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fromdove · 1 month ago

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ㅤ ⁞ 𝓐ND 𝓨ET, 𝓣HE 𝓗EART ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ (𝓔VER 𝓢O 𝓕OOLISH) ㅤㅤ

ㅤ ⁞ 𝓦HISPERS 𝓨ES.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ 𐔌 ⋮ d.wayne x fem!reader ꒱

«لا أعلم كيف أنتمي إلى هذا العالم»، يقول، «لكنني أظن أنني قد أنتمي إليكِ».

—୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ you're on a date at a carnival with damian wayne & get caught by his bat siblings! ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

∿　　 . `💭` ㆍ

It begins on a Tuesday. Because Tuesdays are the most humiliating of days.

Damian Wayne does not do carnivals.

He does not do sticky-fingered children shrieking with laughter, cheeks streaked with frosting and dirt like war paint. He does not do the scent of frying oil clinging to every inch of breathable air, or the grotesque mascots wobbling about with their oversized foam heads and eternal grins, or the synthetic prizes that look like they’re filled with sorrow and asbestos in equal measure.

He certainly does not do funnel cake. (He doesn’t even understand funnel cake. What is it funneling? Why is it called a cake? Is it some kind of regional inside joke he’s not privy to?)

And yet— Here he is. 6:28 PM. Ankle-deep in trampled woodchips. Sweat beading beneath his glove where your hand brushed his a moment ago. Heart thudding like a war drum, idiotically hopeful.

He promised your parents he’d have you home safely before 9.

You're beside him. Smiling. Laughing at something he didn’t quite catch because he was too busy watching the way the late sunlight breaks in your hair like gold dust. You’re looking up now, head tilted toward the Ferris wheel as it turns slow and skeletal against the peach-blue dusk, and Damian thinks—sudden and uninvited—that this is the kind of moment people write poetry about. Or terrible love songs. Or die over in operas.

(Repulsive.)

But he gets it now. He hates how much he gets it. That breathless kind of ache. The quiet terror of wanting. Of hoping. That unbearable softness in his chest like something is growing there, tender and glowing and completely beyond his control.

“You good?” you ask, nudging his arm with your shoulder.

He startles slightly—just barely—and then blinks. You’re watching him with that half-smile you wear, all crooked charm and warm amusement. His gaze flickers, unsteadily, to your mouth. He looks away too fast.

He clears his throat like it might help. “Fine,” he says, stiffly. “Perfectly functional.”

You laugh. Quiet and real. Not at him, exactly—more like with him, even if he hasn't laughed yet. It’s a sound that does something catastrophic to his chest.

He prays no one is filming him. Because he’s smiling now. Actually smiling. Not the close-lipped, diplomatic expression Alfred coached into him for Wayne Foundation photo ops—but something uneven and unsure and human. The kind of smile that might belong to a boy. A person. Not a weapon honed into precision.

“Wanna do the ring toss?” you ask. “I’ll warn you, though—I’m unbeatable.”

Damian scoffs. “Unbeatable? Beloved, I was trained by the League of Assassins.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Cool. I was trained by YouTube.”

(He beats you. Three times. Of course he does. But he lets you win the fourth.)

You don’t call him out on it. Just bump your shoulder against his again and say, “Maybe you’re not totally hopeless.”

And Damian, who has faced death more times than most people have faced a dentist, feels something unfamiliar and terrifying settle in his chest like a promise.

He thinks it might be joy. Or worse—hope.

── .✦

He buys you a plush duck the size of a small planet. It’s hideous—lopsided eyes, neon yellow fuzz, a beak stitched on upside down. It looks like it lost a fight with a sewing machine.

You adore it immediately.

You squeal when he hands it to you, arms barely fitting around its squishy girth. “He’s perfect,” you declare. “I’m naming him Reginald.”

Damian feels like the stupidest, proudest person alive.

And then— It happens.

The horror movie moment. He hears it before he sees them: that voice, carried across the carnival on a gust of pure doom. Loud. Teasing. Unmistakable.

“Is that our little demon on a date?”

Damian’s soul leaves his body. No. No no no no no.

He whips around like a soldier under siege. And there they are. The Batclan. Every last catastrophic member. Lined up like a Renaissance painting done by someone high on.... something. Something illegal definitely.

Jason’s holding a pretzel in one hand and an oversized soda in the other, grinning like a man with nothing to lose. Tim’s already filming, phone tilted like he’s documenting the downfall of Rome. Stephanie’s waving with both arms like she’s flagging down aircraft. Cass is halfway to your booth already, serene and smiling like a forest spirit coming to bless your crops. And—God help him—Dick is looking at you like this is his niece-in-law and the wedding is next Thursday.

Damian takes a physical step back. “No,” he breathes. “No no no—how did they find me?”

You blink, confused but amused. “Um. Friends of yours?”

He turns to you, face pale with the betrayal of fate. “Define ‘friends.’ Then subtract about seventy percent of the dignity from that word.”

You laugh, too delighted. And then—you wave at them. With your entire hand.

Damian stares at you, betrayed. “You’re encouraging them.”

But it’s too late. Dick Grayson is already bounding over, the human embodiment of serotonin. His smile could power Gotham for a week.

“Hi!” he says, a little breathless. “You must be [Y/N]! I’m Dick. Damian’s favorite brother.”

“Objectively false,” Damian mutters, arms crossed, jaw tight.

Jason saunters up next, shoving the rest of his pretzel in his mouth. “Don’t mind him. He’s just shy.”

“I’m not shy—” Damian starts, but—

“Sure, baby bat,” Jason says, eyes glinting. “That’s why you look like you want the earth to swallow you whole.”

Cass gets to you next and, without hesitation, hugs you. It’s silent and warm and grounding, the way only Cassandra Cain can manage. Damian watches with wide eyes like he’s watching a hawk land on someone’s shoulder. Cass doesn’t hug just anyone.

“Your aura’s soft,” she says simply, then steps back like that explains everything.

You beam. Stephanie shrieks, “Those shoes are so cute, oh my god.” And before Damian can react, she’s already offering you lip gloss and a scrunchie from some mysterious pocket in her jacket. You accept both like it’s perfectly natural.

Then— Tim.

Tim slides in beside Damian, not looking up from his phone as he asks, “So. Are you two, like. Dating?”

Damian short-circuits. You glance at him, expectant, curious. There's a beat of silence.

“We are in the process of engaging in a trial romantic exploration,” he blurts, hands rigid at his sides like he's about to be arrested.

Tim stops filming.

He blinks.

“So… yes?”

You burst out laughing. Damian wants to disappear into the woodchips.

There’s cotton candy in your hair. You’re grinning so hard it scrunches your nose. Your laugh is bright and uncontrollable. You’re wearing his hoodie now because it got cold, the sleeves swallowing your hands. The monstrous duck—Reginald—is tucked protectively under one arm.

And somehow— Somehow—

Damian’s not mortified anymore.

He’s just… soft. Full. Quietly radiant, in that fragile, terrible way love makes you feel. Like you’re being held even when no one’s touching you. Like you’ve opened a door in your chest and trusted someone not to slam it shut.

Tim’s still filming. Jason is genuinely stunned. Steph is saying something about a group selfie. Dick is already inviting you to the manor for family movie night. Cass is holding your hand like she’s decided you’re hers now.

And Damian Wayne, child of shadows and sharp edges, just watches you smile at all of them and thinks—

Maybe it’s not the worst thing in the world to be seen. Especially if it’s like this.

── .✦

Later, after the others have (finally) dispersed into the night—chasing cotton candy and reevaluating their life choices—you and Damian settle onto a weathered bench just beyond the carousel. The lights have dimmed to a soft glow, the music now a distant lullaby mixing with the rustle of night breeze. Above you, the moon hangs low and silver, casting long, quiet shadows over the fairground.

Between you rests Reginald—the monstrous plush duck—looking somehow smug, like he owns this ridiculous moment.

You break the silence first, nudging Damian’s leg with a light elbow. “So. That was fun.”

Damian groans, the sound low and a little reluctant. “If by ‘fun,’ you mean psychologically scarring and a clear violation of personal boundaries, then yes.”

You smile, nudging him again, softer this time. “Come on. They love you. All of them.”

His gaze shifts out toward the twinkling lights of the rides, distant and impersonal. The glow reflects faintly in his dark eyes. He’s quiet for a long moment, like weighing the truth.

“…They tolerate me,” he says finally, voice rough around the edges. “Sometimes.”

You pause, then tilt your head, voice gentle but firm. “You know, love isn’t always quiet, Damian. It’s not always soft and clean. Sometimes it looks like Jason stealing your Oreos so you’ll chase him through the carnival. Or Steph sneaking embarrassing pictures just to have ammunition for blackmail. Or Dick planning your wedding after two dates and acting like it’s the most natural thing in the world.”

Damian blinks at you, expression blank but you catch a faint twitch of amusement in the corner of his mouth.

A beat passes. Then, quietly, with all the seriousness in the world:

“…Are we getting married?”

You laugh, the sound warm and light. “Slow down, Romeo. Let’s survive the Ferris wheel first, then we’ll talk.”

He folds his arms, but there’s no retort—just a soft exhale, like he’s letting something settle inside. The air between you thickens, charged with something fragile and unspoken. A kind of gravity you can’t quite name—like the moment right before the first kiss, when everything holds its breath.

Then, soft as a shadow:

“The world is cruel,” Damian says, voice low, almost a confession.

You glance at him, heart hitching.

“But you… you make it tolerable.”

That’s Damian’s version of a compliment—awkward and clipped, but sincere beneath the surface.

He doesn’t meet your eyes. Instead, he stares up at the stars, as if sharing his truth with the indifferent sky.

His fingers twitch beside yours, restless—like he wants to reach out, but something inside holds him back.

Your heart stutters—a stupid, messy thing. Real.

You close the distance instead, your hand sliding gently into his. His fingers don’t flinch. Don’t pull away.

You squeeze once. Quietly.

And somewhere, just beyond the carousel’s glow, the Batfamily is definitely spying again.

