop to review an essay, he’d made his comments verbally, pointing at sections on the screen while explaining his critiques in detail, but never actually touching the keyboard. You’d brought it up during an argument once, after a particularly crushing grade. Your frustration had spilled over: You’re smarter. You type faster. Why can’t you just fix it? But Spencer had only responded with something about “academic integrity” and the importance of maintaining the “code of conduct.” The conversation ended there, and after that, you stopped asking.

Even yesterday, when you managed to scrape together 300 words for a draft, you’d handed your laptop to him, and again, he was careful to keep his boundaries. Too drained to make edits in real-time, you’d expected—maybe hoped—that he might step in more directly. Instead, Spencer quietly switched the document to “suggesting” mode, marking up your draft with precise yet detached annotations, never infiltrating or overstepping your own words. Spencer Reid is and always will be a stickler for rules. You try to hold yourself to the same standard. You steer clear of AI, no matter how tempting it might be. You know better. Well, that and because Spencer would never let it slide.

But now it’s late and the thought of letting some website churn out polished, perfectly phrased sentences for you in seconds has never felt more tempting. The nausea has faded, leaving behind a fever in its place. Spencer’s in the living room, reading. You’d banished him to the couch—even the faint sound of pages turning, not to mention the speed at which he reads, was enough to derail your already fragile train of thought. You’d felt bad of course; he’d made soup for you earlier, fed it to you and everything. But with this essay worth 30% of your grade and your 300 words barely scratching the surface of the 3,000-word requirement, you don’t have it in you to be oh-so-sweet and ever-so-grateful. Not right now. You’ve nailed down the introduction—a quick overview of historical context, a sweeping statement on the authors’ intents. But now, the real challenge looms: The thesis. And you’re utterly stuck.

This essay argues that… that…

You groan in frustration, flopping back against the pillows. So much for children’s literature. You’d chosen this class thinking it’d be an easy ride—fairy tales and picture books, how hard could it be? Yet here you are, being tasked with dissecting the significance of form and language. Now, the simple language and pretty pictures are anything but your friend, doing nothing to help further your argument. Your head throbs, your mouth feels like sandpaper, and the brilliant points you’d thought of in last week’s class are nowhere to be found, lost in the haziness of your mind. With a defeated sigh, you peel back the sheets and shuffle out of the bedroom, laptop in hand, every joint aching in protest. Spencer looks up from his book as the rustle of sheets catches his attention. His heart aches slightly when he sees you in the doorway, clutching your laptop and looking every bit as pitiful as you feel. He sets his book to the side.

“How’s it going, honey?” he asks sympathetically, even though he already knows the answer from the state of you.

“It’s barely going,” you admit with a yawn, tears prickling at your eyes from the force of it. They only add to your overall air of defeat as you cross the room and crawl into his lap, laptop balanced precariously on the armrest. “Brain’s foggy, can’t think straight,” you murmur in incomplete sentences.

“Finalized your thesis yet?” he asks again, his voice gentle but patient. You shake your head, sinking deeper into his chest—It’s a silent surrender, as if giving in to the exhaustion and frustration that’s been building up. Spencer notices, brushing your hair gently away from your face, his hand cool against your hot skin. He presses the back of his hand to your forehead. “You’re burning up, hon,” he says softly, voice full of concern. “Why don’t we get you to bed, take a break for tonight, hm? You can work on this tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. The thought of putting everything off feels like both a relief and a burden. The idea of sleep has never seemed more appealing. But then, the thought of letting this drag on for another day—of pushing the finish line even further out of your reach fills you with dread. But you know you’re not in any state to be working on anything right now, let alone something worth 30% of your final grade. You know that you can’t focus, not when your body feels like it’s ready to give up and when your mind can barely hold onto a coherent thought. “Tomorrow, okay?” Spencer prompts again, calm and gentle. You know he’s right, so, despite the gnawing anxiety in the back of your mind, you nod. “Okay.”

Spencer doesn’t push, just gives you a small, reassuring smile as he stands. Every movement feels like a chore as he guides you back to bed but the warmth of the blankets and the prospect of rest is more than enough motivation. He tucks you in, his touch comforting and steady. You feel like a weight has been lifted, albeit temporarily. Either way, it’s enough for now. You close your eyes, the thought of picking up where you left off tomorrow seeming almost bearable.

You wake to the sunlight filtering through the curtains. It takes a moment for your brain to adjust to the new day, the stress of yesterday not entirely gone. But as you sit up, stretching slowly, mind less hazy and joints less achy, you feel a renewed determination, a flicker of focus that was nowhere to be found last night. Your mind is still whirling with fragments of ideas, half-formed arguments, and theoretical connections when Spencer strolls in with a cup of something warm for you.

“Tea.” he announces, handing it to you with a small, triumphant smile. “Decaffeinated.”

You frown, rubbing sleep from your eyes. “Need coffee.”

“Studies say caffeinated beverages stimulate the colon,” he counters matter-of-factly.

“Eww,” you groan, wrinkling your nose at him. “Why’d you have to say it like that?”

“Exactly like that,” he replies without missing a beat, his tone precise and measured. “You’ve just recovered, and everyone knows caffeine is a gastrointestinal irritant.’

You huff, taking the mug from him. “Fine, but if I don’t finish this essay, it’s on you.” Spencer raises an eyebrow, completely unbothered by your protest. “Somehow, I think you’ll survive.”

You grumble under your breath but take a tentative sip of the tea anyway. It’s not what you wanted, but you can’t deny that he’s probably right—he usually is. The warmth seeps through the mug into your hands, grounding you just enough to pull your laptop over from the bedside table. Its practically empty screen blinks back up at you, as though it’s been waiting patiently all night. Hi again. Still here. Still empty.

Spencer takes a peek at your screen and you can’t help but glare half-heartedly at the mug in his hands. Of course, it’s coffee. He’d get to enjoy caffeine while insisting you couldn’t. Typical.

“So, I was thinking…” you start, deciding to let the injustice slide for now as you scroll through your document.

“Hmm?” He looks up, his gaze meeting yours over the rim of his cup.

“What if I say that MacDonald’s pedagogy was more effective for children because Watts’s text was too directive. That works, right?” You look up, scanning his face for some form of agreement.

“That’s hardly arguable honey,” his words land softly, but you still feel your shoulders sag. “It’s an observation.”

"But—look at the words they use! It's so different. Here, look at the tone," you insist, nudging your laptop toward him. "There has to be something to be said about that, right?"

Spencer leans in, glancing at your screen before looking back at you. His expression is calm, composed, and maddeningly reasonable. "Watts’s text was meant to be read as a textbook. Of course it’s directive. You know that."

Do you? You think you don't know much at this point. You don’t know what you know, and you don’t know what you don’t know. You groan, dragging your hands down your face as if you could physically scrape the frustration away. Darn you, Isaac Watts. Darn you, pedagogical learning. Darn you, whoever had the audacity to name this course a simple exploration into the history of children’s literature.

Before you can wallow further, Spencer slides your laptop away. “How about we brush our teeth before crying over educational theories for children in the 18th century?” he suggests, his voice light. You sigh dramatically, dragging yourself to your feet like it’s some Herculean effort. When you shuffle back from the bathroom, hair slightly damp from washing your face, Spencer has taken over your spot on the bed, laptop resting on his legs as he scrolls through some article. He glances up when you flop down beside him with an exaggerated sigh.

"Feel better?" he asks, the faintest trace of a smirk on his lips.

"Not at all," you grumble. You don’t let him know that the brief pause in frustration has given your head just enough space to try again.

It’s been hours, but you’ve finally narrowed down your thesis. It’s not amazing—far from it—but it’s something. It’s arguable, at least. Spencer’s been relegated back to the living room, his presence a vague hum in the background as you attempt to focus. You’d claimed you worked better in bed, though Spencer’s tried (and failed) to prove with statistics and studies that it’s just a placebo effect, a lie your brain insists on believing.

But right now, none of that matters. You have a thesis and on that note, an essay to begin. Or, at least, the faintest glimmer of one. And that’s when you hit a wall. Again. You sit cross-legged, laptop perched on your knees as you stare at the cursor, blinking like it knows you’re stuck. You wish it would stop judging you. You drag yourself—and your laptop thats become an extension of your body at this point—into the living room like a child seeking comfort. Spencer barely looks up from his article when you slump into the couch next to him.

“What about this?” You straighten your back, determined to sound confident this time, even if you're not sure where you're going with it. “What if I say that MacDonald’s use of fantasy is critical because it creates like, an emotional bridge and that makes it more effective for moral teaching and—”

“Well, yes," he says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Spencer doesn’t even look up from his article. "But that’s kind of a subpoint, honey.”

You stiffen, irritation rising like bile in your throat. “It’s not a subpoint. It’s a point.”

He shifts in his seat, eyes flicking up, finally meeting yours. His tone isn’t dismissive, but it might as well be. “How is that significant? What does it build toward?”

You grit your teeth. “Ugh, you sound like Kristoff.” You mutter, more to yourself than to him. You know it’s not fair to snap, but your patience is paper thin. You can feel the fever creeping back into your skin, and you’re not sure if it's the heat or the mounting pressure, but suddenly everything feels like a little too much.

