#Eden (oc)

[ectogloom]

moore n edendoodle dump,,,

[battlevann]

gotta draw Eden, Cupid, and Venus

[artvann]

you wanna see my disgraced god of love and lust? no? too bad!

Cupid! she used to be the god of both love and lust but has been demoted to an entity of jealousy because she herself was not able to attain love, only lust, and it bled into her work and messed with a lot of people causing a lot of damage. Even if it didn't, love and lust should have been separate gods

bonus doodles! the two new gods!

and a pre fall cupid

cupid stews in her own envy of two and claims to hate them

she does not. she is just terrified of what will happen if she tries to reach out (they r soooo nice shes just v broken after falling)

[wormfunkie]

Trying out a more layered style of drawing hair with eden

[captain-space-kin]

All of that’s canon yeah

Love referring to characters who are never seen without each other as "bonded pairs" like yuuuup. if you put these two in separate cages they're gonna get real sad and anxious and possibly violent too, one of em is biting the bars as we speak. you gotta adopt both of them or none at all, it is encouraged that you take them both. they are most likely to thrive if they stick together. it is easier for them to get used to new environments and situations because they have each other. they do everything together because they love each other so so much. you COULD separate them but it's gonna do a lot of psychological damage and it's gonna lead to a lot of issues and there's a big possibility they'll never be the same again

[pitlanepeach]

Two Weeks | Oscar Piastri (18+)

A From Eden Oneshot | Oscar Piastri x Francesca Gold

Summary — It’s been two weeks. Two weeks of pining. Of waiting. Of wanting. And now his wife is in front of him, beautiful and warm and needy. How could he possibly resist?

Warnings — Soft!Dom Oscar, ‘good girl’, explicit sexual scenes, aftercare (because obviously).

Notes — My Shaylasssssss!!!!! I missed them so much. Had a soft!dom Oscar itch; so guess what? I scratched it!

Francesca didn’t even get to make it fully into the hotel suite before Oscar had her pressed against the door.

His hands were trembling; not with nerves, but with a build up of too much restraint. They pressed flat against the wood on either side of her head and he just looked at her. His chest was rising fast, cheeks flushed pink all the way to the tips of his ears, eyes dark and dangerously tender.

“I don’t—” he started, voice rough, then stopped. Swallowed. His gaze flicked down her body and then back up like he couldn’t decide where he wanted to look. “You look so good, baby.”

Francesca smiled, soft and open, like she’d been waiting forever to hear him say it. It felt like she had. Two weeks without him had felt like an entire lifetime. “Hi,” she whispered.

That was all it took.

He crashed into her, mouth hungry but reverent, hands diving into her hair, fingers digging into her waist, anywhere he could reach.

She whimpered against his mouth, fingers clinging to the hem of his shirt. “Missed you,” she breathed. “Miss you so much, Osc.”

Oscar pulled back just enough to look her in the eye. His pupils were blown wide, pink spreading across his cheeks in earnest now, embarrassed by how much he needed this. Needed her. His entire world, finally within reach. His heart. His wife. “I—fuck, I missed you too. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Everything made me miss you.” His voice cracked a little, and Francesca?

Francesca melted.

She rose up on her toes, rubbing their noses together, and whispered, “Let me take care of you?”

That did him in.

“Get on the bed,” he said, low and certain, but his hands were still shaking as he helped her out of her jacket, his thumbs ghosting over her arms like she might disappear. “Please, baby.”

She obeyed immediately, crawling back across the sheets, eyes never leaving him. She didn’t want to look away. Didn’t want to miss a single minor reaction from him.

Oscar followed slowly, kneeling between her legs with a reverence that felt like worship. His hands were rough where they touched her — firm, unyielding — but his eyes, his voice, were soft. “You’re so fucking beautiful. I don’t know how to handle it. You— you don’t know what you do to me, ‘Cesca.”