But Damian doesn’t care anymore.

── .✦ 𝓐FTER 𝓣HE 𝓓ATE:

True to his word—and to the cautious trust of your parents—Damian got you home before 9 p.m.

Your room is warm.

Unreasonably warm for Gotham, where the cold usually hangs on. But tonight, in your very room, it’s lamp-lit and soft, filtered through linen curtains that ripple slightly like waves.

You’re both still marked by the evening: sugar-crusted sleeves, the scent of fried dough clinging to your hair. Damian wears the glow-in-the-dark wristband you foisted upon him at the ring toss booth. It glimmers faintly under the lamplight, absurd against the clinical precision of his wrist bones. He hasn’t taken it off. You suspect, with some quiet fondness, that he won’t.

Reginald, your plush duck, lies beneath a blanket like royalty in repose. His beady eyes peer out from a pink pillow with the blank stare of a veteran. You insisted on tucking him in. Damian had watched silently, the corners of his mouth twitching at your ceremonial fluffing of the pillow, your grave whisper: “He’s had a long night.”

Privately, Damian suspects Reginald is an elaborate surveillance device.

He leans against your desk. Arms crossed. Body honed sharp, but curiously at ease—as if, just for tonight, he’s chosen not to be a weapon.

You sit beside Reginald’s throne, cross-legged. You’re quiet. So is he.

The air between you is full of unspoken things, spun gold in the lamplight. Everything in the room is soft-edged.

You pat the space beside you. Carefully, so as not to jostle His Royal Duckness.

Damian moves slowly. As if unsure whether sitting beside you might trigger a pressure plate. As if the room might demand proof of intention.

He sits. Not touching, but close. A hairbreadth away. A choice away.

And God, you want to choose.

The silence thickens. Not tense. Not awkward. Just weighted. Like the kind that forms between people who are beginning to orbit each other without permission.

He doesn’t speak right away. His fingers twitch against his biceps.

“I’ve surveilled targets in crowded spaces before,” he says, clipped and serious. “But I don’t believe that qualifies.”

You blink. Then snort. “So. Yes.”

He looks at you, flatly accusatory. You raise your eyebrows.

“…Are you collecting intel?” he asks, wary. But there’s no real bite to it.

You smile down at your hands. “Maybe. I just… I want to get it right. For you.”

You didn’t mean to say it out loud. But there it is. Floating in the space between your hands and his silence.

He looks at you then—really looks. Like someone realizing a song they’ve been humming under their breath for years actually has words. Like every version of him—assassin, son, boy—has been quietly orbiting the moment your eyes met his.

“You already did,” he says, voice like thread pulled from a tapestry. Quiet. Final.

You look at him. Your throat is full of sparrows. You nod, just barely.

The city is gone. The world is nothing but your breath and his.

And then—

“Can I kiss you?” he asks.

No calculation. No control. Just a boy sitting too still in the hush, asking like he might never ask again.

“…Yes,” you whisper.

Eyes wide. Doe-eyed. A little doomed.

He leans in.

He kisses like someone unsure the world will last long enough for a second try. Like your lips are a holy place and he’s trespassing with muddy hands and shoes. His mouth moves against yours slow and cautious, like he’s memorizing the shape of safety.

You tilt into him.

His hand finds your cheek, thumb brushing the edge of your jaw like he’s sketching the borders of a country on a map.

And in that moment, Damian Wayne is not a soldier. Not a son. Not an heir to shadows.

He is just a boy. Warm and breakable and yours.

No tactics. No retreat.

Just this. Just you.

When you part, it’s soft. Reverent. As though the kiss has weight, and letting go might shatter it.

Your foreheads touch. Breath shared. Heartbeats learning how to dance in tandem.

“I’ve killed men,” he murmurs, voice close and dangerous and infinitely tender, “for less than what I feel for you.”

You pull back, just enough to meet his eyes. “That is… hands down… the most terrifyingly romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

A smile flickers across his mouth.

Real. Brief. Crooked like a secret.

You decide—then and there—you decide that you’ll spend your whole life earning that smile again.

And again.

He stays a little longer. Close, but not clinging. You talk. Or something like it. Laughter. Stories. Accusations about Tim’s dart game. The lingering warmth of the night still glowing in your bones.

Eventually, the room feels stretched. The spell thins.

He stands. Moves to your window like it’s instinct. The night folds around him like a cloak.

You follow him, toes quiet against the carpet. He steps onto the sill, the city licking at his boots.

He glances back.

Face neutral. But eyes like firelight—alive. Human.

“Sleep well,” he says.

“You too.” Then, lighter: “Tell Reginald goodnight when you land. He’s fragile.”

Damian doesn’t laugh.

But his smile tilts—barely. A bowstring loosed, if only slightly.

And then—he’s gone.

Gotham swallows him, and you are left blinking.

You press your fingers to your lips.

You've shared your first kiss with none other than damian al ghul wayne.

1K notes · View notes

mrspiastri · 1 month ago

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✩ jam biscuits 🍪

pairing: oscar piastri x reader

cw: fluff, sickeningly sweet oscar and a slight, super little bit of angst :D

wc: 13.3k words (don’t even joke lad)

an: need to stop placing myself as y/n when i write for oscar omg

It was the first week of December, and summer had already begun in Queensland, with warm mornings, sunny afternoons, and some moderately humid evenings. Y/N had spent her first two semesters at Griffith University and had loved every minute of it.

Sure, transferring as an international student in her third year of uni wasn’t exactly ideal, but she managed to adjust amazingly and had made some amazing memories and friends after just a little less than a year.

Mae was Y/N’s first friend, and they met after the former had to knock on the latter’s door to ask if she had an extra tampon she could borrow. And cut to now, the two were basically inseparable.

“You know, it wouldn’t kill you to just relax and actually enjoy your break. Especially with the very limited days off we get from uni.” Mae chided as she tried squeezing in a third pair of shoes onto her carry-on.

“Well, I can’t afford the plane tickets back home, and besides, I’m already going back in April!”

“So what are you going to do, just sit here for the next two months? In this tiny, slightly dusty, and very lonely dorm room? All by yourself?”

“I don’t really have any other choice, Mae.” Y/N stated, as she held out her friend’s shorts for her to pack.

“Then why don’t you come with me?” Her friend questioned.

“Where, Melbourne?”

“Yeah! You’re completely unoccupied, plus it’s with me! Mum has been dying to have you at home since you first met her!” Her friend grabbed her hands in an attempt to convince her.

“I don’t know; it’s the holidays, and I don’t want to intrude on your time with your family.” Y/N sighed, still very keen to spend the summer with Mae.

“Nonsense! They’d all love to meet you. And besides, you’re like family to me. So it won’t be weird.”

Knowing there was no way out of this and also eager to not ring in Christmas alone, Y/N agreed to fly back to her friend’s home city. In a way she wasn’t as nervous about it; she’d already met Nicole and Tim multiple times, and she’d spoken to Hattie and Edie on FaceTime multiple times. And quite frankly, she loved Melbourne with its beautiful beaches, sunny people, and amazing nightlife.

Four days later, while the two were seated on their flight home, Y/N was already busy reading the in-flight magazine, and Mae was texting away furiously on her family group chat.

“We’re about to take off soon, think you could put the phone away?” She teased.

“I wish, but as usual this idiot needs to make things difficult for us all.” She got a reply.

Y/N was about to ask who she was talking about, but before she could, Mae began her rant.

“I mean, you’d think he’d have planned this better, and I booked the tickets so early! He only had to schedule them on the same day as mine and at the SAME AIRPORT, and now he’s gone and messed it up for everyone!”

“Who are we talking about?” Y/N calmly asked her friend, who was close to foaming at the mouth.

“Oscar, who else would be such an idiot?”

Hearing his name made Y/N drop her magazine onto her lap.

“Oscar’s coming?” She tried to hide the nervousness in her voice.

“Well, of course; he hasn’t got any racing left to do now, does he?”

Mae continued speaking, well until takeoff, and then she fell asleep on Y/N’s shoulder, holding onto her arm like a koala hanging onto a tree branch.

Y/N, however, didn’t sleep a wink during the whole duration of the flight; the only thing floating in her mind was the newfound information she had just received.

Oscar was coming. Oscar. Oscar Piastri. Mae’s brother. Nicole’s son. Oscar. Formula 1 star Oscar. The same Oscar, she had a slight crush on. Well, not slight; embarrassingly large would be a better word.

She’d met him only once, at the Australian Grand Prix that year. It was very difficult for her to pretend she wasn’t bothered by him, because, truth be told, everything about him was difficult to ignore.

He met her, and like the polite gentleman he was, shook her hand and introduced himself. He made sure she ate something at the McLaren hospitality. He asked her about where she was from, her hobbies, and how many siblings she had, and she asked him how fast his car went and whether he was more of a chocolate person or a more vanilla person. He also shared a look of mild annoyance with her when his team whisked him away for the driver’s parade.

After his disappointing result on Sunday, she hadn’t seen him at all. She and the family came back home, ate their dinners and went off to an early sleep. He reached home late at night, and before he could say his goodbyes, Y/N and Mae had taken off for the airport.

Now after almost a year, they would meet again and would be living in the same house. It wasn’t too weird to imagine seeing him, especially because her crush on him had basically vanished. The girl convinced herself that it was just her meeting a handsome, polite, funny guy after years and naturally being attracted to him. It wasn’t weird. It wasn’t abnormal. It was okay.

She repeated those three sentences in her head over and over again, till they landed in Melbourne.

🪻🪻🪻

The afternoon sun was warm and bright when Mae and Y/N stepped out of Melbourne Airport. The December heat felt different here, less humid, more dry; and there was a comforting familiarity in the way the light touched the tops of gum trees and danced across the asphalt. Tim was waiting in the car park, waving enthusiastically at the sight of them.

“G’day, girls!” He called, striding over and pulling Mae into a one-armed hug, then offering the same to Y/N. “How was the flight?”

“Uneventful,” Mae replied, yawning as she shoved her suitcase into the back of the car. “She didn’t sleep at all,” she added, nodding toward Y/N.