“Fine,” you say, swallowing your frustration, trying again. “What if I say that MacDonald’s narrative style is more progressive because it like, engages the reader’s emotions directly? And that’s why Watts’ text feels scarier?”

Spencer pauses. For a moment, you think you’ve finally hit something solid, his eyes narrowing just enough to show he’s intrigued. “And how are you planning to argue that?”

“Well, um… um—I… I don’t know!” You exhale sharply, throwing your hands up in exasperation. You sink back against the cushions, frustration seeping into your bones. “Something about how MacDonald’s vibe is all nice and charming while Watts is all like, ‘learn this or else’.

“Sure I guess…” Spencer acknowledges, nodding slightly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “But you’ll need more than vibes and a strong dislike of Watts to support it sweetheart.”

“Gee, thanks,” you say bitterly, rolling your eyes.

He chuckles softly, a sound that’s too calm, too collected, and somehow that makes it worse. He’s not wrong, but you’re still pissed off. You take a breath, steeling yourself for the next round of dissection. “Okay, then what if I say that MacDonald lets kids think for themselves, and Watts... doesn’t. Because of his moral authority and intellectual agency and whatever.”

Spencer’s eyebrows rise, just a fraction, but it’s enough. You feel a flicker of something—relief, maybe? It’s hard to say. His voice has shifted, just slightly, less detached now, more engaged. “You can build on that.”

“Really?” you ask, suddenly more hopeful than you’d like to admit.

“Really,” he confirms, leaning back in his chair. But then he tilts his head and furrows his brows in a way that makes you want to throw your laptop at him. “But you’ll need to define those terms and back it up with examples. Otherwise, it’s just a claim.” Of course.

“God, you’re making this so much harder than it needs to be!” you snap, the irritation rising in your throat. “I get it, okay? I need examples. But you’re not even letting me work out a point before you just, I don’t know, shit all over it.” Spencer’s eyes widen, and for a second, you almost feel bad for snapping at him.

“I’m just trying to help,” he says gently, but there's something in the way he says it—just a little too patient—that makes you bristle. You hate how right he always is, how calm he always looks, how much care he always has in his eyes even when you’re acting out.

“You’re trying to help?” you repeat incredulously, shaking your head. “You’re poking holes in everything!” Even in your feverish haze, you know you’re being cruel—but you just can’t help it. All you can think about is how everything is slipping away, how your thoughts won’t line up, how your head is starting to hurt again. You’re not even sure if you’re angry at him anymore, or just angry at everything else.

Spencer doesn’t answer right away. He glances at your screen again, a mess of quotes and bulletpoints. “I just want to make sure it’s solid, honey,” he says finally, his tone softer.

You scoff. “Yeah, well, you tore apart whatever solid lead I thought I had after two hours of work in just about five minutes, so thanks for that,” words tumbling out before you can stop them. Spencer’s silence hangs heavy in the air, and for a moment, neither of you speak. “Just… just let me get through this.”

Spencer sits there for a moment, just enough for you to feel the weight of the tension shift in the room. “I’m not saying you can’t get through it. I just want you to get through it right,” he says carefully, his voice quiet but insistent. “That’s all.” There’s no judgment in his voice, just care.

But the heat, the fever, it’s all swirling inside you, and you can’t hold it together much longer. “Of course you are…” you mutter bitterly, already regretting everything you’ve said. It feels like every step forward just leads you straight into another wall, and you’re just too tired to keep going. It’s not that you want to push him away or that you don’t appreciate his help. You’re just too irritable, too exhausted. You just want the whole damn essay to be done—and you wish you didn’t need his help to make it happen. You want to yell, to throw something, to demand that the world stop spinning long enough for you to catch your breath. But all that comes out is a hollow, defeated sigh.

You feel like you're drowning and you don’t want to drag him under with you. “I’m just…” You stop yourself, swallowing hard, trying to gather whatever little strength you have left. “I’m just so tired.”

Spencer looks at you, eyes full of concern, but it doesn’t help. You don’t want sympathy. You want to be better—to be able handle all of this. You want to be able to write this damn essay on goddamn children’s books without falling apart. And it doesn’t help that you’re falling apart in front of Spencer. The same Spencer who can recite verses from Paradise Lost at the drop of a hat. You’d almost burst into tears the last time he did it after it had taken you an entire week just to decipher and analyze a single chapter with any real confidence. You can’t help but feel that pang of inadequacy every time he breezes through something you’ve struggled with, even if he doesn’t mean to make it look so effortless. You hate yourself for it. You can’t find a way to shake the feeling that you’re not doing enough, not good enough. Not for yourself, not for him. You feel the sting of it, it’s pressing on your chest, suffocating.

“I just… just feel like I can’t keep up with any of it.” You don’t say it with any anger, just exhaustion. It’s not even directed at him anymore—it’s just the fact that you feel so stuck, so far behind where you should be, where you so badly want to be. “Like I can’t keep up with you.”

Oh. Spencer feels his heart sink. He’s always prided himself on being able to read people. He should’ve known better. He’d been so focused on helping, so intent on pushing you to reach the level he knows you’re capable of, the level he knows you want to be at—even if you keep telling yourself you don’t. The fever, the deadlines, the constant pushing—he should’ve known that it was all too much.

“You don’t have to keep up with me honey, I’m right here with you,” he says, trying to get you to look up at him. You can’t meet his gaze. You feel guilty for snapping, for letting the frustration slip out, but you’re not rational enough right now to pull yourself out from this spiral of self-pity. It’s easier to stay here, in the anger, the frustration, than to face the embarrassment of it all.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, his voice tinged with regret. “I didn’t mean to make things harder for you.” Spencer takes your hand, cautiously, testing the waters. He knows you don’t exactly want to be touched right now. He knows it makes you feel coddled. He pauses, waiting for your reaction. When you don’t push him away, he gains the confidence to cradle your face gently. You don’t resist, your tired eyes meeting his, heavy with sadness and Spencer thinks he can actually feel his heart break.

“You’re doing just fine sweetheart. You’re not falling behind. You’re just stressed. And sick.” He knows you’re feeling fragile, like any comfort might smother you so he threads forward lightly. “This essay? You’ll get it done. I promise.” It sounds right, and yet it doesn’t really help. It doesn’t stop the doubt that’s eating at you, the sense that you’re just not measuring up to everything you want to be. You feel like you’re barely treading water, no matter how hard you swim, the shore never gets any closer.

But for now, Spencer’s words are enough to quiet the panic—a buoy in your sea of sadness threatening to pull you under. You cling to it, knowing you’ll have to start swimming again soon. But for this moment, you allow yourself to stop. A beat. A pause. A breath—Just for now.

It’s only the next day that you manage to get the words on the page, not in any smooth, brilliant way, but they’re there. The sentences form, sometimes haltingly, sometimes with more confidence, until the essay is painfully but finally done. Not perfect, but it’s done. Relief washes over you, even as exhaustion lingers.

The moment you hear the front door open, you practically leap up, laptop in hand, meeting Spencer before he can even take his shoes off. He raises an eyebrow, setting his bag down as you both settle onto the couch. Without a word, you hand over the laptop, nerves bubbling beneath the surface. You wait with bated breath as he begins to scroll, your laborious effort displayed in black and white. The sound of the touchpad clicking feels louder than it should in the quiet room. He asks a few questions, here and there—clarifications, mostly. Questions you answer with ease, surprising even yourself with the confidence in your responses. He nods along, his expression thoughtful, but not critical. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Spencer looks up, eyes bright, a proud smile on his face. “It looks great, honey. You did a really good job.”

You can’t help the grin that spreads across your face at his praise. “Really?” Spencer leans in, cupping your cheek gently, and presses a soft kiss to your lips. “Really.” When he pulls back, his forehead rests lightly against yours for a moment, his hand still cradling your cheek. “You worked so hard on this,” he murmurs. “So proud of you.”

Your chest tightens, but in a good way, and you can’t stop yourself from leaning forward to kiss him again, this time slower, savoring the comfort he always seems to bring. “Now," he pulls away just enough to smirk, "can I have my bedroom back, or should I just start setting up camp on the couch?” You laugh, rolling your eyes, but it’s full of affection. “Don’t even start.” Spencer chuckles, his arm slipping around your waist as he pulls you closer, the tension of yesterday long forgotten.

When you get your paper back, you flip through the pages, one after the other, looking for the feedback, waiting for the corrections, the marks that tell you where you inevitably went wrong.

Next page. Next page. Next page.

And then, there it is. On the last page, in a definitive red circle, unmistakable: A.

It’s an A.

A goddamn A.

It doesn’t feel like a one-time fluke, not exactly, but you can’t shake the thought that this might be the only time you break through the glass ceiling you’ve spent so long looking up at. And who knows, maybe you’ll never push past it again. But for now, you allow yourself to relish in this singular moment of triumph. It’s enough. It’s more than enough.

Because now you know that the other side is real, and that you can get there. But Spencer, the genius, the enigma, who’s always been a step ahead of everyone in everything academic, has always known.

And while everyone knows that an A in an essay that’s only a partial percentage of your overall grade isn’t anything compared to what he’s achieved, nothing compared to the academic milestones he’s already crossed—Still, he’s here, celebrating with you. You can see it in his eyes, even if he knows you’re not one to make a big deal of these kinds of things. His quiet joy is evident in the way he grins that little grin of his, the one that’s only for you.