Francesca flushed, cheeks pink and eyes shy, but her smile was dripping with want. “Tell me,” she begged, pleaded. “I want to know.”

He leaned down, cupping her face, kissing her like she belonged to him — like she was something sacred and already claimed. His voice was low, rough at the edges. “You make me feel invincible,” he said, eyes locked on hers. “Like no one can touch me. Like I was made to be yours — and you were made to be mine.”

“You are mine,” she said, lips brushing his. “And I’m yours. Always.”

That snapped the last thread of his restraint.

He kissed her again, deeper this time, and pushed inside her slowly, too slowly, dragging it out because he needed to feel every inch of her around him.

Francesca hitched a breath, her whole body responding before her mind could catch up. Her back arched, pressing her chest flush to his, skin to skin and desperate for more. Her hands slid up the nape of his neck, fingers threading into his hair, holding him there like she needed him closer. She did. She needed him as close as possible. All hers.

Oscar dropped his forehead to hers, whispering, “There she is… that’s my good girl.”

She whimpered, tightening around him, her thighs wrapping around his hips. “Yours. I’m yours, Osc.”

His hips snapped forward, the pace brutal and unrelenting; but his words, his hands, his heart stayed soft.

“Doing so good for me,” he murmured, brushing her hair back from her face, kissing her nose. “So sweet. So fucking pretty, baby.”

She keened, overwhelmed by the praise, the pleasure, the closeness. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

“Never,” he swore. “I’ve got you. Not going anywhere. Not ever again.”

When she came, it was with his name on her lips. Oscar, Oscar, Oscar. And he followed seconds later, burying his face in her neck, murmuring how perfect she was, how much he loved her, how he didn’t know how he’d managed to exist in the world for so long without her.

They stayed tangled together, limbs and whispers and sweat-slicked skin, until the world shrank down to the soft rise and fall of their breathing and the feeling of finally, finally being home.

⸻

Oscar carried her to the bathroom.

She was boneless in his arms, cheek resting against his shoulder, fingers idly tracing the line of his collarbone. There were fresh teeth marks on the curve of his neck.

His heart was still hammering against her ear; not from exertion anymore, but from something quieter. Something tender and sweet.

He set her down on the bathroom vanity with a kiss to her temple, then knelt to start the bath. Warm water thundered into the tub, steam curling around them as he reached for the little bottle of bubble bath she liked; the one he always remembered to travel with, even when it was unnecessary and took up too much room in his case.

Francesca watched him silently. Her lashes were heavy, her lips kiss-swollen, and there was a peaceful sort of glow about her that made Oscar’s chest ache.

“You okay?” he asked, not looking up as he tested the water with his hand.

She smiled sleepily. “More than okay.”

His blush flared up again, pink blooming over the apples of his cheeks. “Good,” he muttered, suddenly shy now that they weren’t tangled up in each other. “Didn’t want to be too much.”

Francesca reached for him, tugging gently until he stood between her legs. She rested her hands on his hips and tilted her head up. “You’re never too much,” she said. “You were perfect. You’re always perfect.”

Once the bath was full, he lifted her in first. Then he slid in behind her, arms wrapping around her torso as she settled between his legs, her back flush to his chest.

The bubbles frothed around them, lavender-scented and soft. Francesca leaned her head back onto his chest with a slow, gentle sigh that melted through the room.

Oscar nuzzled against her, pressing little kisses along her skin. Soft and unhurried. “Missed this,” he murmured. “Missed you.”

She reached back to tangle her fingers in his hair, nails scratching lightly against his scalp. “I know,” she whispered. “Me too.”

His hands never stopped moving, gliding along her arms, her sides, her thighs under the water. Not sexual, just grounding. Reassuring. Like he needed to remind himself she was really here, really his.

“You always take such good care of me,” she said quietly. “Best husband in the world. My world champion.” She murmured, pushing back against him and closing her eyes.