“Excited to be back in Melbourne?” Tim asked with a grin, looking at Y/N through the rearview mirror once they were on the road.

“Absolutely,” she said sincerely, watching the familiar streets fly by outside. “It’s really lovely here.”

By the time they reached the house, it was well into the afternoon, and the air smelt faintly of freshly mown grass and barbecues somewhere in the distance. The front door flung open before Mae could even knock, and out tumbled Hattie and Edie, talking at a volume that could only be described as “excited shrieking”.

“Y/N!!” Edie shouted, throwing herself at her sister’s best friend in a flying hug that nearly knocked her off balance.

“You’re finally here!” Hattie added, squeezing in from the side, her hair bouncing with the effort.

Inside, the house looked exactly how she remembered it: cosy, lived-in, and full of warmth. Nicole emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel and smiling brightly. “There she is! My fourth daughter!” She pulled Y/N into a hug, then stood back to take a proper look at her. “You’re glowing. Queensland’s been good to you, huh?”

“Very good,” Y/N replied, feeling something inside her relax in a way it hadn’t in months.

Just then, the distinct sound of claws clicking against the wooden floor interrupted the moment, and in bounded Basil, floppy-eared, tail-wagging, and as chaotic as ever.

“Basil!!” Y/N crouched down and let the dog barrel into her, nearly knocking her over in his excitement. “You remember me, huh?”

“He definitely remembers,” Tim chuckled, hanging his hat by the door. “You’re the only guest who lets him sleep in their bed.”

“Guilty as charged,” she grinned, ruffling Basil’s fur as he whined happily and flopped onto his back for belly rubs.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a comfortable haze of chatter, catching up, and helping Nicole prep for dinner. The girls sat out on the back deck with lemonade while Basil napped in the shade, and Mae kept flipping through Spotify trying to find the “right vibe” for a summer evening.

As the sun began to dip low in the sky, casting long golden shadows across the backyard, Nicole called out from the hallway.

“Girls, I’m heading to the airport to get Oscar! We should be back by six, so keep an eye on the roast, will you?”

Y/N felt her heart skip, just slightly. Mae was still scrolling on her phone, unmoved. “Tell him not to whine the whole drive home.”

Nicole rolled her eyes fondly. “He’s not that bad.”

As the door clicked shut behind her, Y/N found herself staring out at the orange-hued horizon, feeling a strange flutter in her chest. It was fine. Everything was fine. She wasn’t nervous. She didn’t care that Oscar was coming. She didn’t even like him anymore.

Right?

She shook her head and went to baste the roast.

It was a little past six when the front door opened again, the soft creak of the hinges followed by Nicole’s unmistakable voice floating into the living room.

“We’re back!”

From the kitchen, Mae shouted, “Try not to crash into the furniture, superstar!”

The house erupted with the kind of excitement only reserved for a long-awaited homecoming.

“Oscar!!”

Basil bounded after them, nails skidding comically on the hardwood floor as he barked joyfully. Even Tim put down his beer and strolled over, smiling wide.

Y/N stayed where she was, half leaning against the doorway between the kitchen and dining room, a tea towel in one hand, still warm from drying the plates. She could hear the chaos, the laughter, the enthusiastic chorus of “you’re finally home” and “how was the flight?” and “do you have any gifts?”

And then, Oscar stepped into view.

He was dressed casually, in a plain white tee and black joggers, with a backpack slung over one shoulder, tugging a suitcase behind him, and looked exactly as she remembered him. No, not exactly. A little more tan, maybe. His hair was longer, a bit curlier. But the smile he gave his sisters was the same one that had made her stomach do something weird the last time they met.

He hugged Nicole first, then gave an affectionate smack on the shoulder to Hattie and Edie; he was still their annoying older brother after all. Tim ruffled his hair affectionately, and even Mae looked up from her phone long enough to roll her eyes and say, “Nice of you to finally show up.”

It wasn’t until the commotion settled slightly that he looked past them and saw her.

Y/N.

She hadn’t moved from her spot in the doorway, still holding that tea towel like she needed something to do with her hands. Her navy blue tank top clung lightly to her frame, and the grey sweatpants sat comfortably on her hips. Her hair was shorter than the last time he saw her, cut just below her shoulders now, a little frizzy from the heat, a little messy in the best way.

His heart did something. A flutter. A jolt. Something in between.

Because she looked different.

She looked even prettier than before.

He didn’t say anything right away, just took a step forward with a slightly dumbfounded smile tugging at the corners of his lips. His eyes lingered, not in a weird way, just long enough to take it all in. The way her gold necklace glinted under the light. The soft flush of her cheeks. The way her lips curved up slightly, like she didn’t know whether to say hi and possibly intrude on their little family reunion.

“Hey,” he finally said, his voice quieter than it had been a second ago.

Y/N smiled back, just a little. “Hey.”

And for a second, it was like they were the only two people in the room.

Then Basil barked, loudly and unnecessarily, jumping between them like a fuzzy exclamation mark, and Mae shouted from the couch, “We saved you a plate, Oscar. Don’t make us regret it.”

Oscar blinked, tearing his eyes away from Y/N just long enough to answer, “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

But even as he sat down at the table, greeted with a roast dinner and overlapping questions about Monaco and racing and airport delays, his gaze flickered back to her. Still leaning in the doorway. Still watching him.

Dinner in the Piastri household was as lively as ever. The table was overflowing with food, laughter, and the kind of chaotic joy that came with a full house. The roast smelled incredible, the salad was freshly dressed, and the potatoes were crispy on the outside and soft on the inside, just the way Y/N remembered from the last time she visited. There was a warm hum of voices, dishes clinking together, and the occasional shout from one of the girls trying to be heard over the rest.

Y/N followed Mae into the dining room, clutching her glass of water and scanning the table quickly. Her first instinct was to sit next to Mae, hoping for the comfort of a buffer between her and any potential awkwardness. She picked up her pace just slightly, trying to reach the chair before someone else did.

But Hattie, quick and always one step ahead, slid into the seat before Y/N could get there.

“Beat you,” Hattie said smugly, already reaching for a bread roll.

Y/N’s eyes darted around, searching for another spot. Nicole was already seated at the head of the table with Tim on her left. Edie had claimed the seat next to her dad. Every chair was taken except for one.

The one right next to Oscar.

Mae caught her eye from across the table and smirked. “Guess you’ll have to brave it.”

Y/N forced a small smile and tried not to let her nerves show. “Guess I will.”

She took a quiet breath and slid into the chair beside him, keeping her movements calm and collected. Her heart, however, was anything but calm. She could already feel the warmth of him beside her, close enough that their elbows might brush if they were not careful. She focused on unfolding her napkin and placing it on her lap like it was the most important task in the world.

Oscar turned to her, offering a friendly smile. “Hey again.”

His voice was soft, a little different from the boisterous way he had been talking to his sisters moments ago. She glanced at him and smiled back, her voice a little quieter than usual.

“Hey.”

Dinner began in full force as plates were passed around and everyone dove into their food. Nicole asked Oscar how his flight was, Tim jumped in with a question about something racing-related, and the girls were all chatting about school, their upcoming summer plans, and who had stolen whose sandals last week.

Y/N relaxed into the rhythm of the meal, laughing at the girls’ stories and chiming in now and then. It was warm and familiar, and for a moment she forgot that sitting right next to her was the same guy who had casually made her stomach flip with a simple smile.

It was only when things had quieted slightly and everyone was focused on eating that Oscar turned to her again.

“So,” he said, picking up his fork and turning toward her just a little, “how’s uni been treating you?”

She looked up at him, a little surprised he had remembered. “It’s actually been really great. I finished my first year at Griffith last month.”

“That’s on the Gold Coast, right?”

She nodded. “Yeah, not too far from the beach. The weather’s incredible, but it’s full of tourists most of the time. And if I have to see another surfboard-themed smoothie shop, I might scream.”

He chuckled, the kind of quiet, genuine laugh that made her stomach do a tiny somersault. “Sounds like a bit of a postcard dream. But I guess anything gets old if you live in it long enough.”

“Exactly,” she said, smiling. “But I’ve managed. And Mae’s been great. She’s helped me settle in a lot.”

Oscar gave her a teasing look. “Is she behaving herself? Not talking through your lectures or stealing your snacks?”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “She’s mostly well-behaved. Although she does have a tendency to hog the mirror for forty-five minutes every morning.”

“I do not,” Mae called out from across the table, having clearly overheard. “You’re just too impatient.”

“You take your hair way too seriously,” Y/N replied, grinning.

“Excuse me for wanting to shine,” Mae said with a dramatic toss of her head.

Oscar leaned in slightly, lowering his voice like he was sharing a secret. “She’s always been like that. Even when we were kids, she’d spend an hour trying to pick out the right headband.”

Y/N giggled, biting back a laugh as she looked down at her plate.

Oscar glanced at her again, taking her in properly now. Her hair was shorter than it had been the last time he saw her. It curled slightly at the ends, soft and light around her shoulders. She wore a simple blue tank top and grey sweatpants, nothing fancy, but she still looked different. Or maybe not different. Maybe just even prettier than he remembered.

“You cut your hair,” he said gently, still studying her face.

Y/N looked up at him, surprised again. “Yeah, a few months ago.”

“It looks really nice,” he said, his voice softer now. “It suits you.”

For a moment, the rest of the table faded away again. She felt her cheeks warm, and tried to act like it was just from the heat of the roast dinner. She looked down, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

Oscar smiled and returned to his food, but his mind was somewhere else entirely. He was not really listening to Tim’s latest comment or Mae’s quip about the gravy. All he could think about was the way her eyes sparkled when she laughed, the curve of her smile, and how it was already becoming very clear that this summer was going to be a little more interesting than he expected.

And Y/N, though she tried very hard not to, caught herself sneaking a glance at him, wondering the exact same thing.