So, in summary, in essence, in all the words and ways you could possibly use to phrase a conclusion—You love your boyfriend. Truly, you do. After all, who else would read through your entire syllabus for the semester (frustratingly quickly), just because he knows you understand better when you can talk things out? Who else would patiently stick around, exiled to the couch in their own home, while you’re exhausted, irritable, and buried in deadlines? Nobody else ever cared enough to try. Spencer’s mind—though brilliant and boundless—isn’t the only reason why you fell for him.

Because when the world feels too heavy, when the never ending lines of poetry and prose become too difficult to untangle by yourself, Spencer’s there reminding you—ever so gently, ever so steadily—that you can make it through, one word at a time.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you for reading! feel free to like or reblog or comment or reply!

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer x reader #spencer x self insert #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x reader angst #spencer reid x reader comfort

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arc-misadventures · 2 days ago

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Morning. For the Friends Au it appears that Winter is trying to reach out to Jaune... and maybe he sees it and it's confusing him as to why.

Does her each out to Saphron and Terra, and seek their advice?

On a side note, great series. Looking to further posts as you have time.

Specialist J.A.

Winter: Specialist Jaune Arc. It has a nice ring to it. Don't you agree?

Jaune: It has a bit of ring to it... But, it's not as special as you're making it sound.

Winter: You should be proud, Jaune: You're the youngest person to ever be accepted as a, Specialist, and the first person of none, Atlasian descent to become one. So, take pride in your accomplishments, Jaune.

Jaune: Okay, being the first none, Atlasian to join the, Specialist doesn't sound like that much of an achievement. But, am I really the youngest member?

Winter: Oh yes, I was twenty when I joined, most others, Specialist were around twenty one as well when they joined. You are nineteen years old; You are the youngest member to ever join the, Specialist!

Jaune: Wait really...? Wait, twenty? Does that mean you're around twenty three then?

Winter: Careful, Arc... You should know better than to ask a lady her age...

Jaune: I-I-I'm sorry! I've just been curious how old are!

Winter: And, why do wish to know that?

Jaune: I was just curious!

Winter: Curious...?

Jaune: Yeah. You have this ageless beauty about you, Winter. So, I've always been curious.

Winter: Ageless beauty...?

Winter: Ahem! So... So what do you think of your new uniform?

Winter changed the topic as she looked away from, Jaune hiding a faint blush threatening to spread across her face. Meanwhile, Jaune looked at his reflection taking in his new, Specialist uniform.

It wasn't what, Jaune had expected, but he loved it nonetheless. It was similar to the uniforms to the rest of the, Specialist work as in style.

Jaune's uniform was more of a long sleeve sweater than a dress shirt. A zipper ran up the middle of it to the high collar. A sleave that ran over zipper to connect to a series of buckle buttons on the side. The front was a vibrant white with red stripes running along the side. The rest was the vibrant deep blue that was commonly found on, Atlasian uniforms.

His blue denim jeans had been replace with black combat cargo pants, giving him extra pockets to store necessary supplies. His boots had also been chaged for more modern combat boots, rather than the surplus boots, Ruby tends to wear. He found the boots quite nice, there was space in the boots he could fit something like a knife in it, perhaps her should do something like that.

Jaune: I didn't expect the blue would fit me so well. I know the red, and white suit me. But, I was never sure of the blue.

Winter: The blue is quite fetching on you; it matches your eyes quite well.

Jaune: Really? T-Thanks...

Winter: Your welcome. So, how does your armour feel?

Jaune: Mmmm... It feels a little tight; I think I need to ask one of the armourers to readjust it for me.

Winter: I see... Well, you can ask the armourers to resize it for you, that shouldn't be a problem for them. In fact, they could forge you new armour if you want.

Jaune: New armour? I know my armour is pretty good as it is, but would I be able to get some of that, Paladin Armour plating if I asked?

Winter: Hmmm...?

Winter: That’s a possibility… You'll have to ask about it.

Jaune: Okay, I'll ask them to remake, Crocea Mors then... It's probably best if I ask for, General Ironwood’s permission first. I suspected considering the metal this is used for your, Paladins its restricted from personal use.

Winter: While I'm not sure about that myself. But, I'm sure he'll agree to it, at least he may eventually let you do that. Once you prove your worth to, Atlas.

Jaune: That's fair. He's already upgraded my gear as is. It feels a little greedy of me to ask for another upgrade.

Winter: So, everything alright with your new uniform, Jaune?

Jaune: My armour is a little snug, but everything else is just fine. But, what's with this sash?

Jaune pulled out a deep rich crimson sash with a white snowflake pattern on the edge of it. Jaune looked at the beautiful needle work before staring at, Winter. She looked away as a small blush crossed her face.

Jaune: Winter?

Winter: I uhh... I got you a gift...

Jaune: A gift?

Winter: Yes, a gift to celebrate you're joining the, Specialist core. I would have gotten you something else, but I wasn't sure what... what you would like...

Jaune ran his thumb across the sash marveling on the smooth fabric, and the intricate detail woven into the snowflake.

His mind wondered at the red sash, he wore, Pyrrha's stash as a memento of her, the gold of his armour was also from her. He worse it keep her close to him. But, maybe...?

Winter: Do you... Do you like it, Jaune?

Jaune's mind was running until he saw a flash of red, and gold in his eyes, his eyes moved up to see the ghost of, Pyrrha looking at him. A smile spread across her face as she nodded her head, and gestured to the sash. Jaune's eyes darted to the crimson sash in his hands before looking back at, Pyrrha, and realizing she was gone.

Jaune smiled as his hands reached down, and grab the sash before wrapping it around his waist. Jaune looked down at the sash, then at it in his reflection. He nodded his head before turning to look at, Winter with a smile on his face.

Jaune: Thank you, Winter, it's beautiful.

Jaune hand pulled on the sash to move it so it ran parrel with his hip, while he was fiddling with it, Winter stepped forward, and readjusted it so it would look better.

Winter: Oh thank goodness... I was worried you wouldn't like it. I rarely get presents for my siblings, I've never gotten one for someone else so I was really... worried...

Winter's rambling was cut short as she finished adjusting, Jaune's sash before standing back up staring directly into, Jaune's cerulean blue eyes, their faces mere centimeters apart.

Jaune: I uhhh...

Winter: Y-Yes...?

Red slowly creeped across their faces before the game of chicken was called to the end as the both turned away,. Brushing away their blushes in the process.

Winter: S-So... did... Did you tell your teammates about you're appointment to the, Specialist's?

Jaune: Uhh... no.

Winter: Do you plan to?

Jaune: They'll find out eventually. Just like when I learned that they forgot to invite me to, Ruby's birthday party the other day.

Winter: What? They did, when?

Jaune: They texted me my invitation when I was about to talk to, General Ironwood about me becoming a, Specialist.

Winter: The message you said was from, 'no one important.'

Jaune: Yep, that one.

Winter: You don't see them as anyone important in your lives now do you?

Jaune: Just returning the favour...

Winter: I see. Well then... Specialist Arc!

Jaune: Sir!

Winter: Are you ready for your first mission as a, Specailst?

Jaune: Yes, Sir!

Winter: Good! You will follow me to the cafeteria where we, Specialist will be holding your initiation!

Jaune: Yes, Sir. May I ask what this incitation process will be, Sir?

Winter: Yes, to survive, Marrows cooking!

Jaune: ...

Jaune: Eh?

Winter: The incitation is just a simple welcome party with food, drink, and cake that we, Specialist have. We're expected to each bring in our own food, hand crafted, or store bought. Marrow insists on bringing his family's chili recipe.

Winter: It taste terrible...

Jaune: Chili? Well... now I'm worried about the surviving bit... Should I bring something?

Winter: If you want to, but you're the guest of honour you don't have to.

Jaune: Why don't I cook something edible then. Something we can all enjoy.

Winter: You can cook?

Jaune: Seven sisters, and not a chef among the lot of them.

Winter: Well then, I'm looking forward to whatever it is you plan to make.

Jaune: When is the party?

Winter: This evening around six.

Jaune: That give me... five hours. I can whip up something nice by then. I best get to it. But, I'm going to change first. Don't want flour on my new uniform now.

Winter: I'll see you later then.

Jaune: till later then.

Winter soon made her way to the exit as, Jaune started unbuckling his armour. As the door opened, Winter stopped to say one last thing to, Jaune.

Winter: Oh, and Jaune...?

Jaune: Yes?

Winter: You... You don't need to call me, Sir, or Specialist Schnee... Just call me, Winter, okay?

Jaune: Okay... Winter...

Winter: Thank you~!

Winter smiled a sweet smile as she left, leaving, Jaune behind dumbfounded as he nervously swallowed.

Jaune: Shit...

Jaune: She does like me...

#rwby #jaune arc #ruby rose #pyrrha nikos #winter schnee #friends au

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lovecla · 2 days ago

Text

FAKE IT ‘TILL YOU MAKE IT, game plan:

➴ chapter warnings: none <3

➴ word count: 1.5k

💌 from me to you: and here’s the first chapter of fake it ‘till you make it! posting this sooner than expected in honor of last night’s game. can you guys believe we have nico hischier as our captain? how lucky are we? anyways! i hope you all like this! (the posting schedule will be just like TYPA, every other day!) ♡

𖧷

WHEN YOU tell people that being friends with a hot, young NHL player isn’t at all that great, all they do is look at you like you’re batshit crazy, and give you one hundred and fifty four arguments trying to make you, someone who’s been friends with a guy who’s been a NHL star player for the past few years, see how wrong you are.