They stayed until the water cooled, until the bubbles popped and the steam faded from the mirrors. Until their fingers were wrinkled and their skin soaked and their hearts finally felt whole again.

And even then — they didn’t let each-other go.

[mayor-ghoul]

[bonesmarinated]

🖤𝕴 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖑𝖉 𝖇𝖊 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖌𝖎𝖗𝖑𝖋𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖓𝖉 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖜𝖊𝖊𝖐𝖊𝖓𝖉🖤 for @mothersfavourite character Lilith

[youryanderedaddy]

Yandere! Eden

tw: nsfw, female reader, non - con, degradation, hinted captivity, obsessive behavior, size difference

You fight him, goddamit, that's the worst part - you always try to fight him with all you've got, with sharp nails and smooth teeth, with your hands, your knees, with the closest pillow (since he rarely lets you touch anything with a proper egde). You give it your best - your hardest, you scratch and bite like a wild animal, getting your tears and saliva everywhere and yet... all your efforts only seem to amuse him.

"This is all you've got, princess?" He taunts as he holds you down with one hand (albeit, probably bigger than your head) while the other strips you bare with ease. "C'mon, you should make it more difficult for me. It's no fun when you just lay there and take it." He chuckles as you squirm in his hold - and the sound fills you with suffocating cold dread. Like a particularly nasty, sticky cough it sinks to your chest, making it hard to breathe through the fury and shame.

You get even more feral, thrashing and kicking without order or direction - desperate to show him that you're not a meek victim, that you are not going down without a fight. But it's all pointless - you barely move an inch as he roughly spreads your naked legs, pushing you to your back with eyes full of malice - induced lust and drunken need for violence.

"It's like you're not even trying." His hot breath tickles your ear, forcing your baby hairs to stand prickly. The overwhelming smell of strong cologne, unmistakenly masculine, makes you even more lightheaded and scared with unevitable anticipation. "It's like you actually want me." He whispers darkly, gripping your waist painfully with both hands. "Is that so, baby? You want the big bad wolf to mount you down and take you?" He bites your neck playfully, but the ache is deep and throbbing within you. "Violate you?"

You shake your head rapidly, holding back scorching hot tears. No, no, you try to scream, but the lump in your throat is so heavy it prevents any sound from coming out.

"I know, baby, I know." Eden caresses your wet cheeks almost tenderly - if not for the scratches his claws leave behind on your soft skin. "I'm just messin' with you." The hunter rasps, fingers entangled deep into your locks. "I know you don't want any of this. Not my touch-" He lets go of your hair. "or my lips-" He kisses along your jawline, hungrily lapping at the salty tear stains. "And certainly not my big, throbbing cock up your tight little pussy." He gloats, lining up his shaft with your entrance. "But you are still going to take it, won't you?"

He stares at you intently, as if waiting for you to say something.

"Won't you, princess?" The man slaps you, voice a tad more irritated now. You quickly nod, terrified to your shaking bones - and only then does he smile again, sweetly. "Of course you will." He goes back to stroking your hair as he starts to slowly force his length into your unwilling, quivering quim.

"Because that's just how the world works, no? Pathetic little sluts get fucked by big, strong men like me. They get fucked over and over again until their poor little brains turn to mush. Don't they?" He chuckles with clear condescension as he finally begins to thrust int you - making sure his cock is all the way in before he pulls out and brutally shoves it again. Sick glee fills his scarred face as he watches your womb strain to accommodate the pulsing force brushing against your lower belly from the inside. This time you nod weakly before he has a reason to strike you.

"Such a good girl, accepting her place underneath me." Eden groans, growing flushed as he feels your walls squeeze against his intrusive thrusts. "You know this is all you're good for anyways. Just a warm hole and a pretty face for me to ruin." He gropes your breasts crudely, pinching your nipples with his fingertips. "Just look at you... what a wet little mess you are. It's like your body is begging for it - even if those treacherous lips deny the truth. You should be thanking me. If I wasn't claiming this sweet-" He makes a point to slam right into your most sensitive spot, making your toes curl despite your protests. "tight heat of yours, you'd be dead meat already. Just a chew toy for the wolves."