🪻🪻🪻

The house had gone quiet, the hum of the evening slowly settling into the kind of stillness that only came when everyone had finally gone to bed. Doors had clicked shut one by one. Tim’s voice had faded into a sleepy goodnight. Nicole had turned off the porch light. Even Basil had given up begging for table scraps and curled into his usual spot on the mat near the back door.

But Y/N was still awake.

She sat at the kitchen counter, laptop open in front of her, the soft glow from the screen casting a blue light across her face. Her hair was pulled up into a ponytail now, and she had slipped into one of Mae’s oversized sweatshirts that almost reached her knees. The silence was comforting, broken only by the quiet tap of her fingers on the keyboard.

She was so focused that she did not hear footsteps until they were almost in the room.

Oscar padded in quietly, barefoot and looking a little dazed. His hair was a mess, slightly flattened on one side like he had tried to sleep but had given up halfway. He was wearing a simple white t-shirt and grey shorts, and he looked more like a normal twenty-something guy than the Formula 1 driver plastered on magazine covers.

Y/N looked up, surprised, and gave him a small smile. “Can’t sleep?”

He leaned against the counter across from her and nodded. “Jet lag, probably. My body still thinks it’s 10 a.m.”

She closed her laptop halfway and stretched slightly. “Yeah, that’ll do it.”

He tilted his head. “What about you? Burning the midnight oil?”

“Just catching up on some coursework,” she said, shrugging. “Uni break or not, some things don’t wait.”

He smiled, watching her for a moment. “You always work this late?”

“Only when the house is too loud during the day,” she said with a small laugh. “I love your family, really, but it’s like living inside a sitcom.”

He chuckled softly, then rubbed the back of his neck. “Guilty as charged.”

Y/N stood up and walked to the pantry. “Do you want something to help you sleep?”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “What do you have in mind?”

“Well”, she said, rummaging through a shelf, “I remember from last time that you’re not a tea person.”

“Correct,” he said, leaning against the counter with a smirk. “And coffee keeps me awake for three days straight.”

She pulled out a tin and turned to him. “Hot cocoa it is, then.”

He watched her as she moved around the kitchen, quiet but comfortable. She worked like she had done it a dozen times before, which she had. The milk warmed in a pot on the stove, and the scent of chocolate filled the air. She poured the drinks into two mismatched mugs—hers had a faded cartoon sun on it, and his said World’s Okayest Driver, which Mae had clearly planted for her own amusement.

She handed him the cup and leaned back against the counter again. “There. Chocolate and sugar. The perfect sleep potion.”

Oscar took a sip, then made an exaggerated face. “Wow. You’ve outdone yourself.”

She narrowed her eyes. “That better be sarcasm.”

“Definitely not. This might be the best hot cocoa I’ve ever had at 1 a.m. in a quiet kitchen in Melbourne.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled. “Glad to add that to my résumé.”

There was a beat of silence as they both sipped their drinks, the house still and dim around them. The soft buzz of the fridge and the low hum of the street outside were the only sounds.

Then Oscar looked at her, his expression thoughtful. “So… Have you got someone waiting for you back on the Gold Coast?”

Y/N blinked, a little caught off guard. “You mean like a boyfriend?”

He nodded, swirling the cocoa in his mug.

She shook her head. “Nope. No boyfriend.”

Oscar looked a little too pleased with that answer. “Surprising.”

She gave him a look. “Is it?”

“Yeah. You seem like someone who’d have to beat the guys off with a stick.”

She laughed softly, not flustered but clearly amused. “Well, either I’m intimidating or I’ve just mastered the art of being unapproachable.”

He grinned, resting his elbows on the counter. “I don’t buy that for a second.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “What about you? Anyone special waiting in some glamorous European city?”

Oscar shook his head. “No girlfriend. Just me and my suitcase.”

She gave a small nod and took another sip of her drink.

There was another pause. Not awkward. Just quiet. Comfortable.

Oscar stayed where he was, leaning against the counter like he had no plans to move anytime soon. His mug sat half-full in his hands, the steam curling in soft spirals into the air. Y/N perched next to him, her bare feet dangling just slightly above the kitchen tiles, her laptop now closed and forgotten beside her.

“I still can’t believe you remember that I don’t drink tea,” he said, glancing at her with a lazy sort of amusement.

She gave him a sideways look. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know,” he said, swirling the last of his cocoa. “I just figured you’d have more important things to remember than my weird beverage preferences.”

Y/N shrugged, playing with the hem of her sleeve. “I remember little things. That’s how my brain works.”

“Dangerous”, Oscar said softly, teasingly. “Now I have to be careful what I say around you.”

“Probably,” she replied, a playful smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “I have an excellent memory.”

He looked at her a second longer than necessary, then tilted his head slightly. “So what else do you remember about me?”

Y/N let out a short laugh, but there was a flicker of awareness in her eyes. “You want a list?”

“Obviously,” he said, grinning. “How else will I know what kind of impression I made?”

She pretended to consider it, taking a sip of cocoa for dramatic effect. “Alright. You always double-knot your shoelaces. You hate olives. You hum when you’re trying to concentrate. And you only ever wear black socks, even with your team kit.”

Oscar blinked, genuinely surprised. “Okay, wow.”

“You asked,” she said with a small shrug, like it was no big deal.

“I don’t even think Mae would get that many right,” he said with a laugh, shaking his head. “That’s�� kind of impressive.”

She just smiled again and said nothing.

A comfortable quiet settled between them for a few moments, and Oscar found himself watching her again—how the low kitchen light caught the tips of her lashes, how her sweatshirt sleeves were pulled halfway over her hands, and how calm and natural she looked in this space that was technically not even her home.

“You seem really settled here,” he said quietly.

Y/N looked up, a little surprised by the softness in his tone. “Here in Melbourne?”

He nodded.

She thought about it for a moment. “Yeah. I mean, it’s not permanent or anything. But for now? It feels... good.”

He nodded slowly, watching her fingers tap gently against her mug.

“You kind of blend right in,” he added. “Like you’ve always been part of the house.”

She gave a soft laugh, looking down. “That’s sweet.”

“It’s true,” he said, not looking away. “I think Mum’s more excited about you being here than she is about me.”

“Maybe because I don’t leave my laundry in the hallway,” Y/N teased.

“Harsh, but fair.”

She looked up at him again, and this time their eyes met and held for a beat too long. Something unspoken flickered in the air between them, light but unmistakable.

Oscar cleared his throat and gave her a crooked smile. “So, no boyfriend. Great taste in cocoa. Impressive memory. Still no idea how you’re single.”

She laughed, but her voice was quiet. “That’s a very smooth line.”

“It wasn’t a line,” he said, nudging her foot gently with his. “Just an observation.”

“Well”, she said, standing up and rinsing her mug in the sink, “you might need to work on your delivery.”

Oscar watched her from where he stood, smiling to himself. “Noted.”

Y/N turned off the stove light and looked over her shoulder at him. “You should try to get some sleep.”

He stretched and nodded. “I’ll give it another shot.”

She passed by him on the way to the hallway, but he reached out gently and tapped her hand as she went by. Just once. Just a soft touch.

“Thanks for the cocoa,” he said.

She turned and gave him a small smile. “Anytime.”

Then she walked down the hall, her footsteps soft against the floorboards, leaving Oscar alone in the kitchen, still smiling into his mug.

🪻🪻🪻

The days leading up to Christmas passed in a kind of warm, slow haze. The house was always alive with the sound of laughter, soft music, and Basil’s occasional barking at whatever poor delivery person had dared approach the front door. Y/N had become an easy part of it all, drifting comfortably from kitchen tasks to movie nights, helping wrap presents or keeping Edie entertained while Nicole prepared the next day’s to-do list.

It was a few days before Christmas when Y/N stood in the kitchen with Nicole, both peering over a nearly full shopping list that had been updated and revised a dozen times.

“I can run to the store if you want,” Y/N offered, tying her hair up and reaching for the notepad. “You’ve been juggling way too much all week. I don’t mind grabbing a few things.”

Nicole gave her a grateful smile. “Are you sure, sweetheart? There’s a lot on here, and the shops are chaos this week.”

Y/N nodded. “I’ll survive. I’ll just go early and get in and out.”

From behind them, Oscar’s voice drifted in, casual but firm. “I’ll drive her.”

Y/N turned slightly, surprised. “You don’t have to.”

Oscar shrugged as he reached for a glass from the shelf. “You shouldn’t have to deal with the parking and crowds on your own. Besides, I could use a break from the house.”

Nicole looked amused. “What, already tired of your family?”

Oscar gave her a look that didn’t hide the fondness behind it. “Just trying to stay useful.”

So it was settled. An hour later, Y/N found herself buckling into the passenger seat of his car, grocery list in one hand and her phone in the other. The sky was bright, the air warm but breezy, and the hum of the suburbs buzzed quietly in the background.

She glanced over at him as he adjusted the mirrors. “You really didn’t have to come.”

He didn’t take his eyes off the road as they pulled away from the kerb. “I wanted to.”

They drove in comfortable quiet for a while, the windows down just enough to let in the scent of eucalyptus and the sound of cicadas. Y/N scanned the list again and made a soft noise of disapproval.

“What’s wrong?” Oscar asked, glancing over.

“Nicole wants five different types of cheese. Who needs five types of cheese?”

He grinned. “Mum takes Christmas grazing boards very seriously.”

They made it through the first store with surprising efficiency. Y/N navigated the aisles with purpose, Oscar trailing behind with the basket and throwing in the occasional snack that definitely wasn’t on the list. She didn’t scold him for it, though—just raised an eyebrow and kept walking.

The second stop was a little shop tucked on the corner of a quiet street, where Nicole had said they’d find the last-minute decorations she wanted. The place was already picked over, but Y/N managed to find most of what they needed. Oscar wandered off to a shelf filled with novelty ornaments.

He held up a small kangaroo wearing a Santa hat. “This one feels like it belongs on our tree.”

Y/N looked up from the tinsel. “It’s horrifying.”

“Exactly. A classic.”

They left with the ornament anyway.

On the drive home, Y/N reached into the paper bag between them and pulled out a small packet of chocolate-covered almonds.