You love Nico Hischier. You really do. You met him when you were just eighteen, being friends with his sister, Nina, and immediately locking in with Nico. He’s the sweetest, kindest and most loving man you have ever met in your life, and now that you’re twenty-three, almost twenty-four, you can see how rare men like Nico are.

But now that he’s a famous player, captain of an entire team and known for being one of the hottest men in the NHL, you sure feel like you’re paying a high price for being in his life.

Not in a bad way, though. It just sucks to see the amount of women throwing themselves at his feet, and what sucks even more, is knowing that he won’t even blink an eye at them because he’s head over heels for Nora Ellis, a crazy girl he met two years ago at a party.

Nora is beautiful, you’ll give him that. And usually, you wouldn’t be upset with him having a crush. In fact, you and Nina are always encouraging him to engage in new relationships and meet new people, so that he isn’t only worried about his job.

Nora. She’s the most beautiful black woman you have ever seen. She’s intelligent, she’s funny and she knows things about Hockey like no one else— being the daughter of one of the most talented coaches in the NHL does that to you, you guess.

The only problem with Nora Ellis is the fact that she only cares for men who are in a relationship.

Married or dating, she doesn’t care. Her only goal is to make them give up on their partner to be with her, and once she gets tired of them, she finds another mission to busy herself with.

Nico doesn’t seem to notice that. To be fair, no one really does. She can be very subtle and discreet, and the only reason why you caught up on that in the first place is because every party you go to, you try to blend yourself with the walls, so you don’t get too much attention on yourself.

Nico always tells you to stay by his side and mingle with his friends, but by the end of the night, you’re always sitting near the bathroom door, with a drink in your hands, watching the party unfold with attentive eyes.

And turns out that a lot can happen in the bathroom of a party full of NHL players and Nora Ellis.

So you know she’s not good for him. You’ve tried to talk him out of it more times than you can actually recall, but it’s a dead end. Nico’s in love with her, and has been for two years now. He won’t give up on her unless something really drastic happens, but since Nora is really good at what she does— destroying relationships for fun—, nothing will ever rise to the surface.

“She’s so… pretty,” Nico sighs, sitting on the couch beside you, making you sigh and put your book down, not forgetting to mark the page you were in. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you.”

You smile, touching his cheek, watching with awe as his dimples appear. “It’s fine, Dimples.”

He rolls his eyes as he always does when you call him that, and continues.

“You’re the only one who still listens to me ramble about Nora,” he pouts. “Nina said that if I talk about her one more time, she’ll fly to Newark and personally destroy my phone so I can’t call her anymore.”

You laugh loudly, perfectly picturing Nina saying that.

“And Luca?” you ask, raising your eyebrow.

“Luca just says I need to move on.”

“Well, he’s always been more patient than Nina, that’s for sure,” you nod, placing your book on Nico’s coffee table and bringing your knees close to your chest, resting your head on them. “But… he’s not wrong, y’know?”

Nico gives you the puppy eyes, as he always does whenever someone mentions that he should get over Nora, and you sigh again.

Seeing him like this sucked in every way. And you’ve tried everything— get him on dating apps, blind dates, normal dates, pointing at a pretty girl at a party, literally everything.

And still, he’s not budging.

“I wish she would just look at me. I’m handsome, right?” He looks at you, brown eyes filled with despair.

You spend some seconds analyzing him, as you often liked to do. His brown, hazelnut eyes that shined bright everyday, his hair that’s now a little bit longer than usual, his legs and arms which are absolutely huge— when did he get that big anyway?— and his perfect, charming smile and dimples.

“Emma?”

“O-oh, yeah, you’re… fine, I guess,” you shrug, trying to hide the fact that you were checking him out. Weird. “It’s not about you, Nico, I’ve said that before.”

“Okay, but why won’t she pay attention to me, then?”

Because you don’t have a girlfriend, is what you want to say.

Wait.

“Oh my God!” you jump in your seat, scaring Nico who lets out a loud scream and jumps out of the couch with you.

“What the— Emma.” He puts his hands on his hips, trying to look scary, but you brush him off.

“I know how to make her fall in love with you,” you smile, walking around in circles, trying to organize your thoughts inside your head. Nico. Nora. She thinks she’s in love. Nico’s happy. They get together. She’ll leave him after three months or so. Nico’s sad. But! Nico’s moved on. “God, how did I not think of that before?”

“What are you talking about—”

“We have to date.”

Nico stares at you like you’re crazy, his eyes big and confused. He opens his mouth a few times, probably trying to think of something to say, before closing it and inhaling the air.

You wait for him to say something, but when it’s obvious that he won’t, you continue:

“I know it sounds crazy, and I know what you must be thinking, but hear me out,” you step closer, looking up at him. “Girls sometimes don’t pay attention to guys because… well, because they can’t really see them. Like, for example: there’s this one guy in my office which I don’t care about, he’s just my coworker and nothing else.”

“What does this have to do with—” you put your index finger over his lips, shushing him.

“Wait,” you say. “So, he’s there and he isn’t anything. Until, one night, I had a dream that he’s dating me. And suddenly, I wake up and go to work, and I can’t see him the same way I did before. I start noticing how nice his hair is or how tall he is. Do you understand it now?”

Nico smiles, scratching his forehead with his finger.

“No, Emma. That doesn’t even make sense.”

You snort. “Because you’re a man. But trust me on this one, Nico. The second Nora sees you with someone else, she will notice you.”

Mostly because she’s a whore, but we’ll keep that to ourselves for a while.

“Do you have… like… a crush on me or something?” His face is now red and he gets closer to you, placing his hand on your shoulder while he looks like he’s trying to comfort you. “Is that why you want to do this?”

“What— No, what the hell!” you can feel your face getting warm and you step away from him. “No, I don’t have a c-crush on you. I just can’t stand you talking about her anymore. I’m your friend, so I will help you.”

Nico sighs, relieved it seems, still looking unsure.

“You don’t have to do it, if you don’t want to,” you say, closing your eyes for a few seconds. “I know it sounds crazy and I know you probably think I’m trying to get something here but in reality—”

“I’ll do it.”

“What?!” you can’t hide your surprise, almost shouting with how loud you spoke.

He smiles, sitting back on the couch, spreading his thighs and stretching his arms. “I mean, you’re never wrong about these love related things. You did get my sister an amazing boyfriend and you did manage to convince my brother to ask that girl out, and now they’re married. So it’s probably my turn to accept your love advice and shit, right?”

You’re starting to feel bad about this whole thing, because you know Nora will probably break his heart in thousands of little pieces, but what else can you do?

It’s the perfect plan, you think to yourself. It’s flawless, and it will work.

“I try my best,” you give him a half-smile, crossing your arms in front of your chest. “But you have to promise me something.”

Nico nods. “Anything.”

“If this doesn’t work out, then you'll move on.”

“Emma—”

“It’s not healthy for you to be thristing over someone for this much time,” you sit on the couch next to him and place your hand on his shoulder, giving it a little squeeze. “We will fight, and we will fight hard, but if there’s no results in three months, and I’m being generous, we’ll move on. Okay?”

Nico stared at his hands, biting his lips before looking at you again.

“Okay.”

𖧷

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forthegothicheroine · 2 days ago

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I don't know if you do requests for the Great Detectives, but I'd love to see how you think the Great Detectives would handle the murder of King Hamlet of Denmark.

This is a GREAT one! The big question is whether they all talk to the ghost of the dead king; I think I'm going to have to take that on a case-by-case basis, with whatever feels right for any specific detective.

So, in a series I do sometimes, how would various great detectives solve the murder of King Hamlet...

Sherlock Holmes: Well, obviously ghosts don't exist, so jot that down. But in Holmes's experience, living humans often pretend to be ghosts (or even make dogs pretend to be ghosts!) so who could this be? The young prince Hamlet, who everybody says has gone mad? Holmes deduces that he isn't mad at all, and is in fact conducting psychological warfare against his hated uncle; while Holmes disapproves, he concludes that the boy is completely right about Claudius due to his knowledge of the play The Murder of Gonzago, as seen when he's upset about changes in a production. The Murder of Gonzago is a play which premiered in a town in Denmark known for its manufacturing of poisons for pest control!

Hercule Poirot: Poirot is quite sad to hear that the monarch who invited him as a celebrity guest has died; why does this always have to happen when he goes on vacation? Polonius spies on the guy to see what he's up to, but Poirot is much better at snooping on people than he is, and nobody can keep anything hidden for very long. He gives a summation where he reveals Claudius killed his brother. Prince Hamlet immediately goes to attack his uncle and they struggle over a sword. King Claudius falls dead and Poirot bows out, because determining whether Hamlet should suffer consequences or just become king is not his department.