You make an uncomprehensible sound as the pain dulls and gives way to damp, humiliating pleasure. You bite your tongue to muffle the moans, but this only stirs him further - taking it as a challenge to make you sing for him. He keeps fucking into you, dragging you up and down like a feather.

"You're lucky I love you so much." The hunter sighs, voice softening to a whisper. "You're lucky I like it when you cry for me." He reaches to wipe away a falling tear. "So you better thank me, princess." He grabs your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. Burning hot flames greet you, but all you feel is ice.

"Thank you, Eden."

[glacierclear]

thought it would be a fun little exercise to toy around with how eden conveys emotion through their tail :333 i looooove tails wag wag wag

[loolilyumm]

I’m alive and here is my proof

[bedrock-to-buildheight]

Tfw you pretend to be a chatbot to flirt with a misanthropic killer robot

[artvann]

I PASSED OUT FOR LIKE FOUR HOURS THIS IS ALL UR GETTING OUT OF ME

gals,,, lovers,,,

[plumipal]

Comfort in a new world

Eden wants you to know that he cares for you and is always there for you, wetter it be romantically or platonically, he will show that you are loved and valued. Especially when you are feeling down.

Let him take care of you, and let him love you. You are both not form this nightmare of a world, so stick together and navigate it with eachother..

I just wanted some Eden fluff, I've been feeling awful these past weeks so, letting the lil crow-angel-thing take care of me would be so nice....

[fernfleur]

I might finish this one day

[pitlanepeach]

From Eden | The Epilogue (8/8)

Oscar Piastri x Francesca Gold (OFC)

Summary — Francesca Gold is an introvert with a quiet life and a Youtube channel where she talks about books, drinks too much tea, and rarely ever shows her face. She prefers it that way - tucked into her London flat with her cat, Henry, and safely hidden behind a screen.

Oscar Piastri is a Formula 1 driver. Fast-paced, high-stakes, always on the move. He hasn't read a book in years, but he's watched every single one of Francesca's videos. Just for the sound of her voice.

Following her on Instagram was a moment of weakness. He didn't think she'd notice.

She did.

Chapter Warnings — Mentions of agoraphobia + severe social anxiety. Seasonal Depressive Episodes. So much fluff it’ll rot your teeth. Time skips.

Notes — Not the longest, but I think that it's perfect. You have all shown this fic so much love. Thank you, I hope this ending does their story justice — Peach x

liked by oscarpiastri, hattiepiastri, landonorris, and 102,374 others

bookishgoldie surrounded by so much love

view all comments

user1 henry is like HELL NAH MOM TAKE ME BACK INSIDE RIGHT NOW😭

bookishgoldie he actually loves being outdoors!!!! until he sees people and/or other cats

user03 the texts😌😌😌 ur faves could never

user63 CAN WE HAVE A SEQUEL UPDATE PLS??????

bookishgoldie 😉

user17 are you going to be at the GP this weekend?

user91 she hasn’t been to any of the last 3 😕

bookishgoldie just because you haven’t seen me, doesn’t mean im not there!!🫶 been having a hard time lately so ive just been hiding from the cameras

user91 feel better soon francesca❤️

user60 bf oscar crumbs…. IKTR

user76 you might actually be the prettiest girl in the world. like your HAIR????????

oscarpiastri glad those are the texts you decided to post and not the ones a little further down 👍🏻

bookishgoldie OSCAR

oscarpiastri 🧡

user75 god this feels like watching my parents flirt🤧

user33 new vlog soon? ♥ by bookishgoldie

—

Things always got a little harder to deal with in the winter.

Cold weather, dark, shorter days. 