“Want one?” she asked, holding it out.

Oscar took one, then another, flashing her a small smile as he leaned back against the seat. The car was quiet again, filled with the soft whirr of the air conditioning and the distant chatter of holiday traffic.

As they drove through the winding suburban streets back toward home, the bags rustling gently in the backseat and sunlight warming the dashboard, the conversation drifted again. This time, Oscar was the one to start it.

“You know,” he said, one hand steady on the wheel and the other resting loosely against his thigh, “Christmas always felt bigger when I was a kid. Not because of the presents or anything, but just… the way the house felt.”

Y/N looked over at him, her cheek propped on her hand. “What do you mean?”

He smiled, just a little. “It was always loud. Like, properly loud. Mum would have the radio on full blast, Dad would be outside trying to hang lights in the worst spots, and Mae would be arguing with someone about tinsel. But the best part was going to Nonna’s.”

Y/N’s expression softened. “Your grandma?”

Oscar nodded. “Great grandma, actually. She lived about an hour from us. Every year, without fail, we’d drive over on Christmas Eve, and she’d have already been baking for days. You could smell it before you even got out of the car.”

“What did she make?”

He let out a small laugh. “Everything. Tiramisu, cannoli, almond biscuits that were somehow both soft and crunchy at the same time… and these little jam-filled thumbprint cookies. I used to steal like five before dinner, and she’d pretend not to notice.”

Y/N smiled at the picture of it. “Sounds like something out of a movie.”

“It kind of was,” he admitted. “The house was tiny and always packed with cousins and uncles and someone’s screaming toddler. But I never wanted to be anywhere else.”

He paused for a moment, watching the road. “She passed away a few years ago, and Christmas felt different after that. Not bad, just quieter.”

There was a silence after that, the kind that felt respectful, not heavy.

“She sounds like someone I would’ve loved to meet,” Y/N said softly.

He glanced at her, grateful. “Yeah. She would’ve liked you too. Especially if you showed up early and helped in the kitchen.”

Y/N smiled again, reaching into the almond packet and handing him another. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He took it from her fingers, just grazing her hand. “You should. Nonna was tough to impress.”

They fell into a quieter rhythm again, the car humming along and the breeze through the window stirring a few strands of hair across Y/N’s face. She pushed them back behind her ear, and Oscar caught himself glancing at her longer than necessary before turning back to the road.

“Do you ever try baking any of her recipes?” she asked.

“Sometimes,” he said. “Not the same though. Mum tries now and then, but even she says it’s never quite right.”

“We could try one,” Y/N offered. “If you remember the ingredients.”

Oscar gave her a sidelong look, the edge of his mouth lifting. “You want to make jam biscuits with me?”

“Sure. We’ll call it quality bonding time,” she replied, tapping her fingers on the receipt in her lap. “Though I can’t promise anything close to perfection.”

“That’s okay,” he said. “You’re already winning points with the whole family. You don’t need to be a baking prodigy too.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Am I?”

Oscar didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. You are.”

Her gaze lingered on him for a beat, the words settling in her chest more warmly than she expected. She turned her eyes back to the road ahead, trying not to let the small smile tugging at her lips show too much.

🪻🪻🪻

Christmas Eve at the Piastri house had a sort of chaotic charm. Nicole was buzzing between the kitchen and the living room, organising everything with a calm precision that only years of hosting could produce. The tree was glowing softly in the corner, carols playing in the background, and the smell of pine needles and cinnamon floated through the air.

Y/N had offered to help wherever needed, but most tasks had already been claimed. Mae and Edie were wrapping the last of the presents upstairs, Tim was dealing with the outdoor lights that had come undone in the wind, and Nicole had just finished the prep for dinner. That left the kitchen temporarily unoccupied and the perfect window of time for the little plan Oscar had floated earlier in the day.

“You serious about baking Nonna’s biscuits?” Y/N asked as she pulled her hair back into a loose ponytail, already rolling up the sleeves of her linen shirt.

Oscar was flipping through an old, slightly worn recipe book on the counter. “Very. I found her original notes. If we mess it up, at least we’ll have tried.”

“High stakes”, she teased. “Don’t worry. I work well under pressure.”

He smiled, a little crooked, then placed the handwritten card down between them. “All right, chef. Let’s do this.”

They set to work side by side, gathering ingredients, measuring flour, and cracking eggs. There was flour on his cheek within five minutes and sugar dusting the counter like snow. Oscar snuck pieces of dough when Y/N wasn’t looking. She caught him the third time and flicked a bit of flour at him in mock offence, and he responded by dabbing a smear of butter across the back of her hand.

Somewhere between chilling the dough and shaping the little rounds for the baking tray, Oscar leaned back against the counter and said, offhandedly, “You know what would go perfectly with these?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow as she gently pressed her thumb into a biscuit to make space for jam. “What?”

“Homemade vanilla ice cream.”

She blinked. “That’s very specific.”

He grinned. “I used to make it with my dad when I was younger. Thought I’d hate it because it was vanilla, but turns out, it’s kind of unbeatable when it’s done right.”

There was a moment of quiet as she looked at him, then smiled. “All right. Let’s do it.”

Oscar found the ice cream machine tucked at the back of a high cupboard. Y/N prepped the egg yolks and sugar while he handled the cream and milk. The kitchen turned golden in the afternoon light as they stirred the custard base together, laughing over whether it was thick enough, too sweet, or too runny. Y/N insisted on adding an extra splash of vanilla bean paste “for good luck,” and Oscar didn't argue.

As the biscuits baked and the ice cream slowly churned, they stood at the counter, licking spoons and talking quietly.

“I don’t think I’ve ever baked with someone like this before,” Y/N said after a while, her voice soft as she washed the last mixing bowl.

Oscar passed her a clean towel. “Same. It’s kind of nice.”

She nodded, drying her hands, then glanced up at him. “You look like you’ve done this a hundred times.”

He chuckled. “I usually had Dad to boss me around.”

“You don’t seem like the ‘bossed around’ type.”

“Depends on the person,” he said, eyes meeting hers for a beat too long.

And just like that, the door swung open with the cheerful jingle of keys and a gust of cooler air.

Oscar’s grandparents had arrived.

“Smells like heaven in here,” his grandfather announced, stepping into the kitchen with a loud sigh of satisfaction. “Who’s doing all the baking?”

Oscar turned with a grin. “Y/N and I made Nonna’s almond biscuits. We’re trying to do them justice.”

The older man stepped closer, peering over the trays and then at the two of them standing side by side in aprons, slightly flushed from the warmth of the oven and from something else too.

He gave a teasing smirk, eyes twinkling. “Ah, to be young and in love again. Just like your grandparents used to be.”

Y/N felt the heat flood her cheeks so fast it made her dizzy. She glanced at Oscar, who looked equally caught off guard.

From behind them, Mae’s voice cut through with a flat, “Ew. Like that would ever happen.”

Oscar shot her a look. “Thank you for the support.”

Mae smirked. “Just keeping you humble.”

Y/N laughed it off, brushing flour off her jumper, but her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes after that. The comment had been said so casually, and yet it settled in her chest in a way she didn’t like. Maybe Mae thought of it as a joke. Maybe she didn’t mean anything by it. But still, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling as she turned back to the biscuits that if Mae ever found out about her quiet crush on Oscar, it might not be met with encouragement.

Oscar must’ve sensed the shift in her mood. He leaned closer, voice low, “Ignore her. She says that about everyone.”

Y/N smiled again, smaller this time. “Yeah. It’s fine.”

Oscar quickly introduced his baking partner to his grandparents, who simply adored her even more when they found out she was best friends with Mae.

Christmas Day at the Piastri household unfolded in a way Y/N had never quite experienced before. Back home, Christmas had always meant frosty mornings, wool socks, and cups of spiced cider. But here in Melbourne, it was all golden skies, the scent of sunscreen, and the distant hum of cicadas.

She’d woken up to the sound of Nicole bustling in the kitchen and Basil’s paws clicking excitedly against the hardwood floor. Mae had dragged her out of bed half-asleep and handed her a Santa hat before she’d even brushed her teeth. The backyard had already been transformed—long tables set up beneath a shade cloth, fairy lights strung across the fence, the esky filled with cold drinks, and platters of fresh prawns, mango salad, and pavlova lined up on the counter.

It was, without a doubt, a proper Aussie Christmas.

By midmorning, the house was filled to the brim with extended family—cousins running through the garden with water balloons, uncles gathering around the barbecue, aunts clinking glasses of bubbly and cooing over Basil, who wore a little green bow tie just for the occasion.

Y/N had barely had a moment to breathe. Nicole’s sisters had taken a liking to her almost immediately, dragging her into their conversations and insisting she try their famous trifle. Oscar’s younger cousins kept offering her candy canes and showing her TikToks. And at some point, his Nonno took her aside and told her, quite seriously, that she had “the best hands for biscuit-making he’d seen since his wife”.

She laughed through all of it, genuinely enjoying the chaos, but she couldn’t help noticing that she hadn’t really spoken to Oscar at all.

He was everywhere and nowhere all at once, carrying chairs out to the backyard, refilling drinks, and helping Mae untangle a string of stubborn lights. Each time their eyes met across the yard or the kitchen, there’d be a look, gentle and knowing, but before either could cross the distance, someone would pull one of them away again.

By the time the sun dipped low enough for dinner to be served, the sky turning lavender above the rooftop, everyone was hungry, sun-drenched, and a little sticky from the heat. The tables were filled with roast chicken, glazed ham, more prawns, and colourful salads, while bowls of cranberry sauce and gravy were passed around in between laughter and clinking glasses.

Y/N emerged from the kitchen, carrying a basket of dinner rolls, scanning for a seat.

Oscar was already at the table, but instead of being deep in conversation like usual, he was oddly… quiet. More specifically, he was guarding the empty chair to his right like it was a national treasure.

Aunt Sandra tried to sit down beside him, but he quickly shook his head. “Sorry, this one’s taken.”

“By who?” she asked, lifting a brow.

He just smiled. “You’ll see.”