Sam and Peter: Hear me out- if we bump Hamlet down from ambiguously college-aged to ambiguously high school aged, we can replace Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. These two nerdy kids are shipped in to cheer their friend (more like acquaintance) Hamlet up, and to his surprise, they respond to his depressing monologues by taking notes and asking for further details on why the world is so corrupt. Hamlet isn't so happy about them doing an investigation into "What is up with Hamlet's super hot mom?" but when they suggest interviewing Claudius to see if he has the face of a liar, he enlists them to help out with putting on The Murder of Gonzago. The rest of the play mostly goes the same, but they find the letter Claudius planted on them and show it to Hamlet. One of the last lines of the play is when Fortinbras is looking at everyone lying dead, but then Osric points out "Sam and Peter are alive!"

Phryne Fisher: Phryne is a dubious (if genteel) woman Laertes has taken up with, whom Polonius is doing everything in his power to drive away. Phryne doesn't care, but it does bring her attention to the fact that the man is apparently constantly spying on everyone in the castle. On whose behalf is he doing this? King Claudius? Is he afraid someone may assassinate him because of his brother's suspicious death? What was the official story about that, anyway? She exchanges sexy insults with Prince Hamlet, refusing to be cowed, and ultimately agrees to play the queen in his production of The Murder of Gonzago (where she gets a little too into the love scene.) When she turns and looks directly in Claudius's eye in the audience during a crucial line, she can see the answer to everything. Claudius tries to convince Laertes to kill her, saying she corrupted Ophelia into being a whore for a mad prince, but Laertes can't go through with it and kills Claudius instead.

Dale Cooper: King Hamlet's ghost tells him who killed him in a dream, but Cooper doesn't remember. He befriends Horatio and tells him that in order to understand the death of the king, it is crucial for them to study an old Icelanic poem about a man who feigns madness, because the answer to the mystery lies somewhere within. Horatio doesn't totally get it, but he figures Cooper must know what he's doing and goes along with it. When everyone is gathered to watch a production of The Murder of Gonzago, Cooper first steps up onto the stage, guided by a spirit in the form of a snake wearing a crown, to announce that King Claudius killed his brother. Prince Hamlet immediately stabs his uncle. Determining whether Hamlet should suffer consequences or just become king is not Cooper's department.

Philip Marlowe: All I know is, most of this mystery involves him getting thrown off the palace grounds repeatedly and being told that a bum like him better keep away from King Claudius if he knows what's good for him. If he ever gets out of Denmark alive, Marlowe thinks to himself, he's never leaving LA during the winter ever again.

Sam Vimes: Vimes can actually interview the ghost, but that doesn't mean the case is closed. He's not worried about the ghost actually being a deceitful fiend, he just thinks there's a possibility he's wrong. After all, if Vimes was poisoned and his ghost found out some creepy relative immediately married his wife and took his job, he would also jump to conclusions! He spends a lot of time yelling at royal people and getting threatened with execution (Vimes doesn't know how his job ended up involving so many clashes with royalty, but so it goes), and is disrespectful of religion enough to spy on Claudius while he's having his remorseful confession. He can't arrest him, but he spreads the word around, and as the royal court dissolves into backstabbing and finger-pointing, Vetinari walks in with a full retinue (and more importantly, a list of all the debts Denmark owes to Ankh-Morpork) to evaluate the situation and congratulate Claudius on his "excellent decision" to abdicate. Claudius later dies of a totally natural snake bite in his ear.

Columbo:

Your Majesty, King Claudius, forgive My clumsy common nature. I am not A noble gentleman, nor do I live With such great honor as yourself- a thought, However, troubles me this night. For how Should some strange serpent come to bite a king? And why within his ear? It puzzles! Now, I beg that I may ask just one more thing…

#great detectives series #shakespeare #hamlet

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fushiguruuzzzz · 3 days ago

Text

xvii ⊹ ࣪ ˖ Party Anthem

Series mlist

Tags — mentions of alcohol, possibly offensive humour (yk this by now), don’t get angry at me pls.

Words — 1.2k

Night had long set in over the horizon, and the frat was oddly hot for such a cool November evening. It was muggy and reeking of cheap alcohol, something everyone had grown desensitized to after ingesting some of it themselves.

One minute you were sprawled out over a couch, mindlessly chattering away with your group of friends. The next moment, you spotted Nobara in the heaps of people and decided it would be a great idea to dance. Your body swayed side to side, an orange head of hair bobbing around at your side. She was clearly wasted by now, an arm wrapped around your shoulders as she tried and failed to sing along to whatever 2000’s pop song played through the speakers. You could feel people around you stumbling, bumping into you so often it was almost rhythmic.

You couldn’t even bring yourself to feel uncomfortable. This wasn’t exactly your scene, but anything that was vibrant enough to distract you was better than… whatever you were doing before.

He was here. You could feel it in your bones, the way your heartstrings tugged like they were being toyed with by a puppeteer. With every reminder of him came another shot, the bitter alcohol pouring down your throat. Your head had begun to feel fuzzy long ago, tv static seeming to be on repeat in the depths of your mind. It wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough to erase him. And somehow, the alcohol only heightened your ability to dwell.

You just wanted to know why. Was that so much to ask? To wonder why he was so normal, and then so… soft, and then suddenly he was nothing at all? Nothing but curses and anger and awkwardness? You knew you hadn’t done anything, but it was the only reason you could conjure up. Your heavy heart was apparent in the way your joints were stiff as Nobara moved you to the beat of the music, the way your eyes looked far away as you stared into space. Even the drunken girl could see that much.

“M’gonna get a drink. Bye,” she said, words slurred and curt. She didn’t give you a chance to respond, you were left reaching out to the ghost of her, alone in a room full of dirtbags.

It was simply reflex to retreat to the outskirts, the calmer wall in the corner of the room. Just a moment to breathe, to observe, to remember that you were you and not just some drunk girl escaping Megumi. Not everything was about him.

Or, apparently, it was. Of course he was over here. Of fucking course. He was everywhere you went, lurking and hovering just a few steps ahead at all times. You didn’t want to see him, not now. Not when your mouth had been loosened by clear vodka and your anger was ever so overran by your sadness. It barely took a sideways glance at him to have your shoulders stiffen, a look of disdain taking over your features as you stared straight ahead.

He caught your eye. He knew you were there, he always would. It seemed that his body knew before his mind, his pulse quickening and hands growing jittery. He silently watched you for a few moments, contemplating whether you’d hit him or not if he simply grabbed you and forced you to listen. It was obvious you didn’t want to talk to him, and had it been anyone else he would’ve left it alone. But it was you. You were different; you were always different.

“[name].”

No response. He moved closer, nearly caging you in, though involuntarily. Truth be told, he wasn’t exactly sober either. Itadori had a knack for influencing him. Maybe that’s why he was being so forward, shameless as he almost begged for your attention.

“I’m talking to you,” he said.

“I know.”

He sighed, shoulders slumping. He expected nothing less from you, a quick mouth and subtle attitude. “[name].” Wow, he really liked the way your name sounded on his lips. “Please, can’t you just—just give me the time of day?”

“Like you did? You ignored me for two weeks, Fushiguro,” you spat his name like it pierced your tongue to utter. This wasn’t a good time. Your emotions were amped up, every vibration from the suffocating music in the background shooting through you and only irritating you further.

“I know, that’s why I’m asking you–“

“What did I do? Huh? Tell me what I did,” you cut him off, a crease forming between your brows. Then he saw it. Hidden beneath layers of anger and disdain was hurt, desperation to know why he’d shut you out. That made the guilt far worse. It felt like there was a pit in his chest, or rather a black hole, leaving him hollow inside. It was a dull ache of so much love being there, but not enough courage.

Without thinking, his shaky hand reached out to you. It landed on your shoulder, clumsy and uncoordinated. “Nothing. You didn’t… you could never do anything to make me ignore you.”

“So why?” you asked, voice breaking. You hated the way you subconsciously leaned into his touch, his face only a few short inches away from you.

“Because I’m a coward,” he whispered. You don’t know when or how you moved in closer, you just know that you both did and it felt so utterly right that you couldn’t pull away. His pupils were dilated, love or alcohol? Possibly both.

Was this actually happening? You could smell the faint scent of his cologne radiating from him, his breath smelling of alcohol as it mingled with yours. You could see every detail of his face from here. He looked gentle and desperate and something swirled in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before, but you wanted to. You wanted to see all of him, to understand every inch and mannerism and every other bit. You didn’t want Noritoshi. It had never been him. Always your Megumi.

“Megumi,” you mumbled, the word sounding much sweeter on your lips than his surname had.

“That’s better,” he breathed, and you swore you felt the touch of his lips on your own.

But then came Todo, big and beefy and drunk and knocking into everyone. He seemed to be looking specifically for Megumi, grabbing his shoulder all too enthusiastically for the moment.

“Hey, Fushiguro! You seen my brother?” he asked. You were left standing by the wall, struck by what had almost just happened. You could barely form any sort of coherent thought, mentally doing laps around the room. Megumi didn’t look much better, eyes wide and throat bobbing as he tried to compose himself. He was always composed, he wasn’t going to let that stop now.

“No,” he grumbled, one word answers being the only thing he was conscious enough to say. Todo, looking defeated, left to continue his search. By the time you peeled your eyes away from the retreating figure of the boy, Megumi was gone. Disappeared into the crowd, nothing but a fish in a sea of people.

He was fucked.