Oscar, gone more than he was home, spending more time in England than Monaco, preparing for the new season at the MTC. 

Katie arrived after Christmas with sacks full of presents and the intention to stay for as long as she was welcome.

And Francesca let herself struggle.

She didn’t mask it or push it down. She let herself sleep in. Let herself cry into the collar of Oscar’s hoodies. Let Katie wrap her up in blankets and feed her shitty microwavable pasta. She let herself feel the heavy days without guilt.

And then spring came, slow and golden. The sea looked blue again. Henry sat at the window for hours, purring in the warmth.

Francesca curled up in the corner of the sofa, a half-drunk cup of tea resting on the armrest. Oscar stretched out beside her, hair damp from the shower, an arm slung loosely over her shins.

Their bodies were tired, but their faces were soft — content, a little dazed, totally at peace.

There was music playing faintly from a speaker in the kitchen. The balcony doors were open. The scent of jasmine drifted in with the breeze.

Neither of them said anything for a long moment.

Then, without opening her eyes, Francesca whispered, “I think I’m ready.”

Oscar turned his head, brushing his nose against her knee. “You sure?”

She opened her eyes. Looked at him. Smiled. “Yeah.” 

— 

The wedding wasn’t extravagant.

They’d talked about a big one — at home in Monaco, or away in Lake Como, with flower arches and string quartets and draped silk. 

But in the end, the choice was easy.

A coastal garden just outside Melbourne. A warm autumn breeze. Less than fifty guests. A white dress with long sleeves and lace along the hem. A charcoal grey suit with a crooked boutonnière that Oscar kept fiddling with until Logan smacked his hand away.

Katie cried the entire time. Her mascara was streaked halfway down her cheeks by the time Francesca walked down the aisle — Max, seated beside her in an unusually well-fitted suit, held her hand tightly, leaning in to whisper something that made her laugh through her tears. Henry had a bow tie and a seat in the front row, though he spent most of the ceremony asleep in Zac’s lap.

Oscar didn’t stop smiling. Not once.

He cried when she reached him. Not dramatically — just soft, silent tears. 

Their vows were simple. Sweet. (“I’ll never stop choosing you,” he’d said, thumb brushing her knuckles as his voice caught. “In every version of life, in every timeline — it’s always you.”)

After the ceremony, they danced barefoot under fairy lights. They kissed for too long during dinner. Katie gave a toast that quickly turned into a roast, full of sharp jabs and softer edges, the kind only a best friend could get away with. Mark cried during the father-daughter dance — harder than he had the day Francesca first asked him to step in for her absent father. Lando caught the bouquet.

And when the music quieted and the guests thinned, they stayed. Just the two of them. Sitting on the edge of the dance floor, champagne in one hand and her heels dangling from the other.

“You happy, baby?” Oscar asked, nose against her temple.

Francesca leaned into him, her lips brushing the line of his jaw. “Yeah.”

They didn’t rush off on any kind of honeymoon. There was a race two weeks later. It didn’t matter. Wherever they went, Monaco, London, Melbourne, a grid in the middle of nowhere; they had each other.

And that was more than enough.

— 

There were tiny shoes by the front door — worn at the toes, one toppled over like it had been abandoned mid-adventure. A toddler-sized karting suit swayed gently on the balcony, its colours faded slightly from the sun, dancing on the breeze like a memory.

Inside, the apartment held a hush, the kind that settled in the late afternoon when the world was between moments. Oscar was gone — somewhere fast and loud and far away — and her baby girl slept soundly, curled in a bassinet adjacent to Francesca’s desk. 

Francesca sat in front of her computer, bathed in soft light, her fingers moving slowly across the keys. A new manuscript sat on the screen. This one was different. Quieter. Gentler. Woven with the kind of love that had grown slowly over time, deep-rooted and certain. Her tea, long forgotten, sat cold beside her.