When Y/N finally made her way toward the table, Oscar stood up immediately.

“Here,” he said, taking the basket from her hands and pulling out the chair beside him, holding it in place as she sat down. She gave him a small, amused look but didn’t say anything, brushing her hair behind her ear as he slid the chair in.

“Smooth,” she murmured under her breath.

Oscar just gave her an exaggerated shrug. “I try.”

The moment was subtle, almost too casual to be noticed.

Almost.

Because, of course, his grandfather noticed.

“Would you look at that?” he said from further down the table, his voice warm and just loud enough to carry. “Back in my day, if you pulled a chair out like that, it meant you were trying to impress someone.”

Oscar glanced up, startled. Y/N froze mid-reach for the water jug.

The table erupted into laughter.

Mae groaned, practically sinking into her seat. “Can we not do this again?”

Y/N, cheeks burning, stared down at her napkin. Oscar rubbed the back of his neck, muttering, “Thanks, Grandpa,” under his breath, but he was laughing too, albeit a little shyly.

Nicole, ever the peacemaker, clapped her hands. “All right, enough teasing, everyone. Let them eat in peace.”

But the mood had already lightened, and the glances between Oscar and Y/N carried a new weight. They both focused on their plates, on the ham and potatoes and fresh salad, pretending nothing had happened.

Yet under the table, their knees brushed lightly, once, then again. Neither moved away. And even as the chatter resumed and the plates emptied, neither of them stopped smiling.

However, one thing still replayed in Y/N’s mind, like a broken record: Mae didn’t like the idea of them together, and it really freaked her out.

🪻🪻🪻

The house had quieted in that soft, comforting way it only does after a long, perfect day. Dishes were done, leftovers packed away in foil, lights dimmed one by one until only the faint golden glow of the fairy lights strung across the backyard remained.

Y/N stepped out through the sliding door, barefoot, a sweater draped loosely over her sundress. The grass was cool beneath her feet, and the air carried the gentle scent of eucalyptus and the last whispers of roast and cinnamon. She hugged her arms around herself as she crossed the lawn to the two chairs that sat under the gum tree, just far enough from the house to feel like a secret.

Oscar was already there, holding two steaming mugs in his hands.

“I figured you’d still be up,” he said, standing to pass one to her. His voice was low, warm in the still night.

“You know me so well,” she teased, accepting the cup. Her fingers brushed his briefly.

“Hot cocoa”, he added, sitting back down beside her. “Didn’t trust you not to spike anything.”

Y/N smiled softly. “Appreciate the thoughtfulness.”

They both leaned back in their chairs, sipping slowly, letting the quiet settle between them. The stars were bright above, clean and clear, and the moon hung low and heavy in the sky. From somewhere far off came the low hum of cicadas and the rustling of a breeze through the trees.

“You had everyone wrapped around your finger today,” Oscar said, glancing at her with a soft smirk.

Y/N laughed, tucking her knees up onto the chair. “I think your aunt wants to adopt me.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised. You crushed the trifle review.”

They sat in easy silence for a while. Basil wandered out briefly, tail wagging, before curling up on the deck, content.

“You were really good with your little cousins,” she said eventually. “That little girl, Isla? She thinks you’re a superhero.”

Oscar chuckled, looking down. “She thinks I drive rocket ships.”

“Don’t you?” she teased.

“Something like that.”

There was something in his smile that lingered, gentle and almost private. Like he was looking at her in a way he hadn’t allowed himself to earlier in the day.

Y/N shifted in her seat, the cocoa warming her from the inside. Her eyes flicked toward him, then away. “It’s kind of crazy,” she said softly, staring at the grass. “Just how welcome I’ve felt here. Even with everything. It’s not something I’ve always been used to.”

Oscar didn’t say anything immediately. She turned to look at him and found him already watching her.

The intensity in his gaze stopped her breath for a second. His mug rested on his thigh now, forgotten.

“What?” she asked, a half-laugh escaping her throat.

He shook his head a little. “Nothing. Just listening.”

But he wasn’t just listening. His eyes flicked over her features, soft and slow. The curve of her cheek, the line of her jaw, and the way a curl of hair rested against her collarbone. She felt it, like the world had narrowed to just this moment.

Still, some part of her hesitated.

Mae’s voice echoed again, that dismissive, teasing “Ew. Like that would ever happen.” And maybe she hadn’t meant anything; maybe it was just her way. But it lodged itself somewhere in Y/N’s chest like a quiet warning.

Oscar leaned in a little, resting his elbow against the arm of the chair so his face was closer to hers. His voice was quieter now.

“Do you know how hard it was to get two minutes alone with you today?”

She blinked. “You didn’t exactly try.”

“I did,” he said. “You just had a very persistent fan club.”

That made her laugh again, and something shifted in her chest, loosening.

“I liked watching you,” he added. “With my family. You fit here.”

She felt her breath hitch a little, just barely.

“I’ve never really fit anywhere,” she murmured.

“You do here.”

She looked at him again then, fully, her features soft in the pale light. “You’re staring,” she whispered, her voice unsure, almost teasing.

He didn’t answer. He just leaned forward more slowly now, giving her time to stop him, to pull back.

She didn’t.

And then, just like that, the air between them snapped.

He leaned in without hesitation this time. His hand came up, brushing her jaw with a tenderness that made her skin burn. Their lips met, not gently, not cautiously, but with weeks of tension unravelling all at once.

It was a kiss that stole her breath.

His other hand found her waist as he leaned closer, their cocoa mugs long forgotten in the grass. Her fingers curled around the front of his shirt, tugging him toward her without thinking, only feeling. Her whole body hummed with something between relief and wanting.

The way he kissed her, it was like he’d been waiting, aching, trying to be patient for too long. It was all unspoken things and sidelong glances, bottled up until now, pouring out with the press of his mouth on hers.

When he finally pulled back, it was just enough to breathe. His forehead rested against hers, and his chest rose and fell like he was trying to steady himself.

“I’ve wanted this,” he said quietly, almost like a confession. “Since the moment I met you. I didn’t even know why, but I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Y/N blinked at him, stunned, her lips still tingling, her heart slamming against her ribs.

Oscar looked at her again, and then he kissed her like he meant to imprint her into memory.

This one was hungrier. His hand slipped up, tangling into her hair, and she let out a soft sound against his mouth before pressing closer, her fingers dragging across the back of his neck. His touch was warm and steady, his lips moving against hers with a certainty that made her dizzy.

When they finally slowed, breathless and flushed, she pulled back just far enough to see his face. His lips were red, his hair tousled from her hands, and his eyes—God, his eyes—were still locked on her, like nothing else existed.

Because somewhere in the haze of it all, Mae’s voice returned. That thoughtless laugh, the sarcastic scoff. “Ew. Like that would ever happen.” And now, in the silence following the kiss, it pressed down on Y/N’s chest like a stone.

Oscar's hand was still cradling her jaw, his thumb brushing just beneath her ear. His forehead rested gently against hers, his breathing slowing in tandem with hers. He hadn’t let go, hadn’t stepped back. He still looked at her like she was the only thing that mattered.

But her heart was thudding in panic now, not just from the kiss.

She pulled back a little. Just enough for him to notice.

“What’s wrong?” he asked softly, brows knitting together.

Y/N took a step back, eyes downcast. “I can’t… we can’t… I’m sorry.”

Oscar blinked, still frozen in place, clearly not understanding. “Wait, what do you mean?”

She shook her head, already hating the words she hadn’t even formed yet. Her arms wrapped tightly around herself, more from protection than cold. “I just… It’s not possible. You and me.”

He took a hesitant step toward her, his voice quieter now. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” she whispered. “God, no. You’ve been… amazing.”

“Then why—”

“I just… I can’t explain it,” she said quickly, voice breaking. “I wish things were different, Oscar. I really do. But they’re not.”

And she turned.

She walked back toward the house with quick, uneven steps, her hand trembling as she slid the glass door open. The cocoa mugs still sat abandoned on the grass.

Oscar didn’t follow right away. He stood there in the dark, lips parted like he was about to say something but didn’t.

Y/N’s feet padded across the kitchen tiles. Her throat was tight, eyes already stinging. She didn’t stop until she reached the guest room door. She slipped inside, turned the lock, and leaned her back against it, letting the tears fall.

It wasn’t loud. No sobs. Just silent crying, like all of it had built up behind her ribs and now had nowhere else to go.

She slid down the door, knees tucked to her chest, and pressed her palm against her mouth to muffle the sound.

She had kissed him. She had wanted him. And now she had walked away.

Because Mae’s voice still rang in her head. Like that would ever happen. Because she didn’t know what it would do to Mae if something did happen. Because she didn’t know if she could handle being the girl who ruined things.

On the other side of the door, Oscar stood in the hallway, staring at the wood between them. He could hear nothing. No movement. No breath. Just silence.

And it hit him: whatever had just happened out there, however perfect it felt, it wasn’t just about him.

He leaned his forehead against the door once, gently. His heart ached with confusion, with disappointment, with that slow bloom of rejection that felt heavier because it hadn’t been angry. It had been sad.

Neither of them slept that night.

🪻🪻🪻

The house had shifted into a strange sort of quiet in the days following Christmas. The tree still sparkled in the corner of the living room, tinsel and baubles glittering with the last golden traces of the holiday season, but the warmth that had filled the air was now threaded with something quieter. Something heavier.

Y/N hadn’t spoken to Oscar since that night in the backyard.

Not a word. Not even a glance that lasted longer than a second.

She couldn’t trust herself to do it. Every time she even felt his presence in the same room, her chest tightened and her stomach sank. Because it wasn’t just guilt anymore. It was missing him, aching for something she’d told herself she wasn’t allowed to have. Wanting to talk to him, laugh with him, and just be near him without everything falling apart in her mind. But she knew herself too well. She wouldn’t survive another soft look or tender word from him, not when she had already chosen to walk away.

Oscar had tried, at first. His knock on her door that morning, the way he stood near her in the kitchen a few times hoping she’d say something, anything. But when it became clear she was holding back—not out of anger, but something else entirely—he gave up. Or maybe he just stopped hoping she’d let him in.