Taglist !¡ —

@1l-ynn @meowymeowbreow @missunrise @kiss-my-asscheeks @good-mourning0 @starrysho @gumims @beaniesayshi @mrowwww @luvvmae @megumislovedoll @azharyy @starsryi @tibibibi123 @idkidk32 @dazaisfavgf @tlissablr @vi0let-writes @walllflowerrrsss @sh0ot1ngst4r @blubearxy @tvnamayo @san-it-is-i-guess @harryzcherry @withlovesai @vivienne-jo

Aha… don’t attack me for this one Megumi went and hid in the washroom fs next chap will be a continued ver of this chap!! Like they’ll still be at the party it’s almost over… omg… I write every chap in one sitting btw so like don’t get mad if they’re shitty

#jjk #jjk megumi #jujutsu kaisen #megumi fushiguro x reader #jjk x reader #jjk smau #megumi fushiguro #megumi x reader #fushiguro megumi #fushiguro x reader

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cosmerelists · 2 days ago

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Cosmere Characters as Parents

As requested by anon. :)

If Cosmere characters who aren't currently parents (or who never got that chance) were parents, what would they be like?

1. Adolin

LOVES playing dress-up

Small child: And YOU'RE my servant, Radiant Princess Assassin Duelist! Adolin [solemnly wearing a princess hat and armor, carrying a large wooden sword]: I am at your service, Your Highness.

2. Siri

I'm seeing: Midnight Family Picnics.

Siri: Whose ready for Midnight Family Picnic?? Both kids: [cheering] Siri: Tonight we have a lovely assortment of sweet treats, assorted nuts for salt, and of course a Surprise Stew that the cook whipped up! Siri: Let's set up the tent, and we can get eating!!

3. Kaladin

Wants to support his kid in everything...but may be slightly overprotective

Small child: Dad, Dad look! I climb ALL the way to top! Kaladin: Wow! Great job!! Syl: Wow! I'm surprised you're letting him climb a rock that tall! Kaladin: Well, you know. It's good for a kid to get to explore and be fearless. Syl: ... Syl: Got him Lashed so he can't fall, huh? Kaladin: You know it.

4. Shallan

Has a little bit of trouble setting boundaries--she just doesn't want her kid to feel restricted, you know?

Teenager: See ya, Mom! Gonna go set a building on fire. Shallan: Hey, wait a second! Shallan: You got a good reason? Teenager: Yeah. Shallan: Got a plan to avoid being caught? Teenager: Of course. Shallan: Okay--have fun!! Radiant: ... Shallan: What?

5. Nikaro

As an emo guy, he of course ends up with a kid who is the opposite.

Akane: Are you wearing...a pink shirt with a heart on it? Nikaro: My daughter is obsessed with kawaii fashion. Nikaro: She wanted to style me. Akane: That also explains the sparkly eyeshadow. Nikaro: It does. Akane: ... Akane: Is your goth soul dying inside? Nikaro: Only a little.

6. Yumi

It feels inevitable that Yumi would give birth to a tiny Godzilla child.

Yumi: Look! Mommy made the stack sooooo high! Child: [shrieking with delight as they plow right into it, knocking it over] Yumi: [smile only slightly strained] A mother's love is a powerful thing.

7. Lopen

They say it takes a village, and Lopen definitely has that.

Sigzil: You know...I'm impressed by how well-rounded your kid is. Lopen: Ha ha! A Herdazian is always well-rounded--and very often round as well! Lopen: Every cousin teaches 'im something--he's learned to cook and talk quick and make friends and tell jokes and stick people to walls and all the things! Small Lopen child: [flips someone off] Lopen: He learned that from me! Sigzil: You don't say...

8. Tress

Raises her child on the high seas.

Child: [screaming a sea shanty at the top of her lungs while she swabs the deck] Ann: She getting punished for something? Tress: What? No! She just likes to sing and her favorite one is about swabbing the decks. Tress: I tried to get her interested in spores, but apparently that's not as exciting as swabbing the deck. Ann: [patting her on the back] Well, there's still plenty of time to share your incredibly dangerous hobby with your kid. Tress: Yeah, you're right!

9. Elend

Just doesn't want his kid to have a childhood like his

Elend: Wait a minute...are you reading that book after I told you that the thesis was juvenile speculation sprung from the mind of a man without two thoughts to rub together? Teenager: Yeah, what of it? I'm not gonna take your word for it! Elend: [sniffs] I-I'm so proud!

10. Vin

Just doesn't want her kid to have a childhood like hers.

Sazed: Wow so this is your baby, huh? Vin: Yup! Sazed: So....round. And happy. Vin: Yup! [The fattest, happiest baby you've ever seen gives Sazed a sleepy smile] Sazed: She's...perfect.

#cosmere #cosmerelists #Adolin #Shallan #Kaladin #Siri #Vin #Elend #Tress #Nikaro #Yumi #Lopen

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in1-nutshell · 2 days ago

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Hello and is it okay to request TF with this idea?

Fem Buddy as a cybertronian (or Terran) and has a twin bot. They've been raised on earth and by humans, since they were babies and They don't know anything about Cybertron, they still loves/cares Earth and anything on it

They're famous or celebrity twins on earth. (like being genius, performer, artist, model, YouTuber, actor, or others, you choose). They do love it, the fame, the happy faces that humans get when seeing them, but They sometimes wondered where they came from.

Fem Buddy and Male! Twin are both inseparable, caring for each other, they sometimes speak/act in unison, having same and/or sharing thoughts, and had great teamwork/synchronization, and yet had teasings/sassiness in a mild way

Yet Fem Buddy and Twin have differences

Fem Bot looks like a Decepticon, has an reclusive yet timid and good-hearted, yet sometimes expressive with closed lip, also being supportive (and somewhat child-like or oblivious/innocent) twin.

M! Twin, he looks similar to an Autobot, known for being a leading/leader twin, having energetic, bold, and pompous yet somewhat mature, or something like spoiled prince yet mature and has smart personality, often showing his sharp teeth, whether he's smiling, frowning, etc., also being very protective/ aggressive for his twin.

You can add this idea if you want:

Autobots' human friend/kid(s) have been a fan of the twins (and probably had a celebrity crush/es on them), before the cybertronian thing, and they introduce the Autobots to these Celebrity twins via media of sort?

I apologize if this is complicated or I've been requested a lot. Thank you so much and also take care of yourself.

(also Happy Decepticon Day!)

Finally! I got to this one before it got erased! Again!

Hope you enjoy!

Bot Buddy Twin's who live on Earth

SFW, Platonic, Familial, Cybertronian reader

TFA

The name Issac Sumdac was one well known throughout the city of Detroit.

It was also a little-known fact of his daughter, Sari Sumdac, who was almost always accompanied by two of his most astounding looking robots.

A tall one and a small one.

Affectionally given the names Sonia and Syrus.

Sonia was the larger bot that was often seen walking the grounds of the Tower, presumably as a guard bot.

It seemed like the bot fit the job having such a large, and sharp framework.

Perfect for intimidating any trespassers.

As intimidating as the bot looked, Sonia’s family knew that she was a shy bot who just so happened to look like she could end someone with her pinkie.

A couple of tourist are looking at the big bot from a distance. Tourist 1: “Do you think it can think?” Tourist: “No way, its just a machine.” Tourist 1: “But if it could…” Tourist 2: “Probably thinking on how to annihilate human kind. I mean have you seen the size of those fists!” Meanwhile with Sonia… Sonia: “I think I’ll go visit the red birds nest before lunch time.”

Around her family, Sonia was a bit of a pushover for her younger siblings.

She couldn’t help it!

They had a mastery of the puppy dog eyes she had yet to conquer.

But make no mistake, if there is even the notice of a threat to Sonia’s family, she is making sure to get them to safety before dealing with the situation.

Sari loves hanging around Sonia’s shoulder and loves doing random trust falls with her.

The Professor has lost count of the number of times he has had to buff out dents in his eldest daughter’s frame.

Sonia loves her younger sister to death but she needs to stop giving her near death experiences.

Sonia is with the Professor watching Syrus playing with Sari play. Professor Sumdac: “You know you could always join them, Sonia.” Sonia looks at him. Sonia: “But what if I hurt them? I’m too sharp and big” Professor Sumdac: “It would be on accident. We both know you would never actively harm them.” Sonia still looks a bit conflicted but ends up joining the pair in ‘Mega trust fall’. Professor Sumdac winces a bit as both Syrus and Sari fall from a ledge and Sonia cushions their fall. Professor Sumdac: “Maybe I should have talked to them about taking it easier on their sister…”

Syrus was the smaller bot.

Often seen giving some tours around the Tower for guests and tourists.

His energetic and charismatic personality fit well for the tours.

He is the closest with Sari.

Don’t get him wrong, he loves Sonia, but his baby sister is way more fun to hang out than Sonia the worry wart.

Both love playing around the Tower’s private grounds, letting their imagination run wild.

On the occasion they do decide to make the day an adventure, they both know that if things get too hairy, Sonia was always one call away.

No one in their right mind would DARE mess with them when Sonia was in her protective mode.