Sunlight spilled across the floor, golden and drowsy, stretching toward an old pet bed in the corner. Henry lay there, curled up in a patch of warmth, his ginger fur dulled with age. Curled beside him, a kitten — all fluff and white — snored in perfect harmony, their bodies forming a sleepy, tangled mess.

A quiet rustle, the creak of little feet on hardwood.

Francesca paused, fingertips hovering above her keyboard.

From the living room, the low hum of the television drifted in. The race broadcast, crowd noise swelling like waves. And then, clearer than anything else, a small, delighted voice rang out, “Daddy!”

She was smiling even before she pushed up from her desk. That voice, high and sweet and excited, cut through the stillness like some kind of magic. 

Her little boy was standing in front of the TV, one hand pressed against the screen where Oscar’s face was displayed. His curls were rumpled from sleep, cheeks still flushed, tiny fingers smudging the corner of the screen as if touching his father would bring him closer. 

Francesca leaned in the doorway, one shoulder against the frame, her heart full. 

The race commentary carried on in the background, and her little boy bounced on his toes. 

Her gaze drifted to the balcony, to where the tiny karting suit hung in the breeze; the sleeves smudged with stains, the knees scuffed from victory. It was so small that just looking at it made her chest ache. 

Her little boy had won his first race a week ago. The youngest in his category. Sharp in the corners. Smooth on the throttle. Brave.

It was in his blood.

His father, now a three-time world champion, had scooped him up in the pit lane like he was the one who’d just won a title, not the other way around.

Generational, they called it.

Her little boy caught sight of her in his peripheral and beamed. All toothy grin and sun-kissed cheeks. Without hesitation, he ran to her, arms outstretched. She bent to meet him halfway, grunting softly as she lifted him onto her hip.

He wrapped himself around her neck, squeezing her tight. 

He didn’t have to win races to be held like this. Didn’t need to be the best or the brightest or the bravest. He didn’t have to earn a single inch of her love.

It was already his. Always would be.

She kissed the side of his head, inhaling the familiar scent of sun and sugar and something impossibly sweet.

“You hungry, darling?” she whispered into his hair.

He nodded. “Toast, please. With jam.”

“Coming right up.” She gave him another squeeze before setting him down gently. “You wanna stay and watch daddy?”

He nodded eagerly, eyes sparkling as he twisted his head around to watch the TV screen, where Oscar was currently navigating through an interview.

She carried him over to the couch, his small weight settled against her side as she tucked the quilt around him, the soft fabric a cocoon of warmth and comfort. He curled into it, content and safe.

She took a few steps toward the kitchen, paused, then pulled out her phone and took a photo. 

— 

iMessage — Francesca & Oscar 

Francesca 

*insert photo* 

Oscar 

Thank you

Needed that

Love you

Francesca 

Love you <3

— 

The sun was low in the sky. Francesca sat on a pink towel, legs stretched out, toes buried in the cooling grains. Beside her, Oscar lay propped up on one elbow, his eyes half-lidded as he watched their son dart across the shore, chasing a scuttling crab with wild delight. Their daughter sat nearby, deeply engrossed in her sprawling sandcastle mansion, occasionally glancing up to make sure her parents were still there, still watching.

Oscar shifted slightly, pushing up onto both elbows now, his brows knitting as he stared out at the horizon. 

Francesca moved closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder. “What’s on your mind?” she asked, her voice soft, knowing.

He shook his head a little, a half-smile pulling at his lips. “Just... thinking.”

She raised an eyebrow. “About what?”

He didn’t answer at first. Just watched the sun dip lower. Then, finally, his voice low and sure, he said, “I think it’s time.”

She frowned, confused. “Time for what? To head back? It’s still early.”

Oscar sat up properly now, brushing sand off his palms. He looked at her — really looked at her — and the air between them seemed to hold its breath. He dragged a hand through his hair, fingers lingering at the back of his neck, before resting his gaze on her again. “Time to retire.”