He never confronted her about it. Never pushed. That was the worst part. Because he had only ever been gentle with her, patient even when she didn’t deserve it.

So instead, they moved around each other like ghosts in the same house. Close enough to feel, far enough to pretend.

Now, it was New Year’s Eve, and the afternoon sun burnt bright and high over the roof. The windows were open, letting in a breeze that barely cooled the warmth lingering through the halls. Upstairs, the girls had started getting ready early, even though they wouldn’t be heading out until much later.

Y/N sat cross-legged in front of Mae’s vanity, curling her hair in slow, careful motions. Her lips were tinted with a soft gloss, her makeup half done. The room smelt like dry shampoo, vanilla-scented body mist, and faint anxiety.

Mae, applying glittery eyeliner in the mirror, paused and glanced at her.

“You okay?”

Y/N blinked, startled out of her thoughts. “Yeah. Just tired.”

Mae raised a brow, clearly not buying it. “Tired, my ass. You’ve been walking around like a Victorian widow all week.”

Y/N laughed under her breath, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

Mae didn’t press, but she did turn around and sit cross-legged behind her on the bed. “Alright. Then I’m officially dragging you out with us tonight. You need to dance. Or at the very least, wear something sparkly and drink something fruity.”

Y/N smiled faintly. “You just want me to be your buffer again.”

“Obviously. But also, it’s New Year’s. If I have to spend it pretending to enjoy bad house music and overpriced drinks, you’re doing it with me.”

Y/N gave a quiet nod, letting herself lean into the distraction, grateful that Mae cared enough to try.

Down the hallway, Oscar sat in the living room, one leg bent under him on the couch, phone forgotten beside him as he stared out at nothing.

His ears caught the distant buzz of a hairdryer and the muffled laughter of Mae singing along to a song he couldn’t quite make out. But what he noticed more than anything was her voice. Y/N’s voice. Soft, quieter than the others, but unmistakable. It sent a dull ache through him every time he heard it, every time he remembered the way it had broken when she told him they couldn’t.

And yet, he couldn’t help himself.

He rose from the couch, walked quietly to the hallway, and leaned against the doorframe to Mae’s room, keeping out of sight.

She was sitting in front of the mirror again, now smoothing a shimmer of eyeshadow across her lids, her lips slightly parted in focus. The way she held herself had changed in the last week, shoulders more guarded, smile less easy. But she was still beautiful. Devastatingly so. And when she tilted her chin up to fix a strand of hair behind her ear, Oscar felt that familiar twist in his stomach.

God, he missed her.

It wasn’t just the kiss or the way her fingers had felt against his jaw. It was her voice in the kitchen in the mornings. Her smile when she teased him across the dinner table. The comfort of just knowing she was around.

And now she was right there, just metres away, but unreachable.

Mae laughed suddenly, tossing a sequin dress at Y/N’s lap, and Oscar stepped back quickly, careful not to be seen.

He retreated to the kitchen, hands deep in his hoodie pocket, his expression blank. When Nicole passed him a bowl of fruit to cover with cling film, she frowned softly at the faraway look in his eyes.

“You’re not going out with the girls tonight?”

He shook his head. “Nah. Not really in the mood.”

She didn’t ask why.

Upstairs, Y/N slipped into her dress and stared at herself in the mirror. She looked fine. She looked like herself. But nothing about tonight felt right. Not with Oscar staying behind. Not with his face flashing through her mind every time she blinked.

Still, she picked up her clutch, put on her earrings, and forced another smile when Mae called her beautiful.

Because what else could she do?

Some hearts break loudly. Hers was breaking in quiet.

🪻🪻🪻

 The music thumped hard enough to rattle Y/N’s chest, the pulse of the club vibrating under her feet as lights strobed across the packed dance floor. People were everywhere, laughing, shouting, drinking, and clinking glasses. Couples kissed with abandon in dark corners, arms wrapped around each other like the year wouldn’t end unless they were holding tight enough. The air smelt like perfume, sweat, and champagne.

Mae was in her element. She was already on her second drink, dancing with a group of strangers who had somehow become friends in the space of three songs. Edie and Hattie were nearby too, shouting lyrics and twirling each other around.

But Y/N just stood by the bar, fingers wrapped around a glass of soda water that had long gone flat. She was trying. She was dressed up, surrounded by music and energy and friends, trying to shake the weight that had taken root inside her all week.

It didn’t work.

Everywhere she looked, people were celebrating. Holding hands. Kissing cheeks. Whispering things in each other’s ears that made their faces light up. And all she could think about was the look on Oscar’s face in the backyard. The way he’d whispered, “I’ve wanted this for so long.” The way her name had sounded in his mouth like it meant more than just a name.

She missed him.

God, she missed him in a way that felt too big to carry. But she had convinced herself there was no other way. That she had made the right choice for Mae. For herself. That nothing could come from it, not when it risked someone she loved like family.

And still, she couldn’t stop aching for him.

She set her drink down and excused herself from Mae’s latest attempt to drag her to the dance floor and moved toward the patio of the club where it was quieter and cooler. The stars blinked above in the inky summer sky, and in the distance, she could already hear people counting down the minutes until midnight.

She leaned against the railing, taking a shaky breath, wondering if it would ever stop hurting.

Back at the house, Oscar sat on the couch, a bowl of popcorn beside him and some rerun playing on the TV. He wasn’t even sure what it was—some sitcom with terrible lighting and actors with too-white teeth talking about missed chances and how sometimes life didn’t give you more than one.

He’d barely touched the popcorn.

The house was too quiet without the girls around. Too still. Even Basil had fallen asleep at the foot of the couch, unmoving.

Oscar’s gaze lingered on the television, but his thoughts were miles away.

March. He kept thinking back to March.

The first time he saw her. She had been sitting under that striped McLaren umbrella, sipping water and looking a little overwhelmed by the noise of the paddock. He had walked up to her and introduced himself, and she had blinked up at him like she wasn’t sure if he was real. And then she’d laughed at one of his dumb jokes and asked him if he liked chocolate or vanilla better. It was stupid, really. But it had stuck with him.

All of it had.

Her voice. Her smile. Her ridiculous obsession with cheese toasties. The way she always triple-checked if Basil’s water bowl was full. The quiet way she listened when other people spoke. The loud way she laughed when she forgot to hold back.

He hadn’t just liked her.

He might’ve fallen in love.

And now she was out there. With someone else, maybe. At some crowded club with too many people and not enough space. Counting down the seconds until midnight, surrounded by strangers, and he wasn’t there.

He looked back at the TV. One of the characters was staring out a window, whispering something about not letting another year pass without trying.

Oscar blinked.

Then he stood up.

The keys were still on the side table. He grabbed them.

Basil lifted his head just as Oscar passed, like even the dog could tell something was happening.

He didn’t know what he was going to say when he saw her. Didn’t know if she’d even let him get close. But he wasn’t going to let the year end without trying.

He started the car, heart pounding, hope rising like a tide in his chest.

She had run away from him once.

But he wasn’t letting her go again.

The club was buzzing when Oscar stepped through the doors, the thrum of bass hitting him like a wave. The lights danced across the crowd, glittering off sequins and sweat, and the air inside was thick with the scent of cheap cologne, spilt drinks, and anticipation.

He hadn’t been in a place like this in a long time; he hated how impersonal it felt, how loud, how messy, but his eyes swept over every face, every corner, every cluster of people in search of one thing. One person.

Then he saw her.

Across the room, under a gold streamer banner that read HAPPY NEW YEAR, she stood leaning lightly against a high-top table, a half-finished drink in her hand, her eyes slightly distant, like she was there but not really. Her hair had curled softly from the humidity, and the string lights overhead gave her skin a soft glow that made Oscar stop for just a second to catch his breath.

But then he saw him.

Some guy, tall and cocky in that lazy, beer-fuelled kind of way, swaggered over to her, clearly emboldened by liquid confidence. Oscar couldn’t hear what he said over the music, but he saw the way the guy leaned in too close, flashing a grin like he thought he had a chance.

Oscar’s heart sank, a strange tightness pulling across his chest.

She smiled back. Polite. Patient.

Then she gently shook her head.

The guy tried again, saying something else, maybe asking her to dance. But she just gave him that same tired smile, soft and apologetic, and held a hand up in a small wave that clearly meant no, thank you. He said something else with a shrug, but she turned away, facing her drink again, her smile fading the moment her back was to him.

Oscar exhaled, his body loosening slightly. He hadn’t even realised he’d been holding that breath.

Just then the DJ’s voice rang out through the speakers, booming and excited.

“Alright, folks, we’re five minutes out! Five minutes to midnight! Find someone to kiss, hold on tight, and say goodbye to the old year in style!”

The lights dimmed to a soft amber glow, bathing the room in warmth.

People started pairing off, couples laughing and clinking glasses, pulling each other closer. Friends gathered in circles, already starting countdowns and toasts. The energy shifted to something more tender, more electric.

Y/N stood in the middle of it all, alone with her drink, her eyes downcast.

Oscar didn’t hesitate.

He wove through the crowd, dodging people, bumping shoulders, his eyes never leaving her. His pulse thundered in his ears with every step. He didn’t care that he was wearing old sneakers or that he’d probably broken at least three traffic rules getting there. All that mattered was the girl standing there looking like she didn’t realise how much she was being missed.

By him.

As the countdown to midnight crept closer, he finally reached her, his voice quiet but sure as he said her name.

She looked up at the sound of her name, startled. Her brows lifted, and for a second her lips parted as if she weren’t quite sure he was real.

“Oscar?”

He was slightly out of breath, cheeks tinged pink from the rush, hair a little windswept. He looked completely out of place in a room full of sequins and stilettos, wearing a black tee and jeans, holding the weight of too many unspoken words in his eyes.

“I came here to talk to you,” he said, stepping closer so she could hear him over the hum of the music and the building excitement around them.