Sonia is just minding her business when she gets a call. Sonia: “Syrus? What—” Syrus: “Can you come get us? We might have gotten in a bit of trouble…” Sonia is already tracking down Syrus location. Sonia: “What happened? Are you and Sari okay?” Syrus: “Well… we might be hiding from Fanzone’s new rookie cop.” Sonia: “And why?” Syrus: “To be fair, he started calling Sari a brat… and we might have put a virus on his phone… and currently hiding in the park.” Sonia: “… Give me 5 minutes.” Syrus: “Yes!” Sonia: “But you two are explaining to Dad why your in this mess.” Syrus: “…Hey big sis—” Sonia: “Don’t even think about it.”

That being said, Syrus is almost, if not more protective of his family than Sonia is.

While Sonia can handle certain things being thrown at them, she has a hard time standing up for herself.

That’s where Syrus usually comes in and stands up for her.

Syrus has no problem chewing out anyone who goes after her.

Both robotic siblings are ready to choose violence if someone decides to go after their squishier family members.

The topic of the bots creation has been a hot topic for years, mainly kept up by Syrus constantly pestering Professor Sumdac about it.

Sonia stopped asking a long time ago, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t think about it from time to time.

Especially looking at other, less emotional robots.

She is simply content with her life keeping her father and siblings safe.

Now, to the day the Autobots wake up…

Sonia was away on a nearby island trying to help Sari with her project on bird nesting sites.

Syrus is beside Sari’s side the entire time the Autobots are going around.

Absolutely blown away when the bots reveal that he is a Cybertornian like them.

Even gets a vehicle mode from them!

Every single one of the Sumdac’s remember at the last second that they had forgotten to mention the whole incident to Sonia.

The Professor swears he can hear Sonia’s ‘blood pressure rise in less than a couple seconds when he talks to her over the phone.

Syrus and Sari are in charge of telling the bots about their older sister.

Sari: “You guys are gonna love Sonia!” Optimus: “Sonia?” Syrus: “That’s our big sister.” Bumblebee: “Like human or bot?” Syrus: “Bot—Sari! She is going to flip when she finds out she’s an alien too!” Sari: “I bet she’s gonna watch all those alien movies with us now!” Ratchet turns Prowl. Ratchet: “I swear if this ‘Sonia’ is like Syrus…” They both share a look of slight dread. BOOM! The ground starts to tremble a bit. Bulkhead: “What is that!?” Bumblebee: “You think it could be the Decepticons?” Sonia appears at the front door venting heavy with panic in her optics. All the Autobots are ready to attack when Syrus and Sari run to the bot. Bumblebee: “Sari! Syrus!” Both jump up as the larger bot kneels and holds them both to her chassis. Sonia: “Your okay! Wait are you?” Sonia looks at both of them from head to toe trying to see any signs of harm. The bots are just stunned. Syrus: “We’re fine Sonia, but guess what! We’re aliens! Just like the Autobots!” Sonia finally looks up at the bots and looks just as surprised as Syrus had when he first met them. She shyly goes over and takes her servo out. Sonia: “Its nice to meet you all. I take it you helped keep Syrus and Sari safe?” Optimus blinked a bit before slowly shaking her servo. To his surprise, she was very gently in handling it. Optimus: “Yes, and you are Sonia?” Sonia smiles a bit while placing both her sibling on her shoulders. Syrus stops her. Syrus: “Wait! Sonia look what we can do!” He proceeds to transform into a car and drives a bit around the Plant. Sonia: “Wait we can do that!”

#transformers x reader #maccadam #bot buddy #tfa x platonic reader #tfa x reader

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deathmetalunicorn1 · 3 days ago

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Gods and Humans reaction to Tesla, Sasaki, Chen Gon, and Buddha with a Wife!Reader like Jessica Rabbit (She has a voluptuous body, speaks in a seductive, breathy voice, very calm, even in danger, brave, quick-witted and having a great singing voice, as she’s a very popular singer)

Despite this though, she’s very loyal and deeply in love with her beloved, who she likes to call her ‘Hunny Bunny’ or ‘Darling’

She also took Zerofuku in as her child, even calling him her ‘Baby Bunny’ and sings him songs to help him sleep or soothe him when he’s upset

She doesn’t care about the catcalls, stares or the lust in others eyes, as she’s only devoted to her love, and doesn’t care about how others think of her, even explaining “I’m not bad… I just look that way”

However a stupid, lecherous god tried to grope her, but before her Love could react, said God proceeded to scream in pain as his hand reveals to have been caught in a bear trap (The ladies could only laugh as even Shiva commented that was a cleaver ‘booby trap’)

-Wowza- that was one of the words that many used to describe you- you were drop dead gorgeous, stunning, sexy, and just so alluring looking that you had heads turning of all genders when you walked by.

-You were a well-known and very popular singer, able to charm anyone with your beautiful, luscious voice, and paired with your looks and sexy nature when you would perform, you had admirers all over Valhalla who would do anything to just be in the same room as you.

-The only downside… YOU WERE MARRIED!!!! It wasn’t fair- someone got to you first and you were completely loyal to your ‘Honey Bunny’ (Love).

-The same eyes that watched you with awe and desire glared daggers in his direction, as they couldn’t fathom that he was married to you, thinking he had tried some underhanded trick!

-While professional but still a little sexy with others, talking with your low breathy voice that seemed to have the spines of men melting, when (Love) came around, you were so open with your affections, rushing over in your heels, hugging him close and covering him with kisses, happy to see him.

-The only other person who would get your highly coveted affections was your adopted son, Zerofuku, whom you called Baby Bunny. He was drawn to you, being able to easily sense you were a good person and he loves your hugs, you were always so warm, and he would proudly wear the proof of your love, your lipstick marks all over his face.

-You were his safe space, he could easily relax when you would sing to him, and if he was ever in his Envy form, while being salty to everyone else, he could never be like that to you. He would accept your embrace and he could just feel his anger melting away.

-(Love) was very respectful of you, if the two of you were out and about together, you would be holding his arm and he would defend you if someone were to cat-call you, calling them out on their disrespectful behavior- you were a stunning beauty, not a dog to be called.

-There were some, those who were jealous of you, who would try to spread nasty rumors that you would use your body to get your way on things, or to seduce others, but those who actually knew you knew that this was the farthest from the truth.

-When Brunnhilde, a good friend of yours, asked you this after she pulled (Love) away to keep him from attacking someone, why you didn’t do more to defend yourself, you just smiled down at her, your eyes half closed, “They can say what they want, I know who I am. I’m not bad, I just look that way.”

-However, you did prove yourself that while you let the words roll off your back, you didn’t let anyone who wasn’t your husband, or your son touch you.

-A lecherous god had seen you and thinking you were an easy mark, he immediately came over, despite it being in broad daylight while you were surrounded by many of your friends and stuck his hand down your dress to cop a feel.

-You had frozen in shock, before a loud SNAP was heard and he howled loudly, pulling his hand out, a bear trap closed around his hand as he was screaming in pain.

-Your female friends all looked proud, giving you nods of approval while many of your male friends were a bit scared, a few asking things like, “Do women really have booby traps like that?”

-You turned with a smile as (Love) hugged you, his head on your chest as he pouted, “That’s for us to know, and for perverts like this to find out.”

-You were a dangerous woman, you had beauty, brains, and so much love for your family. You were truly a work of art.

#record of ragnarok #ror x reader #ror zerofuku

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clownzaf · 21 hours ago

Text

I know that people love to headcanon Tim as a child of Athena, I personally like to headcanon him as child of Hades due to his similarities with Nico and the fact that dead seems to follow that kid like a motherfucker but never actually reach HIM.

But hear me out.

Tim as a child of Dionysus. And he gets claimed during the Bruce-quest.

When he was in Gotham monsters were a usual thing. You never knew that they were there for your godly blood, you just thought that they were things created by pollution or something like that. And when he became Robin fighting things that wanted to kill you while saying weird things was more usual than a hug (not that that was a hug standard for Tim).

But then everyone started dying. His parents, Kon, Bart, Steph, BRUCE. Everyone. Every. One.

And Tim…Tim couldn’t seem to reach madness. I mean YEAH he wasn’t doing great by any standard, but he knew madness, he grew up in madness, and he wasn’t going mad.

The cloning was just a treat.

And during the Bruce-quest, everyone thought he was crazy, he was casted away because everyone thought he was crazy CRAZY Tim can’t he crazy! He knows that! He knows that in his blood that going crazy isn’t a chance for him. He made everyone crazy when they were around him (hence Jason. He knew that Jason was mad at him from the start, but going near Tim lighted a flame inside him that Tim is sure isn’t completely Jason’s) but Tim couldn’t go crazy. He could ACT crazy. But never too serious.

And then, in the depths of Greece, he met his dad. His real dad.

He always knew that Jake wasn’t his dad. The blonde hair his mother forced him to dye since he was 5 and the purple eyes his father forced him to hide with contacts told him that. But Tim grew up looking up at Jack, even if Jack didn’t love him, he was the dad that decided to (figuratively) stay. And Tim loved him till death.

But when that man appeared, Tim knew, with only a moment of stares, that that man was his father. They talked a bit, too. The man knew about everything Tim was doing, and that creeped Tim out, but when the man made appear a glass of wine for Tim (and one side for himself) and Tim drank it, he knew what he was.

Something on the flavor, on the feeling. It was Tim. It was home. Something he hadn’t feel in a long time.