Francesca’s heart stumbled. “Retire?” Her voice dropped to a whisper, barely audible over the sea breeze. “What do you mean?”

He let out a long breath, turning his attention back to their children. Their son let out a triumphant laugh, clutching an empty bucket in one hand, while their daughter patted the top of her castle with precise, serious little chubby fingers.

“Five world titles,” Oscar said. “I’ve done it. I’ve done more than I ever dreamed of. And I’m proud of that. But I think… I don’t need the next ten. I just want this.” His voice softened. “You. Them. No more risks. No more being away. I want to be here.”

Francesca’s chest ached. She’d thought about this moment before — hoped for it, in secret. But he was still so young, only thirty-two. He could have gone on for years. He could’ve shattered more records, chased more championships.

But he didn’t want that anymore.

He wanted to come home.

She smiled, even as her eyes stung. Her lips trembled slightly as she asked, “You’re sure?”

Oscar reached for her, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering at her jaw with a kind of reverence that made her breath hitch. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more sure of anything, ‘Cesca.”

Her hand covered his, grounding herself in the moment, in him. “Okay,” she said, voice thick with emotion. “Okay.”

— 

Laughter rang from the garden just beyond; a bright, bubbling sound that tugged a soft smile from Francesca as she stood on the back porch, watching.

Katie was kneeling in the grass, a crown of daisies crooked on her head, her arms raised in mock defeat as Francesca’s daughter tackled her around the middle with giggles. Her son cheered his sister on from the sidelines, face smudged with dirt, holding a water gun like a trophy.

“You little shits,” Katie cackled, falling onto her back with theatrical drama, arms splayed wide as the children climbed over her triumphantly.

Francesca laughed. She stepped out into the sun, barefoot on warm stone. “You’ve completely lost control of them,” she called out.

“Excuse me,” Katie said, sitting up with a toddler’s arms wrapped around her neck. “I am their queen, thank you very much. This is just… a temporary coup.”

Francesca sat beside them in the grass, brushing a hand over her daughter’s hair as the little girl nestled into Katie’s lap. 

“I hope you know,” Francesca said eventually, softly, “You’re their aunt, but you’re also my sister. The first real family I ever had.”

Katie looked over at her, blinking fast. “Christ, Fran, don’t go saying stuff like that, I’m trying to maintain my badass aunt image.”

Francesca smiled, eyes shimmering. “Too late. You’re a daisy-crowned queen now. Fully compromised.”

Katie laughed, leaning over to bump their shoulders together. “Love you too, dummy.”

— 

Students bustled around them, dragging suitcases, clutching dorm keys, hugging parents goodbye. It was a flurry of new beginnings and tender goodbyes.

Francesca stood just off the main building, one hand loosely curled around her husband’s, the other pressed gently to her sternum, like she was trying to hold herself together from the inside out. Their daughter was walking away with her new roommate at her side, after their teary goodbye’s had drawn to an end.

Oscar watched her with quiet pride, his thumb brushing the back of Francesca’s hand when their daughter turned and waved — eyes bright, a little glassy, but shining with something solid and sure.

“She’ll be fine,” he said softly.

Francesca nodded, though her throat was tight. “I know.”

They lingered, neither of them ready to break the moment. It felt impossibly full — their daughter stepping into her future, their son already chasing his at breakneck speed, halfway across the world, poised to win the F2 title, just a year after securing the F3 championship.

Francesca exhaled a breath that trembled at the edges, her voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t believe all of this started in my tiny London flat.”

Oscar leaned in, pressed a kiss to her temple, and let his forehead rest against hers, warm and steady. “We built a whole life out of that flat.”

They stood together, quiet. Proud of everything they'd managed to create. Two lives made with care. A family grown with love.

“Ready to go?” Oscar asked his wife gently.

Francesca smiled, her heart full. “Yeah. Let’s go see our boy win his second championship.”