Her eyes darted around, at the crowd, at the people who were slowly gathering in pairs as the countdown ticked nearer. She shook her head, her voice strained. “You shouldn’t have come. You should go. Please.”

He stepped closer, brows furrowed, confused. “Why?”

“Because this… this is exactly what shouldn’t happen,” she said, words tumbling out before she could stop them. “Because Mae—Mae would hate it. She’s your sister. She’s my best friend. This whole thing would just make everything messy and weird, and I know she joked about it like it could never happen, and I laughed too, but it’s not funny; it’s not okay. Even if I liked you—”

She froze.

Oscar tilted his head slightly. “Even if you what?”

Her mouth opened and closed, but it was too late to backpedal.

“Even if I liked you,” she repeated, quieter this time. “It wouldn’t matter. Because it wouldn’t work out. Mae matters too much. You matter too much. And I’ve already ruined things enough, haven’t I?”

The confession hung in the air, raw and unguarded, and the weight of it pulled at both of them.

Oscar let out a slow breath. He took another step forward, close enough now that she had to tilt her head to meet his eyes.

“I don’t care,” he said simply.

She blinked. “What?”

“I don’t care,” he said again, firmer. “Not about the rules you think exist or what you think Mae might say. You think she wouldn’t want me to be happy? Or you to be? You think she wouldn’t understand, eventually, that two people who care about each other might be worth it?”

Y/N’s lips parted, but no words came.

“I’m not going,” he said simply. His tone wasn’t loud, but it was steady. Clear. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Oscar…” she began, but he was already speaking again, like if he didn’t let it out now, it might crush him from the inside.

“I know you said it couldn’t be anything. I know you said it wasn’t possible. And maybe it isn’t; maybe you’re right. Maybe there are rules, or loyalties, or whatever it is that made you run that night. But I can’t pretend anymore. I can’t go into another year pretending I don’t feel what I feel for you.”

She stood there frozen, mouth slightly open, her glass hanging limply in her hand.

He swallowed, hard, the emotions in his chest crowding his words. “I’ve liked you since the second I met you. Since March. Since you looked at me with those eyes and asked me if I would do a shoey if I won. It sounds stupid, but I think I knew then. And every day since, it’s only gotten worse. Or better. Depending on how you look at it.”

The crowd had started to buzz louder now, the final stretch approaching, but he didn’t care.

“I can’t hide it anymore. I don’t want to. I want to spend New Year’s with you. Every New Year’s. And Christmas. And practically every other holiday. I want to wake up knowing I get to talk to you. I want to hear about your classes and your ridiculous overuse of Google Docs. I want to bring you cocoa when you’re working late and listen to you hum when you’re concentrating and fight over the last biscuit even though I’d always let you have it.”

Her eyes were shining now, lips parted, chest rising and falling with every shaky breath.

“I don’t care how messy it is. I don’t care what we have to work through. All I know is I don’t want to spend another year, another day, another second pretending I’m okay not loving you.”

And then, quieter, just for her:

“Because I do. I love you.”

The countdown erupted around them.

Ten… Nine… Eight…

He looked at her, really looked, like she was the only one in the room. Her eyes glistened, wide with disbelief and something dangerously close to hope.

Seven… Six… Five…

He took a step closer.

Four… Three…

“If you tell me to walk away, I will,” he whispered. “But I’ll still mean every word I just said.”

Two… One…

The room burst into cheers.

Confetti shot into the air. Champagne fizzed. People screamed and kissed and laughed and danced.

As the clock struck twelve and the club burst into noise and glitter and the metallic scent of fireworks, she didn’t say a word.

Instead, she kissed him.

She dropped her drink onto the table behind her without even looking, stepped forward, and reached up to pull him down to her. And when their lips met, it was nothing like the soft, hesitant brush from that night in the backyard. This was immediate. Fierce. A collision of everything they had held back for too long.

Oscar kissed her like he’d been waiting for this exact moment since the day they met. His hands found her waist, pulling her flush against him as her fingers curled into the back of his neck, drawing him down further, deeper. It was like they were making up for lost time, for all the stolen glances, the almosts, the words neither of them had dared say.

She clutched at the front of his shirt, and he smiled into the kiss, only pulling back for the briefest second, his forehead pressed to hers, breathless. “Took you long enough.”

Y/N swatted at his chest, trying not to grin. “Shut up.”

He kissed her again, more playful this time, his thumb brushing along her jaw. The air around them buzzed with music and confetti and cheers, but it all melted away, like they were existing in a bubble of their own.

“I’m not letting you disappear on me again,” he murmured against her mouth.

“Good,” she whispered back, her voice trembling from how much her heart was racing. “Because I don’t think I want to.”

His hand slid down her back, teasing, familiar, and she gasped against his lips.

“You sure about that?” he teased, dipping his head to kiss the edge of her jaw, slow and deliberate.

Y/N gave a breathless laugh, tugging him back up by the collar. “I’m the one kissing you, aren’t I?”

“More than kissing,” he murmured, pressing another slow, dizzying kiss to her lips.

It was everything they hadn’t let themselves feel. All the tension and affection, the pining, the wonder of something forbidden finally coming undone in the loudest, most beautiful way.

And as confetti fell around them and strangers kissed and danced in celebration of the new year, Oscar held her like she was the only resolution he ever wanted to make.

🪻🪻🪻

The university lawn buzzed with excitement, the late-afternoon sun casting a soft golden glow over rows of folding chairs, cameras flashing, mortarboards flying, and families cheering far too loudly for their own good.

Y/N stood off to the side with Mae, both of them in their gowns and tassels, clutching their degrees and grinning from ear to ear. Their faces were flushed from the heat and from the sheer emotion of it all. They’d done it. They’d actually done it.

Oscar stood just a few steps away, surrounded by his parents, sisters, and even Y/N’s mum and dad, who had flown in a few days earlier and were now deep in conversation with Nicole about travel itineraries. Everyone had hit it off so well it felt almost suspiciously easy.

When Oscar caught Y/N’s eye, he gave her the biggest, brightest grin; lifting his camera to snap yet another picture. She rolled her eyes but smiled anyway, her cheeks hurting from how much she’d been doing that all day.

Mae bumped her shoulder. “If he takes one more photo of you, I swear I’m staging an intervention.”

Y/N laughed. “He’s just excited.”

“He’s obsessed,” Mae corrected, mock-gagging. “Which, like, ew—but fine, I’ll allow it. I guess the two of you have grown on me or whatever.”

After that night, after the confetti and champagne and all the unspoken feelings finally pouring out, everything shifted. But not in the overwhelming, terrifying way she once feared. Instead, it had felt natural, like tipping over into something she had been dancing around for far too long.

Oscar had made it easy. He had been patient with her, never pushing too far or too fast. They’d taken their time, quietly and confidently building something real between the ordinary chaos of uni life and the occasional chaos of his travel schedule. He visited her on campus, brought her snacks during study weeks, sat with her on the library floor when her laptop crashed mid-assignment, and FaceTimed her from hotel rooms when he was away.

She met his friends. He met hers. She attended all the race weekends she could manage, and when Oscar ended up on the podium for each of them, she claimed it was because she was his lucky charm.

They went on little weekend trips when they could, explored sleepy towns along the coast, and fell into a rhythm that made sense to no one more than it did to them.

By April, she had introduced him to her parents. He had been nervous, visibly so, but won them over within an hour, probably somewhere between helping her mum with the dishes and chatting cricket with her dad. Her parents adored him, and even her younger sister, who never liked anyone, had declared Oscar “cool enough”.

And as for Mae, well, Mae had taken some time. At first, she had reacted with a theatrical gasp and an intense interrogation session that included far too many threats. But somewhere between seeing them steal each other’s fries and catching them watching late-night movies on the couch in matching socks, Mae slowly began to soften. Now, she tolerated their PDA with exaggerated gags and pointed stares, but she also always had a smile behind it.

From a few feet away, Oscar called out, “Can I steal the graduate for a second?”

Mae lifted her hands in mock surrender. “All yours, lover boy.”

Y/N walked over, but Oscar met her halfway, reaching for her hand and pulling her gently toward the quieter edge of the lawn, near the rows of flowering jacaranda trees.

Once they were alone, he came up behind her, looping his arms around her waist and resting his chin gently on the top of her head. She exhaled slowly, leaning back into him.

“Hi,” she whispered.

“Hi,” he murmured, his voice warm and soft. “I’m so proud of you.”

She felt his chest rise and fall behind her, steady and grounding. She closed her eyes, letting the moment settle between them.

“You’ve worked so hard. I’ve seen every late night, every panic spiral, and every twelve-hour study session with no breaks. You did it. And you still managed to be the most incredible person I know while doing it.”

She turned slightly to look up at him, only just, her heart swelling at the earnestness in his eyes.

“I love you,” she said, voice barely more than a breath.

His arms tightened around her. “I love you too,” he said without hesitation, without doubt. “So much.”

He kissed her softly, letting the words settle between them, and then—

“Ugh! Do you guys have to do that here?” Mae’s voice rang out from across the lawn, disgusted and familiar.

Y/N pulled back, about to laugh and move away, but Oscar grinned and said, “Oh, we absolutely have to.”

Then he kissed her again. Deliberately. With both hands cupping her face and enough drama to make Mae start gagging theatrically.

“You’re the worst!” Mae yelled through her hands. “There are children around!”

“We’re twenty-two, Mae,” Y/N called back between giggles, “You’ll survive.”

Oscar just laughed and kissed her forehead before taking her hand in his.

They made their way back to the group, where Nicole had already pulled out her phone to snap more photos and was pretending not to notice the dramatic sighs Mae was letting out, but Y/N didn’t care.

A year ago, she never would’ve imagined this. But now? Now it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

Her heart was full. Her degree was in her hands. And Oscar was right beside her, exactly where she wanted him.

jeepers. we’ve really done it now mr. krabs. hope u loved the req anon, and as always send any more whenever you’d like!!

#oscar piastri #oscar piastri fic #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri x y/n #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri f1 #f1 fluff #f1 requests #f1 x reader #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 driver x reader #f1 driver x you #op81

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