He spent the rest of the quest feeling sure that he would make it, because somewhere on the heavens his dad was looking out for him, he promised he was. And this time it wasn’t a figuratively sentimental bullshit. His dad was really helping on the heavens. And Tim was gonna make it.

He saw him again when the quest ended. He appeared in all of his godly glory while Tim was living in the nest. He opened a can of soda and sat on his couch like he wasn’t a man Tim has only met twice, but that was ok, because that was his dad, and he was choosing to visit him. (Also, he wasn’t going to say no to a literal GOD) .

He yapped for two hours about the kids at the camp his dad forced him to work at ( “HE IS SUCH AN A-HOLE SOMETIMES TIM YOU DONT UNDERSTAND-“) and the more he talked about that camp, the more invested Tim got. At the end of it the man, his dad, just looked at him in the eye and said “y’know if you were there we could do this more often. Yer a better listener than that centaur. Also, I think your brothers would like having you there”

He leaves immediately for camp after that. The family thinks Tim decided to leave them for not believing in him, so it’s a shock when he comes back after the summer being great with a sword and with a Tan his skin haven’t known before, not even after fighting crime during the hottest days on San Francisco, and he was happy, like actually happy. A kind of happy he never was with them.

Tim made friends there. He was friends with Annabeth, a girl from the Athena cabin, who honestly thought that Tim was one of them after they had a talk about strategies on the field and all that, and was about to fist fight Dionysus for claiming one of her brothers. She still called him brother, but now she understood that Tim was a Dionysus kid. And her boyfriend Percy. They talked all night about the weight of being a leader and having your people die without you being able to do anything. Percy talked about a boy named Ethan and two girls named Zoe and Bianca. Tim talked about Steph, Kon and Bart.

Tim told him about the Bruce-quest, and Percy told him about the time he was ready to fist fight a good to get his mother back from the underworld.

He also fully loved his brother. Pollux was great and made him feel welcomed to camp. They talked during lunch and Pollux showed him every single thing that made camp especial. He also teached him how to make fun of their dad without turning into a dolphin, so yeah. They got along like a house on fire.

He also made friends with a girl from the Aphrodite cabin. Her name is Drew. She was kind of an asshole and tried flirting with him, and THEY DID GET TOGETHER FOR A BIT, but after some time they decided they were better as friends. And friends they were. Best friend even.

He never told the Batfam any of this.

So after some months in Gotham there’s a cult going around calling themselves “Children of Dionysus” and doing atrocious things.

Duke walked in on Tim trashing the training room of the cave, and later on Jason walked in on Tim having his fourth bottle of wine.

Tim was FURIOUS. Not only that was disrespectful to his dad, but to his brother and himself too. He was going to pick every part of that little cult and trash it.

There he meets Bernard. Then they get on a relationship.

When a sathyr comes to take Bernard to camp Tim goes with him, excited to have his dad meeting his boyfriend.

Dionysus has never been more uncomfortable than when he had to claim his son’s boyfriend in front of him. It wasn’t that hard before! But now they had those things against incest on the human world and he knew this wouldn’t be pleasant to any of his sons.

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bubblesgarden · 13 hours ago

Text

always you — john b x reader

｡˚○ navigation

summary: you and john b have been friends for years, but when kiara carrera comes along, things become different.

author's note: hi guys ! this is my very first piece of work i've posted here and i really hope you enjoy it ♡ if you did, please consider giving this a like, reblog, or comment ! feel free to give me a follow if you'd like to see more ♡

you were just eight years old when you first met john b. he had scraped knees and an untamed mop of hair, but his smile was infectious— like how the sun shone through your curtains on a summer morning, or when you listened to a song for the first time and would have it on repeat constantly. and before you knew it, you were spending every single day together. the two of you inseparable, running wild, dreaming up adventures, and sharing secrets that you swore would never leave the walls of the chateau.

for years, it was you and him— two kids hand in hand, against the world. at least, it felt that way.

but then kiara carrera came along. she was cool, easy going, and fit into the group so effortlessly that you couldn’t really blame john b for wanting to hang out with her. at first, it didn’t bother you— after all, kie was great. but slowly, you noticed the dynamic start to shift.

the days where it was just you and john b became fewer and farther between. instead of running off to hide up in the treehouse in your backyard for hours, or lay smushed up together on the hammock at the chateau while you stared at the stars to talk about everything and nothing, he was suddenly too busy. too preoccupied. with kiara.

at first, you tried to convince yourself it didn’t matter. john b was allowed to have other friends. but as days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months, the sting of being phased out by your best friend since childhood was too much to ignore.

one night, after another gathering around a fire where you felt like a shadow in your own group; constantly being talked over or ignored completely, you decided you’d had enough.

you didn’t exactly know what you were going to say— there were too many things running through your mind that you were positive it was all going to turn into a bunch of word vomit when you’d eventually face him. or you’d end up freezing. there was no in between unfortunately.

so when you finally approached the chateau, you found john b sitting on the porch, sipping on a beer as he gazed out at the stars. the glow of the moonlight highlighted the familiar curve of his jaw, and those messy curls you had ruffled a thousand times before.

“can we talk?” you ask, skipping the introductions and small talk. that would just make this worse, you thought. you stepped up onto the creaky wood, arms crossed over your chest, almost in a way to hold yourself together.

he turned to you, surprised. almost like he had forgotten you existed— surprised to see you here, where you had been day after day, and night after night, during your years of being friends. it wasn’t unusual at all for you to show up unannounced, but right now, with that look on his face, apparently it was unusual.

“yeah, of course,” he nodded, motioning for you to sit down on the tattered, old couch on the porch. sitting down beside him, you folded your arms around your knees. for a moment, the silence stretched between you, awkwardness and the sound of cicadas filling the void.

“what happened to us?” you broke the silence, voice barely above a whisper but still steady as you turn your head to look at him. he hadn’t changed much all these years— still had that stupid boyish charm that seemed to get him out of trouble, and those same, soft eyes.

you felt him stiffen besides you, and you almost scoffed. “what do you mean?” he asks, his tone matching yours.

“you know what i mean,” you sigh, the hurt you’d been bottling up spilling into your words. “it used to be you and me. we spent every day together. and then all of a sudden kie came along, and it’s like… i don’t exist anymore.”

his brows furrowed, and you saw the guilt flash across his face. “that’s not true.” you could pinpoint his defensive tone from a mile away— the same tone he would use when he got in trouble for something he did do, but always tried to claim he didn’t.

“isn’t it?” you laugh bitterly, shaking your head a little. “come on, john b. you barely talk to me anymore. if i didn’t come looking for you, i don’t even think you would have noticed i wasn’t around.”

“that’s not fair.”

“neither is feeling like i lost my best friend.”

the crack in your voice must’ve struck something inside him because you watched as his defences crumbled. he set his beer down, running a hand through his already messy curls as he sighed deeply.

“it wasn’t supposed to be like this,” he spoke, his voice quiet.

“then why was it?” you pressed, eyes still trained on him.

he hesitated for a moment, his eyes darting away before they finally met yours again. “because i screwed up.”

your brows furrowed, and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” he said quietly.

john b exhaled shakily. “i started… feeling things i wasn’t supposed to feel. about you. and i thought if i got closer to kie, it would— i don’t know, distract me or something. make it go away.” he laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “but it didn’t. it just made everything worse because i couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

your breath caught in your throat as you stared at him, the weight of his confession settling over you like a blanket. “so, what? you just pushed me away instead of telling me the truth?”

“i didn’t want to ruin what we had.” his voice cracked, and for the first time, you saw the fear in his eyes. “you’re my best friend, and if you didn’t feel the same way— i can’t lose you, (y/n). i thought maybe if i kept my distance, it would hurt less.”

you swallowed the lump in your throat, emotions churning in your stomach. anger, hurt, but underneath it all, a flicker of something you had buried a long time ago.

“john b—”

“i’m sorry,” he cut you off, voice barely above a whisper. “i didn’t mean to hurt you. i just— i didn’t know what else to do.”

you searched his face, the boy you’d known for many years looking at you like he was afraid you might disappear. that you might run away and never speak to him again.

“you’re an idiot,” you laughed softly, shaking your head.

he looked startled, blinking in confusion. “what?”

“all this time, you were scared of ruining our friendship, and you didn’t even think to ask how i felt.”

“how you felt?” he repeated, brow furrowing. the pure confusion over his features made you want to laugh, but instead you just rolled your eyes.

“i liked you too, john b. i still do.”

his eyes widened slightly, hope flickering in them like the fireflies dancing in the yard. “you do?”

“yeah,” you admitted, your voice softening. “but you’re going to have to make up for being a complete idiot about it.”

a slow, disbelieving grin spread across his face. “i think i can manage that.”

before you could get another word out, he leaned in, hand brushing against yours as he closed the distance. the kiss was tentative at first, a question in the way his lips moved against yours. but when you didn’t pull away, you felt as he deepened the kiss, like he was trying to make up for all that time he’d wasted worrying.

when you finally broke apart, he let out a breathless chuckle, resting his forehead against yours.

“i’m never phasing you out again,” he promised.

“oh so you were phasing me out?” you tease, resulting in several pokes to your side by the curly haired male in protest.

“okay— okay! but seriously. you better not,” you said, a small smile pulling at your lips.

and just like that, it was you and john b again. always had been. always would be.

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